It was the night of June 11th, 1812, and England was having a very bad dream.
America's blue eyes. The same ugly face. Mysteriously, brown hair. Less mysteriously, he was angry.
"I thought we went over this," he growled. "I want my Lakes. I want to trade like a real country. You don't own the sea."
"No." shouted England, from atop his lofty pile of cash. "Ouch!" He poked the bridge of his glasses into his eyes by mistake. Where did those come from? He really didn't need this right now, not with the war with France. "You don't need rights. You're just a stupid ripoff of me."
"I'm a real nation!"
"Greece wants his culture back, by the way," He valiantly tried to look bored while patting the pockets in his nightgown, searching for his wand.
"Sharing is caring hombr-" England whipped out his wand and screamed "Petrificus Totalis!" America froze and fell down. Well, that was easy, thought England in surprise. America glared at him from the ground.
England began to walk away. It had started to rain, and he didn't want to get wet. In fact, it was raining very hard now, wasn't it? Raindrops hit his face and slid into his mouth. They were sticky, sweet, bubbly like champagne, and unnaturally blue. Suddenly, he couln't breathe. He was drowning in rain. He panicked.
America swam through the rain. It had healed him. "You don't," he hissed, "own the sea. And you don't own me."
"Actually," bubbled England, "I do. Your ickle daddykins does own the sea."
"You filled it with Monsters!"
"I'm sorry we can't all get what we want-" he blurbled, "Especially you-" then he noticed America's stupid orange t-shirt, "You're not exactly the Camp Half-Blood Prince. Get over it."
"That doesn't even make sense, you Cockroach cluster!"
"Awww, America, why the Long bottom? Oh, I'm sorry, that's your face."
"Don't you dare steal my thunder, or I'll rip that lightning scar right off your forehead." He ate a burger angrily, just for the effect.
"Ah, it's teatime! Care if I join you?" England crunched on boegy beans. What a strange dream, he thought. They munched at each other through the blue sticky bubbles.
Suddenly, England realized he was still underwater and started to choke. America swallowed the last of his burger and grinned. "You totally don't own the sea," he said. "I'm already better at this than you are." He pulled out a ballpoint pen and uncapped it, turning it into a long, golden sword. "Freedom. Real freedom. Now."
England's face was slowly turning purple, but it wasn't the lack of air that made him look at the blue eyes, no longer baby blue, but rough and dark, like the crashing waves of the Atlantic, and say, "Fine." It was the knowledge that even if he kept fighting, America would always be trying to get away from him.
A unicorn woke him up."Maaagic," said the unicorn. England slapped him.
A week later, the war of 1812 began.
This is what happens when my brain is being boiled in its juices by a fever. I'm usually very normal, honest. Gods, this is a weird fic.
In case you couldn't tell, it's about a prophetic dream England has about the upcoming war of 1812, using Harry Potter and Percy Jackson to illustrate. The war of 1812 was basically bout how England tried to control America's trade to the European continent (especially to France, because England and France were also at war), and they refused to withdraw troops from around the Great Lakes. America was like "This is B.S.!" and declared war. And invaded Canada. But that's a different story.
After the war ended, America and Britain put aside their differences and had friendly relations forever after.
I've never watched/read the war of 1812 Hetalia style, so if there are any inconsistencies or whatever REVIEW IT AND TELL ME. OR REVIEW ANYWAY. THAT WOULD BE GOOD TOO.