England sat on his country house with a nice fire burning at the chimney, and an even better cup of tea next to him. He had to be back at the parliament next Monday, but for now he had a few days of vacation and he intended to use them to rest and work on his embroidery and nothing more. He was even more thankful for the fact that there were no children around to bother him on that night with their silly demands for candy.
He looked out the window, and wondered for a moment if America would drop by and try to get him to go to his Halloween party. He had rejected his invitation the first time. Of course he had. He would first sink to the bottom of a lake than let America think that he actually wanted to spend this day with him.
He turned back to his embroidery. It was a simple pattern he had once done for queen Catherine, before the whole thing with Anne Boleyn had gone down. He sighed. Maybe, if he felt as dumb as he did right now when he finished it, he would give it to queen Elizabeth.
Maybe, but not likely.
Something tapped against the window, and when England turned back, he found a pair of red eyes against the window.
"Sweets, bitte."
England's scream resounded to the sky and set off thunders that lighted the whole night sky. He got up and backed away from the window, but tripped and fell over.
"Oy, England, don't be so noisy!" said France, strolling into the room with a wine bottle in his hand and a sword hanging from his side. Prussia kicked open the window and jumped inside. Behind him came Spain from his days as a pirate.
"W-w-what is this? What are you doing? Are you really France and Spain and Prussia? What is the meaning of this?!"
The tree men laughed.
"¡Dulce o truco, Inglaterra!" said Spain, looking down at England. He had the same disheveled look and fiery eyes as he'd had back at that battle at sea. That useless battle he had gotten into and that had left him for months stuck at the bottom of the sea.
"Quick, England, or we'll get the trick started," said Prussia, rummaging England's wine cabinet.
"W-what? I have no candy! This is stupid, go away."
"You don't turn away ghosts on all hallow's eve! How rude!" said France, and dumped England's cup of tea over his head.
There was a loud banging at the door. "Hey! England! It's me, America, do you want to come to the party?"
Before England could cry out, Spain had clamped a hand over his mouth and France had pinned his arms behind his back.
"Shit, you think he'll leave if he doesn't hear anything?" whispered Prussia, tearing off a piece of the curtains to tie England's hands behind his back.
America banged on the door even harder. "England! I know you're there, you old bastard! Open up!"
"He's going to tear down the door!" said France.
"Take him away, I'll barricade the door!" said Prussia, and rushed to the entrance.
Before he could reach the door though, it flew open and America entered, dressed up as a ghostly prison inmate. "Prussia?"
"…No."
"Then who are you?"
In Prussia's alcohol fueled brain an idea had formed. "I… am a ghost."
"Yeah, right. What are you doing here Prussia? Where's England?"
"Kesesese! You idiot, I am the ghost of your past, summoned by England to punish you."
America laughed nervously and took a step back. "Whatever dude, where's England?"
But the seed of doubt had been planted, and Prussia wasn't about to let the opportunity escape. He walked towards the bigger country. "America, come here. We have to train."
"Dude, stop. I'm calling Germany."
The mention of his brother sobered Prussia a little, and he decided to just let the game end. He rushed to the door and slammed it in America's face, then pushed a cabinet in front of it just for the hell of it. In the end it wouldn't really make much difference, considering America's strength, but he felt accomplished and it gave him enough time to get out of the house through the window.
A while later, he found the others in a bar on Manchester. They had tied England to a stool and were watching some football game on the tv along with a bunch of football fans.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" he yelled at Spain and France.
"We ran out of wine," said Spain with a goofy smile. France scowled at the pretzels in front of him, probably finding them subpar.
"I didn't ask for that! America is five minutes away! We have to get out of here!"
"Aw, mon ami, you have such high expectations of him," said France, taking a pretzel in his fingers and examining it like it was the strangest thing he'd seen. "What do you think he will do now, having seen your silly display of terrible acting? He will go straight to Germany, who will by now have read your message and call me. I have already instructed Picardie to answer any calls and explain that we are having a party in Paris," he said, and threw the pretzel back into the bowl with a disgusted huff.
Prussia blinked, and it took him a moment to process the information.
"I think you're not drunk," he said.
"Of course he's not, you idiot!" shouted England. "Take this off me or you'll regret it! Manchester, don't just sit there! Do something!"
Prussia looked at a stool near the end of the bar where a young man sat watching the game and drinking.
"Yeah, during half time," he said, not even looking at England.
Prussia turned back to France. "You're really not drunk at all. But I need to be. Now," he sat between Spain and France. "Eine Schwarzbier bitte"
The barman looked at him, squinted, and brought him a Guiness.
"Close enough," said Spain.
"No. Not at all," said Prussia, but took a long drink anyway. "So what are we going to do with him now?"
"Throw him to the bottom of the sea!" cheered Spain.
"Hey, don't make me go there," called Manchester, still not taking his eyes off the tv, but Prussia was suddenly too aware that the amount of football fans in the bar had increased worryingly.
England looked at Manchester, and his eyes softened, then he tsked and said "At least let me have a hand free. I want a drink too"
Spain moved to untie him. "That's ok, I still got my axe anyway"
"Why do you have an axe?!"
"¡You still had the axe you stole from me in 1812, hijo de puta!"
"Ah, right. I forgot. Barman, another round for everyone, on me," he said, and noticed the axe next to Spain hadn't lost any of its sharpness. "Two for my, uh, friends," France laughed at him, but England ignored him. "Anyway, what's the point of all the old clothes, and the breaking into my house and kidnapping me?"
Prussia took another long drink of his beer before answering. "Honestly? We were just going to scare you a little and steal some wine, but America arrived and we panicked."
"And you dressed up for that?"
"Actually, we dressed up, and then didn't know what to do and coming here to piss you off was the best idea we had."
"Bloody wankers," he said, and took a drink of his beer. England looked at the lights reflecting on the gold buttons and the way the feathers moved with the wind whenever someone opened the door like the feathers in his own hat had done; swinging in breeze of a dozen shores. He grinned. "Ah, those clothes sure bring back memories. I remember when all my kids were so tiny. Especially you Manchester! You were so little!"
"Shut up!"
The fans roared when the Manchester United scored a goal, and the four nations drank while the humans celebrated. It felt like being surrounded by a different kind of silence. A silence of the atmosphere itself, more than of sound.
"You should have gone to piss off someone else. Like Switzerland or Liechtenstein," said England.
"Switzerland would shoot us full of holes," said Spain.
"Or Iceland"
"Too cold," said France.
"Sealand?"
"Leave the kid alone," said Prussia.
"Japan?"
The trio pondered the possibilities.
"You would still be kidnapped. And we get half of all the candy and booze," said Spain, but by then it was all terms and conditions, and a couple beers later it was half time and England came out of the bar's bathroom dressed up in his old Pirate's clothes. Eyepatch included. "Yesh! Th' king o' the seas is back!" he yelled, and hugged Manchester. "I'll be back soon. Don't fight with your brothers"
"I haven't hated you this much in hundreds of years," said Manchester, his voice muffled under England's embrace.
"I always knew you would be great," he smiled and ruffled his hair.
"Take him away now," Manchester pushed him towards Spain. "But no throwing him to the sea, or we'll be pissed. All of us"
"Ja, ja, whatever. Let's get going, I've got to pay the little master a visit before we go to Japan's," said Prussia
"Barcelona says hi!" called Spain as they were leaving, and Manchester threw a bottle at the closed door.