Disclaimer: "Hetalia" is copyright of Hidekaz Himaruya

Hetalia: Bound By Chaos

Chapter 01 – Sibling

"Matthew! No fair!"

"It's so fair! I got the puck before you did!"

"Boys, please…" England sighed as he watched America and Canada play a no-holds-barred hockey game on the frozen swimming pool in their backyard, "Can't you just play without making too much of a ruckus?"

"Arthur, let them have their fun," France mock-scolded, chuckling as Canada pounced onto America; watched them roll-and-tumble on the ice like a pair of rowdy puppies. The Englishman playfully rolled his eyes and resumed reading his novel, lounging in a nearby lawn chair. Normally he'd stay indoors on a cold winter's day, but he thought for once he would like a different environment.

…this ended up to be quite a bad idea.

Whack! Whoosh!

"Watch it!" England yelled, ducking slightly as the puck sailed just an inch over his blond hair. "Sorry!" America apologized; Canada quietly chuckled as he got off the ice to grab the puck.

England rubbed his temple, muttering that if anyone is looking for him he'd be at his usual spot; picked up his novel and walked indoors with France following behind. "It's not that I don't like being outdoors – I just don't want to end up being a victim of their game," the Englishman stated before the Frenchman could ask. "It's not like it never happened to you before," France snickered. He then decided to prepare some hot cocoa and disappeared into the kitchen.

The Englishman had just re-kindled the fire in the living room's fireplace and settled into his armchair when the doorbell rang. At first he ignored it, thinking it could be some traveling salesman offering his wares. His curiosity peaked when it rang again, this time sounding more urgent.

"Are any of you expecting anything or anyone?" he called out. "Not me…" France replied, cursing as he slightly burned himself on the heated kettle. "I don't think so," America replied as he and Canada walked in, leaving their snow-clad boots at the door.

'Then who could that be?' England thought, getting off his chair and rushing to the door as it rang repeatedly. "Alright, alright, I'm coming!" he called out, unlocking the door, "Have a little patience, will you –"

His words got caught in his throat as he looked into emerald orbs, matching his own. He stepped back and took note of the visitor: it was a young woman with long golden-blonde hair flowing down her back. Her attire consisted of a dark-green long-sleeved shirt under a black corsage, held closed by a matching green ribbon; a black knee-length skirt fluttered around her; black moccasins were the only things covering her feet, her legs exposed to the chilly winter wind.

But it was not her appearance that shocked him or the fact she's not dressed for the weather. "It…can't be…" he finally breathed, gasping as the shivering woman fainted, fell forward and into his arms. "Alfred! Matthew! Francis! Get some blankets in here!" he ordered.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

20 minutes had passed…

England had the young woman wrapped in three blankets and laid on the couch near the fireplace; gently stroked her blonde locks as though worried she may be more fragile than she looks. 'How long were you out there in the cold...' he pondered, pulling his hand away as she finally stirred. "Arthur…" she whispered, coughing slightly.

"Ssh…don't strain yourself," he shushed, taking a steaming hot cup of lemon-infused tea from France while America helped her sit up. He smiled as she leaned forward and sipped, her eyes closed as she savored the warm beverage. "Thank you…" she spoke, her voice showing clear flu signs.

"Dude, how does she know your human name? Have you guys met before?" America asked, blue eyes darting between England and their visitor as he noticed several similarities.

…

…

…

"This young lady is my sister, Miranda – in country terms, she's known as Britannia," England finally replied. The shock resonating from the others caused him to chuckle. "Right…" he added, regaining his composure, "I never told you about her, did I?"

"So that would explain the picture I found in your study – hidden in one of your journals," France muttered, stepping back as the Englishman glared at him. "What were you doing in my study in the first place!" the latter demanded.

"Brother, please…" Britannia begged, coughing and sniffling into a tissue Canada lent her. "Sorry, love…" he whispered, stroking her hair once more; helped her finish her tea before lulling her to sleep. "If you don't mind, I'll watch over her tonight. And Alfred, that doesn't mean you can sneak into my chambers," England instructed.

"But I can't find my cellphone –"

"Then it should still be in yours. Why else would it be in mine?"

"Well…Matthew was playing Hide-and-Seek with it and –"

"I was not!" Canada argued. "Boys, that's enough. We can't argue about a silly little thing in the same room where Arthur is nursing a sick lady," France scolded, "Alfred, try cleaning your room for once and maybe you'll find your phone; Matthew, help him out."

The American and Canadian shrugged and walked out, both sharing playful punches along the way. "Just like when they were young countries…" the Frenchman sighed. Yawning, he decided to turn himself in for the night as well.

'Looks like I need to grab some shuteye myself…' England thought, grabbing an extra blanket and settling into his armchair; ensured it's facing his sleeping sister. As he drifted off, his mind popped up several questions: where was Britannia this whole time; what has she been up to; how did she end up here?

Little did he know he'll have all those answers…and more…