England fancied himself a classy gent.

While his immediate thoughts upon fleeing from his house in his bathrobe and slippers had been the various ways that he could torture and/or terminate America, after a few blocks, he began to calm a bit.

America would pay for this, that was clear enough, but the question was how to make him pay.

Anyone could deface a national symbol. He had to hit America where it hurt.

And lucky for him, England had the exact resources it would take to do just that. All it took was a little trip on the tube (still in his robe and slippers, but damnit, this was a matter of national security), a brief discussion over tea and crumpets, and a couple of phone calls and it was all set.

Now all he had to do was wait, and if his calculations were correct, and they always were, his phone would be ringing in approximately three…two…

God save our gracious Queen! Long live our noble Queen! God save the Queen! Send her victorious, Happy and glorious, Long to reign over us, God save the Queen.

Brilliant.

England smirked and haughtily picked up his cell phone. "America" flashed on his caller ID, along with an absolutely ridiculous picture of said nation that America had taken on his phone and set as his ID, refusing to tell him how to change it.

England made a note to ask Japan to get that bloody thing off his phone at the next G8 meeting.

"Hullo. Arthur Kirkland speaking."

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

Ah, sweet music to his ears.

"Oh, America," England replied coolly. "What a surprise. What brings forth this pleasure?"

"You know damn well, you asshole!"

If he didn't know any better, England could almost hear the young nation choke back a sob.

"I certainly don't know what you are going on abou-"

"Don't you dare play dumb with me! Okay, yeah, the Big Ben thing was a little immature of me. I get it. But this." America paused pointed dramatically at the Yahoo! news page in front of him on his laptop, not caring one damn bit England couldn't see it. "This is going way too far."

England crossed his arms and stuck his nose in the air. "Maybe you should have thought about that before pulling that little stunt of yours."

"Oh come on! It's not that big of a deal!"

"You drew a penis on the Westminster clock tower!"

"You banned Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows from being shown in America!"

England smirked and took a delicate sip of his tea. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll come up with some masterpiece blockbuster to keep you entertained in it's absence."

America's eyes narrowed. Ten years. He had waited ten fucking years for these movies. Even longer if you counted from when he had starting reading the books! Hell, America didn't even like books until Harry came along! Not that he would admit that to England, of course. But now, all because England had gotten his little panties in a bunch, that was going to be taken away from him?

There was no way in Hell he was going to let that happen without a fight.

"I'm going to get you back for this, old man. Mark my words, this is war."

England furrowed his brow, narrowing his eyes into a stern and determined glare. "Bring it on, brat. Bring it on."

Three days had passed since war had been declared, and England was beginning to wonder if America had forgotten the whole ordeal altogether. Neither hide nor hair of the younger nation had been seen since that fateful morning, and England was starting to get a little restless.

Not that he was frightened of the little crotch stain or anything.

He was just…anxious. Yes, anxious.

It wasn't like the little twat to not just jump right in and attack, which made him wonder if he had forgotten the threat or if he was, god forbid, thinking something out.

England shuttered at the thought.

The most logical explanation was that he had simply forgotten, which was perfectly fine for him. The last thing he wanted was for America to go and vandalize more of his precious property.

So why the hell was he disappointed America wasn't vandalizing more of his precious property?

"It is because you seek his attention, mon cher." France leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and shrugging easily.

"I bloody well do not."

France chuckled. "L'amour will make you do crazy things mon ami. You may not want to admit that you pine for young Amérique's attention, but it is as clear as the eyebrows on your face."

England scowled, both at the French bastard, and at the blush that was creeping onto his cheeks and betraying him at a time like this.

"Is there some reason why you felt the need to ruin my day so early in the morning, frog, or are you just here to piss me off?" England grumbled, trying to change the subject.

Thankfully, France had taken the bait, sitting up excitedly with a clap of his hands. "Ah! Oui, oui! I am here on behalf of cher Canada."

"Canada?"

"Oui! He asked me to give you this." France reached into his coat pocket and took out a small piece of crumpled paper, handing it to England.

England blinked in surprise and took the note. "What is this?"

France shrugged. "I do not ask, cher Angleterre, I am merely the messenger."

"You touched him inappropriately before he could tell you and America kicked you out, didn't he?"

France pouted. "Oui…" His frown quickly melted into a dreamy expression as he held his chin pensively. "But it was très bon…"

"Perverted wanker." England rolled his eyes and carefully opened the note to reveal Canada's neat handwriting, which seamed a bit messier and more rushed than usual. "Dear England," he read. "America doesn't know that I'm writing this so I have to make it quick. I thought you would appreciate a little warning for what you are about to see. You may want to turn on the news. Sorry my brother is such a moron. Canada. What the hell?"

France was already flipping through the channels by the time England had finished the note, coming to a stop in the middle of a story on BBC.

"-still under investigation. We take you now to Felton Maxwell on the scene. Felton?"

"Thanks Emily. I am here with local farmer Read Grant. Mr. Grant, your field was one of the ones affected, correct?"

"Yes sir. I woke up this morning and there it was, big as day. A crop circle right in the middle of my wheat field."

England's eyes widened. "Crop circle?"

"What really confused me about the crop circle was the design." Read continued, "I always remember hearing about crop circles being circular designs like spirographs, but this one was a bloody American flag!"

"A-American…flag?"

"Thank you Felton. So far, there have been over sixty-seven crop circles known and more are being reported by the hour, all bearing a resemblance to the flag of the United States of America. Police are unsure at this time what has caused this phenomenon across the United Kingdom, but an investigation is said to be underway."

France gaffed with laughter as he flipped off the TV. "Ah! Bravo, Amérique! Très bon! He is quite the creative one, non, Angleterre?"

But England wasn't listening. Without a word, he spun on his heels and marched out of the room, his face burning with anger.

"Angleterre?" France asked, following behind him cautiously.

England stopped at the end of the hallway and threw open an old wooden door. He ripped a black clock from a peg just in the stairway, and pulled a lantern from a hook. His eyes darkened as he tromped down into the dungeon.

"Angleterre?" France asked again, his eyes uncertainly peering into the darkness while staying comfortably close to the doorframe. "What is it you are doing?"

England smirked menacingly. "If that git is going to recruit his bloody alien in this fight, I see no reason not to include some friends of my own."

This was going to be a bit longer, but it's April Fools Day! You can't have a story about pranks not updated on April Fools Day!! Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm going to try to write as much as I can over Easter break, because from now until the end of the school year is going to be ridiculous.

Oh, and I know the French is probably all wrong, but just ignore that. :P

Hope you enjoyed and don't forget to review!