Doggy Days

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia nor the official characters; those belong to Himaruya Hidekaz. I merely own the plot, ideas, and my own characters in this fan-made work.

The first thing the man thought when he become aware of the pitch black darkness surrounding him was, 'Oh, God. Am I...Am I dead?' Quickly, he tried to move from whatever position he was in, but a sharp pain shot through his temples and caused him to grunt suddenly. He continued to try and sit up, but the pain slowly began to spread and he finally yield to it.

'If I can feel pain,' he thought after dropping back into his previous position and realizing that he hadn't moved as far as he had thought, 'Then I'm not dead. That's good...I guess.' With a groan, the man gradually pried his eyes open, but the searing sunlight pouring in from a nearby window in front of him stung his pupils; he was quick to shut them again to prevent any more damage to himself. His head was constantly pounding, he had horribly body aches all over, and now his eyes felt as if they'd been burned out of their sockets. 'How the hell did I manage to do this to myself?' How the hell did he manage to do this to himself? What happened to get him all achy in the first place? The man thought hard, trying to recall what was going on before he had woke up here...in this place.

'I was at my house getting ready for...no. That was last week.' He shook his head slightly then gritted his teeth at the pain his headache was causing him. 'No, I wasn't home. I went to...Arthur's place. Yeah! That's right, I wanted him to go to McDonald's with me.' A pout formed on his face as he thought, 'All I wanted was us to spend some bro time together, and Arthur had turned down my offer. Like he always does when it comes to eating at McDonald's never hang out like we used to.'

'Alright, so I was at his place, asked if he wanted to go grab something to eat with me and he denied me and...I...remember him "kindly escorting" me out of his house and he left to go upstairs just as someone else came over but I...don't remember who...and we snuck back into his house because he left the door unlocked...'

'Oh perfect. Now I can't figure out who else was at his house with me. Am I suffering from amnesia or something?' He opened his eyes again, but this time kept them squinted to keep the sun from hurting them; that was when he noticed a large wooden beam was lying right on top of his lower torso along with varies-sized derbies, trapping him under it. 'Oh, so fucking perfect,' was the sarcastic, droned out statement in his mind.

Once again, he tried to concentrate on the previous events despite the growing pain that had now spread from his temples to the back of his head. Then it hit him.

Quite literally actually; something fell down from a shelf somewhere above him and smacked him in the head with enough force to elicit a sharp yelp from him and caused his headache to become even worse, if that was possible. The man bit his lip to keep the scream of pain and annoyance from threatening to break free of his throat. He looked down and saw a small wooden box over to his left; the container was mostly scorched and open, however, it was tilted back with it's bottom facing the man and he was unable to see the contents inside. 'The hell...'

"Owww..."

A low, painful groan caught his attention and he looked to the right just in time to witness a pile of rubble rising up bit by bit as if...as if something struggled as it tried to claw its way to the surface. The man's breath hitched in his throat. He was still stuck underneath the beam, but when he turned back to the thing, it was already too late.

After throwing a few more scraps out of the way, a light brown dog with a rusty hue to its fur stepped out of the mound. It had a dark muzzle and eye markings as well as a black-tipped tail and paws. The dog shook itself off then looked at the mess it had just emerged from with a confused expression, or at least what the man thought was a look of bewilderment on its face. The dog snorted and turned his way and after spotting the other, its face lit up.

"Hey, Amerika!" the animal barked in a thick accent, its tongue lolling out of the side of its open muzzle.

Wait a second. He knew that voice!

"D...Denmark?" 'Okay. Just exactly what the hell is going on here?!' The dog -Denmark- quickly jumped from the pile and, hopping over a few more wooden beams, stood in front of the man with that huge signature grin of his. "Are you stuck~?" he asked and leaned down in the man's face, his grin spreading even wider.

"What do you think, Denmark?" he snapped. He knew the dog could clearly see the wooden plank crushing his legs. "Just move this already."

"Godkende!" Denmark pushed the beam off of America's legs using his head. 'Weird,' the other thought as he watched the dog, 'He's acting like he's been a dog forever...does he not even know he's a dog?'

He didn't even take a look at his legs to see if they were bruised or anything of the sort. He wished he had done that. As soon as Denmark stood back, America swiftly leapt to his feet, overjoyed to finally be free of the heave pole...

...and he fell flat on his face. Blue eyes widened at the shock of the impact and the reality that he could not stand up caused panic to seep into those clear orbs. His gaze shot over to the brown dog who was laughing hysterically, his booming voice ricocheting off of the room's walls. "Oh, man! That was hilarious!" America just ignored him and tried to stand up again, only to meet the floor with the same faith as before.

Denmark was practically roaring by now as America raised his upper body off the ground, and that was when he caught sight of his paws and -wait. What? He looked back down and, sure enough, his hands had been replaced by paws. He screamed in horror and thought, 'Paws?! I have paws?! What. The. Hell?!'

"Mathias!" he called out, using the Nordic nation's human name. This earned him a quick scowl and a snort from the older dog, but America had no time to worry about that. "W-why do we have paws?" Though he attempted to keep calm, panic laced his voice and caused it to rise in pitch as he spoke. Beside him, the nation-turned-dog chuckled and a few snorts, but quickly stifled them, before saying, "What do you mean, Amerika? You're the one with the paws, doggy boy!" He started snickering again and the super nation scrunched his face up in a scowl. "You have paws, too," he informed him. "In fact, you have the entire body of a dog!" What he said caused Denmark's irritating laughter to cease instantly and the tawny dog's eyes went wide.

"You're lying," Denmark said in a hushed tone, then he whirled around and made a beeline for a jagged piece of mirror that was propped up against a wall where the mound of rubble that America was trapped under was. The younger country looked at Denmark staring at the broken glass; he gaped at the reflective surface for a good minute, like his brain was trying to register his appearance, and he jumped when the Dane let out a shriek.

"What the hell!" he screamed, never looking away from the mirror. "What. In. The. Hell?!" The stocky dog's mouth dropped open even more and his blue eyes looked like they would pop out of his head at any given second. "This...this cannot be happening," he said and America, who had learned how to use his four legs correctly in the meantime, moved closer to get a look at his own reflection. "Yeah, but it is," he replied, craning his neck. "I don't know how you didn't even realize that you were a dog in the first place."

Reflected in the mirror, beside the Denmark-dog, was another dog with shaggy golden fur, a dark brown muzzle and ring marking around the mane on his neck, and the dog also had the exact same hair style that America's sported in his human form, the Nantucket cowlick and all. He was a bit taken aback by the reflection, since it resembled his human body and clothing almost exactly, and the dog lifted one foreleg and saw the reflection do the same. Then he tried sticking his tongue out. The mirror-dog copied him. Yep, that was him all right.

While busy playing in the mirror, America caught a glance of Denmark giving him a weird look; the dog's mouth was very slightly ajar in what America read as "what are you doing?" but the Nordic nation's eyes were narrowed and trained on him. "I blame you for this."

"What?" the younger country asked as he turned to face the mirror again, this time tilting his head to the left to get a better look at the collar around his neck -and to prevent having his pendent-shaped ears snagged by Denmark; the dog looked like he was just about ready to pounce on the American. 'Well how 'bout that? My tag's got my flag on it.'

"Hey," Denmark said, getting the other's attention. "Hey, Amerika, we need to get this fixed! I can't go back to my brothers looking like this!" He huffed and continued: "The next thing you know, Finland will be taking care of me and feeding me dog food!"

"What's so bad about that?" the golden-furred dog asked and turned to the side to see his poofy tail. "Maybe they'll let you sleep on the couch."

Denmark snorted. "Oh, haha. Very funny."

"Y'know, I could probably get used to this."

"What? Being a mutt?" America looked at the tawny dog to see that he was now sitting on his haunches. "I'm not a mutt! I'm a Hero Dog!" the American barked loudly, causing Denmark to cringe and roll his eyes. "Anyway, I could have all the hamburgers I wanted with this adorable face," he added in a failed version of the way a mother might talk to her infant to get it to laugh.

"Ja, uanset. Anyway, do you have any clues to why we're like this?" Denmark picked his hind leg up and started to scratch violently at his ribs. "Oh great, not only am I a dog, but I came complete with fleas," he muttered and leaned to the side so he could claw at his hanging ears. America shook his head. "Nope. You?"

"If I had any, why would I ask you?" Denmark retorted and stood up. He took another glance around the room and grimaced. "How did this even happen?"

America stretched and sat back down; he also looked around the room just to see it was nearly destroyed with bricks scattered everywhere, wooden pillars strewed across the floor along with other miscellaneous derbies. "So...what do we do now?" The brown dog in front of him looked himself up and down. "Fix this. Like I said, I can't go home as a dog."

Both pairs of ears perked up when they heard a loud yelp that drifted down from the second floor. The dogs exchanged glances and ran out of the doorframe of the room they were in and into the living room of the house; this part wasn't as badly damaged as the other room, but where there was once high-priced, elegant carpet lay bits and pieces of broken glass and some bricks from the previous room. To their right were a flight of stairs and the America practically flew up them at the speed of light.

On the second floor landing, or what was left of it, was where part of the house's roof had caved in and was resting at a slant that lead down to the back part of the destroyed room. America's eyes caught a blond dog with dark-colored markings and floppy ears clinging to a portion of the roof for dear life; its legs dangled off of the left edge of the shingled ceiling and its teeth were gritted as it tried to keep itself from sliding any further into the whole, but to no avail. The dog had the same hairstyle of a certain man who had pushed his younger brother out of his house earlier that day. England?

"E-England? It that...is that you?"

Fear-filled emerald eyes flashed over at the personification of the United States on the landing and the dog barked out, "O-of course it's me!"

America's jaw dropped.

"Well don't just stand there! Help me, you git!" The Englishman's voice had heightened in pitch and he began to frantically try and claw his way back up to safer, more stable ground. America bounded over to England, grabbed him by the blue collar that had been placed around his neck, and pulled the dog toward him with ease; he didn't stop until his older brother was safe on the other half of the landing.

After coughing and trying to growl at the same time, England finally caught his breath and looked up at America with a fuming look in his usually calm eyes; now there was a storm brewing behind those green orbs. America gulped audibly and took a step back to avoid the oncoming storm that was sure to burst free of its mortal container. "You did this, didn't you?" England asked lowly and all America could do as give a nervous smile.

"If you mean causing the roof to cave in, then I guess, but turning you into a dog? I don't think so, Britain."

" 'ey! Yer can't call him Britain whaen we're not raun!" America whirled his head in the direction of the voice to see who its owner was, but England only groaned; he knew exactly who was behind them. The 'click-click' of claws on the polished wood floor sounded simultaneously with the lithe figure of another dog as his made his way to the second landing. His signature flat cap was still upon a head of short and curly red hair, which contrasted drastically with his grey-brown, slightly spotted coat. The thin dog looked around and whistled. "Looks like quite 'ames yer got 'ere, aye, brah'der?" he asked, looking straight at England though the dog had his back turned to him.

"Hey, Paddy," America said in a cheery tone. Before he had even got finished with the sentence, the thin dog's head snapped over to him and his thick eyebrows furrowed. "What 'av oi towl yer aboyt callin' me dat, yer brat? Me name's Patrick, an' you're not even allowed ter call me dat." After that was said, the dog gnashed his teeth together, signifying his annoyance. "tis jist Ireland' ter yer."

"Jeez, man, okay," America muttered, his facial expression turned sour. Just then, Denmark came running up the stairs and skidded to a stop a stop before he ran into the hot tempered dog's back. The personification of Northern Ireland looked over his shoulder and at the other dog who was walking up the stairs behind Denmark. "Ah, Vaughn, oi see yer finally decided ter join us, auld man." There was a playful tone in his voice and, once the short-legged dog reached the topmost stair and rolled his eyes at his younger brother's use of his human name. "Hey, dude, why's your older brother so...short? Last time I saw him, he was taller than you," the American dog whispered to England, who sighed and shrugged. The British dog turned to face his new company and nodded at them.

"Ireland, Wales." "Hej, England! Don't forget about me!" a cheerful Dane replied, not wanting to be left out. England's eyes flashed anger and he glared at the other dog. "You were in on this, too Denmark?!" he barked, referring to the distraction of his house and him being transformed into a dog. He lunged forward, Ireland and Wales stepped off to the side to avoid being hit, but America grabbed the collar around his neck. This caused England to come to a halt just as his forelegs made it off the ground.

"Alfred, let go of me!"

"Amerika, don't do it," Denmark warned and took a few steps back. "I don't want to die yet!"

"England, calm down. M-maybe we can figure this out without hurting anybody?" America said around the died leather in his mouth. With that, the older dog huffed, but he settled down anyway. America let go of his collar and sat down beside him. "Before you ask 'oh, what did you bloody wankers do this time?', we don't know what we did," Denmark said, mocking the Englishman's accent as best he could, and lied on his stomach as America turned to England. "So do you think you can help us remember something or..."

"You four should know what you did! You obviously barged right back into my house!" England's temper was starting to flare again. The personification of Northern Ireland lifted his lip. "What? Yer four? Me an' Wales weren't even in yisser house, Englan'."

"Then why are you dogs?"

"Oi dunno! You tell me! De explosion wus in yisser house after all. We were futtin' it ter yisser place, but we never went in," he explained and the short-to-the-ground Wales nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we were on our way to say hi since you don't really ever stop by our homes to talk..."

Well, the two of them were right; though together, Northern Ireland, Wales, Scotland, and England did make up Great Britain, the youngest of hardly ever stopped by for a visit anymore. Then, the thought hit him. England hopped to his feet and the abrupt transfer of positions caused both America and Denmark to wince; America only did so because he was bracing himself for impact of the shorter dog's body into his ribs, and Denmark out of fear that England would come after him. "Where Scotland and your sister?" he barked."No. No, more importantly, where is your sister?"

"We don't know," the Welshman said slowly. He had entirely forgotten about his younger brother and sister.

"We have to go find them! If they're dogs -if she's a dog- all hell's going to break loose and she'll come for me!"

"Feck dat, Englan'. We," he gestured to himself and the eldest of the siblings -who was frantically shaking his head no- " ill go find 'er because is she's already mad about being turned into a bitch an' she sees yisser face, she's gonna think its your fault and start bitchin' at all av us. 'Tis best dat yer stay oyt av dis."

England calmed himself after a few minutes of thinking it over. "Oh, alright," he sighed.

"Go an' see if de other nations are pooches 'ill yer?" Ireland said as he turned around and began to head down the stairs, his shorter older brother following close behind. "We don't want ever single country showin' up at yisser door an' blamin' yer for bein' turned into dawgs, nigh do we?" Both dogs bounded down the stairs and out of the front door that was just hanging by one hinge. England, America, and Denmark watched them disappear out of sight.

America took this time to break the silence. "So," he droned out awkwardly, "Are we going to get going or what?"

"I guess we should get going then," England sighed. "Alright you two, let's go-"

"Hey Denmark, race ya to the park!" America took off down the stairs, pushing past England and knocking him over. "America, you git-" He gasped as Denmark leaped over him and landed on his front paw in the process. The Dane either didn't hear him or didn't care as he elicited a uttered a pained cry from the dog on the floor. "You two are utterly unmanageable! And who said we were going to the park anyway? No one's going to be at the park if they've been turned into dogs! You two get back here!"

The dog scrambled to his feet and ran down the flight of stairs and out the door, pushing himself to his limit as he tried vainly to catch up with the two dogs who were competing against each other.

Translations:

Amerika - America (Danish)

Godkende - Confirmed (Danish)

Ja, uanset - Yes, whatever (Danish)

Hej - Hello (Danish)

America is a golden retriever /Chesapeake Bay retriever mix

Denmark is a Broholmer England is a border collie Northern Ireland is a lurcher Wales is a Cardigan Welsh corgi

Well what can I say guys. I write long stories xD I hope you guys enjoyed Chapter 1 of Doggy Days! The story was in a very desperate need of a rewrite so I spent six hours working on it today .3.

Again, I tried to keep the canon characters as in-character as possible, but I'm still experimenting with them. Anyway, my Danish is a bit...rusty, but so far I think the translations are right (at least I hope they are), and I found it fun to type out my Irish character's accent (though I may stop doing that in later chapters...no I dn't think so).

Again, I hope you enjoyed reading, and I'm all for reviews and/or critiques on my writing.