A/N- Hello again! Sorry I haven't updated in a while, I've been bogged down with physics coursework (thankfully that's now out of the way!) and then fanfiction decided to not let me access my edit story area. Luckily I've discovered a workaround to access the 'add new chapter' page, so I can post again! Woohoo! Oh yeah, this chapter started out great, but I'm too tired to put as much effort into finishing it... I just had to sit a 3 hour English Language mock exam so I'm worn out... but I didn't want to leave this unposted any longer. And I'm making pancakes tonight! Yay!

Anyway, please read, review if you want, and pray to God that the Hetalia calendar I ordered doesn't turn out to actually be a marriage registration form. Adieu!

Disclaimer- If Hetalia was mine, the closing credits to the movie would be the closing credits to every episode- I love that dance! But it's not. Boo.

England's Trains

The blond yawned as he slouched back in the cold, hard seat. Crossing his legs, he felt his eyes begin to drift close. They felt heavy and ached as if they'd blinked solidly for twenty four hours. His mouth slackened slightly, and he knew for certain that he was about to fall asleep. The trials of the last day had certainly taken their toll on him; endless squabbling, ranting and sighing at the stupidity of others was more tiring than you'd think. Shielding his eyes with the back of his forearm from the glare of the indoor lighting, he gave up his struggle and allowed his eyes to fall shut.

"Wake up you stupid crétin! Do you want to miss our train?"

The world swung back as forth as his body was shaken violently. Gloved fingers grasped around his shoulders and his neck hurt from the jarring force. His mouth fell open and a cry of "Uwaaah!" escaped from it. Green eyes snapped open, gazing in surprised terror at the man whose hands had been gripping his shoulders for an unnecessary amount of time, and whose fingers did appear to be subtly trying to grope him.

"GET THE HELL OFF ME, YOU WANKER!"

France pulled back, startled by the loud noise emitted from the furious Englishman. His precious locks swayed before his eyes as he blinked in astonishment at the now red-faced, writhing mass in his grip. It felt like an eternity as England squirmed and wriggled in his seat, cursing France, the French and everything to do with his most hated country, before the Brit finally calmed down and sat still, chest heaving and green eyes glaring daggers as he glowered up at the blue-eyed country.

"One of these days I swear I'm going to kill you, git." The Englishman's voice was monotone as he glared down the frog.

It took a few moments for France to respond. He wasn't quite sure how to react. Sure he was used to England's grumpiness and death threats, but looking at how exhausted the man seemed, he couldn't tell if this time would be the final straw or not. Eventually, after was seemed like years of internal debate, he settled upon his reply.

Grasping England's shoulder with one hand, he met his gaze eye-to-eye. A tiny, perverted grin cracked the corner of his mouth, and his eyebrows waggled suggestively. "Oh come on, England. You know you like it…"

"Bugger off!"

With a sigh, the Englishman batted away the frog-eater and stood up, brushing down his trousers. Turning around, he adjusted his bags to make sure they would stand alone, and were close enough to France for no-one to think to steal them, before he angled himself in the direction of the departures board a few metres away and set about pacing over. He took relatively long strides, and in a matter of half a minute was viewing the list of trains and platforms. His French companion watched him study the board with a mixture of sadness and curiosity. He seemed to have upset the Englishman with his antics, and while it was always a laugh to see England get flustered, part of him hated it when it drove the man off, even if was only a matter of metres away.

Meanwhile, green eyes were still roving down the mass of orange electronic letters. England muttered the list to himself under his breath as he read, mouth moving quickly as his eyes scanned the board. His hands were firmly shoved into his pockets against the chill of the breeze channelling down the platform and his cheeks were still tinged faintly with pink from his humiliation at the hands of the wine git mere moments previously.

"Eighteen fifty-two. Edinburgh. Platform 8. On time. Eighteen fifty-five. Newcastle. 7b. On time. Eighteen fifty-seven. York. 16a. On time. Aha! Nineteen oh-one. London Kings Cross… Cancelled! What? !"

His eyes widened in surprise, and he felt his temper rising. In his pockets, his fists clenched. From the safety of his seat, France's eyes glittered as he recognised all too well the familiar signs of an England who was about to throw a tantrum.

"When's the next train to London then? … Eight o'clock! That's over an hour away! … And that's cancelled too! This is just- When's the next one after that…? Nine. On time… So I've got to wait two bloody hours! This is ridiculous! It's a bloody shambles! Those stupid wankers at the rail company can't be arsed to-"

He stopped, closing his eyes and pressing his fingers to his temples. Breathe in. And out. In. And out. Deep breaths. Calm down. Getting all worked up would get him nowhere. Besides, he was the United Kingdom. He knew that half the time his trains were late. They were part of his country! Looking up, he took note of the platform –same as the one they were currently on- and headed back to France.

He returned to his seat in silence, not even glancing at the Frenchman. After a few minutes, he spoke.

"Two hours," he informed him, despite the fact he was certain that the blond had heard his yells.

France nodded, doing his best to stifle a smirk. Keeping his eyes trained on the advertisement posted up in front of him, he contended himself with watching the Brit out of the corner of his eye.

They sat like that in silence for a whole five minutes, each of them itching to say something, but each too proud to speak and admit that they needed the company. Finally, going crazy with boredom (his bags only contained files and documents from meetings, all of the boring as hell) England opened his mouth to speak.

"Just bloody say something already!" he snapped, eyes darting harshly to the blue-eyed blond.

"Why, Angleterre, I didn't know you needed me so much…" France cooed, fluttering his eyelashes.

England's face flushed scarlet. He was redder than one of his post boxes.

"I don't need at all, you wine bastard! I just don't want to sit here for two hours with nothing to do!"

"We could play 'eye spy'…"

"No way in hell. Anyone who suggests playing eye spy should be shot."

France looked mock-hurt. "Even dearest moi?"

"Especially 'dearest' you."

France pouted but dropped it. There was only so much you could goad England on before he would refusing everything altogether.

"Well then, how should we pass the time?"

"I don't know. You think of something."

"Hmm…" France crossed his legs and rested on elbow on his hand, leaning his chin on his palm in thought and lightly stroking his cheek. "Why don't you tell me a story? Something that happened while I was not around? That way I can learn more about you."

"I know the sort of things you'd like to learn about me, and there's no way you're ever finding them out."

"Oh, silly England. You're such a pervert."

"You can talk."

"Just tell me a story, okay?"

England gave a sigh of resignation. "Fine. I'll tell you about the time I got dragged round to America's to play video games…"

ooo

"Awesome dude! I can't believe I got you to agree to play on my Xbox with me!" America beamed, turning on his controller.

England sighed, switching his own controller on. "I hardly call emotional blackmail a fair tactic."

"But it worked, didn't it?"

The Brit rolled his eyes.

"Okay, just lemme put my username in…" America mumbled, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he frowned and fumbled with the controller, trying to insert a miniature keyboard into the base.

England facepalmed. "Why don't you just enter it on the screen? And I thought those things signed you in automatically anyway."

"They do but I accidentally logged out earlier."

"Idiot."

"Alright then!" America grinned, brushing off the Englishman's last comment like crumbs from a sofa. Pushing his glasses back up his nose a bit, he smiled widely at his former carer before turning his attention back to the screen and tapping his username in on his keyboard.

England couldn't help but smile a little back. Damn, America's happiness was contagious at times. He too, glanced back to the screen, reading his 'little brother's' username as he typed it in.

"Pro… rapid… ve- ven- ven- … What the hell does that say? !"

"Prorapidvenomzsniperznoscopes," America replied as if nothing seemed wrong.

England just stared confusedly at the screen. On it, America had entered Pr0-RaP1d-V3n0mZ-Sn1P3rZ-n0-Sc0p3zzz.

"Say it a little slower…?" he asked, still trying to wrap his brain around the horribly confusing combination of characters and digits.

"Pro. Rapid. Venomz. Sniperz. No. Scopes."

"And what the bloody hell's that when it's at home then?"

"I dunno." America shrugged. "I just made it up."

England stared at the blue-eyed American, baffled.

Sometimes he wondered about the world. He really did.

ooo

"Well, that was certainly entertaining," France commented sarcastically as England finished his story.

"Oh I'm sorry," the Brit huffed, folding his arms and frowning. "I didn't know you wanted to be entertained."

"That was the whole idea of this storytelling, non? Besides, I was hoping for a story with a little more spice to it- a little more ooh la la…"

"Piss off."

It seemed certain that the two were about to start squabbling again. Fortunately for everyone nearby, England's phone chose that exact moment to ring.

"Blast all," the Brit cussed, looking at the caller ID. "What does that bloody America want now."

Fumbling to flip his phone open, he held it up to his ear, shot a warning look at France, and then answered.

"Yes?"

The Frenchman looked on as the Englishman seemed to listen to something. There was what seemed to be a lengthy explanation of their circumstances, followed by a lot of nodding and 'mm-hmm'ing. Finally, England's expression turned downright surprised. With a final, "Okay then," he hung up, arm slowly dropping to his side as he turned his head to look at France. His expression was completely bewildered.

"That was America…" he said, voice rendered monotone with shock. "He accidentally knocked a pylon down onto the London line not far out from this station with his plane, and he wants to know if we'd like a lift in it…"

A/N- Hi again! By the way, Pr0-RaP1d-V3n0mZ-Sn1P3rZ-n0-Sc0p3zzz was supposed to be one word without the dashes, but ffn wouldn't let me put that for some reason, so pretend the dashes aren't there, please?