A/N

Here's the one-shot with Cowboy America and England. Enjoy! By the way, the parts in italics take place in the year 1873; six years after Canada declared independence. (1867)

'Thoughts.'

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but this story.

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The sun beat down harshly upon him. The dust crunched under the heavy leather boots that dragged his feet down. How could anyone live in this weather, much less wear these heavy clothes? They must all be insane! Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a letter.

'Mattie,

I want you to come visit me sometime. It's been a while since we've actually talked, and it gets lonely here without my brother, y'know? I heard you got your independence a while ago, and I think we should have a long-overdue congratulatory party. Also, there's something I've been meaning to tell you about, but I can't say it over a letter.

Anyway, meet me at Sweetwater, Texas. Don't bring Kuma, unless he can handle the heat. Also, bring a wheel with you, you can't be too careful.

Al'

Stopping to gather his long, dirty-blonde hair in a ponytail, he walked into a market. At first, he had no idea what a 'wheel' was, but he quickly learned that it was a nickname for the six-shooter, a gun the people out here were fond of. A kindly, elderly woman smiled at him when he entered the store.

"Whatya want, sugar?" She asked. Her accent was pleasant, and Canada smiled politely.

"Do you know where to find a man named Alfred Jones?" Canada asked. The woman's eyes went wide, and she nearly dropped the jar of honey she was holding.

"Why would a kid like yourself want to find him? Honey, you are might be tough, but you ain't got what it takes to fight Jones."

"Fight?" Canada asked, confused. "I don't want to fight him; he wants to talk to me." The woman, if possible, looked even more alarmed.

"You mean he's in Sweetwater? Dear, you have to leave right now, and alert the sheriff. When Jones wants to talk to someone, it means trouble."

Canada left the store, confused now. Trouble? Did that mean Al was angry at him? His hand immediately touched the butt of his six-shooter. That couldn't be, Al had warned him to take a gun with him in case there was trouble. They must have meant another Alfred Jones. It was a very common name, after all.

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England was a man who loved to read. Every afternoon, he would curl up by the window and read a new book. He practically owned a library. It was very rare that he ran out of reading material, and when he did, he always returned to his home with his arms overflowing with bags of new books. Modern interpretations of Shakespeare, sewing patterns, cookbooks, war novels, poetry, you name it, he has read it. Books hardly surprised him anymore; he could usually tell how it was going to end by the first chapter, or even by its cover. In all honesty, only non-fiction books captivated him anymore. That was how the day started, England browsing up and down a Waterstone's, looking in the non-fiction section. He sighed in disappointment, standing up. That new book on piracy wasn't in…how disappointing. It always fascinated him to see modern theories about life on the sea. Gathering his selections in his arms, he stood up, preparing to leave.

Then he saw it, lying at the very end of the aisle, sitting with the cover facing out. He strode forward, picking the book up. The book was a dark, leathery brown, with a photograph of a wanted poster dominating the cover. It was a poster from America's Old West. On the poster were two very familiar faces, so familiar that they made England's blood run cold.

On the right was a man with light hair almost totally hidden under a cowboy hat. His lips were pulled into an amused smirk, and his eyes were narrowed with cool arrogance. The hat was tilted back slightly, revealing a cowlick that stood stubbornly up from the rest of his hair. A pair of glasses sat on his face, and they looked brand new, as if he had just gotten them.

On the left was a man with an identical face, though he was obviously a different person. His hair was chin length and wavy, and a curl fell across his face. He was smirking too, but it was smaller, and less arrogant, but confident all the same. His eyes were narrowed and calculating, and a tiny hint of amusement was in them. He also wore glasses, but they were circular, and looked older.

'America and Canada? But how? What is this? Do humans know about us?' England scanned his eyes over the title. It read 'Williams and Jones, Two Outlaws Who Dominated the American West.'

'Outlaws? They were outlaws?' England couldn't imagine America, the self-proclaimed 'hero', as anything of the sort. Canada, too, seemed much too quiet to be the sort of person who could go against the law. Then again…if he could go from a pirate to a gentleman…then maybe the America twins could do the same?

'Alright, let's see what this is all about.' He thought, tucking the book under his arm. If anything, it would at least alleviate his boredom.

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Walking into a bar, he took a look around. It was mostly empty, save for a group of men sitting in the far corner, a bartender, and several waitresses. One of the men turned around, and Canada instantly recognized the surprised face of his brother. The surprise quickly vanished from his face though, and was replaced by relieved happiness. America stood up, walking across the room until he was standing directly across from Canada. Canada's heart thudded quickly in his chest, and he remembered what the old woman had told him. Not only that, but memories of York, the Whitehouse, and 1812 rapidly flashed across his head. It had happened not too long ago, was America going to try and kill him? Canada's hand closed around the six-shooter, ready to defend himself if he had to.

"Congrats, brother. I heard you won your freedom." America said, holding out a gloved hand. Canada blinked in surprise, and nearly laughed in relief. He placed his hand in America's and they shook. America began to walk to the back of the room, and he gestured for Canada to follow.

"Mattie, I'm glad you came. You see, there's somethin' I want you to help me with." He said, sitting back at the table. Canada noticed that the group of men he was sitting with all seemed to look older than America, in their late twenties, but none of them spoke, and they all seemed respectful of the twins.

"There's a little business I've started. You remember Spain, France, and England? Their old pirate ways?" America asked. Canada nodded. America smiled. "Well, you can say I have my own way of doing things. I want you to help me out. It'll be fun, we can split the profits, and you can stay away from all that stress bein' a new country and all. What do you say? Partners?" America asked. Canada thought for a minute. The idea was very tempting. America sat waiting with an expecting smile. Really, he could see nothing wrong with it. It wouldn't hurt to be an outlaw for a little while, right?

"Partners." Canada replied, shaking America's hand again. America pulled him into a hug, and laughed. The men around them cheered, clinking toasting their alchahol together over the new arrival.

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England sat in his chair, rubbing his forehead from exhaustion. He had finished the book in less than an hour. (300 pages, no less!) And yet, none of it still added up. He simply couldn't see the twins running an entire network of robberies, preforming jailbreaks (multiple times), robbing trains, and shooting anyone, authorities or rival groups, who got in their way. Canada could hardly speak his mind at meetings, much less help run one of the most feared gangs of the Old West! It simply didn't add up.

'And this is coming from a gentleman who once terrorized the seven seas. Hypocrite.' England thought to himself. Grabbing his cellphone, he decided to get more information about all of this.

'Ring, ring. Ring, ring.' The cellphone chimed. After a minute, a voice answered.

"Hello?" a female voice asked on the other side. England cleared his throat.

"Yes, I would like to order any book you have on the outlaws Alfred Jones and Matthew Williams."

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"So, I heard you've been threatening my boys lately." America said. He was sitting at a mahogany table, surrounded by his gang. Canada sat calmly at his side, one hand resting on the wheel gun. The man they had brought in was a member of a rival group of outlaws. His eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, who're you?" he demanded. America shook his head, standing up. A smirk played across his features, sun-kissed from his time in the sun.

"I'm Alfred Jones. I own the West, and you never forget that." He replied. Raising the six-shooter, he pulled back the hammer, and shot. The sound left a loud, resounding crack. None of them even flinched.

"Quick, we gotta move. The sheriff will find out soon." One of the men said, standing up. "I ain't gonna be arrested again."

Canada calmly stood up, following the men out of the room, gathering their supplies.

"Which town are we going to hit next?" he asked America. "With them out of the way, I heard a train was leaving today. We might want to hit there." He suggested. America smiled, clapping his hand over Canada's shoulder.

"Great idea, Mattie. We'll certainly give them a surprise."

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A week later, England had finished them all. It had certainly alleviated his boredom, but he still hadn't managed to quite forget the image of the America twins as two dark outlaws, destroying the Old West.

And that day happened to be a World Meeting.

The room was buzzing as always, each nation going on over their own problems. England sat down, keeping his eyes on the twins. Canada was chattering away excitedly with his twin, holding up a paper. Upon closer examination, it was a wanted poster. Specifically, the same wanted poster on the book cover.

"I can't believe they wrote a whole book about us!" Canada exclaimed excitedly. "I mean, we did a lot, but I didn't' think it was that much!" America smiled.

"Oh, you'd be surprised at how much we've left behind. We're quite famous." Japan shook his head.

"I still can't believe you were an outlaw, it's hard to imagine." He said. France laughed.

"Mon cher was quite the warrior back then, non?" he asked. Canada blushed.

"Stop it, Papa." He said quietly. England glanced back down at his papers, and prepared his speech.

'I really should stop worrying about it. They've had their darker past, and I've had mine.' He thought. And somewhere, he knew it was the truth. There was more to each nation than meets the eye.

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A/N Please review~!