Author Notes:

-Written in the early morning/ late night. (You know, the after midnight am hours where imagination really gets a jump start and things are also a little wacky). I have role-played but otherwise not written anything down for Hetalia. This is a first. I find it adorable but it may be an idea already done or not so adorable as I thought. I love role-reversal type of things, though, so maybe this fits into that. Who knows?

-Uh, America refers to himself as a big brother to Canada; I kinda have the feeling that America would believe this whether or not it's true (ya know, are they twins/ who is older / blah blah blah)

-Real names and country names used

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or original story of Hetalia. I do own this fan-made work though. (Kairi- I never understood these disclaimers. Why would the creator of a series not only make a fanfiction, but post it on ffnet I don't know really.)

Pairing: USUK; more pairings possible but not likely

Timeline: Psh. Modern day? But it's not really relevant (I don't think so anyway). And although I try and research history, finer points may be lacking or accidental "oops" statements. Feel free to correct me if you see something out of place.

Summary: England gets himself into a bit of trouble with his magic. He's reverted back to his childhood form, and if that weren't bad enough now he's starting to lose his memories, too. America and Canada get the fun of keeping the secret from the rest of the world nations and trying to solve the little problem on their own.

~!~

A Little Problem

Chapter 1

~!~

"America, we have a problem."

He looked up, curious but only half interested. Canada usually came to talk to him about problems, and they were usually easily solvable. Because America knew how to solve things, being a hero and all. Hero and big brother. Of course he always solved problems. That was his job. That was what he did.

Nevermind the fact that Canada was coming to him less and less. Nevermind the fact that over these last few years, America had been unable to solve his own problems and was still trying to solve the problems of the rest of the world. Still trying to be the hero from his glory days, even though his country was falling into disrepair.

Not that it was his fault, of course. Politicians were ruining him. They'd be the death of him. Ah, if only he knew more history. Some of his people were warning that it was similar to Rome. The fall of the Roman Empire was happening again – with America.

Bah.

He would solve it – his current financial crises. Everyone had them, and everyone clawed their way out. Eventually. So Greece was having problems with riots. So Europe was looking to be closer to turmoil.

But America was fine. He was always fine. He just...couldn't solve everyone's problems anymore.

So, maybe it was with more than curiosity that he looked up at Canada's statement. Maybe it was with a bit of hope. Canada was coming to him for help again. Maybe things were getting better. Maybe he really could solve this problem. Maybe...

"Err...who's the kid?"

Turning around in the office room, America found himself staring at a blond haired kid with green eyes, standing next to a sheepish looking Canada. There was something annoyingly familiar about the kid, too, which was why he couldn't look away. But it wasn't the eyes. And it definitely wasn't the ragged outfit with an old green cloak that looked like it came right out of a medieval fantasy movie. Of course, for someone who always solved the world's problems, it took him a hell of a long time to recognize the one feature most people would have noticed right away.

"Bloody git, are you really that stupid?"

The bushy eyebrows twitched as the eyes closed and the little arms crossed in front of his chest as the child frowned. Big...bushy...eyebrows...

(Of course it wasn't even the voice or manner of speech that made America realize the disturbing truth.)

"England! Bro, what the hell! Why are you all pint-sized?"

"Pint-sized?" England gnashed his teeth together in that all familiar way, glaring at him out of the corners of his eyes, clearly upset.

Of course, America did what he always did when England was mad at him. He laughed. "Yeah, man, what happened? You look like a little kid!"

"You are such an idiot."

Seeing as England wasn't about to admit to America what had happened, Canada made the decision to fill in the loud nation. "Uh...America...well, see, you know how England does all that magic stuff?"

"Yeah, I always find it hard to believe it works, seeing as the majority of my people don't believe in all that hocus pocus stuff." This statement earned him an insult-under-the-breath and another glare.

"Uh, well, England's encountered what's called a backlash..."

"A what?"

"A backlash you dolt! It's what happens sometimes when your spell gets reflected or stopped or doesn't work right," England grumbled, still glaring, apparently not happy to be here for whatever reason.

Canada was nodding his head, though there was a bit of a grimace on his face. Maybe part of that glare was directed to him? Nah. That wouldn't make sense. England was never mad at Canada. Hell, no one was ever mad at Canada.

"So, let me get this straight," America said, leaning back against his office desk – which was filled with papers meshed around everywhere, completely unorganized. Not that he cared about organization; there hadn't been any real need for it, not since the politicians had started to take care of things without consulting him first. "England did some wacky magic stuff. It didn't happen like it should have. And now he's a kid again because of some backlash?"

"Oh, look, you can figure things out on your own," the Britain child remarked sarcastically.

And Canada mumbled a quiet, "But we told him everything."

Nobody cared to respond with the obvious. If it had been anyone else to make such a statement, there would have been a moment of "duh" or "I was being sarcastic" or mumbles of "dumb ass" or "idiot" or "obviously." But not with Canada. People were nice to Canada, in that "we're ignoring you" sort of way. But Canada had been the one to prove that being ignored was better than being bullied or attacked.

With a shrug of his shoulders, America brought up his first solution in the form of a question. "So, why don't you do some magic and make yourself the right age?"

This time, England didn't get mad at him. This time, Canada didn't wince or roll his eyes. This time, the younger England lowered his head as if hiding something – as if in shame.

"I can't."

America blinked. "What? Why not? You magicked yourself into this problem, why can't you magic yourself out of it?"

The green eyes looked up, started to glare, and then glanced to the side. "If it was that easy, I would have already done it."

"I know. That's why I asked...why you can't..."

At first there was genuine surprise in the look England gave him, like he couldn't believe America had thought ahead or meant a question so literally – two things he should have known about America; meaning exactly what he said was something America was notoriously good at and known for. After the surprise, the child version of his supposed-to-be-older ally sighed and spread his arms helplessly.

"I can't remember how to do anything."

"Anything?" America exclaimed.

England's eyebrows twitched again. "Anything with magic. Well, no that's not true. I can remember some things, but only the simple spells. The basic ones." He sighed and looked away again. "The ones I knew when I looked like this... Everything else is just...it's like I would have to... I think I'm losing my memories..."

For a few awkward silent moments, America sat there, leaning against his desk, mouth open in shock. England was forgetting things? Losing his memory? Wasn't that what happened to old people? But he had gotten younger... Why would he be losing his memory? That didn't make any sense. Or did it?

Closing his mouth, America put his hand on his chin and started to stare at the floor. Thinking. (Yeah, it happened.) England had said the only magic he could remember was what he knew when he was a child. Did that mean his memory was related to being reverted back to an earlier age? Was he going to forget everything that happened during his adulthood? Everything from childhood to now?

How could he run a country like that? What would the other countries think? Would they take advantage? Would France invade? Or anyone else? Would they demand he step down? With everyone in the United Kingdom at each others throats anyway, would it open up the possibility of more civil war there, more wars for independence? Ah, the chaos that could erupt... What if England was dissolved as a nation – what if he disappeared?

Startled at the thought, America jumped up. "Holy shit dude we have to keep this a secret!"

England scoffed. "Obviously. Can you imagine what that bloody bastard France would do? Just imagining our early relationship sets me on edge."

Ignoring the idea of a relationship between France and England (really?), America turned to his twin brother who was still standing in the doorway, being so quiet it would be hard to remember he was even there. "Hey dude let's take him to my apartment."

"I'm right here..."

Ignoring England's childish whine – because that's what it sounded like now – America stayed focused on his original intentions. "You know, if he were seen around here, things might get dicey. What with the cameras and the news people that hang around this building, it's hard enough for me to stay out of the spotlight. A little kid would look really out of place if he got caught. Uh, why did you bring him here anyway? Why not just call me?"

Canada shrugged and leaned back against the edge of the door frame. "He wanted to see you."

"Aw, really?" America said with a half-hearted laugh, trying to keep a reign on the warm feeling that knowledge caused.

England was suspiciously quiet and America had the idea that the nation was covering up a blush – America had seen it enough to guess without turning around to check for himself this time. Even if England was now a child, making these feelings even more awkward than usual.

With a smile on his own face, Canada brushed past the awkward moment by changing subjects. "Anyway, I think it's a great idea to take him to your place, at least until we figure out what to do."

America narrowed his eyes, hearing the unspoken word. "But?"

And Canada sighed, "But it'd probably be better if I went back home."

"What? Why?"

"You're going to leave me alone with him?" England exclaimed from his place a few feet beneath him. Being a child left him kind of short and out of taller people's conversations.

Tilting his head to the side, Canada let loose with one of his big smiles, closing his eyes. "I think you can handle it, America. Besides, I have a country to run, too. And, no offense, but my politicians are asking for my opinion and advice now – and I don't think yours are."

With a groan, America conceded. "Well you got that part right. I have all the free time I could want now!"

"Which means you're the perfect person to take care of our little problem," Canada said, his grin never falling.

At first, America grinned back – Canada's smile was contagious after all. "Yeah! I'll figure out how to fix it and in the meantime we'll party at my place!"

"Party?" Came England's worried voice. "Now wait just a minute..."

Completely ignoring the bite-sized nation, Canada waved and spun around to walk out, tossing a quick remark over his shoulder as he went. "I'll call if I think of anything."

"Haha, yeah, okay!" America said, waving back, before it hit him. "Hey, wait, what am I supposed to do? Canadia?" When he realized that his twin brother was long gone, he let out a long sigh and then turned his laugh to the little England. "So I guess it's just you and me, then."

To which England hung his head and responded, "Bollocks."

~!~

"Put me down!"

Kicking and struggling did no good. Nothing worked, ever. He supposed it was just normal. England was always fighting him, always upset over something – not like he was with France, but he wasn't ever warm and inviting, that much was sure. Even as a chibi, England was fighting against him, demanding to be given proper respect, insisting that he knew better.

There was a reason he had rebelled. Well, it had been his people, of course, and it had torn him apart to fight him for real, but England couldn't ever let go. He was like a parent that couldn't accept his children had grown up. America had tried other ways, tried to break it off easy, but England had made it difficult – until his politicians made the final call.

As nations, they were ruled by their people.

But they were people, too. In their own special immortal represent-a-country way.

"Artie-"

"Don't you dare call me that."

He laughed. "Why not? It's like the perfect nickname."

"Only children get nicknames like that..." He paused as America sniggered. "Oh bloody hell. Just put me down, you oaf!"

"Okay," America said, setting the child England in a chair at the kitchen table.

Stepping back, leaning over the table on the other side, America felt his grin grow. Poor England was too short to see over the table edge and his legs were hanging over the chair, unable to reach the ground. He could imagine the curses Arthur would want to shoot at him and he was waiting to hear them all with that undeniably cute high pitched child's voice. He found the idea of a young kid cursing like an adult – and British cursing at that – to be the funniest thing – though he had honestly never thought it so hilarious until today when he was brought face-to-face with the phenomenon.

Sadly, he didn't get his wish. Instead of falling for the trap America wanted, England maneuvered his legs around to an open side of the chair and kicked his way down to the floor, dusting his obviously old clothes off as if it mattered. He then turned a narrowed-eyed glare toward America, but just a quick glance of one before focusing his attention toward the dark hallway.

"I told you not to bother with food. I would much rather go to bed early and deal with all of this in the morning."

Trying not to pout, America crossed his arms and kept playing along. "Well, grumpy kids don't deserve supper anyway." Then, ignoring the heated glare, he continued in his best angry-mother voice. "Go to bed without dinner, you naughty boy!"

"You are not allowed to speak to me like that!" England snapped.

"Oh? And what are you going to do about it?"

America didn't get a response, just a more angry England. Which wasn't really what he wanted. This wasn't how this was supposed to happen at all. He was supposed to poke a little fun at the unfortunate nation and then proceed to find a quick solution. But there was no such thing as a quick solution. Not when it came to reversing magic and the only person who knew anything about magic had no idea how to fix his own problem.

Shaking his head, America decided he really needed to be more responsible. England was probably freaking out about his memory loss and little condition. Dammit. What Arthur needed right now was someone to be caring and supportive, like a real hero. Not an immature friend who could only poke fun at his unfortunate circumstance. No wonder England was so angry with him.

Okay. Serious face.

"Are you sure you don't want something to eat? It'd probably be a good idea, even if you don't feel like it now."

Little England turned to him, eyes wide before narrowing in that suspicious stare, on guard immediately. "I am not sure I trust your food."

At this, America had to laugh. The thought of England complaining about someone else's food was a new hilarity all on its own. That was something he would have to share with the others whenever he saw them again, though he wasn't exactly sure when it would ever come up in conversation.

"Ah, don't worry. I'll cook something. Americans have all kinds of food besides cheeseburgers and soda, you know." He paused in his thinking, taking steps toward the refrigerator to see what kind of easy-to-make food he could put together really fast. "I mean, I don't know how much is actually original, but since we have people from all over the world – we have all of their foods too. Though I'm sure it's probably just cheap rip-off versions or whatever...still...it makes for good variety."

"Mmhmm," England didn't say anything in response so much as he nodded and kept his mouth shut.

Finding that his fridge was pretty much empty, America started to panic and opened his cabinets, looking for something, anything that he could make in five minutes or less. His eyes landed on his stash of spaghettio's and he knew then and there that it was the perfect choice. Now if only he could convince England to stay and eat instead of sulking in bed...

"Really, though, just tell me where I can sleep in this place."

"Nuh uh, you're gonna eat something," America said, shaking his head, insisting.

"Honestly, America..."

Time for the puppy dog face. "Please, England~ Five minutes?~"

Even as he distracted and pleaded, America was busy opening the can and setting it all up. There was no time for the stove. It was up to the microwave. He hadn't come across a kid yet who didn't like spaghettio's. No way would England hate it. Considering what the guy ate in his home, something even this simple should be amazing. (Though honestly America didn't despise England's cooking as much as the others, even if he could admit it wasn't the best in the world.)

As soon as the bowl was ready, he pulled out a spoon and set it in front of England – who was making the chair work for him by standing on it. Until America set up some kind of booster seat that would be the best option, besides sitting on the floor.

"You've got to be kidding," England said, frowning at America's ridiculously hopeful gaze. "This is what you come up with? Really?"

Sitting down with his own bowl, America shrugged. "It was this or ramen. I can't work miracles, not in five minutes."

"Hah."

When England shook his head and started eating, America knew there was more to that thought, but with little England eating spaghettio's, he didn't care. There was something undeniably cute about this whole situation, even if it wasn't exactly what he had imagined when he thought of bringing England home for dinner. Dinner and a movie. A little sit-at-home date. Of course it would have to come after a real date, but he had imagined this far...even though he had never gotten to that first question.

With a sigh, he took a spoonful of the little pasta 'o's. Definitely not what he had imagined as his first "alone-in-my-house" moment with England. Oh well. There would be others. Hopefully. Eventually. He had to stay optimistic right?

Haha. Yeah right. Did you not see how upset he was about being left alone with you?

"Hey, this is great!" The happy childish voice perked him up out of his thoughts. It didn't even sound like England was upset anymore; he almost sounded like a real kid. "Thanks, mister!"

America felt his hand freeze, spoon handle sitting in the cup of his palm.

Wait, what did he just say...

"Oh wait, I don't remember having introductions." As child England reached out with a hand, America felt his heart fall, remembering something from earlier.

"I think I'm losing my memories..."

"My name's Arthur Kirkland." Cute, innocent, honest smile. Nothing like how he was five minutes ago. It couldn't be. He couldn't forget... That would just... It would...

Please don't let him forget me. He can't forget me.

"Who are you?"

~!~

A/N: And you probably saw that coming from a mile away. Ah well. Like I said earlier, I don't know if this idea has been explored before or not. I'm pretty sure I haven't come across it. And I just had the idea while watching my new chibi-England shimeji. Really.

(Kairi) WHY THE FUDGED MUCKETS ARE YOU ENDING IT THERE? Geez, you're as bad as Hetaoni person. -3-. Well… Yeah, I don't know what to say other than 'crap, now I have to draw little England eating spaghetti "o"'s'. Now I want some spaghetti "o"'s… Italy~ Wait, no, Ita would just make big old pots of pasta, and his pasta can't beat mama's pasta. Anyways~ Imma go get some food now…