After this chapter, I will be referring to the America and England from the present by their human names, and the one's from the past by the country. Just to save confusion. No one likes confusion.

He hadn't planned to fall asleep, really he hadn't. England's story hadn't sounded half bad, but something about the rain falling on the window, the fire in the fireplace and the sweet smell of old leather and gotten him really sleepy. It was like old times, with England there to comfort him and tell him stories to help him fall asleep. He hoped it hadn't hurt his friend's feelings that he had passed out so easily. As he lay there for a minute, still not opening his eyes, America began to feel something prodding his back. What the hell…. Finally, tired as he was, Alfred forced open his eyes, and the sight waiting for him certainly wasn't a British cup of tea.

The room was dingy, and dark, and smelled like salt water. This all hit America at once, and it didn't really bother him for a moment. Then he realized, "But, England and I didn't go sailing today…." Alfred shot straight up, looking around in terror. What the hell was going on? This was definitely not his library. Looking down, he noticed that he had been sleeping on a length of wooden crates and the thing pocking him had been a hook protruding from the wall. He had to have been dreaming. There was no other explanation. But it seemed so real…

America slapped his forehead. ENGLAND. It had to have been England and his black magic crap. Always up to some spell, and unfortunately this one worked. Perfect. Now all he had to do was find out what this stupid spell had done. He knew he was on a ship, but that was pretty vague. From the movement of the floor, he could tell they were sailing. How far were they from shore? And why did everything, the boxes, the weapons, the setup of the lower deck, look so OLD?

A recreation? A stupid living history thing, made for visitor's enjoyment and nothing else? How awful they portrayed England in these things, especially around the time of the Revolutionary War. Yeahhh, not fun times…. But why or how did England manage to get him HERE? What happened to staying in and re-.

His thought was cut off as he felt something cold and sharp press against his throat from behind. What the hell kind of show was this? A knot of fear grew in his stomach. What the hell was happening here? "Aye, a stowaway. You bastards are always trying to get free passage, no pay and no work. Well you know, you picked the wrong boat to stowaway on. Our captain is a strong, capable man and he will have you walk the plank!" The gruff voice had a heavy English accent and sounded like nails on a chalkboard to America. He thought of a few snappy comebacks, but wasn't able to voice any due to the blade being pressed against his throat.

Picked up from the crates by the back of his shirt, the man forced America up the ladder and onto the upper deck. The blinding sun greeted him and one look around said that they were truly in the middle of the ocean, with no land in sight. The dagger had not been removed from his neck, but America was able to turn slightly, enough to see the man that was dragging him across the deck now. He was huge, with arms like a wrestlers and a torso the size of an elephant. His long, greasy black hair was tied back in a pony tail and his face was absolutely over grown with a bushy black beard and mustache. His eyes were dark brown and cold, obviously filled with hate and a lot of anger.

There were men much like this one all over the deck, working the sails, cleaning the floor, and fighting. There was a lot of fighting. They looked like a motley crew, but something about them said that if they ever managed to be serious, they would look very terrifying. Where were the guests, the spectators? If they weren't working or something, then why were the keeping up the act of pirates? "Look men, we got ourselves a stowaway!" The entire ship fell silent as the men all turned to stare at the man who had magically appeared on their ship.

Then someone laughed. A dark, menacing laugh. The whole crew soon followed suite. "That fool! He dared to stowaway on this ship?" "Does he know who our captain is?" "Nothing but a cold, dark death waits for you now!" One of the men stepped forward. "Eh, where did you find the lad? He looks well fed and well rested, why the hell would he need top stowaway?" The large man shrugged, the motion bringing the blade closer against America's throat. "How should I know? I say, we tell our good captain and enjoy ourselves a plank walk!"

America didn't like the sound of this. What kind of crazy shit did England get him into? England and his stupid magic. This was bound to happen at some point though. The crew cheered as a smug looking pirate moved from the wheel to approach America. "Why ello there, sir. I'm the first mate on this here vessel. For the short while that you will know me, you may call me Finn. As I'm sure you've gathered, we are pirates. But not just any pirates, oh no. Our captain is well known and feared. You will know him the moment you see him, and his face shall be the last you see before you jump to your watery grave. Johnson, tell the captain of our little friend."

A small boy's eyes widened to the size of saucers as he ran to open a door under the wheel that opened to a small hallway. He disappeared to supposedly get this 'captain'. America was totally lost now. Could they break character for even a moment to explain what was happening? And who the hell was watching anyway? This was all getting a little ridiculous, even for him.

The cabin boy reappeared, looking horribly frightened. "He's coming!" The men, who only seconds ago had been in lounging and fighting and laughing, all got into two perfectly straight lines on either side of the door standing tall and alert. The big man that was now holding Alfred in a choke hold, dragged him to the end of the line and faced the door. Heavy footsteps could be heard behind the door and even America was anxious to know who could inspire these animals to look like soldiers.

The door finally flew open, and a rather imposing figure stepped into the sunshine. He wasn't very tall but what he lacked in height was made up for in presence. He wore heavy black boots and an outfit straight from a pirate movie. The long coat was blue and red and around his waist were two pistols- like the OLD pistols. None of this was what made Alfred's mouth drop to the floor though. It was the face. Under the captain's hat was a mess of golden hair that messily fell around his face, just barely covering huge eyebrows. Two emerald green eyes glared at him in what looked like a mix of pleasure and detest. His mouth was curved up in a slight smile, more of a smirk. After ogling for a moment, America found his voice. Just above a whisper, America muttered, "England?"