Very short A/N today!
So hey guys, I had three hours of rest at band camp, so I decided to send you this! It is not edited (as I didn't have time to), but I really wanted to post something, so here we are.
If you don't use gmail, everything with '_' around them (_example_) is italicized. Please excuse this monstrasity of no editing, but I've got to go! See you guys tomorrow! :D
Edit: I have edited this now, so it's all good. I'll be posting things today, no guarantee how much, though.
~PurpleLuna98
America yawned. "Empire, I'm crashin' at your place, and you don't have a guest room?"
"Sorry, Dad. I'll take the couch."
America laughed tiredly. "As long as you don't mind."
"I was planning to anyway." New York was in front of the mirror, attempting to towel out some of the hair dye in his hair that was sticking straight up.
"Night, York."
"Night Dad!" New York called. Sighing, he tossed another towel stained in red, white, and blue and picked up another puffy white one. This was going to be a while.
He heard a knock at the door. New York looked down at himself: no shirt and sweatpants. He still had his glove on that covered his wrist, so with the towel still in hand, he rushed to the door.
He opened it. "Hello-?"
New York was facing seven of the eight G8. The one who had knocked had been a man with slicked-back blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.
He blushed when he noticed that New York didn't have a shirt on. New York pretended not to notice. "Can I help you guys?" He asked in his thick Brooklyn accent.
The man he despised the most stepped forward. New York narrowed his eyes at the eyebrows atop his forehead. Man, did New York hate this guy. "Yes, is Alfred Jones' home?"
"Yeah man, but he's asleep. So if you could come back-"
"York, who's at the door?" A sleepy America asked from behind him. He had changed into a baggy tee-shirt that said 'you've got the right one, baby' and grey sweatpants.
"Go back to bed, Mr. Jones. You need to rest up." New York said in a fake-polite voice.
"Actually, Alfred we need to talk to you." England called over New York's shoulder - or more accurately, around since New York was taller than him.
America snapped awake at that. He looked at the man in the door, then waved them in. "Lance, comm'ere for a sec." He said once they closed the door. America walked into the hall, and New York followed.
"When did they get here?" America asked, crossing his arms.
"Couple seconds ago. I was about to tell 'em to piss off before ya showed your face." New York replied back, putting his white towel - slightly stained with dye - across his shoulders.
"Okay. Try to stay out of the room. Go back to rinsing that dye out or somethin'. Remember, you don't know about them."
New York nodded. "Sure, Dad."
With that, New York went back into the bathroom, and America returned to the room. He saw seven expectant faces looking back at him.
"So what's up guys? It's one in the mornin'." America pointed out.
"Alfred-kun, was that the DJ from the party?" Japan asked. For the second time that day, America cursed the man's perception.
"Yeah. He's a good friend of mine, so I'm crashin' with him."
"This is your apartment, da? Shouldn't he be staying with you?" Russia asked, smiling at America.
America rolled his eyes. "Nah, this has always been his apartment."
"Whatever. America, at the party, in the dance room-"
America cut England off with a groan. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that! I didn't know he'd overreact that much, or I wouldn't have left him alone with Italy!"
England's eyes narrowed. "Anyway, before he told us to get out, I thought I heard him call you 'Pa'."
America's eyes took on a serious tone for a second, then snapped right back to confusion. "Huh? What, no he couldn't have thought that!"
There was a noise from the hallway. Lance - still with half of his spikes left dyed - was standing in the doorway with a huge pile of soiled towels in his hands.
"Yo, Alfred an' company, sorry to interrupt, but I'm goin' to crash soon, and you guys are kinda takin' up my couch." He dumped the pile into a laundry shoot.
America sighed. "We'll be done soon, and if not, then I'll take the couch."
"I couldn't have that! You're my guest for once, and I want you to take the bed. I gonna wait in the kitchen 'til you guys are done." Lance took out his phone and started to walk towards the hall again.
America turned to face his company again, but then Lance called his name. "Yeah?"
"Don't forget about tomorrow. Ya don't wanna be stayin' up too late." And he was gone yet again.
America sighed. "Look, you guys, I know you think this is important, but I don't have any kids. Jayden didn't call me 'Pa', and Lance doesn't have any connection to me."
Russia's smile widened slightly. "We didn't say anything about Lance being related to you, da?"
"Right. Tell us the truth, America." England demanded.
"You guys don't believe me? Ask Lance." America said angrily, as if he was actually offended.
"Lance is probably in on this, da?"
"Hai. I am sorry, Alfred-kun, but it just fits together all too easily."
America rubbed his temple. "Fine, don't believe me. You can get out of my friend's house and leave the country right now if that's the case."
The countries stared at America, but he looked back up at them with an anger-laced glare.
The countries cleared out, but they were still suspicious of America's behavior.
New York woke up, his limbs sprawled across the couch. He looked at his clock: 8:37. Damn, he woke up early again. He sat up on the couch - which was surprisingly comfortable considering New York's style - and ran a hand through his hair. Unlike popular belief, New York's hair actually stood up on its own, and he didn't put hair gel in it. So running his hand through it was like running his hand through a porcupine's back (except a lot softer).
He stood slowly, then trudged over to the kitchen. He grabbed the coffee pot and plugged it in, then went over to the refrigerator to get the creamer.
When he returned, the coffee was brewing. He moaned, remembering the house (apartment) guest that was sleeping down the hall and his mood flips if he didn't get enough coffee in the morning.
"Excuse me, but could you pass the milk?" Someone asked. New York grabbed a knife (out of reflex!) and spun around.
There was no one but him in the kitchen. New York tilted his head, the scratched it. Maybe it was his imagination? Yeah, that must be it.
He turned back to the coffee pot. It was ready, so he poured himself a cup and put the required amount of creamer and sugar into it to make it delicious, then brought it to his lips. Mmmmm, delightful.
New York trudged down his hallway. He slammed open his bedroom door and flicked open the curtains. America moaned, and the covers moved on top of the bed.
"Come on, Dad." New York said, tying the curtain strings. "We have the party today, and I need to do things with you before it."
America moaned, realizing that he wasn't going to get out of this one. "Fine. Ten more minutes."
"Dad, you know as well as I do that ten minutes can turn into ten hours in a matter of seconds." New York said, walking over to the edge of the bed. There was one pillow missing, and New York would bet a million bucks that America was cuddling the pillow under the sheets, attempting to fall back asleep.
"Ten more..." America said lazily, shifting under the covers. New York ripped the covers off of the bed in one fluid motion.
His father was curled against a pillow, his arms around it, his head stuffed into it, and his knees along the bottom of it. He moaned loudly, causing New York to roll his eyes.
"I'll give you until five to get your ass up and moving."
"You can't to nothin' ta hurt me." America said as defiantly as he could with his face stuffed into a pillow.
"One..." New York looked over at the door. For a second, he had gotten the feeling that there was someone watching him from the doorway.
When he looked back at his father, he noticed he hadn't moved. "Two..."
There was a moan, and America shifted a little bit so that one of his sky blue eyes was squinting at New York.
"Three."
The bed was violently yanked out from under America, and the country was sent toppling to the ground. New York smiled mischievously as his father disappeared behind the other side of the bed with a rather loud THUD.
America's head popped up seconds later, his hair sticking in all directions and his cowlick looking like it belonged (for once). "What the hell, Empire?!"
"Told ya that ya had until three." New York said, putting the mattress back in its place.
America pouted pathetically. "That was mean, you know that I don't like mornings!"
"Face reality, Dad, no one likes mornings, but people deal with it."
America pouted again, and New York rolled his eyes. He walked to the door.
"Make sure to be out there by nine o' clock."
"How long does that give me?"
"Ten minutes." New York exited the room to the cussing of an American man as he hurriedly got up and ran out of the room, past New York, and towards the kitchen.
When New York entered the room, America was drinking New York's coffee and quickly making another. New York smiled. "Only two cups, Dad."
America whirled around in sudden anger. If it was anybody other than one of his states, then they would have known to run away at his glare. "I'll have more than just that, dammit."
"Finally waking up, are we?" New York asked, taking out a pan and placing it on the stove.
"Shut the fuck up and give me more coffee!"
"You'll just crash later if you have more, Dad. Just have some breakfast and you'll wake up." He walked to the fridge and got ham, cheese and eggs. He walked back to the stove after kicking the fridge closed.
"Fucking shitty bitchy bastard." America muttered, making himself a third glass. New York snatched it away deftly, took the coffee pot, and placed them on the other side of the stove.
"Dammit, Empire, give me the damn coffee pot!" America yelled.
New York cracked an egg. "No."
America stormed over to him and took his hair. New York was forced to look up at America, and New York resisted the urge to smirk at his father's anger that he barely ever showed. "Give. Me. The. Fucking. Coffee."
"I. Will. Not." New York said, keeping a calm demeanor against America's angry one.
"Dammit, Germany, let me go!" A voice yelled from very close next to the doorway. America and New York's heads both snapped over to the place.
America growled, and dropped New York. He brushed himself off - this was a usual occurrence, of course (minus the voices that New York had been hearing).
"England, you're here, aren't you?" America growled, walked slowly towards the spot that was by the doorway.
"Dad, no one is there." New York said, turning back to his eggs (which were still cooking). "Come and sit down."
"Empire, did you not hear the fucking voice that came from over here? If not, then your hearing is shit."
New York sighed. "Whatever you-"
America sniffed by the door, causing New York to turn around in bewilderment. "Dad?"
"I sense magic. It smells like invisibility magic. Damn, England must be here."
There was a crash by the fridge. America had tackled the air and was holding air down. "Dad?!"
"I got him!" America cried, easily holding the air down and occasionally moving as if it was thrashing.
"Dammit America, let me go!" The same voice that had spoken twice before said angrily. New York picked up an English accent.
"No fucking way. Why the hell were you spying on us?" America looked to his left, where a gun was floating (how had New York not noticed that before?!) in the air. "Put the gun down, Germany."
"Release England und explain yourzelf, ja?" The gun said. New York's head hurt.
America rolled off of the air. "Release the spell. Now."
"Fine." Two men from last night appeared after the voice muttered something. One New York recognized as England, and the other was obviously Germany.
"Now, explain yourselves this instant." America practically growled. England flinched and Germany shrunk a tad, though not noticeably.
"Dad, don't hurt them. I still won't give you coffee." New York said, now putting the eggs that the had made on a plate with cheese and ham mixed in.
"Empire, leave." America said calmly. New York knew immediately that America was fully awake.
"Why?" New York said, holding a plate out to him. His own was still on the counter. "Shouldn't I be here?"
America contemplated it. "Sit."
New York sat at the island that was in his kitchen. He started to help himself to his food as America did the same. The two other countries looked scared as hell of America's death glare.