Ok, so this is my first story, ever. It also the first chapter of a potential multi-fic. I have a general idea of where this is going, but nothing is set in stone. I also have not a whole lot of motivation to finish this, BUT I WILL TRY!

I've decided to put a spin on a typical fan fiction story senario. I hope that it goes over well with all you wonderful people out there who might read this. I tried to make it humorous, so hopefully you find it kind of funny.

So, uh, the rating on this is T due to one case of swearing, however in later chapters you can be sure to know that the swearing will increase (rating will stay the same).

Hope you like it... and oh yeah, I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT THE STORYLINE!

5:58

5:59

6:00

Click.

"Nous on fait l'amour, on vie la vie. Jour après jour, nuit après…"

England stirred under the covers of the bed, refusing to open his eyes. He was already wide-awake, and he was completely aware that something wasn't quite right. He tried to convince himself that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for the problem he had come across as soon as he had awoken, but he could not deny the facts.

This wasn't his bed. It felt wrong.

Maybe I'm just lying in it differently than I usually do.

That wasn't his alarm. His was the simple beeping kind.

I could have switched the classic alarm to radio when I wasn't paying attention.

The radio wasn't even playing in English.

England listened a bit longer. No, definitely not English. If I didn't know any better I would say that it's in French…

"Oh, Bloody HELL!" England yelled, sitting up straight, covers pooling around his waist. Eyes wide in panic, he immediately became aware of a few other key facts.

It was definitely not his bed.

No.

It wasn't even his room.

Oh no. No, no, no, no!

It was France's room.

NO, NO, PLEASE GOD NO!

And lying beside him in bed was…

PLEASE tell me I didn't…

No one.

Oh.

England relaxed slightly, not quite ready to believe that France wasn't hiding around some corner, waiting for the chance to do France-things. But now that the initial panic was fading, he was beginning to realize some other important details.

The other side of the bed didn't look slept in.

Oh, thank god.

He felt kind of funny. Like weird funny.

Maybe I'm coming down with something...

He could also feel his hair brushing the side of his jaw.

Ok, not that important, but I swear my hair isn't that long.

And staring back at him from the mirror across the room was France.

Screaming in surprise (it was a manly yell), England jumped back against the headboard. Mirror-France did the same thing, at the same time.

What...?

Opening his mouth to berate France for scaring him like that (I wasn't scared, just a little surprised), England froze, the last vestiges of sleep wearing off, leaving him with a clear mind.

He was looking at a mirror – a mirror that should have been reflecting his own image. A mirror that was instead reflecting the image of France – France sitting exactly where England was sitting, France moving exactly how England was moving, France widening his eyes in realization in an expression that England knew was mirrored on his own face.

My own face...? England thought, a small doubt worming it's way into his mind. He cautiously reached up to touch his face, hand brushing past his unusually long hair. The reflection of France did the same thing. No, this… this isn't my face. England grabbed a lock of his hair. This isn't my hair. He looked at his hand, his arm, his body. Not my body… This isn't my body. This is… England looked back at the mirror, finally putting it all together.

This is France's body. I'm in France's body. England cringed. Oh God, that sounds so WRONG. England shook his head, trying to focus. What is going on…?

Pushing off the covers and standing up, England blushed when he realized that the body he was using wasn't wearing any clothes. Of course that wanker wouldn't wear pyjamas to bed. Casting the thought aside, England decided that before proceeding with his meltdown, he should at least have the decency to go and clothe himself.

Pulling out the first things he saw from France's closet, England soon found himself dressed in a pair of black pants and a blue t-shirt that in his opinion were far too tight to be comfortable. Why must France always have such tight clothing, he thought. He's a man, and he should dress like one. England pulled at the shirt that clung to him like second skin, frowning. Not like some wayward teenage boy.

Walking back across the room, England was once again startled upon seeing France's reflection in the mirror. Blimey, this is strange. He walked, somewhat inelegantly, towards the reflective surface. Leaning forward and placing his hands on the glass, England stared into the full-length mirror.

"What in the bloody hell is going on?" England whispered to himself, except that hell sounded like 'ell, and England realized that not only did he have to look like France, but he had to sound like him as well. It could be worse, he thought, at least I don't sound like some bumbling American idiot. Breathing in deeply and closing his eyes, England tried to calm his thoughts, focusing completely on the problem at hand.

It could be a dream, he thought, -no, not a dream, a nightmare. England frowned. But if I were dreaming, I wouldn't be standing here wondering if I was dreaming. He grimaced at the complicated thought. Also, it feels too real to be a dream. Just to test that last thought, he took his right hand off the mirror and pinched his left arm. Wincing slightly at the pain, England opened his eyes a crack. He immediately closed them again upon seeing France's face staring back at him from the reflective surface. Unfortunately, it seems like it's not a dream.

Sighing, England pondered the events of the previous night, thinking that perhaps this may lead to the answers he was looking for.

...But nothing happened last night. England opened his eyes. Absolutely nothing. He took his hands off the mirror, crossing his arms in front of him. I didn't even talk to any of the other nations yesterday, let alone do something with France that would have led to this. England blinked a few times, trying to get used to feeling of having a different face. It felt extremely weird being in another body. Kind of like being sick, except there was no coughing or sneezing. Sort of like that feeling you get in your stomach when you drive over a hill, and for a second you feel like you are falling while still sitting down. Everything just felt off.

Coming back to the issue of what happened, England continued to sort through his mind for an answer. I didn't even touch my spell books last night, he thought, not that I would EVER want to switch places with that perverted Frenchman... England paused. Switch places...?

Realization hit him like a train. Eyes wide, England stumbled back from the mirror, desperately looking for a phone. It was obvious now. If England was here in France's body, then where would France be?

Where else could France be?

He… he's in my body.

England spied France's cell on the nightstand across the room.

That bloody wanker is in MY BODY.

He rushed over to the phone, picking up the device and gripping it tightly in his hand.

He's FRANCE and he's in MY BODY, and OH GOD THE THINGS HE COULD BE DOING!

England dialed France's number, his mind already conjuring up the worst possible scenarios. For all I know, he could already be... His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing from somewhere in the house. What...? England looked at the phone in his hand, realizing his mistake. He had called France's house – this house. England berated himself for his foolish blunder. Now is not the time to be losing focus. Frowning, he canceled the call, and then dialed his own house number.

"Ring…"

Pick up…

"Ring… Ring…"

Come on… pick up the phone.

"Ring… Ring… Ring…"

Come ON…

"Ring… Ring… Ri-"

"PICK UP THE GODAMN BLOODY PHONE!" England yelled into the device, losing all sense of patience. That was when England realized that not only had the ringing had stopped, but that someone had just picked up the phone, someone who had more than likely just heard his little outburst. There was a moment of awkward silence, then...

"Angleterre…?" The voice on the other end sounded hesitant, uncertain. "Is that you?" The voice sounded British. The voice sounded just like England's.

England froze, not knowing what to say. He hadn't quite planned this far ahead, and hearing his own voice talking on the phone threw him off guard. But staying silent was not going to fix this whole body-switching situation. Finally, he managed a reply.

"Oui, c'est moi," he said, only belatedly realizing that he had answered in French. What… I don't even know French… England started panicking, how was I able to say that… what did I even say? Holding the phone slightly away from his face, England exhaled deeply, closing his eyes. It must be some sort of instinctual muscle memory, he thought, pinching the bridge of his nose, or something like that… Damn. He became aware that British-France was speaking to him.

"My God, you sound just like me…" France breathed, and England realized that his long-time rival was probably just as confused and freaked out as himself.

"France?" England said cautiously, knowing he should confirm that it was indeed France in the British nation's body, and not some other wayward idiot. "It is you, right?" It has to be, it's not like it could be anybody else…

"Of course its me." France replied, as if it were obvious.

England frowned. He just knew that France was standing there waving his hand dismissively in a France-ish manor. England frowned further, realizing that it would actually be his own hand flopping around like a dead fish now that France was in England's body. "I was just making sure," he ground out, starting to feel annoyed at the Frenchman.

"Huh," France said condescendingly, "making sure is for those who ne sait pas comment vivre." The British accent made the French words sound awkward, and England cringed. Hearing his own voice forced to speak that perverted language unsettled him.

But France wasn't done. "What have you done, Angleterre?" He accused. England tried to interrupt with a "You think this is my fault?", but France continued, ignoring England's protests. "I woke up this morning with themost horrendous face I have ever seen in place of my beautiful visage."

"Why you–" England spluttered angrily, but was once again cut off by an obviously unhappy Frenchman.

"I also talk like a leprechaun…"

"What!"

"…and look like an ugly gnome with hairy tumors for eyebrows." France finished.

"Would you SHUT UP!" England yelled into the handheld device, trying to control the urge to throw the cell phone across the room.

"But they just keep growing bigger." France whined into the phone. "How do you keep them under control? I swear the left one has started whispering things to me." France finished quietly, as if he were being watched.

England stared blankly ahead, eye twitching ever so slightly due to the strain of keeping his emotions in check. He was gripping the phone far too tightly and he could feel the device creaking in his hand. If only this was his face… He vowed that regardless of the situation in the next major war, he would find a way tocompletely destroy that French bastard. Breathing in deeply, England tried to bring his thoughts back to the current situation. He held his breath for a fraction of a second, allowing his mind to clear, then let his lungs expel the air. "France," he began calmly, "please… focus for just a second." England paused, and mercifully, France was silent. Closing his eyes, England continued speaking. "As you seem to have noticed, we have a bit of an issue that needs to be solved." He managed to grind out that fairly reasonable sentence through his clenched teeth.

"The issue of eyebrows…?" France unreasonably offered in question.

England blinked. Then, overcome by annoyance and exasperation, yelled into the phone. "Not the bloody eyebrows, you frog! ITS THE GOD DAMN BODY-SWITCHING!" He took a quick breath before continuing. "I would have thought that being in my body would have given you some measure of intelligence but it seems as if I was mistaken. You are obviously the same idiotic git you have always been!" England seethed. Why can't he ever take anything seriously? He's a bloody fucking country, seriousness should be in his nature! Taking a moment to compose himself, England rubbed the sleep from his was hard to believe that it had only been fifteen minutes since he had woken up. This is going to be a very, very long day. A small cough could be heard coming from the other end of the phone. France had something to say.

"What?" said England wearily, not ready to deal with any more of France's antics. He could hear France moving around slightly on the other end of the line before the French nation spoke up.

"I suppose that this is somewhat of a serious situation…" France trailed off sheepishly.

"I'm glad you finally agree." England bit out angrily. I can't believe he said that my left eyebrow talks to him. The British nation sat down on the king-sized bed. He should know that only the right one talks.

"How did this even happen?" France asked, finally focusing on the problem at hand.

"I have no idea." England answered truthfully. "I was trying to figure it out before I called you, but I couldn't come up with anything."

"What about those films stupideswhere they switch places and have to learn to appreciate–"

"Never," England cut in harshly, "will I appreciate you or your life style."

"Well that is a good thing, mon ami," France responded in kind, "because I will also never appreciated you or yours. What with all your knitting and your complete lack of l'amour."

"Can you please stop talking in French? My voice was not meant to croak like that."

"I am doing your voice a favor. God knows it needs a break from your awful British vocabulary."

England paused for a second. "And what's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"It means that all your 'bloody hells' and 'buggers' and 'twits' and 'bollocks' are terribly aggravating to listen to," France responded condescendingly, "and they are just plain annoying," he added as an afterthought. However, the apparently annoying British vocabulary sounded perfectly fine in France's new (and unwanted) British accent. England huffed in disagreement, but decided to not argue the point. He had neither the mood nor desire to participate in another verbal sparring match with the French nation.

England sighed resignedly. He was coming to the conclusion that it was perhaps time to get to the more 'serious' part of this conservation; the 'what to do now?' part. He was in France's body, and France was in his. At the moment it might just seem like an annoyance, but for all they know, it could turn out to be permanent. "France," he began seriously, "about this whole body-switching thing, we need to figure some things out."

There was a moment of silence, then France asked a simple "What kind of things?"

"Well, I suppose we should agree not to deface each other's body with tattoos and the like." England sounded somewhat disappointed when he said this. He had been rather looking forward to getting a tattoo of the British flag on France's forehead. It would have made the French nation a little more bearable to be around. He did not, however, want to return to his own body and find 'Property of France' printed on his ass. That would be, if nothing else, extremely disturbing.

"I suppose that's true…" France reluctantly agreed. He sounded equally as disappointed.

"And to not do anything unspeakable to our temporary bodies. Anything involving beds and other people is out of the question."

"But I'm the country of l'amour –"

"Not anymore," England cut-in hastily. "I don't want to see my body running around molesting people in some perverted fashion. For the time being you are The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and you bloody well act like it!"

"No need to yell. I understand completely," France responded smugly. "You can't bear to see your body do things that you have never been able to manage. Isn't that right, mon ami? "

"Oh shut up, you frog!" England fumed, "And what did I say about the French. I absolutely can't stand to hear my voice speak like that."

"It is in my nature. A simple issue like changing bodies is not going to stop me from being who I am."

"You know what, fine! Keep speaking in that perverted language," England relented, "but you will not, under any circumstances, go around flirting with other people and touching them in places that should not be touched," he added seriously.

England could just hear France smile. "For now, I will agree to that compromise. But this means I will be asking something of you in the near future."

"Fine," England accepted. "In the mean time, I think that we should refrain from telling our bosses about our situation. If we can figure out how to reverse it in a day or so, they will never have to know about it. It would mean a lot less paperwork, which is something I think you would be happy about," he suggested reasonably.

"That makes sense." France agreed, "but what happens if this last longer than a couple days?"

"Hopefully it won't."

"But what if it does?"

"We'll deal with it then."

There was silence for a few moments. Then, "I suppose that works for me." France paused for a second before continuing. "I also have an idea."

"Oh, please do enlighten me," England said sarcastically.

"I will pretend I didn't hear that and continue with what I was about to say." France replied pointedly. "I was thinking that we should set up some kind of video chat so that we can talk without the phone. Twice now someone has tried to call you, but I've been ignoring their calls. I can't keep that up without someone getting suspicious, especially if it's your boss."

"I guess that's true." England reluctantly acquiesced. "Do you have a camera for your computer that I can go set up?"

After multiple instructions from both ends of the conversation, a handful of insults, some cursing, and another call for England that France promptly ignored, the cameras and microphones were set up and working. The two nations sat in front of their computers, studying the face on the screen before them. Now that they could see each other, see what was actually going on, they could truly appreciate the strangeness of the situation.

"This is kind of creepy," England finally said.

"It's like looking in a mirror." France pointed out.

"Yes, it's exactly like looking in a mirror, except that my reflection isn't doing what it should be doing," England said. "It's bloody weird."

A ringing sound started up from France's side of the video chat.

"Angleterre, your phone is ringing again. Do you want me to answer it?" France asked, and England could see him looking wearily off screen to where to phone was supposedly ringing.

"Yes," England replied hesitantly, "but put it on speaker phone, and make sure you try to act like I would."

"That shouldn't be too difficult," France said sarcastically as he reached for the device, "I'll just pretend to be some stuck-up old man."

"And if it's my boss, just agree to anything he says." England quickly said before France picked up the phone. He wanted to get back at the French nation for the old man jibe, but France had already hit the speaker button. England didn't want whoever was calling him to hear France's voice (currently his own) on the phone.

"Hello?" France answered as neutrally as possible.

"England? Oh, thank god you finally picked up." The voice on the other end sounded relieved, a little panicked, and oddly quiet.

England wondered who it was on the phone, as he didn't immediately recognize the voice. At least it wasn't his boss, that much he knew for certain. France, however, quickly covered the speaker with his hand and looked at England, a somewhat confused expression on his (England's) face.

"It's mon chère Canada," he whispered to England. England blinked in confusion before remembering the somewhat invisible nation. Feeling a little foolish, England whispered back to France.

"Why would Canada call me? England felt proud that he was able to remember the northern nation's name.

"My thoughts exactly," France replied quietly before uncovering the speaker. He took a moment to look suspiciously at the phone before continuing.

"Canada, what's wrong?" he asked, genuinely wanting to know the answer.

"Dude," Canada replied, and both France and England frowned at the unusual word coming from the Canadian nation, "you don't understand. There is something completely whacked out going on here."

A thought started to worm its way into England's mind. It wasn't a thought that he liked. That vocabulary sounds disturbingly familiar…

"What is it, Canada?" France demanded, staring to draw his own unwanted conclusions.

It sounds like…

"That's the thing, dude, I'm not Canadia," said the non-Canadian.

Oh God, it sounds like…

"I'm America!"

NO…

"And this isn't my body!"

dun dun DUN!

So, tell me how I did for my first ever chapter of my first ever story. I would love some advice on how to improve my writing.

Also, if any of you have any ideas or recommendations for the the story itself, like where it should go in terms of plot, I would love to hear them. I need some inspiration, and from what I've read already in this fandom, you guys are full of awesomeness.

So yeah, hope you enjoyed it.