"America!" England called taking his infamous scones out of the oven. They were a bit burnt on the edges, but that gave it an extra crunch to it. Besides, nobody knew a good meal anyways seeing as all the other countries ate processed food. At least it beat the shit that America always ate. "Are you done washing up?"
Silence.
"America, I know you are out there," he said angrily and thought about all the times the North American brothers hid under their beds or in the closets to avoid eating dinner. Only this time, he was far too tall to be hiding in his usual hiding spots, and it was far too easy to find someone in his unused closet.
The thoughts of a possible murderer or thief crept into his mind. Wait, since when did he care so much about his former colony? He never felt this protective about any of the others, so why was America so bloody different?
He sighed before walking out of the kitchen and into the Victorian-style hallway. "I swear, if you're just trying to scare me-" he shouted fretfully before tripping over the pulled up carpet. "Blood fuck, America!" he hissed the empty hallway once more not sure if he was angrier over tripping, having his newly refurbished carpet ruined or that someone discovered his secret room. He dusted off his green sweater vest and black trousers as he stood. His wide green eyes scanned over the metal door in which he tripped on. "Shit, America! Get your ass up here!" he shouted nervously.
No reply.
"Okay, I've had enough of your childish behavior! I'm coming down!" he yelled jumping down into his own cellar. His eyes scoped the room, noticing the few boxes America rummaged through previously. He turned over to his bookshelves and shrieked in horror at the disappearance of the mirror.
His knees collapsed underneath him, for once not caring about the dirt that tarnished the floor, as he pleaded through salty tears "please be okay…"
"Hey Artie I had this crazy dream w-" America began only to be interrupted by his vision. As Dorothy would say, he was certainly not in Kansas anymore although he was not in Kansas or even the United States to begin with. The whole aura of the area was bleary and gray, as if World War III actually broke out between the nations. The memories of Hiroshima and Nagasaki flowed into his mind.
Where am I? he thought to himself trying to match the buildings to a time period. It was obviously past the 18th century, but nothing more. Did I travel back in time or something?
His blue eyes scanned the area again before noticing the mirror shards at his feet. "Fuck," he said out loud. He picked up all of the shards in his hands, managing to give himself a couple of cuts, before he set out to find anything that made sense. The streets of the urban were completely abandoned except for a couple of shops with candles flickering in their windows.
"Hello?" he called uneasily having his voice echo. He continued his walk down the street until he noticed a convenience store was open. The door made a detestable ding as he walked through the entrance. There was a short plump man working behind the counter, around the age of sixty, whose nose was caught up in a book. "Excuse me; do you happen to know the date?"
His green eyes looked up from the book and glared at him. "July 1st," he said with a thick English accent.
His eyes glanced around the room, scanning the old antiquates that looked items England would own. "What year?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "2012."
He stared back in awe. Really? I must be in some parallel world or something…he thought to himself looking at a telegraph and film camera sitting on the counter. He could swear he was back to around the Civil War era. Next he was going to say how Abraham Lincoln was still alive or the World Wars never happened.
"If you are going to stand around gaping and not buying anything I am afraid I have to ask you to leave," he said sourly.
"No wait, I'll buy this bag," he said holding up a black camping backpack. He fished in the pocket of his leather bomber jacket for a twenty dollar bill and handed it to the gentleman.
"Where did you say you were from?" he asked examining the bill as if he had never seen American money before.
"I'm from America!" he said proudly.
The cashier gave him a puzzled look before shrugging. "Hey, money is money." He stuffed the bill into the register before returning to his book.
America thanked the man before walking out of the store. He poured the shatters of the mirror into the backpack and heading out. Before he could blink he was tugged into a dark alley and something sharp was digging into his neck. In a raspy voice the silhouette asked "who are you and how the fuck did you get here?"
To Be Continued...
Author's Notes: Hola! Sorry about the short [and awful] chapters. Thank you five reviews in the first chapter! You all are amazing! If you have a tumblr, please follow me at betweendreamsandrealityy (yes two Ys). If you like what you see, try reading some of my other fanfics, or not. Anyways, who is the shop keeper? Also, who do you think is threating our beloved American hero? I guess you'll have to wait for next chapter to see...(how corny)
Guest: Thanks, although I fear the story is way overdone.
Ember Hinote: Sorry about that. It's really weird, some words just do that. Especially anything in uppercase. I will make an effort to look out for that.
Maiya123: Thank you, and I will try to update.
KawaiiYukihanaDesu: Yea~ People want me to continue. That makes me happy :)
CJWrites: Yeah, the spacing, I know; and I am deeply sorry about that. I wish there was some way to prevent that. Oh well, thanks for reviewing!
vampire16goddess17: Thanks and I'll try to have more chapters up soon!
Warnings: Strong language.
Disclaimer: I do not own hetalia.