"Mmph."
"It stirs," America said dramatically.
Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Britain sat up. "…What?"
"It speaks!"
"It tells America to shut the hell up!"
"Yes. Yes it does."
Britain looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was in his own bed, and aside from the armchair beside the bed, which now seated America, having been dragged in from the living room his bedroom looked otherwise unchanged.
"What happened?"
America looked at him weirdly. "You were sleeping. What else would you do in a bed?"
Britain sat up and threw his pillow at him. "I know that! I meant why are you here?"
"Because you love me so much. It might also be because it's illegal in most states to leave kids under the age of seven home alone."
Britain looked down at himself and gave an awkward sigh. "I guess I hadn't dreamed all of that," he murmured with mild disappointment. Then he quickly started yelling again. "So you just stayed here overnight without even asking? You are insufferable, America! Insufferable!"
America laughed. "You do realise I slept upright in a lumpy British-made chair last night, don't you? Be nice." He grinned. "Although I have to admit, I had no idea kids were so cute when they yelled! Hang on," he said, pulling out his phone and turning on the video recorder. "Keep doing that!"
"Give me that thing!"
"No way! The hero never relinquishes his treasu-"
Britain leapt off the foot of the bed and hurled himself at America, who caught him easily and thus prevented him from grabbing the camera. He scowled.
America set him down again. "At any rate: Good morning, Britain. Did you sleep well?"
Britain hated to admit it – and would never do so to anybody except himself – but once the teasing was out of the way America was being extremely helpful. Opening doors when he couldn't reach the handle, reading…as well as everything else Britain had forgotten how to do on his own, like tying shoelaces. The teeth-brushing was the most embarrassing; he tried not to linger on the memory.
"So, dude." When Britain was finally presentable – he was wearing an oversized t-shirt since the only clothes that fit him were the ones that had shrunk with him yesterday – America slumped back onto the couch, Britain sitting cross-legged on the floor where his armchair had been before America moved it. "What's the game plan? Any new ideas?"
Britain looked thoughtful. "I…" He looked up sharply. "America, I want to get one thing clear. You are not, under any circumstances, to tell anybody about this!" His voice was almost a plea.
America looked a little offended. "I wouldn't do that. You can trust me, you know; I'm the he-"
"Yes, I've been told." He sighed. "Okay, so if you can't find anything in the book, before I get down to spell-writing I think we should call Romania and Norway – they might know something that can help."
America frowned. "Why Romania and Norway?"
"Because they're…"
"Ah, I get it; they're part of your little magic club."
Britain gritted his teeth. "Yes, and I can trust them; we may not be particularly close but it's club code to not go around talking about magical blunders made by other members."
"What about Russia? He's into magic too, isn't he?"
Britain just glowered at him. "That's not even funny."
Britain hadn't been expecting much, but it didn't remedy his disappointment when Norway and Romania were just as clueless as he was; they had, after all, learned from the same sources. And as Britain would rather re-live his entire childhood than ask Russia for help, they were back to square one.
It was almost midday when America finally pushed the book away from himself and declared that there was nothing in it that could help. Britain, who had been restlessly pacing the rooms of his house until this point, took this as an excuse to throw an enormous temper tantrum.
"I can't believe that's all you've got to say for five hours of reading!" he wailed, punching America in the stomach repeatedly. "Five hours! Read the bloody thing again; there has to be something! Anything!"
"Britain…" America picked the boy up, feeling incredibly silly. This elicited another infuriated squeal and a rather unpleasant tug on Nantucket, which made America cringe. "I'm sorry, I really am, but this isn't helping."
"Wanker! This is extremely undignified! Let me go!"
For all his squirming, America was just too strong. After a while he managed to settle down and finally stopped struggling. His head now clear of frustration, he started moping.
"I'm sorry about all of this, America," Britain mumbled.
America ignored this. "Okay, so you said you would be able to create a spell of your own to counteract the one in the book. How long would you say that takes?"
"I don't know exactly; all the age-altering spells I've used in the past have been specifically written to alter age. Those kinds of spells are actually pretty easy to reverse." He grinned, remembering Korea. The other Asian nations had enjoyed having him as a child so much that they let it go on for weeks before reluctantly asking Britain to change him back. "But spells regarding innermost desires are actually a lot trickier because anything can happen – thinking about it now, it really was a bad idea to try and use one."
"So…ETA for the thing? A day? Two?"
Britain didn't answer. America shook him impatiently. Britain answered.
"Closer to a week or more; I'd have to test it out."
America groaned. "Great. So I'm stuck being your babysitter."
Britain's first instinct was to reply harshly with a comment along the lines of, 'maybe if you had just knocked this wouldn't have happened', or 'you think you've got it bad?'. After all, didn't he have the right to?
But that...just didn't seem right. Instead, he found himself staring at the closest thing available, which happened to be the collar of America's jacket. "No, America," he murmured. "You're not; this is my problem. You don't need to help me. I don't want to owe you."
Unexpectedly, America gave him a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry about it, okay, dude? That was harsh; I shouldn't have said it and it's not how I really feel – you know how I am with sarcasm." He hesitated. "Britain, listen very carefully – and I can't believe I'm about to say this – I want to help you, and you're smart enough to know that you won't be able to do this on your own. Don't worry about owing me." He grinned. "After all, you spent a century and a half lookin' after me. What's a week or two got on that?"
And then, out of nowhere, Britain burst into tears and flung his arms around his former brother. "I'm sorry, America! I never meant for this to happen. I don't know why you're being so nice to me, but…but…thank you. I don't deserve it; I've been nothing but rude to you since this happened." He mumbled his last sentence into the fabric of America's jacket. "It means a lot that you're staying with me through this."
America gave a soft smile and unconsciously began rocking the boy back and forth. "This isn't anybody's fault – least of all yours. You just focus on getting yourself fixed and I'll focus on everything else."
Sniffling, Britain nodded. "Okay. Let's do this."
"So this…" Britain picked up the page containing the original spell, which America had ripped clean out of the book, much to its owner's distaste. "…is all we have to work with for the time being."
"Which reminds me – what language is it in?"
The two of them were hunched over the living room table again. America would have much preferred to set up base camp sprawled across the floor, but Britain would not have it, muttering something about manners and composure. At this last question, Britain frowned. "The letters are in our alphabet, but it's a rare dialect of Latin, I think."
"It needs to be translated into American," he stated matter-of-factly.
"It's called English, you moron," Britain muttered.
America ignored this and took the paper from Britain. "I'll read it out to you-"
"No!" Britain hissed, making America jump. "No, that's a bad idea. Don't do that." He took it back, staring hatefully at the letters that his brain utterly refused to form into any kind of words, Latin or not. It was immensely frustrating; he recognised each letter there, they just…didn't mean anything to him anymore. He ground his teeth together.
On top of his forgetting how to read, brush his teeth, tie his shoelaces and every other everyday skill that stupid ball of magic had decided a child didn't need, and his newfound physical inability to open doors and carry heavy loads, Britain was starting to feel the psychological effects of his transformation as well. If the tantrums and sudden onset of sweet tooth hadn't been obvious enough to alert him already, that was.
It scared him. He didn't like feeling like some little kid. It had been hard enough the first time.
He looked up over the page at America, who was still watching him intently. It was almost scary how helpful the other country had been, and how patient, and how…understanding. Britain almost grimaced; it felt totally unnatural even thinking those words in the same sentence as America's name. But it was true.
He pondered this as he handed the page back to America. Maybe having a kid around was bringing out a side of the younger country that had never previously had an opportunity to show. After all, America had spent most of his life as the youngest of the family, the one in need of looking after. By the time Britain had adopted any other major colonies like Australia and New Zealand, America was already gone.
Britain's mind lingered on this thought. Maybe what America had been lacking in his upbringing had been a responsibility; somebody to care for. Britain hated to admit it, but he was actually doing a…relatively good job in the role of 'big brother'.
He shook his head to clear it and turned his attention back to the task at hand. "Okay, this is what we'll do; read out bits and pieces of it, I'll tell you what they mean and you can write them down again. It shouldn't activate by just being read aloud but I'm not taking any chances. That sound good?"
"Good-o. Let's see…Rises sicko celebrate-ee-oh voss ess i-do-ne-us…"
Rare dialect of Latin = Latin according to cheap online translator websites ;3 God I love the internet \o/
Sorry for the long wait -_- Wanna know something weird? Apparently, society expects me to participate in this new and groovy thing called a 'life'. I know, right? Crazy. I'd be much happier if I could just write D';
I'd just like to say: the closest I have ever been to America is flying above his place on a trip to...um...what's the name of Kumajirou's owner? You know, America's brother...anyway, yeah, that guy. My point is, I'm terribly sorry if I have offended any Americans in this chapter :D Or British people, but I have actually been there so I can't use that excuse ^_~ I was trying to keep the two of them in character~ I hope I wasn't too offensive ;D Although honestly, with Hetalia, offence is pretty much a given ;P
Anyways, thanks so much for reading :D It makes me so excited that people are actually reading this weirdo thing I've cooked up x3 I know this chapter wasn't the best, buuuut…it was fun to write, so I hope you enjoyed it :'D
Thanks again o/
~IA
