My second chapter-fic, first time writing an AU :D Hopefully, as the plotline for this one is more developed, it'll have a slightly better ending than my first fanfic...that's the plan, anyhow. So, anyway, as I mentioned this is a Hetalia AU set in America, in Hetalia Academy. Arthur (England) and Alfred (America) will be the main characters, with appearances from the rest of the cast later on (as well as an OC or two of my own).

Now without further ado, I give you Chapter 1 - Oblivion

"Jesus Christ, you can't do anything right, can you?! You're useless!" The screaming form before him was distorted by angry tears, colours running and blurring together like an oil painting in the rain. He was finding it hard to breathe now. Sobs wracked his weak chest, choking him each time he inhaled, fury and disgrace burning in his throat. He tried to swallow back his mewling, to retain some form of dignity, but his body had turned traitor and just would not listen. The face of his tormentor loomed towards him, twisted into an ugly sneer. Knowing what was coming next, he bit down hard on his lip till he pierced the skin, focusing on the pain and the metallic taste of blood. A cleched fist swung upwards to meet his cheek. The world exploded momentarily into a chaos of stars and spots, a stinging, aching sensation spreading through his skull, and for a second he was sent reeling. Fighting against the shriek of agony that threatened to burst out of him, he steadied himself and turned, clumsily, to glare at the elder boy. But his usually powerful gaze was now wavering and fragile. Dizziness was slowly consuming him, and with panic he realised he was losing consciousness; colour melted into black, static buzzed in his ears, and it felt like he was drowning in oblivion...

---

Arthur threw himself upwards, gulping at the air, in a frenzy of whimpers and flailing limbs. Panting, he took a second or so to grasp the situation. Sheets twisted round his legs, and his fingers were grasping at the soft mattress beneath him; it was alright, it had just been a dream.

The teen sat bolt upright in his bed for several minutes, shivering despite the slight beam of sunlight that filtered through his bedroom window, and tried to clear his head of the terrible visions that had plagued his sleep. Letting out a shaky breath, Arthur ran a hand through his mop of unruly hair. He then covered his sharp green eyes for a moment, as if afraid of what he would see should he open them, before sighing and disentangling himself from the linen, slipping out of bed and stumbling sleepily over to the partially opened curtains.

He drew back the fabric further, wincing and letting out a low hiss as the morning sun quickly invaded his gaze. Blinking back the flickering spots, he allowed the curtain to fall back into place and hobbled over to the bedside table, grabbing the alarm clock as he passed. He inspected it through eyes narrowed with fatigue, and groaned. 7:30 - he was late. Galvanised into action, Arthur leapt across the bed to the large wardrobe beside it, flung open the creaking and decrepit doors, releasing a cloud of dust as he did so. Waving away the particles in irritation, he delved inside, rifling through the dated and old fashioned garments. Eventually, with a small cry of victory, he found what he was looking for. He tugged gently, and stepped backwards with his prize grasped to his chest; a crisp, new uniform. Scrutinizing the set of clothes with mild disdain, he huffed slightly then turned to the bathroom for a quick shower.

Several minutes later, Arthur stood before a grimy mirror, casting a critical eye over his attire. He sighed morosely at the mess of hair that adorned his head, knowing he didn't have a hope in hell of taming it. Absently, he flicked a speck of dirt from the pale blue collar, then, seemingly satisfied, he nodded and left the room.

Dashing down the stairs, he skirted round the corner and skidded to a halt in the kitchen. Grabbing a cooling piece of toast left on the breakfast counter (and mentally thanking his brothers for their forgetfulness), he shoved it into his mouth, whole, whilst ducking to pick up the empty school satchel. Shoving numerous books and stationery inside, he allowed himself a brief glance at the clock. Ten minutes until school started. Cursing in between mouthfuls of charred bread, he struggled to pull his shoes on, fumbling with the laces. Snatching his coat from its hook, Arthur was out of the front door in a flash.

Bracing himself against the Autumn chill, he pulled on the large winter jacket. In other circumstances, he would never have worn the old thing, being always so particular about his appearance, but right now that was the least of his concerns. He couldn't afford to be late on his first day at school in this exasperating country. Hurrying along the path, Arthur noticed others travelling in the same general direction, people around his own age. With a small pang of loneliness, he watched as they chattered and laughed with each other, but quickly shook the depressing notion from his mind. As he rounded a corner, he was met with the impressive sight of a huge, stone building. Towers protruded from behind the pale walls, overlooking the extensive and well maintained grounds. Intricate metal gates marked the entrance to a gravelled driveway, a crest wrought into the design surrouned by the words "Hetalia Academy" in an elegant font. Arthur had first laid eyes on this building several months before, when he'd visited the school for a tour of the campus, yet it still never failed to amaze him.

The drone of the bell drew him out of his reverie, and with a muttered string of expletives he bolted up the stone steps and through the doors, shoes screeching painfully on the heavily polished floor.

There were several students still milling about in the hallway, and they now turned to glance at him, curiosity evident in their eyes. Ignoring them with some difficulty, Arthur scanned the inner hallway for some clue as to where he should be heading, wondering vaguely why there were no signs in this place. He suddenly remembered the map he'd been sent along with the letter detaling his acceptance into the Academy, and slinging his bag off his shoulders he dug inside.

He ripped out a crumpled sheet of paper, hastily flattening it and scanning the map with growing impatience. There; a small dot marked "Reception", with a handwritten label beside it. That was where he had to go. Darting off once again, Arthur hadn't gone far before he was brought to a sudden stop. Cannoning into something soft yet, at the the same time, sturdy, he was sent reeling backwards and hit the ground with an "Oof".

"O-oh my God, are you ok?! I am so sorry!" a heavy American accent babbled, and Arthur sensed someone drop down besides him. Groaning, he sat up, rubbing his head. "What in the ruddy hell...?!" he growled, then looked up. Concerned blue eyes met his own chartreuse gaze. He frowned. He was sure the world shouldn't be spinning like that...sound faded away into a dull throb, and Arthur felt decidedly queezy. With one last groan, he let his consciousness fade, and was left with one bizarre thought before he fainted; not again.

What did you think? It's probably best to mention I fail at writing dialogue, so the next chapter will be a little heavygoing...please just bear with me, though! Comments and constructive criticism very welcome!

~Chinquix