Would you look at that, another chapter. I didn't think I had it in me. But, here I am, giving you another taste at my mediocre writing. Hope you enjoy.

Many thanks to my reviewers. It amazes me to imagine all you people reading this story. You guys are awesome. Just to answer a few questions, only eight (I may push that to ten) nations are going to switch. You can guess which ones will change, but I have already determined who's going to be switching. Let me know your thoughts.

Rating is still T (I think there is on case of swearing, unless you count British swearing, then there is a lot)

Still own nothing, which is sad (I don't even own this laptop I'm using)

So yeah, have fun and don't forget to tell me what you think.

England was perplexed.

Actually, he was more than perplexed.

He had been confused when he'd woken up in a room that wasn't his own. He had been disturbed to find himself occupying France's body. He had been horrified to find out that France was in his own body. His day so far had contained a slew of surprises, and this latest revelation had the British nation perplexed.

Not only had he and France switched bodied, it seemed like America and… what's-his-face… had switched as well. It can't be a coincidence, England thought, looking out the window to his left, I mean, what kind of coincidence causes FOUR people to switch bodies at the same time.

The car turned right and left the airport. England sighed, thinking about the events of the past couple of hours.

It had taken a while for America to calm down. Once he was able to talk in a coherent manner, France had asked him about his northern brother. America ended up calling what's-his-face, who was in the American's body, and a four-way conversation began between England, France, and the two North American nations. It was a weird conversation to say the least, what with the confusion of who's who and which person should respond to what name. Realizing that that it would all be much simpler if they just were to meet up in person, they decided to convene at England's place. France was already there (with strict instructions from England to not touch anything), and England was able to take one of France's private jets in order to return to his country. America and what's-his-face would meet up in New York, and then take one of the American's private aircrafts to meet up with the Europeans. All things considered, everyone should arrive at England's place by two in the afternoon.

England had not been looking forward to interacting with other people while in France's body. However, in order to get the private jet, England had to act like French nation in front of a few aircraft crewmembers. That had been an interesting experience, especially since England didn't know any French. France had proposed an idea to this problem, and that's how England ended walking up to the pilot and crew of the private jet with the cell phone discreetly held in his hand and a pair of headphones casually plugged in. The cell was set on speakerphone, and England had one of the ear-buds placed in his right ear, hidden beneath in (now long) hair. France, who was still on the phone, was able to listen to his staff talk in French and then give instructions to England on how to respond. Though England had no idea what he was saying, he had to admit, the French sounded completely natural with France's voice and accent. He did know, however, that France had made him say some unsavoury (and most likely inappropriate) things to the crew. He could hear France's laughter loud and clear after he instructed the British nation to say something regarding les fèces and mes lèvres to one of the flight attendants. Once on the plane, England ended the call and proceeded to look out the window for the rest of the hour-long flight. Overall, it had been a very strange and somewhat degrading experience.

The plane had landed ten minutes ago, and now England was in a black governmental vehicle that was headed north through London towards the British nation's house. England was extremely grateful to be back in the United Kingdom – not only did he feel much more at home here, but he also didn't have to speak in that horrid frog-language anymore. What a relief, I never want to go through that dreadful experience again.

"We're arrived at the Kirkland Manor, Mister Bonnefoy," the driver said, pulling up in front of England's house.

England frowned in confusion before remembering that France's last name was Bonnefoy. "Oh, yes, thank you," he said distractedly, opening the side door and unbuckling his seatbelt. "Your driving was… um… very good," he finished somewhat lamely.

"Right… thanks," the driver responded sceptically, raising an eyebrow as the nation awkwardly climbed out of the car. "Just inform Mister Kirkland when you wish to leave, and a car will be sent."

England nodded his head in understanding before closing the car door. As he turned away, he could hear the car drive down to the end of the street and turn the corner. England took a few unsteady steps, still feeling extremely disjointed in this body. He was taller than he was used to, and his hand and feet didn't always move the way he wanted them to move. The hair was also beginning to bother him, he didn't like the way it brushed his cheeks whenever he would move his head. It was becoming quite bothersome.

Tucking said bothersome hair behind his ears, England stopped a few feet from his front door. Just being in front of his house gave him a small measure of relief. It was simple and unchanging and safe and it didn't go about switching house-souls with other houses. Its insides stayed where they were supposed to stay. England liked that. Things shouldn't go around switching souls (or whatever) with other things.

England took the last few steps forwards and paused at the door. He was about to reach for the handle when suddenly the door was wrenched opened and out came a stumbling mass of person. England paused in surprise, a profound sense of surrealism washing over him. It was France… well… France in England's body. England thought it had been weird to talk to France over the video chat. But now, the British nation was actually looking at himself as his body seemingly moved free of his control.

It was all extremely bizarre. And hard to think about.

England stood there in silence as the French nation regained his balance. When France looked up, England immediately took note of the scorch marks and slightly charred clothes. There was also a faint smell of burning paper coming from inside the house. Frowning, England looked over the French nation's shoulder. He noticed a trail of smoke emerging from a room down the main hallway.

England also noted with a small sense of satisfaction that, for the time being, he was taller than France.

Raising his eyebrows, England looked from the trail of smoke to France, then back again. He came to a conclusion.

"You touched something, didn't you?"

Looking back towards the fading wisps of smoke, France shuffled his feet sheepishly. "It was just a book," he said, looking back at England uncertainly, as if he were waiting for the confirmation that yes, the thing that had burst into fire upon his poking it was indeed just a book.

England looked at the nation occupying his body with disdain. "You touched one of my spell books," he explained to the clearly confused Frenchman. "They're all charmed. If anyone other than myself touches them, they discharge energy to scare that person off."

"But I'm you," France complained, rubbing some ash off his cheek.

"My books are smart enough to know that just because you look like me does not make you eligible to touch them."

"That makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense," England said with a vague wave of his hand, "now let me into my house, you frog."

Stepping past the still smouldering Frenchman, England walked through the open door and into his house's entrance. France followed closely behind, closing the door after he had passed through. They both stood there for a moment in silence, then England sighed and walked down the hall towards his study. Once again, France followed him, this time a little more hesitantly. Pausing in front of the open door, the British nation looked into room where he kept all his important documents and spell books. (Sometimes when England got tired of signing governmental papers he would leaf through his spell books, contemplating which curse would be best to cast on various nations.) France nervously stood beside him, gaze fritting between England and the contents of the room.

The contents of the room being a desk, a bookshelf, a couch, and a heavy looking book lying in the middle of the floor. The book, which had a red cover decorated by some odd looking symbols, was surrounded by soot and ash, and the floor encircling the volume was scorched black.

The book itself was perfectly fine.

England cast a disapproving glare at France before walking over to the book and picking it up. Straightening up from his crouched position, England was about to turn around when there was a flash of red. Fire erupted around the spell book. Yelping in pain (and surprise), the British nation dropped the volume. The flaming book landed heavily on the ground with a loud "thud", and the floor immediately darkened due to the searing heat. The flames receded after a second, leaving another scorched area on the floor as well a startled England who looked at the undamaged tome with wary gaze. There was a moment of stunned silence, then…

"I guess you're not eligible to touch your own books," France said smugly.

England glared at the overly satisfied Frenchman. He was annoyed at both France and the book. Why is everything going so brilliantly WRONG today? This is just so bloody fucking stupid. Suppressing the urge to stab something (preferably France) with his rapier (which hung on the wall three feet away), England breathed out deeply and closed his eyes. After a second, he looked at France. "I guess the charm can't recognize my presence under your thick and repulsive skin," he gritted out between clenched teeth, cautiously toeing the book that still lay on the ground.

Shifting slightly so that his weight was centered over his right leg, France placed his hands on his hips in a very un-England like manor. "Being in my body is the most beauty you will ever hope to achieve," he said with arrogance, "whereas I am stuck in this ugly dwarf-body."

England responded by spluttering unattractively.

France then waved his hand vaguely in England's direction. "And please don't burn my faultless skin with your annoying magic tricks."

"It's not a trick!" England yelled, advancing towards the man who currently occupied his body, "It's real magic!"

France snickered.

"And stop it with that smug attitude!" the British nation shouted, turning on his heels. He no longer wanted to have to see his own face twisted in that perverted smirk. He walked a few steps away, carefully avoiding that stupid book. He hated this, absolutely hated it. All he wanted to do was curl up in a chair with a warm mug of tea and a good book. But no, he was stuck in this stupid body and he had to talk to that idiotic moron and now he couldn't even pick up that bloody book. Exhaling loudly, England rubbed his face in exasperation.

"This is all bloody brilliant," he sighed in frustration. "And you," England turned around and glared at the blonde, "have been no help whatsoever in trying to solve this…" England waved his hands absentmindedly in the air, "this… problem. You've just criticized and insulted me at every turn. Can we please just try to… I don't know… work together?" England cringed at the mere thought, but managed to finish the sentence without vomiting.

France looked just as enthusiastic.

"Look," England said painfully, "the faster we figure this all out, the faster we can go back to hating each other from a distance."

"I suppose that is true," France reluctantly agreed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "It is particularly nice to hate each other from a distance."

"Brilliant. Now, help me put this book back on the shelf."

They found out after a few mistakes that as long as they were both touching the book at the same time, it wouldn't burst into flames. Apparently the stupid charm needed both the body and presence of the British nation in order not to activate. They had managed to awkwardly place the volume back on the shelf by both keeping a hand on the red cover. When they had first tried picking up the book, their hands accidently touched and England had jerked away, leaving France holding the book all by himself. England could barely contain his laughter as France had panicked and tossed the book across the room just as flames roared forth from beneath the cover.

Once the book was safely placed back on shelf, England sent France to go and get a change of clothes. The ones he currently wore had numerous scorch marks and a few holes where the flames had burnt through. Luckily for the British nation, the clothes that had gotten ruined weren't any of the ones he cared about. As France walked off towards England's room, England started trying to salvage his study. The floor was considerably damaged in a few locations, but a little water did make the place look slightly better. Much of the darkened wood was just soot and ash, and so England, and France (once he returned with presentable attire) were able to wash the blackened bits away. There was a lot of bickering and insults, but after a bit of time, the place did look marginally better. Though they argued the entire time, they both agreed on one thing – it wasn't an overly fun experience.

England and France just didn't make very good cleaning buddies.

It took a couple hours to finish fixing up the study. They had just managed to safely put away all the cleaning materials and settle in the kitchen when they heard a car pull up outside.

A few seconds later, the doorbell rang.

France and England shared a look. Before either of them could go answer it, they heard the front door open and two pairs of footsteps enter into the house.

"Yo, guys?" A quiet voice could be heard from down the hall. "The hero has arrived!"

England raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was odd to hear that statement in such a quiet and timid voice. It was usually said with force and assertion, not whispered with uncertainty. A couple seconds later another person could be heard.

"Um, America," said an annoyingly familiar voice, "don't you think we should have waited for the door to be answered?"

"Jeez, dude," the quiet voice answered. "Relax, the door was unlocked. It's fine."

"O-ok. If you're s-sure?" The stutter sounded strange coming from the loud and confident voice.

"I am. Now lets go find those European dudes."

Frowning, England stood up and left the kitchen. He walked out into the hall, bracing himself to deal with the overbearing nation and his easily forgotten brother. However, he paused in confusion when he came upon a determined-looking what's-his-face leading an awkward-looking American down the hall. What's-his-face was munching on a hamburger and America clutched an angry-looking polar bear. England blinked a few times before remembering the situation.

Right, they've switched.

The North Americans brothers, who had stopped their trek down the hall when England emerged from the study, looked on with wariness at the British nation. England immediately realized it was because he looked like France. When France came into view, he was also met with apprehensive stares.

What's-his-face broke the awkward silence.

"Yo," he said around a mouthful of hamburger.

Yes, England thought, that's definitely America. The British nation looked at the "America" who practically cowered behind his brother. And that would be the… other one. England allowed his thoughts to settle before replying.

"Took your bloody time getting here," he said, purposely making it obvious that he was not the French nation.

The body that currently housed America looked at him in amazement. "Dude, this is way whacked." The vocabulary was most certainly America's, but the voice seemed incapable of being louder than a timid articulation. It was almost as if the body was afraid of speaking above a whisper.

"Yes," England replied with a roll of his eyes, "this is, as you say, whacked."

France chose this moment to jump into the conversation. "Mon chère Canada, are you alright?"

The Canadian nodded his head timidly, still clutching the polar bear to his chest. He then looked uncertainly at France, a questioning look in his eyes.

"Yes, everything is fine," France replied to the silent question, moving closer to Canada.

England frowned. Since when have they been able to silently communicate to each other? Dismissing the thought, England suggested that they move into the living room. America immediately agreed to the idea and then proceeded to head off in the wrong direction. Shaking his head, England led the group to the sitting room. America eventually joined them.

Once everyone had settled into their seats (Canada and France on the sofa, America on the recliner, and England on his favorite chair), they began discussing their current situation.

"We've already agreed," England said, gesturing to himself and France, "that we're not going to tell our bosses." France supported the statement by nodding his head in acquisition. England continued. "At least not right now. If we can get this… problem… fixed without their knowledge, it would mean a lot less explaining and paperwork on our part."

"Sounds good to me," said America, slouching further in the recliner. "The less work, the better."

Canada shifted uncomfortably on the couch, and then proceeded to actually raise his hand in question. England blinked in disbelief. Was this nation really so insecure that he would raise his hand before speaking. Too bad it's not truly America who's acting all modest and nervous. That would have been a welcome change.

"Yo dude," America spoke to Canada in his now timid voice, "stop acting all shy and un-hero-like, you're making me look so not cool right now."

"O-oh, sorry," Canada apologized, wincing when his voice came out much louder than he'd wanted. He took a nervous breath before continuing. "I was just wondering," he said, voice still annoyingly loud and boisterous, "if we're not going to tell our bosses, does that mean we will have to pretend to be each other when we talk to our government officials?"

"Yes, I suppose we will," England replied unenthusiastically. He really didn't want to have to act like that perverted Frenchman (again). "However," he added, "hopefully we can get this bloody mess behind us before we are required to do so."

He was met with nods of agreement. Then France spoke up from his position on the couch.

"What about the other nations?"

"Yeah, man? Am I gonna have to pretend to be Canadia in front of, like, the Asian dudes and that Commie bastard? That's so not cool."

"My name's Canada." Canada looked surprised when America and the two Europeans actually noticed that he had spoken.

"Oh, ok," America said cautiously, "didn't know that bothered you, sorry bro."

"No, its fine," Canada said quickly, spreading his hands out in front of him in an apologizing manor. "I didn't think anyone would hear me. I actually don't mind."

"Dude, its ok, I won't call you Canadia anymore."

France jumped in. "Oui, c'est vrai, don't be afraid to speak up, ma chérie." England frowned at France's continual use of French. Why did he have to persist in speaking in that perverted language, couldn't he give England's voice a break?

Canada cowered a bit on the couch. He looked obviously uncomfortable with the attention he was receiving. "No, really, its fine," he said, "I just…" he trailed off, wincing again at the intensity of his own voice. "I just want to…" he paused again, failing in his attempt to lower the volume of his voice. "I JUST WANT TO STOP SPEAKING SO LOUDLY!"

Prolonged silence followed the Canadian's outburst, and the northern nation proceeded to cower further into the couch. A muffled "I'm sorry" could be heard from beneath the hands that had clamped over the Canadian's new mouth.

France slid closer to Canada. "There's nothing to be sorry for, mon chère," he said, putting a comforting hand on the Canadian's shoulder. "We are all having problems with our current bodies. I mean, look at these eyebrows…" He continued talking about inconsequential things and gradually, the northern nation relaxed.

England had been upset at the eyebrow comment, but let it slide for the time being. He was currently more concerned about how close France and Canada were getting. He typically wouldn't have given it a second thought, but at this moment in time, one of the nations being observed by England was in the Brit's body. The British nation glanced to his left at America, who was slumped in the recliner. The American seemed completely disinterested with the proceedings happening in front of him. England contemplated interrupting the two nations on the couch but settled for turning his attention to his former colony.

"Are you not concerned about your body?" he asked the American.

America looked at him lazily. "What do ya mean, concerned?"

"I mean that don't France and Canada seem awfully close to you?"

"Well duh."

"Isn't that, I don't know, weird to you?" England asked, glancing again at the blondes to his right.

"Um, no," America responded blatantly, sitting up a bit in his chair. "You do know that French-face and my bro are like, a thing, right?"

England was silent for a moment before answering. "Define a thing," he said cautiously, not really wanting to know the answer.

"Like, they're together."

"Together?" England really hoped that didn't mean what he thought it meant.

"Yeah, dude. Jeez, I thought you were kinda smart, they're together. Like going out, together."

"They're going out?" England quickly turned back towards the couch, a look of panic in his eyes. He was just in time to witness his own body reach up and gently cup America's (Canada's) cheek. England could do nothing but watch in silent terror as France slowly leaned forward and pressed his lips against the Canadian's. OH BLOODY HELL! England's mind yelled. He wanted to move, he wanted to get up and pull the two apart, he wanted to erase the scene from his mind, but his body continued to sit there in stunned silence as the two nations kissed – as he and America kissed.

"DUDE, you're like, eating my face!" America piped up from his spot on the recliner. "Not cool, man."

NO! Stop it!

"So not cool, 'cause I would like, totally dominate."

Why aren't they stopping?

"And I totally think of you as a father, so, this is like, way not cool."

I'M BLOODY WATCING MYSELF SNOG MY OWN FORMER COLONY AND I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING TO STOP IT! WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME? England made a small choking noise in the back of his throat.

"Did I just say I would dominate you? Ew, why would I even think that? That's just wrong."

France and Canada soon broke away. When they turned to look at the two nations across the room they were met with America's baffled gaze and England's horrified stare. Canada blushed a deep red and did a good imitation of a turtle hiding in its shell. France, on the other hand, look right at England and smirked.

England felt his eye twitch.

And just like that the temporary paralysis was gone. England was up and yelling profanities, cursing France in every language he knew (which only amounted to English and Latin). The French nation did nothing but laugh as he gently took hold of the terrified Canadian's hand. England continued to yell, and America gave them all a disturbed look before slumping back in the recliner.

England eventually calmed down enough to speak in coherent sentences.

"Can you please…" he said exasperatingly, "just not do… things… of that nature while you're not in your proper bodies." He directed his look solely at the Frenchman.

"But Angleterre," France said in a slight mocking tone, "its l'amour. You cannot stop our feelings for each other." He then gave the Canadian a comforting look. "And you are scaring poor Canada."

England looked at the body of America. He had to admit, the Canadian did look sufficiently terrified. Sighing, England closed his eyes for a second, regretting was he was about to say.

"Fine," he bit out angrily, "do your amour, just… not when I'm in the same bloody room." England rubbed his face exasperatingly as he walked back over to his chair. "Got it?"

What am I doing? This is wrong on so many levels.

France smiled. "Yes, we understand."

Canada nodded his head nervously.

Brilliant. This is bloody brilliant. What have I done?

"So, dudes," America spoke up from his slumped position on the recliner, "now that we have this weirdness figured out, can we decided if I'm gonna have to act like my bro in front of that Commie bastard? 'Cause, no offence dude," America said, looking at Canada, "but I don't really want to act like a pussy in front of that creep."

"N-no offence taken," Canada said, wringing his hands together, "and um, I'm not sure I could p-pull off acting like you, America."

"Ha ha, of course you couldn't. 'Cause I'm the h–"

"I was thinking," France cut in over America's now quiet voice, "that we should at least tell the other members of the G8."

"That's probably a good idea," England agreed, "seeing as they would notice something was wrong even if we didn't tell them."

"Hey guys–"

"What about the other nations? Should we tell them?" France said, thinking of Spain and Prussia.

"Guys, listen to m–"

"If this doesn't get resolved in, let's say a week, we should tell them." England responded unenthusiastically.

"This voice sucks!"

"Will we continue to live at each other's houses?" France asked, still not aware of the annoyed American.

"Um, guys," Canada jumped in nervously, "I think America has something to say."

The two European nations turned to look at the peeved American. The nation was slumped in the chair, arms crossed over his chest. He was obviously unpleased at how easy it was for the others to ignore him.

"Jeez, dudes," he complained, "don't act like I'm invisible. That's not cool."

Canada coughed.

"Anyways, what I wanted to say," America said seriously, "is that what if the others are having the same problem?"

There was a moment of silence, then...

"What do you mean, same problem?" England asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew what America was suggesting.

"I mean that what if the other nations have also switched."

"That," said France soberly, "is a horrifying thought."

"Yeah dude, that's what I was thinking," America said, sitting back in the chair.

"I truly hope that isn't the case," England uttered gravely. "But seeing as we don't know what's caused this," he said, gesturing to the four of them, "we can't be sure that hasn't happened."

They fell into a brooding silence, all thinking about the consequences of their situation. The calm was broken, surprisingly, by the Canadian.

"Wh-who do you think would have switched?"

xXx*xXx

This had been a very strange morning, even by his standards. Sitting down at the kitchen table, he eyed the two nations sitting across from him. He put his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his clasped hands. There was no denying it…

Prussia was perplexed.

Ohhhhh, see what I did there. I think that's called a cliffhanger.

So tell me your thoughts, I'd love to hear them. I am having fun writing this, so I hope you're having fun reading it.

Here's a translation of any non-English that I used (for anyone who cares).

fèces = ass

lèvres = lips

chère; chérie = dear; darling

Oui, c'est vrai = Yes, its true

Angleterre = England

l'amour = love

Oh, and then "Snog" in british english means french kissing. Hope that helps anyone who may have been confused.

So, yeah, hope you enjoyed.