Story Title: A Special Relationship of Questionable Identities

Story Summary: America and England have a Special Relationship… 'Special,' being the operative word. When Arthur's mythical friends decide to try and save their failing friendship, the two nations wake to realize that they have switched bodies. What will become of these questionable identities, and what will they have to do to return to supposed normalcy?

Word Count: 3700

Status: Ongoing chapters

Warnings: TONS of swearing. I swear a lot in writing. -_- Minimal editing. Also, later, there'll be some, err... Suggestive situations. This story also features a boyXboy pairing. If you don't like that, then this story probably won' t float your boat.

Rated: T (For now)

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia in any way, shape, or form. I don't own the characters in the story despite their OOC-ness in some moments. If I owned Hetalia, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, and I would certainly be the Supreme Ruler of the Universe. That's right. It's that good.

Author's Note: So after years and years of reading other people's fanfictions, I have finally buckled down and wrote my own. Seriously, I started reading the stuff on here almost seven years ago! Therefore, I'll just say that everyone on here is amazing. I love reading your stories, and not just for my favourite fandom, Hetalia. You guys taught me about good writing, and sometimes bad. You also taught me sexual education. Seriously. Where would the world be without fanfiction? So this is my first ever fanfiction. Ever. I also wrote this for my favourite Hetalia pairing; AmericaXEngland (AlfredXArthur). Hetalia changed my life for the better, I think, so I write this for them! ^.^ I'm also dedicating this fic to one of my best friends, who is more like Alfred than she cares to admit. So, I hope you like this! Thanks for everything!

I'd love to hear people's comments on this story, which will continue for a little longer! I love to hear people's opinions! But I have never been critiqued on my writing, so take it easy? I like constructive critism, but nothing mean. This is my first fanfic ever... So... Well, I know there's no excuses, but still! I felt liable to tell you that! So, to , I love you! Now, it's my turn to try this out! O.^ Well, on with this story!!

Chapter One: Don't call it a Special Relationship, when it isn't special...

The Group of Eight, or G8, is a forum created for the governments of eight nations of the northern hemisphere, Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Russia, Britain -United Kingdom-, and America. Each year, the responsibility of hosting the G8 rotates through the attending nations. The holder of the presidency sets the agenda, hosts the summit for that year, and determines which ministerial meetings will take place…

The meeting started the same way it had always started. It was a sunny Monday morning, small clouds dotting the blue, American sky. It had to be America this year. It couldn't have been Britain. No… It was never Britain. Or rather, his turn never seemed to come… He was sure that all of the countries had gotten their chance. Even when he was the official host of the G8 Summit that year, they held the meeting in another country. One year it had been held in France, under Britain's leadership. Big mistake. They would never make that slip-up again.

"But it's always raining there!" That had been Italy's excuse. Smart Italy. Unfortunately, almost all of the other nations nodded solemnly, like it was some sort of incurable curse… It was only weather. Although, more often times than not, it did feel like a curse. Except, Arthur Kirkland would never admit that. Britain was his country, and he would not undermine it in such a demeaning way. "It's always raining there," he had scoffed to himself in the safety of his own house; in his own country. Of course it had been raining when he had said that, trying to make his voice sound as annoying as Feliciano's had.

So here he was -here they were- on a warm Monday morning, sitting around a large table, discussing the world's problems. Like Arthur didn't have enough to worry about without having to stress over America's financial issues, or Japan's environmental crises. That's why Arthur usually found himself leaning on his elbows staring out the window when he attended the Summit. Of course he made himself look like he was paying attention. He had to keep his intimidating air about him still. He found it was the only way to get one's point across at these kinds of meetings.

Matthew had been late. Again. Canada was always late, and Arthur sighed when the man burst through the door, blatantly scrambling to his seat beside France and America. Of course his suit was crinkled like he had slept in it and his tie was crudely strung around his neck. Arthur subtly buried his head in his hands. That had better not be any sort of reflection on Britain… It must have been Francis' doing… That frog had always been a bad influence on the young, easily-impressionable nation. He even looked like an innocent version of Francis, which was horrifying enough as it was.

After the group had settled, Alfred F. Jones took the floor as the host of the Summit. It was his country after all… He began spouting off nonsense about heroes, hamburgers, aliens, and coffee. Germany looked utterly disturbed while Italy sat wide-eyed, listening intently to the American man before him. Arthur turned his gaze towards France who wore a rather unreadable expression; almost as if he was picturing Alfred without clothes… Arthur shivered visibly, turning his head to Japan, who was furiously scrawling down every word Alfred managed to stupidly sputter. "I think that building more McDonald's in poorer countries would increase our world's economy!" That was the last thing Arthur heard from him before he successfully tuned him out.

An hour passed and Italy took the floor. Pasta. What a shock. Another hour, then it was Germany's turn. All eyes were on the blonde-haired, blue-eyed man as his shouting was enough to make any person pay attention. Arthur was no exception. Half an hour more, then it was Francis' turn. He was even removed from the room after making sexually suggestive passes at every nation there, while throwing in witty remarks about the world's dismissive state… Lunch. Finally! Arthur breathed a soft sigh of relief as everyone flooded from the room to find a suitable place to eat. Although, in America, that could prove to be quite the challenge.

Fortunately, Arthur had packed his own lunch of home-made scones and tea. He smiled, when the last of the group had filtered out of the room. It wasn't long before his, 'friends,' popped in for a visit. "England!" It was a small fairy that called his name first, the others not far behind.

Arthur smiled after swallowing a mouthful of food, and dotting his mouth with a folded serviette. "Hello!" He greeted them, fondly running his hand through the unicorn's silky, rainbow-coloured mane and patting the fairy on her head with his finger. "I'm glad you guys came to visit me! But from England to America is an awfully long way to travel. Why did you decide to follow me?" The fairies and other mythical creatures had never followed him to a G8 meeting before...

"We were only worried about you England!" It was a tiny yellow pixie that had spoken first, more faeries echoing her concerns. "We know how hard these meeting can be on you! Especially since this one is in America! What with Independence Day coming up and-" The pixie was silenced by another faerie, who rudely shoved her out of England's sight. Arthur had to admit that he had twitched slightly at her choice of words, but he could not blame her. After all, America's birthday was coming up, and England hated that day more than any other one on the calendar… For many obvious reasons.

The Fourth of July had been a terrible day for Arthur. Worse than terrible. There was no proper word to describe the feelings he felt when he saw an American flag raised on that day, or heard the people sing that blasted anthem. Alfred had left him on that day… And he never did come back. That would have been impossible. Alfred was gone forever. Good riddance, Arthur thought stubbornly. It damn near killed him that he was always so sad on that day. Arthur wanted to get over that day more than Alfred wanted him to.

The faeries had begun to speak in their native language consisting of small chirps and lyrical melodies, pulling Arthur from his thoughts. Arthur had tried to learn their language multiple times, but he found it to be quite impossible. Although he found comfort in the usually harmonious tunes of their voices, today, he found the chatter to be quite nerve-wracking. He decided to turn his attention back to the unicorn floating amiably by his side. "I'm glad you came to visit me as well, Princess Sparkle." England patted its head affectionately and it nuzzled into his palm, a delightful array of rainbow-coloured sparkles shedding from its silky hair. Arthur had to admit that the name, 'Princess Sparkle,' was a perfect fit, and the unicorn seemed thrilled by its title. Arthur usually refrained from using the creature's name in public places, for some more obvious reasons, but he figured that since there was no one around to hear him, he could do as he pleased without the embarrassment of other nations overhearing.

"Did you just say, 'Princess Sparkle?!'"

Damn. Arthur whipped around in his swivel-chair to face the intruder who had rudely been eavesdropping on his conversation with his friends; who were not imaginary.

"A-Alfred!" Arthur stuttered, as his green eyes locked with Alfred's blue ones. The American nation was leaning against the doorframe of the G8 meeting-room with an air of implied importance. Arthur quickly regained his composure as the surrounding faeries ceased their bickering and turned to face the other man as well. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you that spying on others is tasteless and obscene?"

Alfred only smiled one of his priceless, 'but-I'm-a-hero,' smiles, and entered the room, his hands placed gingerly inside the pockets of his jacket. His bomber jacket. Arthur was getting sick of it. The way he had it casually slung over his suit jacket was utterly inappropriate, to say the least. "Actually no," Alfred said, removing his hands, and pulling out a chair. He sat down and said, "That should have been your job. Dad."

England looked away and moved his gaze to his cooling cup of black-tea. "I suppose I can't expect idiots to remember everything I teach them, now can I?" It was a low blow, and Arthur was mildly ashamed with himself for it, as he could almost feel the frown that Alfred had now plastered on his face. But he did deserve it for calling Arthur, 'Dad.' Especially this close to the Fourth of July.

"Well, at least I have real friends. I don't need to create imaginary ones because I'm some kind of emotional psychopath with social problems. I may be an idiot, but at least I'm not a friendless idiot."

Arthur had been delicately sipping his tea before America's last bout, but upon hearing the other nation's insult, promptly slammed the tea-cup down, nearly spilling its contents. America had not just denied the existence of his best friends, and he certainly had not just called him an idiot, let alone, a friendless idiot. No. America was smarter than that. And yet… "For. Your. Information," Arthur said, looking Alfred straight in the eyes, fists clenched. "Just because you're too stupid to see my friends, doesn't mean they don't exist. Obviously you're just too scatter-brained to focus on them. And out of all the people in the world, no, make that the universe, to be calling me an idiot, it shouldn't ever be you. You're a worthless piece of git."

Now Alfred was angry. Arthur could visibly see it in his cerulean eyes, as the younger nation lowered his glasses to the table and readied his gaze on his former father-figure. "Relax old-man. 'Wouldn't want ya to stroke out on me. Oh wait. I do. Keep going." America leaned casually back in his chair, settling his feet on the table dangerously close to England's scones and tea.

Arthur's eye twitched. "Get your feet away from my tea," he said slowly and evenly.

Alfred looked down to where his feet rested not even six inches away from England's tea and plate of scones. "Oh," was all he said. "You mean this tea?"

Alfred did not just kick Arthur's tea over with his foot. That would have been plain stupidity. And yet, here he was. Arthur sat speechless as warm black-tea dripped off the glass table-top and onto his lap. "Ah," was all Arthur could say before regaining his former stance. America had removed his feet from the table and looked solemnly at Arthur, who had his hands positioned out in front of him, watching the tea-cup spin slowly on the table, like a failing child's top.

"Sorry," Alfred said innocently. "My foot must have slipped. I'm only an idiot after all!"

Arthur's mental fuse was already short and he knew it wouldn't take much for his nerves to completely explode. He had already been anxious prior to America's intrusion, and now the git was simply asking for it. The older nation attempted to count backwards in his head from ten. He could clearly hear the faeries beside him telling him to let the issue go. "Don't fight with him," one faerie pleaded. "Let it go England! You're better than this!" Arthur simply resumed his counting.

Ten. Not a good level to be at.

Nine. Getting better.

Eight. Why was America reaching for one of England's scones?

Seven. The tea on his lap was really uncomfortable.

Six. Was it possible that Alfred was going to try one of his homemade scones, and compliment his cooking? Arthur sat up expectantly.

Five. Alfred took a bite of the scone and chewed slowly. Arthur sat up further, leaning his forearms against the table, avoiding the mess of tea.

Five. A look of blatant disgust passed over Alfred's face and he went a deathly pale. He stopped chewing and looked at England.

Six. Not good. Bring it down. Bring it down! "God, Arthur, is this some kind of sick joke? Don't tell me you eat these of your own free will! This should be a biohazard!"

Seven. Arthur's stress levels were beginning to climb again.

Eight. America chucked the scone he had been eating into the nearby waste-bucket. The scone hit the garbage with a resounding thud.

Nine. Arthur could feel his blood beginning to boil again, as he gritted his teeth, unclenching and clenching his fists. "Really, England. You should learn how to cook. Now you're a friendless idiot with no sense of taste!"

Ten. "YOU BLOODY WANKER! I'LL SHOW YOU WHO THE IDIOT IS, FUCKIN' GIT-FACE, PUNK-ASS, DOLT!!"

It had all happened so fast. One minute, Alfred is sitting upright with a smug grin on his face, and the next minute, he's lying flat on his back with Arthur sitting on his stomach throwing repeated punches into him. "Take that! Bloody prat!"

"Jesus Arthur! Cut it out! It was only a joke!" Alfred blocked Arthur's blows easily, much to the older man's dismay; yet he continued to throw them anyway, hitting America's chest and arms. Still audible to Arthur, was his magical friends, voicing their own opinions on the so called, 'pointless fight,' which Arthur was beginning to think was the beginning of World War III. Wouldn't that be ironic? Another Great War, started at a peaceful G8 meeting, by two countries with a supposed, 'Special Relationship.' Arthur almost laughed. Yeah. It was special alright.

But Arthur's prevailing stance was soon flipped upside down, when he managed to land a punch to Alfred's jaw. This, apparently, was Alfred's last straw, and with one swift movement, the younger nation pushed Arthur off of him, so that the older nation flew backwards, landing on his back. Arthur knew he would have been fine, had that glass table, used to seat all of the meeting's attending nations, not have been there. Unfortunately, it had been there, and Arthur felt his head forcibly hit the edge of said table with a sickening crash. He instantly felt nauseous as his body uncontrollably sunk to the floor.

"Oh my God!" Alfred exclaimed, rushing to Arthur's side. Arthur was on the edge of consciousness and he could feel himself slipping away. He was sure he was going to die. And it was all because of Alfred F. Jones. Now the man would have killed him twice. And this time, it was literal. "Arthur, are you okay?!" Stupid American.

"Nnnhh… Alfred. Call an ambulance. Nine… One… One…" Arthur closed his eyes, and he was sure he had passed out for a second. When he opened his eyes, his vision was getting rapidly blurrier. Yet, Alfred still hovered over him. Did Alfred not understand the fact that he was going to die?! When he felt Alfred's hand on his head, Arthur had had it. "B-Bloody git! Call for help!" Now, Arthur was one hundred percent sure he was going to die here, underneath the clear G8 table, with Alfred stroking his hair. So how the hell was the Brit managing to blush? He was not going to die blushing. "Alfred," he said slowly, slipping away again. "Nine. One. One."

"Arthur! Don't die! What am I supposed to do without you?!" Alfred looked down on Arthur sadly, and the Briton was afraid that the last thing he was going to see was America's saddened face.

Arthur closed his eyes, and his tongue was too tied to respond. All he wanted was to know at least an ambulance had tried to get to him in time. Then again, this was America… "Alfred," he managed softly.

"Yeah?" Alfred asked, leaning dangerously close to his face. Arthur was sure he could feel the blood that was supposed to be rushing to his cheeks, pour out the back of his head, but he just opened his eyes again. Had Arthur not been seconds away from death, he would have considered this to be a touching moment between nations. But because he was seconds away from death, all he could say was, "Alfred, if you don't call a bloody ambulance, I swear I'll come back from the grave and damn your life to hell!"

At this, Alfred leapt to his feet and turned his head frantically from side to side. Arthur gave a sigh of relief and closed his eyes one final time. At least he would have the comfort in knowing that help was on the way and he might even have a slim chance at life…That struck all kinds of fear within his heart, but he ignored it, focusing on the intense pain at the base of his skull, which, at the moment, was feeling much better in comparison.

Arthur felt Alfred take a sharp step to the right of him, and then another quick step to the left. "Arthur!" Nothing. "Arthur!!" Nothing. "IGGY!!!"

"WHAT?! CAN'T I JUST DIE IN PEACE, FOR CHRIST'S SAKES!?"

"What's the number for 9-1-1?"

One final nerve was snapped inside Arthur's dying brain, and with one swift kick to Alfred's knees, the younger nation flew forward, striking his forehead on the coveted G8 table-top. Alfred crashed down onto Arthur, and both nations let out a startling cry of pain. It may have been cynical, but Arthur figured that it would be better watching Alfred die, than it would have been watching him accidentally order a pizza instead of dial him an ambulance.

The last word that Arthur managed to let escape from his mouth was, "Idiot." Then he let his world succumb to darkness; one he was sure he would never awake from. Oh well, he figured. At least America was going down with him and he could yell at the man in heaven… Or hell… Arthur wasn't sure where exactly they were going, but he did know that this was not his time to go. Nor was it Alfred's. That had been a mistake. His last thought before he faded into an early death was, someone help me! Then he wished that the tea Alfred had spilt on his lap didn't make him look like he had pissed himself during his concussion. The least he could have done was died with dignity. And now, even that was out of the question.

Yet, little did Arthur know, that countries didn't fall that easily, and someone had heard his final plea for life…

"What do we do with these clowns now?!" It was a small yellow pixie that spoke first. Her name was Aine. She was sure that Arthur had named her, 'Pix.'

"I don't know, but we can't let them die." A small green faerie spoke next, her lyrical voice, heard by England, was actually harsh and startling. Her name was Asparas. She was sure Arthur had named her, 'Tink.' Damn Disney. Damn Alfred.

"I think we only have one option here. It may be the only way to turn their relationship around. This is the fifth time they've tried to kill each other this week! Although, I didn't think they'd actually do it this time… I'm getting tired of this." It was a small gnome this time, clad in a forest green suit, undoubtedly one that Arthur had made for him. His name was Nisse, but Arthur called him… Well, he didn't really have a name… Maybe the Brit did deserve to die.

The group of mythical creatures surveyed the scene in front of them. Arthur lay on his back, his head turned to the side, an obvious, gaping wound gushing substantial amounts of dark-red blood, in plain sight. Alfred lay on top of his former Empire, his head resting serenely on Arthur's chest. His head showed no visible injuries, but they knew it was all internal anyways.

"Yes… I'm tired of this too. Shall we use the spell we talked about earlier? This way, they won't be able to fight without consequences," Aine said, putting a small finger to her chin thoughtfully.

Asparas laughed. "Let's!" She exclaimed. "Then the only way to break the spell will be for Arthur and Alfred to admit that they love each other, and then seal it with-"

Aine stopped her. "Oh, Arthur's doomed."

Nisse shrugged. "Oh well… Then they'll be stuck like that, is all!" Apparently, not one of Arthur's, 'friends,' thought reasonably.

"Alright," Aine said sceptically. "I hope they can get out of this eventually. I'm sure Arthur'll wish he would have burned in hell…"

"Alright," the magical beings said at once, beginning their conniving chant that would change both nation's lives forever:

"Alfred and Arthur, always fight.

Arthur and Alfred see no light.

May Alfred and Arthur find true love.

May Arthur and Alfred stand above.

Can Alfred and Arthur's lives be rich?

Can Arthur and Alfred survive this…

SWITCH!"

In the flash of light that followed, the only sound to be heard was the gentle hum of the mythical creatures as they watched the smooth, white light illuminate the bodies of Alfred and Arthur. That, and a rather loud, obnoxious, and obviously male, unicorn angrily exclaimed, "And why the FUCK does he call me, 'Princess Sparkle?!'"

Yes, the creatures of Arthur's, 'imagination,' knew that this had to work. If their plan failed, so would Arthur and Alfred's, 'Special Relationship.' There were consequences for every spell of theirs that did not work as planned. Only this time, the future bond between two nations was at stake and the creatures were sure anything could stem from that relationship crumbling. Sadness? Confusion? World War?

They all held their breaths, as the rest of the world streamed back into the room, and laid their eyes on the bloodied bodies of Alfred and Arthur lying on top of each other, under the G8 table. Although they looked dead, these nations were very much alive. And out of all the nations, who rushed to their aid, only France got the wrong impression of the situation. No. This had nothing to do with sex… Or did it? Somewhere, certain fairies, gnomes, and unicorns were laughing.

Author's Note (Again): Thank you for sticking around to read this weird little thing. Sorry for the rhyming fail... And the mythical-name fail. For some reason I thought it was funny to think that England's magical friends act all cute in front of him, but when they talk to eachother, they're kind of harsh and impolite. XP I'll update this as soon as I can, so sit tight! And again, thanks. So, do me a favour and review! O.^