Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Copyrights go to Hidekaz Himaruya.
Thank you to Death Before Darkness, for once again letting me bounce my ideas off of you in order to write this fanfic, and for helping me decide on America's look.~ You're awesome.
As always, reviews = love. They keep me writing.
Enjoy!~

Why So Moe, America?

"Now, could you please tell me why you invited me over here in the first place, seeing as you were so vague over the phone?" Britain asked tensely, emerald eyes tracing the back of the American in front of him as his arms crossed over his chest.

America stood in the doorway of his closet, yanking a cobalt button-up off of its plastic hanger and slipping it on. Damp, dirty blonde hair hung in his face, though Nantucket still pointed skyward. He turned toward Britain as he began to button his shirt, a mischievous smirk adorning his face. "Nope! I'm not telling you. You'll find out soon enough anyway. I do need your help at the store, though, if you wanna come with me."

"Is that why you called me over? To help you with your shopping?" A thick brow rose as Britain's tone noticeably tightened.

"If I say yes, are you gonna get all mad and have a hissyfit? Though you might have one anyway if I say no…" America left the top three buttons undone, hinting at the contours of his chest as he purposely reached over Britain to grab the folded pair of silver frames sitting on his computer desk.

Britain tilted back in the computer chair in which he found himself, his cheeks tinting with a light rose hue. "A-And what is that supposed to mean?" he screeched into America's ear as the younger country straightened, unfolding his glasses and sliding them onto his nose.

"Ow, dude. Your voice can be so shrill when you get all worked up," America snickered, sticking his tongue out at his ex-brother. "Anyway, do you wanna come with me? I'll leave you here if you wanna stay. Either way you're not allowed to go home, since you went through all the trouble to come visit, right?"

"I'm not getting worked up!" Britain remarked as he cleared his throat, his voice regaining a normal speaking tone. "Yes, I'll come with you. I figure you invited me over for some good reason or another, and if you're not going to tell me why, I'm going to have to find out for myself."

He stood, his arms unfolding and coming to rest at his sides as America fished his cell phone out of his pocket, his thumbs flying across the flip-out keyboard for a few seconds before dropping it into the tiny pocket on the front of his shirt. America stepped close to Britain as he reached out and patted his head, a wide grin crossing his face. "You know, I'm really glad I'm taller than you. You might not listen to me so much if I were shorter."

Inexplicable pain crossed Britain's face as he took America's hand from his head, holding it in his grasp as he muttered, "I'd still listen to you… no matter how short or tall you were, America." Chartreuse eyes lifted to look America full in the face, contacting cerulean.

A soft chuckle emitted from the man in front of him, crystalline eyes searching through shades of green for the answer that explained the pained expression that Britain wore. "I'll have to remember that!" he chirped as his hand tightened around Britain's, pivoting on his heel to face the door. "Now let's go, before we run out of time."

"Run o-out of time? For what, exactly?" Britain's eyes bulged in surprise as America dragged him downstairs and out of his house, almost jogging down the street.

"I told you! You'll find out soon enough!" America shot a pearly grin over his shoulder as the late summer wind whipped through his citrine hair.

Sometimes it scares me that I trust him so much… always dragging me into one of his crazy plans…. Britain shook his head as a weak smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He let his mind roam through his memories as random instances of America's childhood flashed across his mind; he concentrated on the strange incident that happened just last month, however. He had ended up at America's house with no recollection of how he had got there… America had been different that night, somehow softened and sensitive….

A distinct beep echoed around them as they stepped across the threshold into the grocery store. America fetched a cart, having to let go of Britain's hand. He led the way toward the alcohol, loading the cart up with German beer, a bottle of wine, scotch, whiskey, a few bottles of Russian vodka, and a case of his own American-brewed beer. He turned to Britain as he asked, "Is there anything you want in particular?"

"Oh no, the scotch you're buying will do," he replied nonchalantly, a thoughtful fire blazing behind his faceted peridot eyes.

They skirted through the checkout line quickly; America hoisted the cases of beer onto his shoulders as Britain carried bagged bottles. "Do you intend to kill yourself drinking, America?" Britain chortled as they reached the other's house.

"I think you'd know if I was that depressed, dude," America shot back, sticking his tongue out playfully as he somehow unlocked the door, dashing inside and setting the cases onto his kitchen table. "Man, beer is heavy."

Britain followed America as he kicked the door closed, placing the bottles of wine, scotch and whiskey next to the beer and chucking the vodka into the freezer. The taller country waltzed into the kitchen, grabbing as many crystal glasses as he could and lining them up on the table, beside the cases and bottles. "I think it's only really heavy if you carry it on your shoulders."

America shrugged, his sky blue eyes clouding with some unknown emotion as he paced close to Britain, looping an arm around his waist. The shorter country's muscles tensed, his face reddening as a thick brow quirked in question. "What exactly do you think you're doing?" His voice faltered slightly, his heart fluttering reflexively in his chest.

"Maybe I like to see you squirm when I do stuff like this," America muttered, an uncharacteristically low tone resonating in his throat. "I haven't forgotten what happened on my country's birthday, if you were wondering…."

He leaned close to Britain, his lips only centimeters away from the shorter country's… until three swift raps at the front door brought them both back to reality. America's eyes widened, an apology lingering within his cornflower pools as he pecked Britain's forehead, untwining his arm and bolting toward the door, yanking it open. A huge grin broke across his face as he backed up, motioning for whoever was at the door to come inside. "Hey! I'm glad you all could make it! Make yourselves comfortable, drinks are on the table, vodka's in the freezer."

"Danke for inviting all of us over, America," an accented voice responded as Germany and Italy appeared first, followed by Japan, China, Russia, Estonia, Austria, Hungary, Prussia, South Italy, Spain, Poland, Lithuania, and finally France.

"Sure! Can't really have a party by myself, now can I?" America chuckled as the countries diffused throughout the first floor of his house. He returned to Britain's side, ripping open the cardboard cases.

"Why in the bloody hell did you invite that frog?" Britain seethed under his breath, just loud enough for America to hear as his arms crossed over his chest once again.

"I felt bad that we didn't invite him to that one party during World War II, so I was kinda repaying him for that," America explained matter-of-factly, his tone low and hushed. "Why don't you have something to drink, Britain?"

Britain shrugged and nodded, his arms unfolding. "Alright then."

He captured a rather stout glass, nodding genially to the other countries around him. He filled it halfway with the sepia-tinted scotch, making his way over to the freezer and retrieving a few ice cubes, dropping them in his glass. America had disappeared from sight as Britain slowly sipped his drink, the cooled alcohol transforming into liquid fire as it descended through his system. He wound his way through the crowd around the table, darting across the living room to lean against the life-size window that dominated the wall. His eyes trailed upward, tracking across the streaks of indigo mingled with scarlet against the orange backdrop of sky as the sun dipped closer and closer to the western horizon. "Ah, Angleterre! Salut!" an unmistakable, airy voice sliced through the white noise of multiple conversations as a royal blue-clad man strode next to Britain.

Nervous sweat automatically beaded against Britain's forehead as he turned to face the source of the voice. "Ah, hello France," he replied pleasantly.

France whisked a hand through the golden hair that cascaded to his shoulders as a smile broke across his face. "I'm surprised you're drinking, Angleterre," France remarked, periwinkle-hued eyes flitting to the short glass lying in Britain's grasp. "I would have figured, from the last time you drank, that you wouldn't touch alcohol anymore."

Britain shook his head, a dark chuckle resonating in his throat. "I could say the same about you, seeing as how it takes two to tango. You're just as guilty as I am of what happened that night."

"Honhonhon! But you see, mon cher, I don't let it hang over my head as if I did something wrong!" France enthused jubilantly, sipping the dark wine in his glass, "That's your problem. You think that something terrible happened, but in actuality it was rather natural, wouldn't you agree?"

A shiver danced along Britain's spine as blurred flashbacks of his only night spent with France flickered across his mind. "No! It wasn't natural at all! Let's just agree to drop it and enjoy ourselves instead of digging up past encounters, frog!"

"Have it your way, mon amour," France murmured, reaching up and ruffling Britain's hair jokingly before waltzing away, certain that it would piss him off.

Britain gulped down the rest of his glass of scotch before rushing back to the table for a refill. He stood dangerously close to that bottle as he drank; within a few hours he had drained most of the entire bottle, a carefree buzz engulfing him as the alcohol settled. He set his glass down for fear of breaking it: his fingertips tingled numbly, as if he had submerged his hands in ice for hours. Rouge flushed his cheeks as his eyes scanned the living room, searching for America, but instead he found his way over to Germany and Italy on the couch. Italy appeared to be asleep, his head resting in Germany's lap, while the blonde country chatted with his older brother sitting beside him. "Germany!" Britain exclaimed, his voice louder than he meant it to be, "Have you seen America around?"

Germany's light gaze tilted to Britain as he nodded, gesturing upstairs. "He went upstairs a few minutes ago, I believe," he replied.

"Ah, thanks a lot, comrade!" Flashing a huge, uncharacteristic grin, Britain stumbled over to the stairs, clasping the railing for dear life while navigating his way up.

A flash of dirty blonde flickered in the corner of his periphery; he turned into America's bedroom, finding the tall country staring down at a piece of paper in his hands. Britain padded over to him and threw his arms around America's midsection, successfully losing his balance and knocking them both to the ground. "Aah, Britain!" America groaned, pushing his glasses farther up on his nose and supporting himself with an arm. "Did you go overboard on the alcohol again?"

"Well of course I did!" Britain piped up, arms tightening around America as his forest-hued gaze shifted to the other's face. "Did you expect me not to drink at a drinking party?"

"Haha, I guess not," America chuckled weakly, trying to pry himself out of Britain's steely vice grip. "Why exactly are you hugging me? It's kinda weird, dude."

"Is it?" The thick-browed country murmured, mischief frolicking in his eyes as he loosened his grip around America, pushing himself onto the confused country while his hands wound around his wrists, pinning them above his head.

"Y-Yeah, I'd say so!" America announced, panic gently seeping into his voice. This was a side of Britain that he had never seen, and somehow it frightened him.

"At any rate, America, I have a proposition for you," Britain stated, his eyes narrowing, "I'd like to show you a new trick I learned!" His jovial tone starkly contrasted the halfway-menacing look in his eyes.

"Okay, sure," America nodded, a bewildered brow rising, "you can show me whatever you want, as long as you'll let me up off of the floor."

Britain's fingers unclenched from America's wrists as he hopped to his feet without falling over. America stood and took a few steps away from Britain, distancing himself from his former mentor. His azure gaze never left Britain as the emerald-eyed country closed the gap between them and captured America's hands, flipping them over so his palms faced the ceiling. "What trick did you want to show me?" America inquired as Britain's fingertip tracked over his palms, drawing something unclear and obscure in the center.

"A magic trick!" Britain retorted as he mumbled something ancient under his breath, viridian eyes closing.

A neon green aura began to surround the two: something prickled America's scalp and the skin directly above his tailbone as Britain's eyes popped open suddenly, one of his hands leaping up to America's chest as the word "Mog!" echoed ethereally around the room.

"AAGH!" America crumpled to his knees against the floor, holding his head in agony.

His breathing turned ragged instantly as he fought to inhale against the pain in his head and lower back: it felt as if something fused with his skull and tailbone the instant Britain had uttered that last word. Mog? What the hell's that? Something velvety sprung up from his head between his fingers as the sound of ripping denim met his ears, dispelling any thoughts that circled his mind. His pants shifted slightly; his eyes fell to his belt, making sure it was still fastened as a dark blonde, catlike tail flicked in the air from behind him.

He spun in a circle, watching the tail: did someone bring a cat to his house? If they did, why the hell could he only see the cat's tail, and not its whole body? He was sure he hadn't seen Greece anywhere at his party…. He stopped moving as his aqua gaze fell upon Britain, the blazing ache in his head and lower back swiftly subsiding. He almost charged the country, seizing a handful of Britain's shirt as he screeched, "What the hell, dude? That hurt like a bitch!"

A blissfully amused smile crossed Britain's face as he fought back a wave of laughter, simply reaching out and stroking something silky on the top of America's head. "You might want to go look in the mirror," he replied offhandedly.

A tingling sensation prickled his nerves, gliding down his spinal cord from the very top of his head as Britain fondled whatever it was that had cemented itself to his skull. His taut grip on the handful of Britain's shirt loosened as he bolted out of his room and into the bathroom, switching the light on and examining himself in front of the wide mirror.

His eyes bulged as he noticed the large pair of pointed cat ears protruding from his hair. They were a darker blonde than the rest of his hair: he could think of no conceivable way to hide them from the rest of the countries downstairs, since he had to return to his own party soon. "Ah!" he gasped in surprise as the dark dandelion tip of a matching tail peeked out from behind him.

Britain… is going to pay…. He shut off the bathroom light and bounded down the hall into his bedroom. The inebriated, flaxen-haired country had taken the liberty to stretch out across America's bed, his head buried in his arms as he lay on his stomach. Ehh… I better not wake him up just yet. I could make this cat thing work for me. America touched the new ears gently, sending weak shivers rocketing down his spine. He grabbed his tail as the sensation rebounded, ascending his spine and spreading through his nerves. "Well, I can't let anyone touch them," America muttered to himself. "…Unless I want someone to, of course… haha, I'm gonna have fun with this!"

He patted Britain's back as he left the room and padded down the stairs, glancing at a wall clock on his way: it was just past midnight. A dull roar met him as he reached the first floor, ultramarine eyes sweeping his surroundings: Germany, Italy, South Italy, and Austria were sitting on the floor in the living room, each holding a hand of playing cards while Hungary, Lithuania, and Poland sat nearby, watching the game; Japan and China stood close together in the kitchen, each holding a glass as they chattered; France looped an arm around Spain and Prussia, whispering something to them as they died in a flood of laughter; Estonia idled near the table filled with now-empty booze bottles and half-full cases of beer. He was surprised that Estonia was alone for once: usually, Russia would be lingering around him somewhere… "A-America?" a heavily-accented but genial voice asked from behind him, "what are those on your head?"

The saffron-haired country turned about-face, meeting amiable lavender eyes. "Ah, Russia! I'll answer your question with another: what do they look like to you?" His pointy cat ears perked as he awaited a response.

"Well… honestly, they look a lot like kitty ears," Russia answered. "But it isn't possible for you to have cat ears, so… I'm a little confused, da.~"

"I don't think you'd believe me if I told you that you were right," America chuckled, his new tail twitching nervously.

He noticed Russia's gaze shift slightly away from his eyes, possibly over his shoulder as soft fingers caressed his silky goldenrod ears. His muscles tensed as every nerve in his body prickled from the sensation; he stepped to the side of Russia as he turned around to find China standing there, a rosy hue coloring his cheeks. "S-Sorry, America! I just had to touch them! Where did you get them? They feel so real!"

"I think they are real, China," Japan stated, his moderate voice soft against the sound that resonated within the first floor of America's house. "My country makes those cosplay cat ears and tails all the time, and I have never seen any that are so high-quality. They must be real."

"Well, America? Are they?" China questioned, his ochre eyes widening.

"Well yeah," America nodded. "Britain cast this weird spell or something on me, and these ears and this tail showed up. Of course, it was really painful… it feels like they're being smelted to your skull. I dunno if they're permanent or what, but it seems like they're here to stay. I'll get all of the details about them from Britain whenever he wakes up, he passed out upstairs."

A quiet lull descended upon the entire first floor of America's home as he finished talking. All of the other countries stared at him in awe before they ambushed him. "Cat ears? Really?" "He said they were real! It'd be awesome to have a pair!" "Oh, he has a tail, too!" "He looks so cute with those little kitty ears!" Comments of all types meshed together in the air above their heads as countless hands reached out toward America's head.

"Aah! No, wait! Don't touch them yet!" America cried as he leapt over his couch and into the middle of his living room. Everyone quieted as they watched him. "Look, if you guys wanna touch 'em, you have to ask me first. Now, I want a drink, and I'll mow down anyone in my path if they try and touch me without asking first! Or if they stand between me and whatever booze is left on the table!"

He darted over to the table before anyone had the chance to get in his way, snatching up a can of the cheap American beer he bought and cracking it open. He downed half of the can in one go as the others spread out through the first floor once again. Italy flew toward America, locking his arms around him unexpectedly as he giggled. "America! Your little ears are so cute! Ve, I wish I had a pair!"

America squeezed the small-framed country as he replied, "I'm sure Britain can fix you up with some once he wakes up… if he remembers how he did it. He was pretty wasted when this happened, after all."

"I hope he does!" Italy chirped, pulling away from America as Germany dragged him off toward the sofa, dark circles forming under the platinum blonde country's eyes.

America darted around his party for hours, drinking endlessly until the entire two cases of beer had been eliminated. The world spun as he tried to walk, stumbling over his own feet. His glasses were floating around somewhere: he had lost them about an hour ago (or was it two?) doing god-knows-what. Countries that couldn't make it home dotted his living room, some curled up against each other. Prussia had somehow managed to fall asleep sitting upside-down on the couch, his head dangling off the side. America's hand skimmed the nearest wall until he grasped the banister lining the stairs, crawling upstairs to his bedroom. His limbs felt like they had turned into lead, his temples pounding incessantly as he collapsed onto his bed… and an unsuspecting Britain.

"Aah! A-America!" Britain cried out, the weight of the blonde crashing against his back.

"Uh..? Oh, hey Britain…." America managed to mumble as Britain pulled himself out from underneath him.

Britain's shuddered as he glimpsed the lawn-green numbers displaying the time on America's digital alarm clock. "Bloody hell, it's later than I thought… do you mind if I stay here for tonight, America?"

"Ngh… I don't care… everyone else is crashed out… downstairs…." America muttered in response, his words slurring together slightly.

Britain stretched, his vision blurry from the unexpected sleep and alcohol still saturating his system. He pulled the dead-weighted America onto him, his arms folding around the already unconscious country. His eyes widened as he noticed the cat ears adorning America's head, the urge to touch them dawning on him. He reached up and rubbed the golden, velvety ears between his thumb and forefinger. A muffled moan emanated from America as all of the muscles in his body went rigid, his arms wrapping around Britain tightly. The younger country relaxed against Britain as he unhanded America's cat ears, a sly smile breaking across his face. I'm such a fucking opportunist, Britain thought absently, America would rather shoot himself in the foot than be caught dead like this with me. His mind flickered to the moment just before the party guests arrived, as if to prove himself wrong; he concentrated on the soft sensation of America's lips as they grazed across his forehead before jumping back to answer the door. Hmm, maybe not… then again, I really don't care.

A summery smile plastered to his face, Britain rested his head against America's as he felt the grip of sleep encircle him once more, freely giving in to the alcohol-accelerated slumber.

Fin.