It's the FINAAAL COUNTDOOOWWWN! *guitar solo*

Ahem.

And now we come back to the present day and a certain red jumpsuit, finishing off the last corner of the framing device. The other end of the bookend, if you will.

Also, I do not own Jell-O. Thought you might want to know.

Who knew threats could make people do what I want? (i.e. review) *rubs hands thoughtfully, scary glint in one eye*

Captain Arthur Kirkland (x2): ...why am I not surprised someone named Captain Arthur Kirkland wants me to keep dyeing the world England red? Sounds suspicious if you ask me... I'm gratified to meet another person who thinks he's not the weepy stereotypical female of their relationship! They're both ancient nations, dang it, and they're both badasses in their own special ways. America may have the strength, but England has the finesse and ruthlessness. I think they make a good pair, in fighting or otherwise. And I'm glad you like the a/ns and h/ns-I try to make them interesting!

Last Girl Standing: Well, since you beg so nicely... very well. But you better pay me in thin mints! :| America's not the only one who likes cookies, you know!

vesana: I can't help it if Ukraine the country is famous for large plains, steppes, and plateaus and Ukraine the nation-person is famous for large, er, yeah. It was just too good to resist for this Monty Python lover! Speaking of that, I read the email, and though snopes says it wasn't Cleese, it was still funny! Though I think they were confusing France's white flag factories with Italy's ;) And there's actually a bit about tea and hamburger deprivation in this chapter. You'll see. Is it sad I feel like I know how to write England better than my own country? I'm glad you think I got the loveable git down all right-he can be a slippery bugger when he wants. Must be all that grease.

One of the things I love to do in writing is suddenly changing everything to look at an idea from a different, unexpected angle and be very sneaky about it. Like there. After all, I didn't say at the end of the WWI chapter, "Yet it was not the last time America saw Red England," I said "Yet it was not the last time America saw England in red." So I never quite lied, just allowed you to form your own opinions. *Danger! Cockburn-esque levels of smug!*

eyebox: *takes a bow* Thank you, thank you! Er, be careful...as an American, my hamburger grease gets all over my writing, so it may cause you to break out in acne if you smear it all over your— Well. Too late now. I- I'm glad you like it...? And history is way more awesome with Alfreds all over it! If you feel like it, some fanart for this fic would be most appreciated. :D?

mofalle: I'm glad you're enjoying it—and I loved learning about history to write this. Why aren't we taught in school about history with Hetalia? These days I can place all the countries (except the Balkans) on a map of Europe, and I never used to be able to do anything like it! Not to mention all the rest of the history…sigh. And they wonder why kids don't do well in school.

bookwormally: Ah, but what if it was Hetalia class? They it wouldn't be silly! (oh wait yes it would be but it would be enjoyably and educationally silly so there). I for one love writing the contradictions evident between the two characters, the way they both can act utterly uncaring yet deep down feel far too much for each other, the way centuries pass and the world changes yet they stay true to their inner personalities and connections with each other. Hmmm, but perhaps no one's ever let England near a kitchen long enough to discover that his baking's good? You may have an idea there… Historical accuracy high five all around! To me it just makes everything seem more real, y'know? More present than you can get with just fiction.

xXYoraXx: I swear, the man never blinks! And if I did my job right, you should certainly be entertained in one way or another ;)

The end of World War II finally came and the U.K. was left crippled by debt and the mandated loss of its colonies, shell-shocked and reeling from the sheer devastation of the fighting. His people slowly healed, and the former British Empire turned to embroidery instead of brawling, obscenities instead of kidney stabs, tea instead of rum…and green sweater vests and smart suits instead of red anything.

Modern England left the past locked away in dusty museums and the scars crisscrossing his body. These days, seeing him glaring across a conference table or strangling France inspired more amusement than fear. He left his red years long behind, and the world began to forget he had ever been anything other than a rainy little island stuffily drinking tea and swearing colorfully at America.

And then he picked up that red jumpsuit and the past slapped them all in the face.

Did England truly know what he became when he wore red? Did he feel the change like a switch thrown in his soul? Surely he had known what he released with that color and picked those clothes intentionally. America supposed in the face of such enemies as these Pictonians they needed every advantage possible, even up to unleashing Red England.

What had England felt when he chose to wear the red jumpsuit? Did the scarlet cloth smell to him of empire, of salt seas and tropical breezes, of cotton and coffee and a never-setting sun? Of sweat and blood and other people's tears?

It was just a good thing he hadn't worn the crimson cloak too, or Earth would very rapidly have had the extinction of an entire alien species on its head.

~o0O0o~

Oh yeah. Aliens. America blinked and came back to himself. He was still staring awkwardly at England by the door, and though only a short amount of time seemed to have passed for all the history his mind had whipped through, any longer without a characteristic Americaism and they might begin to suspect he was affected by the sight or something. As if. Obnoxious America to the rescue!

"Ahahaha!" America winced mentally when his voiced cracked slightly on the last syllable. "You look like a race car driver, England!" He gave England his best cheesy smolder and two thumbs up. "You can drive my car anytime."

As soon as the words danced merrily out of his mouth, America realized what a terrible mistake he made. Because Red England never blushed and sputtered incoherently at innuendo not coming from France like normal England did. Oh no.

England's smirk broadened into a feral grin and he began eyeing America thoughtfully, long, shameless, savoring looks from his boots to Nantucket. America could distantly hear the strains of Darth Vader's Imperial March as England sauntered a few long strides toward him, braced his hands on the table between them and leaned forward. America involuntarily swayed back from the advancing nation, cursing himself for his weakness. This was not the right way to act around Red England with that glint in his eye. Red England loved domination of any form…but unfortunately he also got off on facing resistance and crushing it, so America was screwed either way.

England was far, far too close for comfort at this point, green eyes burning against the sullen red backdrop of his collar just a few inches away from America's own. He was a century out of practice when it came to Red England, unprepared and thrown off-balance by his abrupt resurrection. America could only swallow dryly and hope his eyes didn't show too much of his terror.

"America…as a gentleman, I would be happy to…oblige you in that department," England purred, seductive and honeyed and above all dangerous, hot breath washing against America's face, "I'm sure it would be quite enjoyable for at least one of us."

And he suddenly seized America's chin in an bruising grip, forcibly tilted his head back and forth as England scrutinized his face as he would a new painting he was going to be adding to his collection, whether the current owner wished it or not. Though he knew his strength was far beyond England's, America was too shocked to pull away. When was the last time England had touched him like that? Had he ever done so?

A snort interrupted England's creepy appraisal. "Please, Angleterre.You're only a gentleman when it suits you." France seemed to have regained his balance with his usual cat-like reflexes, and America was never so glad to hear that annoying accent in his life. He made a mental note to lower tariffs against French goods after all this was over—whether he intended to help or not, he had just proven how valuable an ally France was to the United States.

England spun to his ancient enemy, releasing America with a force that nearly slammed him to the table. "Ah, perfidious France. You were so uncharacteristically silent and bland I didn't see you there." England apparently decided France was less than a threat to him, or at least wished to pretend he thought that, because out of nowhere he pulled a long knife and, as he leaned against the wall with an attitude last seen in the 70s with fourteen piercings and leather pants, began to trim his nails.

Seemingly oblivious—or at least covered with so much scar tissue when it came to Red England that he was impervious to anything he might do—France responded without hesitation.

"Rosbif, there is no one, human or alien, that can make me bland. You've been trying for millennia and even the sheer quantity of mediocrity that is your insipid food and tasteless clothing has not been able to make me even slightly as dull as you." He dramatically swept his own manicured hand through silky locks in demonstration.

An undignified squeak erupted from France's mouth as he abruptly found a thrown knife quivering in the wall by his head. A few forlorn strands of his hair floated gently to the ground as he stared in horror.

"MY HAIR!"

England already had another knife in his hand and a smug comeback falling off his lips when China cut in. "Stop this nonsense, you two. Shockingly, we have a problem that can't be solved with your endless squabbling." In thanks America resolved to actually start paying back his debt sometime soon. The man's scolding could be very useful at times.

England just looked at China for a moment, eyes hooded, before a lazy sneer smeared onto his face. "Of course, China. How thoughtless of me." His words were polite, yet his expression was anything but. It showed quite clearly his opinion on being interrupted and the consequences of such an action, especially when done by a nation he had last seen on his knees before him. America could only hope after they booted these aliens off their planet they'd manage to get England out of those red clothes before the United Kingdom was the aggressor against China in World War Three.

France, for his part, clutched his now trimmed hair, looking as though he couldn't quite decide whether to cry or get la Guillotine out of storage to use on a certain Englishman.

Time for Obnoxious America to come to the rescue again!

"Yeah, we don't have time for you fuddy-duddy old guys to argue about who's lamer, we all know you're equally lame. We've gotta go kick some serious Pictonian butt! And I've got the perfect idea, too—we've just gotta make these people-shaped Jell-O mold things and put an alien in each one—y'see, they look really blobby and soft so if we sorta squished them into a human shape, then they'd be human again! Ahahahaha!"

As everyone groaned, America smiled widely. He could feel the pendulum of their usual dynamic swinging back into safe territory. Now just to keep it there…

"Ew! That sounds really gross, Germany; I didn't know aliens were like ricotta cheese!" As usual, Italy's first thought was for his stomach. Not that America had any room to talk—what with the world being taken over and all, he hadn't been able to find any hamburgers that weren't white and droopy. He hadn't had one in at least four hours now and it was making him hallucinate the smell of grease and meat; he wondered how normal England would have been faring without his beloved tea. As it was, his eyebrows were beginning to twitch dangerously.

Germany rubbed his temples. "Do we have any other ideas? Ones that actually might work?"

America's indignant "Hey!" goes ignored and a glum silence falls over the group.

"Scheiße. Looks like turning into Pictonians is a fate we will all share now." Germany said with a sigh.

But as he watched France begin to babble again about blandness and their conversation yet again devolve into petty bickering and minor violence, America couldn't help but think that with the terrifying might of Red England on their side, their cause might not be quite as hopeless as they thought.

At that moment, England glanced over and caught his eye, and in those cruel green depths he could see reflected there the laughter and flame and mud and bullets, the thrill of battle and the trickle of tears, the vicious twist of a blade and a grasping, bloodied hand in the purest white glove, and above all else draped the burning crimson of Red England.

As if he knew what America saw, England smiled broadly, another smirk without mirth. Remember me? it seemed to say, I can do it all again. Just you wait, little America. Oh the fun we will have…

Well, whatever else you might say about the man, he certainly knew how to change the game.

And America smiled back.

With Germany's line, we are brought back into the actual storyline of Paint It, White.

On why Red England was even more Red-England-y than usual: It's been a while since he was let out of his closet, let's put it that way. And since England hasn't gotten any for a while, either, well…

And why did Red England aggressively come on to America when he had never done so before: In my head!canon England never really started seeing America as an adult, and beyond that an attractive adult until their experiences in the World Wars (or, possibly, when he did manage to extract from Canada what happened to America during his Civil War). No, I'll not be having any of that squicky England-wanting-to-get-it-on-with-pre-revolutionary-America nonsense. So this is the first time Red England has met America as someone England (whether he admits it or not) considers attractive and an acceptable mate. Where England reacts to such an attraction by being even more ornery than usual and prone to blushing, Red England simply sees something it likes the look of and takes it. Not that America will ever figure all this out and come to the logical conclusion that England likes him. The denseness of the man-!

None of that America-revolting-because-he-wants-to-become-England's-equal-so-he-can-court-him nonsense, either. I think that particular theory is complete rot. If you love someone, even if it is with an Oedipus complex, you don't hurt them like that. Never like that.

Everything in the last sentence of the first paragraph, to be accurate, must be appended with "...when not drunk or when France has not made him pissed." Considering the varying meanings of "pissed" on either side of the Pond, and that may seem redundant!

Yes, I know Darth Vader never aggressively came on to anyone, but the idea was too delightful to pass up! And with America's geeky proclivities, of course that's what he'd think of. Thanks to the individual known only as France for the idea.

MINISCULE HISTORICAL NOTES

"perfidious France": a mockery of one of France's own terms for England. The phrase "La Perfide Angleterre" has been around since at least the 13th century. The more common form, "La Perfide Albion" has been a stock expression since the 1800s. It has spread to other languages and cultures, including Italian, Spanish, Portugeuse, and Greek, and in Ireland and Argentina. These days it's used more humorously than anything else, but during WWII in Italy it was Serious Business. "Perfidious" and its cognate in French has connotations of duplicity, treachery, and infidelity (in the strictly political sense, but still, France calling other people adulterous? heheheh). On their side, the British have called their dear neighbors "Treacherous France" since at least when it was written in Shakespeare's The Life and Death of The Lord Cromwell.

British and French readers: Am I correct in this? The Internet is not always truthful...

"...with an attitude last seen in the 70s": The 1970s, of course. England's infamous punk phase.

la Guillotine and cut hair: I hope you enjoyed the little incident with France's hair, but there's a bit more to the back story than just him lamenting the loss of his beautiful tresses.

Before being executed during the French Revolution, 'le toilette du condamne' was done to some of the victims. In this, their hair was cut short so as not to impede the efficiency of la Guillotine. It takes longer if you have to take two swipes to get through the thick hair to take the head all the way off, after all.

Let's just say France has a thing for people cutting his hair. And Red England is enough of a bastard to take advantage of it. If you ask him, he'll say France was asking for it, flaunting his hair like that. I suppose he still hasn't forgiven him for the whole "France, cut my long hair to make it look pretty [like yours]" thing.

After the Reign of Terror, the giddy, relieved atmosphere gave birth to many frivolous yet gruesome fashions and pastimes. You could think of it as the hysterical laughter one can have after witnessing a tragedy. One of the (relatively sane, look this stuff up! —but be careful, some arefictional) fashions among both men and women was to have their hair cut very short and choppy to mimic le toilette du condamne.

Have you noticed I have a bit of a thing for smells? Er…that didn't come out right.

Red England to me has moved beyond head!canon and into actual canon. He's real. I swear. So never let England near a kitchen, alcohol, or a certain shade of clothing if you value your life.

Well, anyway, I hope you've enjoyed Red England! I know I've loved writing it, and in fact this concept managed to keep me focused and writing longer than anything has before! It was actually kind of scary how it's absorbed my life over the last month. Now I have empty-nest syndrome D:

And happily in the process of writing this many new, intriguing ideas have spawned like squirming maggots from my festering brain! Delightful imagery, I'm sure. But nevertheless, I have a feeling they won't be letting me alone until I pin them down properly, so watch out for more fics in the future from Punmaster Extraordinaire.

Thanks, all, and goodnight!