AN: Standard disclaimers apply. Just a short thing I spat out in an hour or two. Inspired by the questionably-canon idea that Iggy has a tattoo (see the translated lyrics of Marukaite Chikyuu England ver.) of an electric guitar; I imagine America would be pretty shocked by this phenomena. Hope you enjoy, and please leave a review. This is meant to be a one-shot, but maybe I'll add to it if anyone has suggestions or..something. yeah.

The music, brash and ear bursting and violent, could be heard all the way from the parking lot of the venue, where one Alfred F. Jones currently found himself stationed in slack-jawed awe. Even from his position, where it was impossible to make out any actual lyrics, it was plain what the songs called for; they cried 'Riot! Destruction!'- begging the obliteration of the government systems of the world and the laws they put down. It was all electric guitar screeches and drums crashing, heavy bass lines and vocalizations worthy of the Banshee Arthur used to tell him horror-stories of when he was still but a little colony.

He made his way towards the building reluctantly, thinking to himself, "This can NOT be the right place", as a set of security guards hauled a writhing and screaming man between them –who was profusely oozing not only blood from his busted chops, but also protests and every obscene word Alfred had ever heard plus quite a length of ones he hadn't- out the doors and on to the pavement harshly. He skirted around the trio as he made his way to the doors, overhearing something about concealed weapons and police before he hefted one of the large metal doors opened only to be slapped in the face with the same music he'd heard from his car, now at a volume he was positive would cause him permanent inner-ear damage.

This was not what he'd been prepared for when Arthur's boss called him in the middle of the night and pleaded that he go detain his ex-brother, because it would be 'wholly unacceptable for public officials such as themselves to be seen at such an unsavory place' but that it was 'absolutely vital that someone go and wrangle Arthur in, and who better for the job than The Hero America?'; Oh no. He'd assumed it would be another of the occasional trips to gather a weepy and nostalgic Arthur up from a bar and lug his drunk ass home to bed. That, he could handle. That wouldn't have seemed so… So outright resembling something straight from The Twilight Zone! THIS was just…plain fucking crazy!

Someone had to be playing a joke on him. Ha ha, wake America in the middle of the night and send him to a punk rock show. To pick up England. Who was at the punk rock show willingly. ENGLAND. Sweater-vest-wearing, tea-drinking, unicorn-loving Arthur Kirkland. Couldn't they have at least picked a more believable prank, for Liberty's sake? If he hadn't been half asleep at the time, he never would have agreed to groggily hop across the pond for this, because it was just too damn absurd an idea.

He presented a government ID card to the grungy-looking kid doing security at the door, and although he gave Alfred some awfully dirty looks, once Alfred assured him that he was NOT there to interrupt the show or cause problems, but merely to pick up a friend (which got him a very unconvinced look on top of the scowl and glare), he was let in without a hitch. He began making his way through the jumping, screaming, violent throng of bodies that was the crowd, wondering how the hell he was supposed to actually find Arthur if he was, in fact, attending the concert- Which he was still most assuredly unconvinced of.

On top of the low-quality and extraordinarily loud music assaulting his poor, poor ears, the place was waging an all-out war on the rest of his senses as well. The concert hall reeked of sweat, alcohol and pot, making Alfred wrinkle his nose. The people were crammed together like sardines and still somehow found a way to writhe and howl like a pack of crazed animals, making him suddenly very grateful for his stature as he attempted to shove his way between them. Smoke and a seizure-worthy light show stung his eyes, making it even more difficult for them to adjust to the new surroundings, and he could very nearly taste the excitement that the whole building buzzed with.

He had to admit, though, that the energy was awesome. Not a single person was standing still for even a moment; dancing , yelling, throwing their fists viciously into the air and- …and into other peoples faces up closer to the stage where there seemed to be some sort of battle royal going on- and all the expressions were animated. Hell, if Alfred hadn't come in with a mission, he'd probably find it very easy to get swept up into this version of mass hysteria. Maybe he'd stay a while if he could confirm that Arthur wasn't around, which he was only more sure he could do after winding his way into the middle of the crowd and experiencing better the total chaotic atmosphere; this really didn't seem like his mother nation's style at all.

"Ow! The hell..?"

Alfred ducked, swearing (although his voice was drowned out), when something that seemed suspiciously like a body collided with the side of his head. From his new, slightly lower position, he peered up while rubbing his bumped noggin to find that his assaulter had in fact been a person, whom the rest of the crowd was passing over top of them for some reason unbeknownst to him.

A.. really strongly familiar person, actually- despite the tattered jeans, boots, Spray-painted shirt, and the only hardly audible "Fuck The System! Anarchy in the UK!" that was being bellowed in a raspy but blatantly Arthur-like voice. Alfred's jaw just about hit the floor.

"Oh sweet Jesus, no way. What. The. FUCK?!", He exclaimed (and he could actually be heard vaguely this time, earning some odd looks from the purple-haired girl to his left), pushing through the people around him with his eyes locked on to this could-actually-be-Arthur boy that was still being tossed across the sea of bodies like a skipping rock. He was actually here?! What the hell was going on?!

He finally managed to get himself underneath his target, and when he was able to get his arms above him, he wrenched said target right out from above the crowd and pulled him down among the the rest of the bodies around him- Effectively irritating the people in their immediate vicinity, due to the addition to the already-crowded space, as well as Arthur (for surely, that's who it was; There was no mistaking him up close, regardless of the weird clothing). Before Arthur even had the opportunity to see who it was grabbing him, Alfred hoisted him over a shoulder and began the epic journey back toward the front doors, the Brit sqwaking and flailing in indignation from the second his lovely crowd-surfing was so rudely interrupted.

"What the bloody fuck are you doing, you sodding tosser?!" Arthur screeched in Alfred's ear, even still not having gotten a good look at his apparent kidnapper due to the swiftness with which he was taken hostage. "If you don't have a mind-numbingly brilliant explanation for this, God save me, I'm going to beat seven shades of shit out of y-"

Just as they reached the doors, after a very rushed escape that left quite a few angry pedestrians in their wake, Arthur recognized the jacket upon which he was forcibly perched; The well-loved and decorated brown leather underneath him was easy to pick out.

"...America?" Arthur nearly-yelped in disbelief.

"The one and only~" Alfred replied as he brushed past the security guard at the door, who seemed to be in search of a phone, presumably to call the police over the ruckus he was causing.

"What on earth are you doing here? And put me down, for god's sake, I'm perfectly capable of walking!"

"Me? What are YOU doing here?! This is a hell of a place to wander into when you're drunk!" The younger hollered despite the fact that he could be heard clearly now that they were in the parking lot, "And you weren't complaining about wanting to walk when those kids in there were passing you around like a beach ball, so why start now?" Alfred quickened his pace to just shy of a run when a decent handful of burly-looking bouncers came stampeding through the front doors after them [He could take them, easy, but his boss would be pissed, so a fight was best avoided].

"I am not drunk, you wanker!" Arthur flushed indignantly, still struggling (and making the get-away operation a lot more difficult on his previous colony), "And this is my country, I can go where I bloody well like! You, however- Unf!" he was cut off momentarily when America chucked him unceremoniously into the passenger seat of his car from the driver's side door, the blue-eyed male diving in after him, "- Were not invited to come gallivanting around on my land causing trouble!"

"Your boss called and asked me to come get you, thank you very much, so I was invited!" Alfred slammed the car door behind them and riffled through his pockets briefly for the keys before he jammed them into the ignition, started the car, and peeled out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell (narrowly avoiding a hit-and-run with the security guards).

Whatever response Arthur had was cut short when he was slammed backward into his seat courtesy of Newton's First Law. He buckled his seat belt as soon as his brain stopped rattling in his skull (demanding that Alfred do the same, for which he received the rolling of a pair of baby-blues) and commenced his irritated not-pouting-- because Arthur Kirkland does not pout, it's undignified- displeased by both his extraction from a smashing good time and the knowledge that his boss had sent a (very stupid) one-man search party out for him just because he'd disappeared for a couple measly hours. Well, okay so it was more like six or something, but he'd been around for a LOT longer than his boss and he could damn well take care of himself!

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, in which both parties mutely assessed that it didn't appear they were being followed by either cops nor an angry mob of punks. The sky outside was dark and starless, thick with pregnant rain clouds that threatened to burst at any given second. The car smelled faintly of fast food, smoke, and sweat (the former due to the frequent McDonalds consumption that took place within the interior, the latter two clinging stubbornly to the Island Nation present and slowly infecting the air), but none of the o dors were so strong as to be altogether unpleasant. Still, Arthur sighed moodily and slumped against the passenger door with his arms crossed over his chest. Leave it to that bloody American to wreck his night.

The quiet didn't last very long, however; few instances of quiet ever did when Alfred was involved. It didn't take the American much time to assess that England was in a bad mood, and he figured the best battle plan would be to occupy him wit some sort of conversation. After all, he didn't want to be stuck in a car with a brooding Brit in the middle of the night. He chanced a brief glance at the shorter blonde before remembering the questions that had been tugging at him since he caught sight of the mussy-headed blonde.

"So Arty, why the concert? With all that 'down with government' and 'Stick it to the man' stuff, it doesn't really seem like something you'd be into."

"How many times have I told you not to call me that?", He bit, taking a small second to seeth before continuing, "Punk music originated in the UK, you twat. It's only natural that I appreciate something my people came up with and put a lot of heart into."

"Pfft. Yeah, okay. Then what's up with the threads? Not that you don't look, ah, cool or whatever, because it's a huge improvement on the sweater-vests and loafers; Those are so lame. You actually look pretty awesome right now, with the whole grunge thing going on, but still. I didn't think you owned a pair of jeans, let alone ones that look like they've been around as long as you have. Everything you wear is so stuffy." He stuck his tongue out with childish distaste, garnering a mild swat to the back of the head.

"This is proper attire for the event, and I'll have you know that I own a lot of clothing you've never seen on me. I'm sure I have plenty of things in my closet that would surprise you, wha with your dim wits and lack of international socializing (at this, Alfred scoffed; Who was England to lecture about being anti-social? Arthur chose to ignore him). I'm not as supposedly unstylish as you seem to think."

Alfred laughed, earning himself an irritated glare.

"Yeah, England, sure. After having to forcibly remove you from a punk rock concert, of all things, I think it'd be pretty hard to surprise me. Maybe if you had, like.." He paused for a moment to come up with the most far-fetched thing he could think of, "Leather pants, and a tattoo or piercings or something. Yeah. Maybe then I'd be surprised."

Being focused on the road, he missed the cheeky grin that made its way to the older nation's lips, and the way his green eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, Arty, That's so."

The car was quiet again as they pulled into Arthur's drive-way. Alfred parked the car and unlocked the doors, expecting Arthur to make an immediate and huffy departure. He turned to wish his fellow nation good-night, to find Arthur had un-buckled but was seemingly without intentions to actually leave the vehicle- he was leaning with his back on the passenger door, his arms still crossed, and his face adorned with a rather smug look.

"…What?" Alfred asked, trying to thing of what he could have said to set off that sort of look.

Arthur closed his eyes briefly and his grin widened while he savored his imminent victory. After a pause of but a few seconds he sat up and shifted to kneel on the seat, facing Alfred. They locked eyes, blues looking perplexed against greens that clearly sang 'I know something you don't know~'.

In one fluid movement, England pulled up his shirt with one hand and tugged the top hem of his jeans down with the other, revealing an intricate and utterly badass looking electric guitar in red and black inks over the inside curve of his left hip bone, nicely decorating approximately 6x4 inches of alabaster flesh.

"I've got two sets of black leather -Complete with pants, vests, boots, jackets and hats- in my wardrobe. Rather flamboyant if you ask me, but they come in handy on.. certain occasions. Perhaps you'd like to see those as well at some later date? And just because you don't happen to see any piercings at the moment, doesn't mean I haven't got them. As I said:," his grin widened further, and Alfred was reminded of the paintings in Arthur's house from his pirate days, "Punk originated in me." He released his hold on his clothing, letting it fall back into place, "At any rate, I believe the terminology the youth of your nation would use in this situation is, 'So suck it'. Good-night, America."

With that, Arthur took his leave of the vehicle and strolled triumphantly into his abode, looking for all the world like the cat that got the cream and leaving Alfred to gawk after him in utter and total astonishment.

"…Well fuck," Alfred spoke to himself aloud when his brain finally caught up with him, "If this hasn't been one of the weirdest nights of my life, I don't know what- ..Oh fu-- Holy shit, did England just proposition me for SEX?!"