Hello everyone~ So here's that Pirate!England (from now on to be referenced in notes as Pengland) and America story I mentioned starting back in December -laughs-

I apologize in advance for how utterly historically inaccurate this is sure to be. Please believe me when I say that I will do my best but an Elizabethan era historian I am not. Please, if you can tolerate it look kindly on my poor attempt and let the little details slide. (Though if something is painfully inaccurate you can tell me and I will try to fix it -laughs-)

Disclaimer: Hetalia is certainly not owned by me in any way.

America knocks on the door, blowing his watermelon flavored gum into a bubble half the size of his head. It pops as England opens the door. "...Charming as always Alfred."

After using his tongue to help him collect the gum back into his mouth again he grins. "Thanks, I know."

England shakes his head and stands aside. "Come in."

America enters and looks around vaguely. "So what's happening England? Are you going to offer me food or what?"

England scowls. "All you care about is food. Shouldn't a hero care about more than just food? Self-proclaimed or otherwise?"

America looks at him indignantly. "I think of tons of things! So many things it would make your head explode. Of course I do, I'm a hero aren't I?"

"Do you want tea?"

America considers him sulkily. "Never mind, your tastes will never be a match for my own."

England roles his eyes. "I'm making tea. I'll be back in a few minutes. Go make yourself comfortable until then."

"Make me coffee!" America yells after him before heading off to England's sitting room. He sits for a moment before standing and walking around restlessly. Every so often England would randomly invite him over for no real reason. He never understands why and a lot of the time he avoids it as England tends to lecture him a lot but he had been particularly bored when he accepted for today.

America stops next to a calendar with a picture of some quaint seascape. His eyes scan over the various things written for the dates. Listlessly he reaches up and starts scanning the next page. His eyes widen curiously as he reaches the end of the month. One of the last days is circled with a red pen and the words 'Visit Coast' are written. Unlike the other detailed entries that fill the rest of the boxes, that is all that is written.

England enters the room holding two cups. "Here's your coffee. Someday I do hope you return to the majesty of tea."

America takes it, sticking his gum to the side of the rim much to England's disgust. "Hey... Hey England, you're going to the coast next month? You should take me with you! I wanna go, okay? Please? That'd be awesome!"

England flushes. "Y-you want to go with me to the coast? Ah, I guess if you... Wait, when did you say that was?"

America gestures to the calendar with one hand. "It says you're going to the coast next month! I want to come. That would be way more exciting than sitting in your house!"

A strange look comes over England's face for a moment. One that America has not seen in a while. Something akin to deep grief. It disappears so quickly it's hard for him to know if he has even seen it. "...Arthur?"

England shakes his head. "N-no I am sorry but you can't come with me that day. There's... something I have to do."

"What? Tell me, I want to know! You just don't want me to come right?"

England blows on his tea, face grim. "I have to settle a bet."

America frowns. "You're going to the coast to settle a bet? Since when did you become a gambling man? With who? Oh man, was it France? Is he going to humiliate you?"

England is obviously reluctant to talk about it but America just loves pushing his buttons. "Tell me! Come on, I promise I won't tell anyone if it's embarrassing."

"I have to drop 100 pounds into the ocean."

America stares at him blankly. "...You mean money right?"

England pinches the bridge of his nose. "Of course I bloody well mean money!"

"You should give it to me instead! If I convert it into US dollars I'll make a profit! What kind of stupid ass bet did you lose that you would have to dump money into the ocean anyway?"

The strain in England's voice becomes audible. "It's none of your business. It was a bet I made a long time ago and a gentleman always keeps his word. That's all you need to know."

Sometimes England can be so pretentious with all his 'code of honor' crap. "Well how come I can't go? It won't take you that long right? All you're doing is wasting money that could be buying me food."

"I said you can't come!" England snaps viciously.

The force of it takes America off guard. He sounds really angry. What the hell is his problem anyway? America pouts and walks to one of the chairs. "Fine."

England sighs softly. "I'm sorry for losing my temper but it is very personal, even if it sounds ridiculous to you."

America just shrugs, acting as if he couldn't care less. "Whatever. My coasts are better anyway. I'll just go to California and not waste money by throwing it in the ocean."

"I said I was sorry!" A tense moment passes and both of them blow listlessly at their drinks. England speaks again with timid neutrality. "So how have you been doing?"

America stares into his coffee. "I've been better. I've been worse. You?"

"Fine. Thank you."

Another painful silence. America sips his coffee. Why does England bother putting them both through this? They get along alright these days but... it's just so awkward. It always feels like there's a wall between them. Thin and invisible, but there nonetheless. He doesn't know what England hopes to gain by these visits.

England struggles to find something to say to America. Anything that will wipe that questioning, bored look off his face. It's hard to face him when he looks so absolutely reluctant to be there. It's painful too. "...America, I wonder if you've heard about-"

The phone suddenly rings shrilly, bringing attention to itself. "Excuse me, I will be right back."

England gets up, silently cursing whoever is on the other line. America is a bit relieved for the distraction. Saves him from some small talk.

America closes his eyes, catching snippets of England's voice from the other room. "Hello?...to you too...Right this moment? Is it- ....not that, I just-...Fine, I understand. I'll call- Yes that's right...Yes. Goodbye."

England enters again, expression sour. "It seems I have to make a very important phone call. I'll be using the private line in my office. I can't say how long it will take. I am terribly sorry about this but please wait for me to finish. I promise I'll make it as short as possible."

America shrugs. "No problemo. I'll just hang out until you're done. When duty calls we must answer, eh?"

"I suppose. Don't make a mess."

America roles his eyes. "Yes mother."

England frowns, pauses as if he wants to say something, then shakes his head and leaves the room. America, with his fantastically short attention span, is soon bored.

After looking around at all there is to see in the room he decides exploring is much more interesting than staying in a single spot. And technically he's still waiting... he's just wandering about while he does so.

Unfortunately it's not particularly thrilling to explore a place one knows quite well. America's been there so often that all of it is pretty old hat. Still, walking around keeps him from getting too antsy. He's already wishing he could go home and do something more exciting. England is just so... boring.

America walks by a doorway, glancing at it before looking away, then pauses. He stands in front of the door. England had told him he wasn't allowed to touch it. It is one of those things that is so ingrained in him he had stopped seeing it. Well, why shouldn't he look inside? Surely England can't be hiding anything too mysterious. It's probably something sort of kinky or something. It might be worth a good laugh anyway.

He tries the door handle. Locked. Looking around quickly to make sure the coast is clear, he turns the handle and shoves his shoulder against it, easily breaking it open. And it had only been loud for a split second. He pushes the door open. A long, narrow staircase tapers off into the dark.

"Hm..." He pulls out his cellphone and flips it open, using its faint glow to light his descent.

The temperature seems to drop as he goes lower. It's kind of exciting. He gets a shiver of anticipation. 'This better not be a storage basement or something.'

He eventually comes to a second door made of heavy wood with an old fashioned knob. This one is unlocked. He pushes it open, clicking a button on the side of his phone to make it light up again as he steps into the new room.

It's rather large, more so than he would have suspected. At first he feels a wave of disappointment. It seems like it might be a storage place after all, weird as it might be. But no, something is off. First of all he finally notices that there is a sort of eerie glow that faintly illuminates the room. He still needs his phone to really examine anything but he's not in total darkness. Yet he can't seem to pinpoint where the light is coming from. And as he starts looking at things more closely he notices everything on the shelves are sort of strange: lots of candles, a couple of daggers, chains, jars of mysterious contents, really ancient leather-bound books, and those were just the things on the more normal side.

"What is this, all of England's occult stuff? Awesome..." He vaguely remembers someone—France maybe—mentioning the fact that England is into magic and the occult but he has never actually seen evidence of it before.

America trips over something, the dusty silence broken as it clatters across the floor loudly. America hisses and grabs onto a shelf to keep himself from falling over. He holds his breath as the room resettles from the unwanted burst of sound. He slowly begins to straighten up and his fingers brush against something.

America brings his cellphone to it so he can look at the object. It's an antique pocket watch. America lifts it by the chain and squints at it in the faint light. There's a crest or something carved into the metal. He jerks the chain and catches the watch in his hand, running a thumb over the engraving.

That's when he notices something odd. The pocket watch feels warm in his palm and it's almost like it's faintly pulsating. A shiver runs down his spine. 'No way, I must be imagining it.'

He swallows hard and gropes with it a moment until it clicks open. The inside shimmers slightly in the light, perhaps mother-of-pearl, and both delicate slightly curved hands point at the twelve. At least he thinks they do. It's so difficult to see.

At the thought there is suddenly a soft glow that is utterly apart from his cellphone. America stares in amazement as the face of the watch begins to shine blue. He squints as it becomes brighter. And now the pulse is becoming more distinct, stronger. It's like it's in his head. Pounding, pounding... No, not pounding... It's not a pulse...It's ticking. The clock is ticking like a heartbeat yet the hands remain frozen. America wants to drop it but his body refuses to obey him.

It continues to grow stronger, engulfing his body in a soft, caressing light. This isn't happening, there's no way this is happening. He must be hallucinating or dreaming or something-

The sea. America is suddenly immersed by the sea. He can smell it, feel it lapping gently against his skin, taste its saltiness, hear waves crashing as it eternally ebbs and flows.

What is happening?

The light becomes unbearably bright and America closes his eyes. And the moment he does the world around him falls away. Startled, America hastily opens his eyes and finds himself falling in the blue light. No, now it is more like being surrounded by the ocean, except warmer and he can breathe. And still he is falling and still he has no idea what is happening.

Panic stricken, he calls out for help. "England! Arthur!"

But his voice is lost in the roaring water and the ticking that is now so loud it reverberates through his entire body.

America shuts his eyes tightly and waits for it to end.


America opens his eyes slowly. Blue. He sees blue. But it's not light or water or anything like that. It's the sky. He frowns and sits up gingerly. He immediately throws a hand over his mouth and nose. Oh dear god what is that smell? He gags a few times, using all of his willpower to prevent himself from vomiting. He presses his sleeve against his face and uses it to filter the air. That is without a doubt the most unpleasant thing he could have ever woken up to. Where is he?

For the first time America really looks around himself. He's in an alleyway or something. He gets up, dusting himself off with one hand and creeping closer towards the entrance, glancing down at the dirty cobblestone. His eyes widen as he peeks out at the bustling street. For a moment all he can do is gape stupidly, his brain having a hard time coping with what he's seeing. It's like he has walked onto the set of a Pirates of the Caribbean movie or something.

America sure as hell isn't in Kansas anymore. He is, however, definitely in England. Now the real question: When in England is he?

AN: Sorry it's so short and that the ending is lame. I promise the next chapter will be better -laughs- And it smelled so strongly because... quite frankly EVERYTHING reeked back then. It was all quite filthy.