Okay, before we get into the story, I'm going to tell/warn you know, I am an UsCan/AmeCan shipper so get over it now or please get out of my story because the main pairing may not end up being AmeCan, but there is a lot of reference to it. Haha, so yeah, have fun otherwise :D

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters

Chapter 1: From Male to Female

"MATTIE!" a high-pitched voice screeched as something was flung against Canada's front door, "Mattie, let me in now! MATTIE!" Banging ensued, ringing through Canada's house and making his windows rattle in their frames.

Canada jumped, nearly stabbing himself in the back of his throat with his toothbrush. He sputtered, coughing up the remnants of his toothpaste before jumping as another round of banging echoed up to him.

"Mattie, let me in now! This is important!" the shrill feminine voice screeched again, on the border line of becoming hysterical.

Canada cautiously made his way downstairs, taking care not to make any noise that would alert his unexpected visitor that he was home. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his pajamas as he looked out the peephole. He didn't see anyone. "Who's there? The only person who calls me Mattie is…" he muttered as he cracked his door open.

A female rising only to his chin slammed the door open, throwing Canada to the floor. Sandy blonde hair trailed down the girl's back, ending in gentle curls at her waist. A white button up shirt and brown bomber jacket hung open revealing her breasts and a pair of American flag boxers slipping down her pale hips.

The door swung shut behind her. Canada sputtered, his eyes going wide and face growing scarlet red at the nearly naked girl.

"Mattie, you have to help me. I'm a fucking chick. I have boobs," the girl shouted, grabbing her breasts, "And a vagina! Look!" She pulled down her boxers, letting them pool around her ankles.

Canada's ears began to burn. He slapped a hand over his eyes, peaking at the girl's face through his fingers. "Who are you? W-why are you n-n-naked?" he asked, voice trembling.

The girl went still. "Dude, don't be stupid," the girl spat, blue eyes narrowing, "It's me, your brother…" She paused, pursing her lips. "Er, maybe your sister now. It's me, America. Alfred F. Jones." The girl stared down at him, her hands on her bare hips like being naked meant nothing to her.

Canada fought to keep his eyes from travelling down to the girl's exposed womanhood. "Excuse me, um, can you, uh, pull up your…boxers please and button up your shirt? Please?" He closed his fingers, struggling to his feet, trying not to overturn anything.

The self-proclaimed America just stood there, staring at poor Canada without so much as batting an eyelash at his request. "Dude, don't be a pussy. You've seen me naked plenty of times especially when we're drunk and you get hor-"

"Stop!" Canada shouted though it hardly got above a loud whisper, "How can I know you're actually America and not just some girl wearing clothes like his and who talks like him?"

The girl sighed in exasperation. "Do I really have to go into your hidden birthmarks and mine, and your kinks?" she asked, rolling her eyes at the ceiling, "Let's see, first you always call me Al when we're alone –meaning we're in a house or something, not anywhere outside or in public-. You have a birthmark on the inside of your thigh so close to your dick that even your underwear covers it. I have a birthmark on my stomach just below my waistband and you like to leave a hickey over it on the occasions when we fuck. It's right here." She pushed her shirt back more and pointed at a dark brown spot before she went back to ticking things off on her fingers. "You actually love handcuffs, especially the kinds that have no fur and can easily leave bruises. You're actually kind of a sadist/masochist-"

Canada put up his hand, bringing the girl to a stop. "Okay, I believe you," he said in a slightly mortified voice, "But if you are America, how exactly did you get like…this?" He motioned to her with his free hand, still refusing to remove his hand from over his eyes.

Again, America sighed. "Dude, stop with the 'if' crap, it's really me, and I don't fucking know. I just woke up like this! And put your hand down to look at me! It's getting annoying!" Her voice was edging back towards hysterical as she began to pace, her movements inhibited just the slightest by the boxers still around her ankles.

Canada took in a deep breath letting it out slowly to try and calm himself. Slowly, he lowered his hand and took in the girl before him. The just faded blush resurfaced with a vengeance, but he forced himself to leave his eyes uncovered. "Do you remember what happened before you went to bed last night?" he asked calmly in hopes that it would calm his companion.

"No, not really! All I remember is having a few drinks with Japan and Britain," America explained, biting her thumbnail in agitation, "Fucking hell. Why am I a chick? Mattie, why aM I A CHICK?!" She turned on his, throwing her arms out to the sides and yelling again.

Canada sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I don't know, Al, but you need to calm down, please."

"Calm down? CALM DOWN?! How the hell do I calm the fuck down?! I'm a fucking chick with a vage and boobs instead of a dick and pecks!" America shouted angrily, turning to burn two coin-sized holes into Canada by her glare, "Tell me to calm down again and I will cut off your dick and make you a chick too." She pointed menacingly at him, her eye twitching.

"Okay, I won't tell you to calm down, but-" Canada began before he was cut off abruptly by the ringing of his cellphone.

"Is that the Exorcist theme song?" America asked, her eyebrow quirking at him, "What are you? An old, shriveled up recluse?"

"I save that ringtone for England and France," Canada explained, fumbling for his cell on the kitchen counter.

America paled at that. "I suddenly feel the need to throw up," she muttered, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Canada pressed his finger to his lips as he slid his phone open. "Hello?"

Even from where she stood, America could hear France's lecherous voice and England yelling at him. "Shut up! Canada, have you seen America at all today?" England asked.

Both Canada and America stiffened. "Uh, no, no, I can't say I have," he answered possibly too quickly, but neither of the men on the other line seemed to notice. America jumped into action, pulling up her boxers and buttoning up her shirt until the top two buttons. She moved like there was a fire at her back.

"Well, we're calling a World Meeting. I couldn't get a hold of America and neither could anyone else. Could you tell him?" England asked. Before Canada could answer, he said, "Thanks. See you two at the meeting. France, get off of my table, you git!" The resounding click made both of the room's occupants jump.

"Shit!" America shouted, whirling back on Canada with frantic eyes, "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! I can't go to the World Meeting looking like this. I can't have Russia and Iggy and Japan seeing me like this!"

Canada's eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "America, exactly how much of a man whore are you? Well, I guess slut would be the correct term now."

America shook her head and spread her hands, looking at Canada like he was stupid. "Exactly what does that have to do with anything? Who cares how much I sleep around? And by the way, you have no right to talk," she said, shoving a finger in his direction, "All of you are just as bad as I am."

"Okay, okay, can't argue against that. Anyway, you can't just skip out on the World Meeting, Al. It'll be more suspicious if you don't turn up and pretend to be someone different," Canada said with another heavy sigh, his blush finally beginning to fade now that America was completely covered.

America stared at her brother, her jaw going slack. She stood there for what felt like an hour before she let out a howl of anger and stomped off towards the door cussing like a sailor. Her language got more colorful with each of her footsteps.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Canada called frantically, grabbing a pair of pants and a shirt from a laundry basket, and stuffing his feet into a pair of shoes as America shoved her way through the door. The sunlight hit her, illuminating the gold in her hair and bringing color to her skin. Canada felt his heart skip a beat and the blush return with a vengeance.

She paused on the walkway, staring up to the sun, her fists clutched at her sides. "I'm going home to get some damn clothes!" She stormed off again, taking off at a sprint towards her home. This time she didn't stop when Canada called after her.

…..

"Fuck, it's not here. God dammit!" America rifled through a drawer, throwing clothing to the floor. She was surrounded by small hills of clothing that was growing larger with every drawer.

Canada pursed his lips as he watched his sister throw clothes around her room. "So, um, why do you have girl clothes here?" he asked cautiously, setting aside his pajamas, folding the discarded clothes and setting them aside in a pile.

America gave an exasperated sigh. "If you can't figure it out then I'm not going to tell you," she retorted, but told him only a few moments later. Canada had to hold back his laughter at how his once brother was slowly turning into a girl. "Well, awhile back, I met this girl at a bar, and she accidently went home in some of my clothes afterwards so I still have her clothes." She shrugged like it was no big deal and it happened all of the time.

Canada was opening his mouth to retort when America shouted out in triumph making him jump and knock over his newly formed stack of clothing.

"Found them!" she crowed happily, a wide smile brightening her face. What she held up made Canada gasp in horror. She held up a pair of short shorts and then an American flag bikini. "I'm all set!"

"What?! No! You can't wear that! That's not even considered clothing. Find something else!" Canada protested, jumping to his feet even as America began to strip down, throwing her clothes onto the Queen-sized bed.

She was already pulling on the bikini bottom and pulling up the shorts. "Why not? My tits are covered and so is my vage. What is there to complain about?" she asked as she tied the bathing suit around her neck. "Wow, they make this look a lot easier than it is." America struggled to tie the strings at her back, straining to get the knot to stay.

"W-what? Why not?" Canada sputtered, "W-well because your whole stomach is showing and, and, those shorts don't even go to mid-thigh! You know how some of the other nations are." He searched for more reasons why America should have changed, but he couldn't come up with anything else. Sighing loudly, he grabbed the strings of America's bikini and tied them.

"So what if they're a bit skimpy? I'll get something from Hungary or someone. It's summer over here so I have a legitimate reason to be almost naked. We always dress like this here as you well know," America said, shrugging on her bomber jacket and stuffing her feet into a pair of black combat boots without any socks.

Canada threw his hands up in the air. "I give up. I know I'm not going to convince you," he said in exasperation, "I think we should head out if you're done then."

America looked around her destroyed bedroom, her lips pursed. "Yeah, I'm done," she said, and stomped down the stairs.

Okay, so here's the first chapter. I'm really not sure what the main ship is going to be yet, and I'm still debating on how he got that way. Um, so, I realize America and Canada were probably a bit OOC closer to the end so sorry for that. I think America since he is a she now would speak a bit differently, but I'm going to try to get them more into character in the next chapter.

Review please! :D