Chapter 2: Little Mistakes
England jolted awake from his position on the stool in America's room, China's angry screams assaulting his ears when America and China finally got home that evening. A lot of questions shot through England's mind at the moment – such as exactly how long he was asleep – but more importantly, what was wrong with China?
Cursing to himself for letting America out of his sight, England quickly stood up and headed into the hallway. But after taking his first step outside the door, China shoved past England on a frantic run to his room. England was taken off guard and stumbled over the rug in America's room.
"Stupid America!" China barked as he ran, not really caring who or what got in his way. The furious nation bolted into his own room and slammed the door shut behind him. He had no intention of coming out for quite a while…or at least until he managed to change into some new not ruined clothes.
England slowly got back up, muttering irritated words to himself, when America came bounding up the stairs. "What did you do now?!" England snapped at the younger nation. America looked like he was trying to head to his room without being seen, but he froze in mid-step and turned slowly around to face England.
The free nation lowered his head, his blue eyes level with England's now. "I, umm...I-I might have made a miscalculation in that plan, somewhere..."
"I KNOW that, you dimwit! I'm asking you now, what did you DO!?" England raised his voice, obviously upset at the other nation. America jumped back and raised his hands in defense.
"I-I might have...tried to dress China...as a girl to…" America swallowed hard and took another step back, England's anger rising with each second that passed. "...to trick Germany and Italy," he laughed nervously, sweat starting to bead up on his forehead. "It-It looked promising!"
"Fool...Bloody fool." England glared. "You actually thought Germany was that stupid!? I could come up with better plans then you in my sleep!" he shouted as he took a daunting step closer to America.
"So why's Germany still undefeated, then~?" America taunted, crossing his arms at the steaming gentlemen. Though, inside, he had to admit that he was a little afraid of England's anger.
"Don't be a smartass, America!" England jerked his head upwards, marching past America and heading down the hall to check on China. "I have my own idea of what to do this time! As for now, you're just plain grounded!"
America laughed heartily and headed downstairs. "You can't ground me~! I'm a free nation remember? Not your little kid anymore!"
A little part of England hated that America was grown. Another little part still wanted America to be his child again.
Oh, did he miss those days.
From downstairs, America could hear his fatherly figure shouting at him to do whatever he wanted.
France sat on the couch reading what appeared to be a dirty magazine, but at the same time, he could not help but overhear England and America's shouting match. He snickered a little after seeing the tired American walking down to the kitchen. "It appears I missed out on all the fun. I should have gone with you to Germany's place."
"What? Were you gonna try and stop me?" America asked while sticking his head into the refrigerator and pulling out different items. He ended up feeling a bit guilty for what he did, so he wanted to try and make it up to everyone by cooking some of China's favorite dishes.
"No, no. Nothing like that," France laughed, looking back down at his magazine. "It just sounded interesting seeing China as a girl. I could have snapped a few pictures of that for myself~"
"Figures."
Germany had left the basket of various wines on the table, wondering if it was actually safe to drink. "We better just leave these alone for a while. There's no telling what they were thinking," he said as he searched the kitchen for a place to put the basket. He might as well have been speaking to a brick wall, as Italy did not pay any attention to his words – only moments later, a projectile cork smacked into the back of his blonde head. "Ack-Italy!" he yelped as he turned around, rubbing the back of his head.
And there stood the Italian, swallowing down the deep red contents of one of the bottles as if it were a glass of milk. His cheeks flushed as a relaxed smile spread across his face from the pleasant taste.
"Italia!"
Italy's face brightened up as he finally lowered the bottle. "Ahh, that was SO good~!" he gasped delightedly, a tiny hiccup escaping his throat. He had a small trickle of the red liquid dripping down a corner of his mouth. "Hey, Germany! This is the same kind of wine France likes!" he stumbled his way towards the now-frightened German. "Come on, try it! Don't be so stiff~!"
"No, put that down! You're making yourself drunk!" Germany replied gruffly, fighting to take the bottle from Italy. "ITALIA!"
The next thing Germany knew, Italy was crying hysterically on the floor and holding onto the bottle as if his life depended on it. Too late. He WAS drunk.
...That's some pretty potent stuff. Or perhaps Italy simply could not hold his liquor. Who can say?
"Waaah~! But-But what if it was from Big Brother France!?" Italy whined pathetically; his might being no match for Germany's. The bottle was easily taken from his grasp and, having to hold onto something, latched himself onto both of Germany's legs.
"Even if it was from France, do you really want to trust him with-Hey! Italy!" Germany stumbled around, unable to pry the drunken Italian off him. "St-stop it! You're going to make me tr-"
Unable to get Italy to let go, the German ended up losing his balance and fell onto his back, the wine bottle slipping from his grasp and shattering all over the floor. A blubbering, drunken Italy cried out in apology.
There was practically steam evaporating off Germany's head as he still attempted to push the young man away. "Just...calm down...and take a shower," he spoke through clenched teeth, resisting the urge to whack Italy upside the head again.
It took a while, but Germany finally convinced Italy to calm down and go take a cold shower to clear his head. In the meantime, Germany stayed downstairs to, yet again, clean up after Italy. Surely one of these days, Italy would learn...he thought.
Hell, Italy was back to sobbing and yelling over the coldness of the shower. Germany yelled back up at him to stop crying for what seemed like the thousandth time.
By the end of the day, both nations would surely have massive headaches.
By early evening, England's kitchen was filled with smoke. Now that damn American set the kitchen on fire!? What else was he planning!? He headed down after hearing both France and America's screams of fright, and China sped downstairs as well.
Here stood America, trying to put out the flames with his coat, screaming at France to save some of the food. This only managed to set a good pair of oven mitts on fire as well. England's voice boomed as he started putting out the massive flames with the extinguisher.
"DAMN IT ALL, AMERICA!"
England not only sprayed the foamy mess all over the flames – putting them out – but all over the younger nation as well. France quickly ducked behind America to avoid the white mess.
"That was a pretty interesting turn of events!" France laughed after all the commotion had stopped, after coming out from behind America. He laughed a little at America and the mess of the kitchen, but his laughter ceased completely when both the American and Englishman's glares were aimed at him. "Ahh, well, umm... " he stuttered, pointing to America again in a panic. "He started it!"
"Yeah, I know that!" England huffed, throwing the extinguisher onto the floor in anger, creating a loud banging sound and a new dent in the floor. "What do you have to say for yourself NOW, Alfred!?"
America hesitantly picked up the plate of food he'd been trying to make. It looked as bad as the scones England made daily. No, even worse, the more he stared at it. "I-I was just trying to make dinner for everyone to apologize...mainly to you, China," he said in a small and childlike voice, holding out the burnt plate of what was most likely inedible food to the Chinese man.
China simply turned his face away from the disgusting not-quite-food. "I'm not touching that!" he said sourly. "And don't think I'm going to forgive you that easily!"
"Yeah, yeah...I know..." America sighed, placing the plate aside. "Well fine then. What should we do now?"
"WE aren't doing anything, you twit!" England snapped, grabbing a mop and bucket and throwing them America's way. "YOU are cleaning up this mess!"
The American caught the mop and bucket as they were thrown, his head lowered again. A sad nod of agreement was all he offered as he trailed off to clean the kitchen. It was going to take half the night, he just knew it.
The room went quiet again. The only sounds heard besides America's mop was the grumbles of empty tummies from the lack of edible food. France laughed quietly and, with a flick of his blonde hair, made his way back into the kitchen. "Silly Americans. This is why you always let me do the cooking~"
"No one asked you, Francis," England mumbled with a glare.
France laughed a little louder. "That goes for you too~!"
Despite the mess everywhere, France began to make dinner for the household. China and England could only stand back and watch at this point, praying that nothing else would go wrong today.
It was very late at night by this point. The kitchen was, once again, cleaned to perfection. A real dinner was cooked and being served and France was simply gloating at his work the entire time.
"Yes, yes, as I always say, some just are not meant to cook like yours truly~!"
"Careful France, I can see your head inflating," China rolled his eyes, eventually sitting down at the table and thanking France for the food. It took a moment to realize that America was still not at the table with them. "...where's America?"
"Sleeping on the floor," France smirked.
England sighed and stood up. "And you just left him there?"
"I was cooking."
England merely rolled his eyes and went back into the kitchen to check on the tired nation. He was still just as France left him – curled up on the floor with the mop and bucket still in his grasp. America's face and hair were both a total mess. In a way, though, it looked rather cute. It reminded the British Gentleman of his days raising America. The young child was always getting himself dirty from playing outside, but such is their nature.
England patted the younger nation on the head gently, waking him up slightly. "Come on, you little bugger. Up you go," he chuckled, helping lift his tired friend back to his feet. Yet again, America's weight was leaning on England for support as they both went upstairs. "Let's get you to bed."
"Ahh...Mmm...what...what about dinner...?" America muttered; his body sore from cleaning up after himself. England's voice was nice and soft for a change...almost caring.
"You can eat later, I promise," the Gentleman hushed him, dragging him back off to bed. "Let's not have any more accidents now. You'd most likely end up choking on any foot you attempt to eat right now."
"Very funny..."
With America asleep for the night, England snuck his way into the basement. It was now his turn to plan a surprise attack on Germany! He'd show them all. Gentlemen could be heroes too.
And what better way to prove this than with magic!
England's skills in magic had developed very much over time and, needless to say, he was quite pleased with himself as of the late. He'd even learned new spells and found ones in books that he had yet to try. This cellar of his was old, but it was still full of many things he could use – Germany being his target for the moment.
That was just what he was going to do tonight. This was his big chance!
As always, England put on his cloak and readied himself for a new spell. "Alright, then! Here we go!" he declared. "Let this one hit him with all its might! Let it shrink him down only to be crushed to pieces!" laughing darkly, he muttered an incantation and things started happening. Various rays of light and colors and designs appeared around him as his cloak fluttered in a nonexistent breeze. After some time, a bright orange beam of light shot up through the ceiling, cutting through the air and blasting into the sky...
England simply looked up, pleased with himself. He removed his hood and hoped for the best.
...However, the curse was headed slightly off-course...
"Ugh...G-Germany...my head hurts," the Italian groaned, lying sideways across a nearby chair. Germany had been cleaning the dark green glass and red wine from the kitchen floor while Italy showered.
"Well, of course it does," Germany said bluntly, coming back over with a wet towel and placing it on Italy's head. "No more wine for you for a while."
Italy looked saddened again, starting to sniffle and hiccup the more worked up he got. "But...but... you drink beer all the time!"
"I can handle it better then you-Hey! Italy! Put down the bottle!" he yelled, kneeling down next to his friend, who had idly reached over and grabbed another bottle from the basket. Italy was still crying, along with swinging around a bottle at this point.
"Nyaa! You never let me have any fuuuuun!" he shouted. Germany leaned over towards Italy, trying to avoid being hit with the bottle.
"Italia! You're not thinking clearly right now! Give me tha-"
In a swift and sudden movement, the Italian suddenly flipped over and wrapped his arms around Germany, the bottle still secure in his right hand. Germany blushed at the touch but did not move a muscle, more startled by this sudden hug than he had expected. Italy buried his head into Germany's chest, listening to the sounds of the calming heartbeat.
"It...aly...?"
The young man moaned, the bottle still being waved around idly with one hand while the other held onto Germany as if the world would end if he let go.
"Germany smells nice..." he sniffed, an almost sad smile on his face, or, it would have been a sad smile, if he wasn't still so drunk. Germany's right eye twitched and he felt like slapping him, but before he could, Italy muttered in a smaller voice that almost sounded angry, "Please, don't leave me again."
This statement raised many questions.
"Wh-What are you talking about? I never left you-"
Suddenly, unknown to the duo, the orange beam of light struck into the house. It was heading towards Germany, whatever nasty spell it was. As it drew closer, the bottle Italy was still swinging reflected the light and bounced the spell in the other direction!
The orange light bounced from the glass and exited through the open window with no harm done.
Germany saw the strange light out of the corner of his eye and he turned his head around to look for it, but saw nothing. Italy was still clinging onto the German.
"Wh-What...What in the world was that?" he questioned, mostly to himself, since Italy wasn't really listening right now.
Eventually, the bottle Italy held was gently placed back down into the basket, and Italy resumed hugging Germany with both his free arms. He mumbled a soft "sorry" under his breath, now starting to come back to his senses.
"It's alright now. You're alright," the German promised, lightly draping his arms around Italy, fearing Italy may throw up if he did so any harder. "Come on now. Can you stand?" he asked softly. Clearly, Italy had learned his lesson on drinking the hard way.
No reply. Looking down, he saw that the Italian was asleep once again, a smile still lingering on his pinkened face.
"I'll take that as a no," Germany mumbled quietly. Unable to take advantage of his sleepy friend, Germany quietly lifted him up into his arms. He carried Italy off to bed, resisting almost all his urges to baby the sleeping nation. Some things simply couldn't be avoided.
The beam of light sped back in the direction it came from. Its journey would not be complete until it cursed a target! Aimed for England's house, it was flying out of control and eventually it shot into one of the open bedroom windows...
...and hit the still sleeping America.
America screamed out after being hit, falling out of his bed and onto the floor, taking his blankets with him in the process.
Everyone else in the house must have heard, but they were so deep in sleep at this point that most of them simply shrugged it off. All of the nations except England, that is. He practically jumped out of his skin when America screamed like that.
Not entirely sure what might have happened, he hurried upstairs and slammed open the door to the younger nation's room. "AMERICA!" he shouted in fright, "Are you alright!?"
There sat a tiny wiggling lump under a thick bundle of blankets on the floor. It was shifting around anxiously, trying to get out from under the blankets. "England? W-What hit me?" America asked, his voice sounding smaller and smaller by the minute, no longer an adult-sounding voice in the least.
England's heart thumped away in his throat. Frozen in place, he just stood there while America's squeaky voice got a little more angry.
"England! What's going on? Get me out of this!"
Without a word, the British gentleman stood over the moving blankets and slowly lifted them off, his worst fears coming to life as he stared down at the tiny nation. A look of guilt was splayed all over his face.
"What happened to you!?" America shouted, trying to stand up while realizing his voice was starting to make less and less sense. "Wh-What's happening to me?!" he managed to choke out, looking down at his tiny body that was buried in a white undershirt, then back up at England's. "When did you get so tall!?"
England leaned down and easily picked America up, biting his lip in anxiety. With the tiny nation still trying to shout out words which were no longer normal speech, the British man walked him to the bathroom and turned the small boy directly towards the mirror. He hesitated for a minute or two before speaking.
"...I believe I may have, err...shrunken you," he said with a small voice, holding the baby America in his trembling hands.
America's tiny eyes widened as he stared at his reflection. The baby nation could only make a small whimpering sound at this point, and his blue eyes promptly filled with tears. He simply threw his head back into England's chest and screamed. What more could America possibly do in this state?
He screamed, he cried, he kicked his tiny feet back and forth as the last bits of his adult mind left him. They were replaced by the mind of the baby he once was.
England just stood there dumbly, unable to even cover his own ears. He could only pull America close to his chest and rock him gently like he used to. "Shh, shh...there, there. Co-Come on now! It's alright...!" he stuttered to bring any words at all out of his mouth. "It's NOT okay, you bloody fool!" he thought to himself, "He could be stuck like this for the rest of his life! It's all your fault in the first place!" England's thoughts bounced around as he held America, his anxiety growing as America continued shrieking. However, as his screams and kicks died down, England found himself oddly comforted.
It had been so long since he had held America in his arms like this. He'd completely forgotten what it was like to be a dad. What was he going to do about this?!
France and China both sleepily arrived from the halls to stare at England and a now-sleeping baby America. Both of them stayed in a state of shock, with dropped jaws and wide eyes.
"What the panda..." China's eye twitched. The house went silent for what seemed like an eternity.
"Okay...I don't know what happened, but I am NOT changing any diapers!" France blurted out, breaking the uneasy silence in the night air. He earned himself a few glares before everyone disbursed for the night.