A/N- Oh my gosh, sorry for the long wait before the update guys! I've been so busy with school work, and then three weeks ago I finished for summer, but I've been so busy with summer things and my birthday (July 15th, so I went to see the final Harry Potter on release day! In 3D! And I'm now 17! Yay!) that I haven't had time to write. And I've felt so... uninspired, too. But I'm over that now! Two hours for a oneshot like this is record time for me! And I've included a bonus extra at the end, to make up. Please enjoy!

This one was inspired by too many Joss Whedon series, I think. And Basil Brush. It's also not quite as funny as I'd like. Sorry.

Disclaimer- I don't own Hetalia, etc. etc. yadda yadda yadda burger etc. etc.

ooo

England's Imminent Demise

I shivered as I felt the icy tendrils of a chill creep up my spine. Ever so slightly calloused fingers brushed up my back, eliciting a vertical line of goosebumps through the crisp fabric of my shirt. My breath huffed out of my lips as my lungs spasmed slightly, and I desperately fumbled with my top button , fingers pushing and pulling it clumsily as I frantically tried to put as much cotton as possibly between my neck and him.

My brain still couldn't quite comprehend the situation. All I knew was that America most definitely was not himself, and was also most definitely exceedingly dangerous right now. Oh, and I was also in extraordinary danger too. One can't forget that part.

As his breath ghosted past my cheek, I frenziedly tried to put together a coherent timeline in my head, and work out exactly what was going on, and how on earth I'd ended up in this mess. Because right now, as his tongue poked out and lapped along my jaw, testing and tasting me, my mind was having a hard time grasping everything. Images flashed before my eyes, but I was struggling to remember exactly what had happened. I took a quick shallow breath, green eyes widening fractionally in fear as they slid sideways and locked with what I'd expected to be bright blue.

Instead, they met with brilliant red.

I struggled to tear myself away from the crimson depths. I was almost mesmerised by them, as if they were trying to place me in some kind of trance. Desperately, I forced images into my head- young America cradled in my arms, clinging to me as I told him he'd be stuck alone in his big, empty house, his enthusiastic grin at my utter disbelief when I returned and he'd out-grown me- my eyes shutting instinctively as I replayed our shared history. Freed from his spell, I began to work on the events of tonight, starting at the beginning, as I felt a few stray strands of his hair sweep across my face and his nose press against my cheek as it brushed and nuzzled down towards my collar.

Bloody hell, this wasn't good.

ooo

Smack! Smack! Smack!

My knuckles wrapped hard against the painted wood of the door as I shivered in the chill of the evening air. My left hand pulled tightly against the fabric of my coat, struggling futilely to tug it any further around my body. My breath was visible before my face, billowing clouds which looked like dragon's smoke and vaguely reminded me of The Lord of The Rings. It was twenty-five degrees back home, supposedly even hotter now I was in the US, and it was the middle of July. Why the hell was it so goddam cold all of a sudden?

I was just about to lose my temper at being left freezing outside and break the bloody door down, when all of a sudden, with a slam of bolts (when the hell did he fit giant bolts? !) and an echoing creak that put old English castles to shame, the door shudderingly swung open.

I peered into the gloom, one gloved hand shielding my eyes as they struggled to adjust. I didn't enter, not yet, just stood there, staring, waiting for an invite or something. It would have been rude to just barge in, after all. But there was… nothing.

America did not appear. No voice called to me from further within. It was as if the door had opened by itself.

By magic.

But America did not believe in such things.

America couldn't see my unicorn, Tinkerbell, my precious Flying Mint Bunny, or any of my magical friends.

So how the hell did he do that?

It's not as if it were time for our annual Halloween contest. You don't win if you're three months early. Besides, America never wins that, anyway. He's a giant effing chicken, for God's sake! Although I did hear he once scared the crap out of Japan. Well, if he's trying that now, and he thinks he can frighten the United Bloody Kingdom, master of the dark arts and wielder of power incomprehensible, then that brat has another thing coming. He'll get a good clip round the ear, for one thing.

Rolling up one sleeve slightly to display my determination (and level of 'pissed off'), I stepped through the doorway.

America's hallway was dark. No lights were on, and no candles had been left out to illuminate the house. It was equally cold in there as outside, if not colder. My blonde hair billowed and fluttered slightly as the door swung shut with a thunk. I spun around at that, startled. This wasn't right. The doors at America's house do not… no, cannot, shut on their own. There must be some explanation for this.

Scrunching my eyebrows together, I thought hard. No piece of wood outwits me, after all. After a short moment I concluded that it must have been caught by a draft and blown shut. Yes, that sounded about right. Happened to doors in my own house all the time, especially if I left a window open. That was it. A draft.

Except I couldn't feel a draft. My hair and clothes were still.

Frowning deeper, I turned back around and pressed on, stepping further into the Yank's home. I stopped as I reached the base of the stairs, unsure whether or not to continue. Did it count as breaking and entering if the door opened by itself?

Hmph. I exhaled forcefully and clenched my fists. Look at me, starting to fret. That damn America was just trying to frighten me. And I was ashamed to admit that it had been starting to work. Well, I'd put a stop to all that nonsense. Nothing would get the better of my cool. Nothing.

"America?" I called out, cupping a hand next to my mouth to amplify my voice. "Where the hell are you, you git?"

I half didn't expect a response. If America had been trying to phase me, the best thing to do would have been to keep quiet. After all, pretending he were dead or the house was deserted would have been far more terrifying than having me know he was here. So I jumped ever-so-slightly when I received a response.

"I'm right up here, England. Come upstairs."

For a brief moment, that wiped the frown off my face, but irritation quickly brought it back. I began to stomp up the carpeted staircase, fear completed dissipated, ready to wallop him one.

"Why the bloody hell were you hiding, you bloody bastard? ! What the bloody hell did you think you were playing at-"

I trailed off as I rounded the corner and ran into a sight I most certainly did not expect to see. My eyebrows shot immediately to the top of my forehead, my eyes widened as far as they would stretch, and my jaw practically received carpet burns.

America was standing in his room, facing towards me. Now that in itself is no cause for such a degree of shock. No, what was shocking was his… his…

His attire.

America was dressed exactly like something out of the Rocky Horror Show. Red corset, black lace, stockings, high heeled boots…

I almost shat myself there and then.

For a whole minute, I couldn't peel my eyes away from him. I simply stood there, immobile, body totally incapable of movement. The only motion was a rapid blinking of my eyes as I tried to clear the apparent hallucination.

Only it wasn't a hallucination. It was very much real.

Eventually, when the shock began to abate fractionally, I tore my eyes from his clothes. They flickered to the bed behind him, which was most definitely not the bed I remembered him having. Because I was pretty sure America never had a luxurious four-poster bed with crimson-coloured satin sheets and a glossy, veneered oaken frame.

And it most definitely never had the pale, washed-out corpse of his brother Canada on it.

Oh shit.

I cupped my hands to my mouth as I tried not to vomit.

Oh crap.

Blood trickled down from twin bite marks on his neck, staining the quilt a deeper shade of red.

Oh bloody hell no.

His face was frozen in a death mask of pure terror, eyes wide in absolute fear.

The room swam. I honestly thought I was about to pass out. This simply wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. This must be some kind of illusion. I gaped at the body, stomach wrenching and a few tears forming in the corners of my already widened eyes. I was only broken out of the pure horror which had seized me by the sound of America's voice.

He stepped towards me, hips swaying as he glided forwards in those ridiculous heels, speaking in a voice which was oh so definitely his, but at the same time oh so definitely not his.

"What's the matter, England? Something wrong? You've gone so pale… Is this really such a shock? I told you on the phone I'd been renovating… Don't you like it?"

He bent down, and his face hovered inches… no, centimetres, from mine.

He smiled, and I swear to God… I saw fangs. Fangs tinted with blood. Canada's blood.

"You look so tasty…"

I quivered. My breath came out shakily. But my muscles were locked in place. I couldn't move as he leaned even closer forwards, face brushing against mine, and unbuttoned my coat slowly, one button at a time, teasing me, taunting me…

With a soft phwump it fell to the floor. He grasped one of my hands and gently tugged at the black cotton glove, allowing it to fall to the ground beside my coat. Its twin soon joined it.

America chuckled predatorily as he leaned in to me again, mouth open and twisted up in one corner.

"W-what's happened t-to you… America?" I whispered, unable to gain full control over my vocal chords.

He chuckled again. It was a far cry from his usual dopey, carefree laugh. This chuckle was… sinister. It had a malicious intent.

"Why England, I thought you of all people would be able to guess. You do love your fantastical creatures after all. Isn't it so obvious that I've become a… vampire?"

ooo

Which brings us back to the scream-inducing present. My screams, by the way, because that was what I almost felt like doing. Screaming. Screaming and running away, out of the house, like a little girl, as fast as I possibly could. Because America was in a corset, with Canada's blood on his fangs, and the way his voice had caressed the word 'vampire' made me absolutely certain that he'd completely lost his mind.

And he also completely wanted my blood.

His tongue lapped along above my shirt collar as his fingers reached up and gripped my own tightly, preventing me from completely fastening my top button. As he did so, I felt my collar slipping. Oh bloody hell, when did it come to this? When did it come to pass that the only thing shielding my jugular from a ravenous, vampiric America with a taste for Commonwealth blood was two millimetres of starched cotton?

"Heh heh…" America breathed, eyes gazing lustfully at my throat as his fingers left mine and peeled back my collar from my neck.

Oh bollocks. There went my last line of defence.

"Please don't do this…" I begged in a whisper, eyes locked onto his golden hair as he pressed his face to my throat and inhaled deeply.

His sigh afterwards caused my legs to begin to shake. I trembled on the spot, unable to unroot my legs from the ground and flee, as I realised with crushing certainty what he was about to do.

I felt his lips part against my skin.

I felt his tongue poke out slightly, gaining a final taste before…

I felt the sudden pain as his teeth pierced my skin and my crimson blood flowed into his mouth.

My body clenched in pain as I cried out, and then the whole world rolled and everything went black.

ooo

I jerked up with a gasp, the sheets sliding down from my chest as I sat there, panting. Everything was dark, apart from the obnoxiously fluorescent green light of the digital clock on my bedside table. Its face displayed a time of two forty-seven AM. As I watched, it ticked over to forty-eight.

Was that… had all that just been a dream? My eyes wandered around as they grew accustomed to the shadows. My normal room, with everything in its normal place. My normal teddy bear by my normal side. Not America's house. And definitely not that warped and distorted version either. Everything was… normal.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Canada was alive. America was… himself. Reaching up, I discovered a distinctive lack of bite marks around my jugular. Good. I was fine. It had all been my imagination.

My eyes flicked back to the clock again. Forty-nine now. Almost three. I needed to get back to sleep soon. I had a meeting early tomorrow after all. I'd been busy with meetings all day, actually. I hadn't gotten in until ten at night. That's why I'd…

My gaze lowered to the empty plate beside the clock. Only a few crumbs and a knife were left on it.

I almost wanted to let out a groan.

That's why I'd grabbed that plate of cheese before I'd gone to bed.

I let out a small, sarcastic laugh.

"I guess it's true what they say," I moaned, covering my face with one hand. I felt like punching myself for my stupidity.

"Cheese before bed gives you nightmares…"

THE END.

ooo

A/N 2- There you go! Hope you enjoyed it! Now then, I promised an extra at the end, so here are two unfinished bits of oneshots I started but then never completed. They're short because I was just throwing ideas around to try and get writing, but never really felt the bug, if you know what I mean.

Please enjoy!

ooo

Unfinished Oneshot No. 1- Japan's Collection

[Insert opening of England visiting Japan and finding anime collection here]

England's eyes were widened with awe as he surveyed the man's collection.

"Huh? No Avatar the Last Airbender?"

Japan looked a little disgruntled. "That is not really 'anime' per se. I was referring to the animated series produced by my home."

"Ah, alright then," England replied, still gazing at row after row of DVDs. The whole wall was bright and multi-coloured from the cases. It was a truly spectacular sight.

The Brit's eyes locked on to one series in particular as he reached down and tugged it off the shelf. While his eyes scanned the artwork on the cover, Japan looked on in silence.

"Kuroshitsuji… Black Butler… Hey, weren't we talking about this right before that one time?"

Japan's head bobbed back in mild surprise. "That one time? Oh, do you mean the time we were trapped at your house?"

England nodded, eyes glinting slightly. A small smile of happiness at striking up a conversation flickered over his lips. "Yes, that's right! Now what happened again… ?"

Japan's eyes slipped to the floor. He shuffled nervously, clearing displaying his awkwardness. "I… don't remember. To be honest I think I tried to blank it out from my memory…"

Unfortunately for him, the Englishmen looked undeterred.

"Oh, I wrote about it in my journal! Hang on a tic, let me just refresh my memory…"

Japan winced visibly as the blond fumbled through his pockets, patting down his jackets as he searched for the tome in question. With a cry of "Aha!" he fished out a small, slightly dishevelled brown leather diary from somewhere on his person. Flicking the numbers around on the padlock with his thumb, he quickly opened up the book and began rifling through the pages, occasionally licking his fingers for better grip.

"Here we go!" he declared, snapping the journal open wider and causing the Japanese man to jump three feet into the air. "Found the bugger!"

Without pausing to allow his friend to comment, England began to read from the page.

"May 21st 2011. Today, Japan and America visited my home.

ooo

Unfinished Oneshot No. 2- Britannia's Angel

England groaned as his mind flashed back to the memory in question.

"I am Britannia Angel! Fear my mighty magic of doom! Defy me and you will be shot in the face by my wand!" a very drunk Brit dressed only in a loosely tied white bath towel and pair of strap-on fairy wings from a 5 year old's dress-up set declared, literally leaping into the room.

"Dude, what the hell are you on? Crack?" America asked, looking at his friend in disbelief and trying not to burst into uncontrollable snorts of laughter. He almost dropped the glass of beer he was clutching in one hand as his fingers and body trembled from suppressing his amusement.