Ehehe... What's this you might ask? It is neither a one shot I owe, nor a chapter for one of my ongoing stories. No, it's mindless amusement written for myself to escape stress and write something that doesn't feel partially like an obligation (though an obligation I adore, don't get me wrong haha). Sorry~

Ohohoho but guess who is done with school for the entire summer next Wednesday~?

Anyway, this is pretty much inspired from the other day when I imagined what America would be like if he was super duper angry. That's about it~

Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia!

As America glares down at him with an expression that suggests he wants to rip out his spine, England gets the distinct feeling he has done something to upset the boy. Nothing specific that isn't normal for them comes to mind.

England clears his throat uncomfortably. "A-America... everything quite alright?"

America's glasses flash and he punches the wall next to England's head. England's eyes become as large as saucers, whole body stiff with fear. America withdraws his fist, the glare never wavering.

"You know what you did." With that he turns and leaves.

England looks slowly at the cracked marble—marble for god's sake!—and nearly faints. Very slowly he slides to the floor. What...What had he done?

And that's when the troubles began.


After two months of avoiding any contact with America, England figures at the next World Conference everything should be fine between them. America is a happy-go-lucky air head. Whatever slip England made to piss him off so badly has surely faded from his mind.

When he sees America juggling an apple and laughing in his usual obnoxious manner with Japan he feels relieved. He seems chipper, there's no way he's still angry at England...

England walks over hesitantly. "H-hello Japan, America."

Japan bows his head. "Greetings England-san."

The apple is no longer traveling between America's hands. It is clenched in one of his fists. England smiles weakly at him. "...H-how are you doing?"

Giving England a dark frown, America crushes the apple. A shiver of fear goes through England's spine and he quickly walks away before America can do that to his head.

Bloody hell! How can he still be angry? What has his knickers in a twist anyway? England is sure he would remember if he had done something so offensive as to make America that pissed off. Honestly, no matter how much he racks his brain he can't think of anything. America has never been this angry at him. Even when he left him...

Well there must be some answer to this. He will just ask around and see if anyone knows what he did. America is sure to have blabbered about it to everyone if it really upset him. Careful to avoid getting near America, England makes a round of the various countries, casually inquiring if they have heard anything about America's temper towards England. And much to his despair none of them have any idea of what he means. As far as they are aware, nothing is wrong with America in the least other than the usual problems.


The one person who might really know something is Japan and he is remaining glued to America's side. Why does this have to be so hard? Before he can concoct a way to get Japan to him without alerting America the countries are called in for the conference. He'll just have to wait until the break.

The meeting could not have been more uncomfortable if France started dancing naked (which he had actually done once). It is hard to concentrate when he can feel chills go through his body every few seconds from the death glare aimed at him from across the room by his former colony. Not to mention every time he glances up at America he snaps a pen in half.

Swallowing hard England does his best to keep his eyes averted and his head low. Finally the agonizingly slow meeting reaches a lunch break. England notices Japan talking to China and waits at his desk for the room to clear. Maybe when Japan finally finishes talking to him he can snag him away. And pray he knows what's going on.

He's so distracted watching Japan, England doesn't immediately notice America standing before him until he speaks. "You asshole."

England jumps and looks at him fearfully. "A-America, I really think there's some sort of-"

America punches the desk, cracking it down the middle. "Go fuck yourself."

He turns on his heel and storms out of the room. The remaining countries stare at England and the broken desk in shock.

Spain murmurs from nearby, "Dios mio... What did he do to get America angry like that?"

More whispers, but no one directly comes up to talk to England. He realizes with a start that now that America has shown his public scorn the other countries will avoid him if possible. No one wants to get in a skirmish with an angry America if it can be helped.

England stands and staggers out of the room in shock. He needs some air... What had he done? He can't figure it out. There must be something...

A hand suddenly reaches out and pulls him abruptly into a hallway. England yelps, sure it must be America. The apple, oh god the apple!

It's Russia, smiling cheerfully down at him. England stares at him then smacks his hand away. "Are you trying to give me a bleedin' heart attack? I thought for sure you were..."

The smile grows. "America? No, not me. He does not seem to be pleased with you...Are you fighting?"

The last person England expected to be talking to about this is Russia but... he has been in America's line of hatred for a long time. Maybe he can help him out? "To be honest I'm not sure. One day he flipped out on me, told me I knew what I had done... Now he's mad at me. And it's just not normal mad either it's..."

"...No, it is something different, da? It is like a fire from deep within his heart. Like a hatred that burns and will never die, that threatens to engulf and destroy you. A beautiful fury that makes every nerve in your body shiver with ecstasy..."

England stares at him blankly. "Er...Well, that is not exactly how I would-"

Russia turns to him, all trace of a smile gone. He looks as furious as America did earlier. His hand shoots out and grabs England's collar. "That anger, that hatred belongs to me do you understand? You have stolen what is mine. No one else is allowed to have that so if I were you I would make nice with America so he can focus it back on me, da? Besides, you can not handle that side of America. Not like I can."

England stares aghast at Russia. What is wrong with him? Is it even possible he could have said something more insanely creepy? "Uh..."

Russia lifts England off the ground, bringing his face close. "Fix it comrade, or I will fix you."

His face suddenly brightens and he giggles, dropping England. "Best of luck!"

With that he turns and walks away. England stares blankly after him. What... sort of mess has he found himself in?


During the second half of the meeting America continues to give him a glare dripping with acid. Only now he is also aware of the eerie, silent fury of Russia's gaze, also directed at him.

Whether he understands what he has done wrong or not, England resolves in that moment to fix whatever he has broken or else die by either America or Russia's hand.


As the second day of the conference begins so too does England's second chance to figure out what is going on with America. It's such a pain. He'd usually chew him out but for once he's honestly concerned about suffering serious bodily harm. Never before has he felt so much sympathy for America's enemies.

Having gotten basically no sleep that night trying to figure out how he had offended America and coming up with nothing, he decides to simply apologize. Make it sound sincere enough and it doesn't matter if he knows what it is he's meant to be sorry for.

He rehearses his heartfelt apology under his breath, making it sound sincere but vague enough to pretty much cover anything. Apprehensively he searches the crowd for America, almost hoping to discover he's been mysteriously and suddenly called away. No such luck. A moment later he spots him joking around with Australia. It always irks him to see his two most obnoxious former colonies together.

Grimacing, he makes his way over to them. The cheerful smile vanishes immediately from America's face, replaced once again by that 'I'm going to kill you in your sleep and sell your organs on the black market then buy a cheap hooker out of spite' look of his.

Australia waves. "G'day mate! Looking a little pale there. Not getting enough sun?"

England ignores him completely. He clears his throat, not quite looking at America's. "A-America, I have...have something I need to say to you."

"Do you?" If the words had physical form they would be dry ice. So cold they burn.

"Yes... I, er, want to apologize to you..."

America raises an eyebrow. "...Go on then."

England clears his throat again wishing Australia didn't have to stand there watching him, looking rather amused. Bloody git. Still, better than being alone with America who still gives off an aura of death towards him. " truly sorry from the bottom of my heart. I have wronged you... and for that I apologize. I am a country, but I am also human and it is inevitable that I will make mistakes. Please... while I do not deserve it I can only humbly beg you forgive me my flaws."

He watches America's face apprehensively to see how he takes it. Australia gives a snort of laughter and England shoots him a glare. When he looks back the diagnosis seems grim. America's face has not thawed in the least.

"...Are you really sorry or are you just saying that?"

England swallows hard. "O-of course I mean it, what do you take me for?"

America shakes his head in disgust and from nowhere pulls out a handgun, rapidly firing rounds that barely miss England.

Australia grabs America's hand. "Crikey! Easy there! What's wrong with you?"

America narrows his eyes at England. "I don't think you're serious. Don't give me your crap until you have properly repented or next time I promise I won't miss."

With that he storms off. Australia gives England a curious look then hurries after him. England trembles, not trusting his legs for a moment. He feels something warm on his cheek and reaches up. The color drains from his face as he sees it is blood. One of the bullets had grazed him. This is really serious and he has no idea what to do.

The first half of that day's meeting goes much as it had the day before with the death glares from both America and Russia, this time with the inquisitive glances of the other nations. No one is really paying attention to whoever is speaking. During the lunch break England hurries out of the room. He feels claustrophobic. What should he do?

Then it hits him. What does America like more than his stupid food? Maybe a peace offering will appease him? Right, it is worth a shot... He rushes from the building. There is bound to be a McDonald's somewhere. They're everywhere these days.


Bag filled with America's favorite selection of American cuisine in hand, England mutters to himself as he searches for him. If this doesn't work he's not sure what he'll do. It's not like he can ask what he did wrong. America would snap his spine in half for sure if he did. The thought makes him swallow hard.

The back of his suit is suddenly grabbed and he is dragged into a hallway. "Wh-what the bloody hell, again?"

He is slammed against a wall and he hisses. "Just what do you think-"

Russia presses his pipe against England's throat, grinning at him cheerfully. "He is still angry at you."

"Well I bloody knew that! I'm working on it alright?"

Russia tsks and shakes his head. "I am afraid that is not good enough for me England. Do you know how it feels to be so thoroughly neglected? I cannot wait for you to pitifully flail around until you somehow curry favor with him again. So I am simply going to eliminate the competition."

England backs further against the wall, staring at him in horror. "You are insane!"

Russia giggles. "So I have been told."

Raising his pipe, Russia takes a swing looking as cheerful as a child at the playground. England barely ducks out of its way in time, pushing past Russia. His heart thunders in his chest. Dear lord, if he doesn't get away he is going to die for sure!

He can hear the heavy tread of Russia's boots as he chases after him. England turns a corner, feeling the wind of the pipe as it barely misses his head. He nearly falls and only just catches his balance. He reaches the end of a hallway and tries to throw open the only door available to him. To his despair he finds it locked. He starts shaking the knob violently, banging on it. If only he had gone right instead of left earlier he would have been among the other countries again. He slides to the floor, strength leaving his legs. Shite, he is as good as dead.

Russia taps his pipe lightly against his palm. "Oh dear, it seems you are out of places to run. My deepest apologies. I simply cannot stand to see America show so much hatred to someone who is not me. Bye bye England."

He raises his pipe again and England winces and shuts his eyes so he doesn't have to watch his own demise. "Just what do you think you are doing you crazy bastard?"

Russia turns and England opens his eyes. America stands with his arms folded, eyes narrowed at Russia. "Get away from him Russki, do you hear me?"

Russia brightens, smile warming. "Oh? Why should I?"

America strides forward, pressing up close to Russia, heedless of the pipe. He points a finger in his face. "Because if you don't I'll kick your ass you psychopath!"

Russia shivers pleasantly. "Well... I would not want to cause problems at a World Conference. I will hope for England's sake our issue is resolved in the very near future."

America pushes him away. "I don't know what your issue is but if I see you waving that stupid pipe in anyone's face again I'll come after you myself."

Russia caresses his pipe. "I shall be looking forward to it America."

America glowers at him and turns to England, crouching beside him. "You alright? He didn't hurt you?"

England shakes his head, somewhat afraid to speak. America frowns. "I hate that guy... You hear that Russia? I fucking hate you, you crazy commie bastard!"

Russia turns to beam and wave at them, giving England a look that reads along the lines of 'you keep things just like this or else'. As he disappears from sight America turns back to England and his eyes suddenly become cold again. England's heart sinks.

America abruptly stands and straightens his suit. "Take better care of yourself moron."

England stumbles to a standing position. "Wait damn it! I...I got this for you."

He shoves the now somewhat crumpled bag of burgers into America's hands. America regards it doubtfully before opening it. Pinning the back to his body with one arm he opens up one of the hamburgers, eying it critically. Suddenly his expression softens. "...It's exactly the way I like it."

"Well of course, I know all of your favorite burgers." It's not like he didn't talk about them all the time. Anyone who spent any time with America would know.

America smiles softly at England. "...Hey. Let's put this whole thing behind us. I hate being so mad at you and I'm sure you didn't mean it. I'll just accept this as an apology."

A wave of relief goes through England. "That would be brilliant! I mean... I'm glad. I...I really hate when you are that mad at me too." And very terrified. Tentatively he adds, "A-and maybe you can make it explicit how I can make sure this will never happen again?"

He really wants to know what he did. America takes a bite of burger. "Well, I mean if you," chew chew chew, "and y'know, don't ever," chew chew chew, "'cause that really just pissed me the fuck off. Oh but what really got me was," chew chew chew, "But I'm sure you didn't mean it that way or anything. So let us put this behind us and start afresh, never discussing it again!"

As America smacks him heartily on the back England stares at him in disbelief and irritation. "...Sounds ace."

America grins at him and puts an arm around his shoulder. "Okay! Lunch is probably just about over so let's get going. I want to eat these all before we start again... Oh and have you been taking notes, I totally have not been paying attention since I got here."

England sighs softly. Such is his life. Oh well... At least for the time being he doesn't have to worry about being murdered. "Er... America... do you have... some weird thing going with... with Russia?"

America looks at him blankly. "...Weird thing? I dunno, you mean how we totally despise each other?"

Whatever Russia's deal is, America is obviously not aware of it. He pats his back lightly. "No nothing, it's nothing at all."

The two walk back, talking casually, and once more order is restored.


AN: I almost never see Australia in fanfiction but I bet he and America (and Canada) would be pretty good friends. Not England, from what I have gathered they have an odd contempt for them, just as they do with all of their children -laughs-