Title: Of Hip and Cool
Summary: During America's family get-together, England loses a bet to France, gets drunk, and tries to fit in with the 'young crowd'. America and Canada are amused, France is suspiciously innocent, and Sealand decides that it's a great time to declare war. FACES family fluff.
Notes: Inspired by that one episode where England grows his hair out because he wants to be "hip and cool" – he sounds so ridiculously funny when he says it. The English dub is a thing of beauty, and Scott Freeman is a gift.

How on earth had he let America talk him into this?

It was one think to get a drink together, but this was more along the lines of a full-blown party, and of all people, France was there, winking and waving at England as he poked his head into the hall. A tiny force shoved its way past England into the house, letting out an excited shout, and England's scowl deepened. To make matters worse, Sealand had insisted upon coming the moment he'd heard that they were getting together at America's house, and America had enthusiastically invited him along. Any attempt to get him to visit Latvia instead had resulted in Sealand latching on to England's leg and refusing to let go until he was allowed to come.

"Mon dieu, Angleterre, the party hasn't even started and already you look as if you've eaten too many lemons," France said, sauntering up to England as the latter entered the house and removed his coat. "Although, unattractive as it is, that is your natural face, is it not?"

"Shut it, frog," England said calmly, absently watching as Sealand ran up to America and exchanged a high five with him. "Let's not make this even more unpleasant with fighting."

"You sound so mature!" France exclaimed. "Perhaps tonight will be fun, then? There are many ways to have fun at a party, yes?" He grinned suggestively, wiggling his hands, until England threatened to saw them off with a butter knife. Ah, well, it was customary to threaten the Frenchman at least once. No need to break tradition.

"Yo, England!" America said excitedly, bouncing up to him. Behind him was Canada, who exchanged a small nod and smile with England. Well, at least there was one other sane person here. "It's awesome that you and the little guy came! Now everyone's here!"

England had to admit, America's cheerfulness was rather infectious; perhaps he could manage to have a little fun, as long as wanton iniquity or abnormal idiocy (or both, God forbid) didn't become too pronounced. And then America started chattering about all the food he had. Joy.

"Oh, not your excuse for cuisine," England groaned, imagining the piles of greasy, heart-attack inducing hamburgers that awaited him. "Is that all you have?"

"No, France brought some of his stuff too." America adopted a puppy-dog attitude, eyeing England with hurt, watery eyes. "And stop dissing my food, it's great!"

England scowled and rolled his own eyes. "I'm not eating any of that Frenchman's slop. I don't know why you wouldn't let me bring anything..."

"NO!"

This was said in perfect, hasty unison by America, France, and Sealand, and England gave them all the evil eye. Well, if they couldn't appreciate fine cookery, then it was their loss. He pushed past them, headed for the mini-bar. "I'm going to get a drink," he said, figuring that just a touch of alcohol would allow him to better enjoy the night...

And then America had a (debatably) brilliant idea.

"Hey!" he said excitedly. "We should do karaoke!"

"Cool!" Sealand said and ran for the game room, determined to beat everyone else to it.

His sense of danger on alert, England read America's intentions like a book and deftly avoided the younger nation's attempt to drag him into karaoke. Canada ended being the unfortunate victim, the nearest after England, and America pulled him after Sealand, cackling. France followed with a chuckle, casting a glance over his shoulder. "We will hear you sing, Angleterre!"

"As if!" England said and sighed. Now he really needed a drink.

England had to admit that America's game room was somewhat impressive, if tacky. It was a large area with a loft, full of flashy gadgets and games and God only knew what else, and it came equipped with a high-tech stereo system and a mini-bar, which England now frequented. They'd had some trouble prying Sealand away from said bar, as he'd insisted that he was a country and therefore mature enough to have alcohol, and only the lure of karaoke had bribed him away. They were now being treated to his and America's attempts to sing. (Canada had quite wisely put his stealth skills to effective use and was content to watch the others make fools out of themselves.)

Though England sorely wanted to indulge in more alcohol by this point, he didn't dare, concerned about how he might act under its influence. His glass was starting to look depressingly close to empty, and it was only his first drink, to his chagrin.

France, who'd been sitting next to Canada and observing the dismal karaoke with great amusement, drifted over to the bar to obtain another glass of wine. "You need to learn how to have fun," he told England bluntly.

"I do know how to have fun," England said dismissively. "Karaoke is not my idea of it."

France snorted. "Then you are obviously missing the point," he said and poured himself another glass. "I doubt you could even get through the rest of this party without scowling or being sarcastic!"

England laughed. "Is that a challenge, frog?"

"Maybe it is," France said, in a sing-song tone that made England hesitate and glance at him suspiciously. "I would bet money that you couldn't."

"You're joking."

"I am quite serious, mon ami."

"There's no way I'm agreeing to something so juvenile."

France sighed dramatically and took a sip of wine. "Ah, well, I suppose I can't force you, mon petit Angleterre. If the challenge scares you that much, I win by default."

England set his empty glass down decisively, internally mourning the lost drink as one would the passing of an old friend. "You do not."

"But you are much too cowardly to accept my challenge! I win!"

"I don't recall even starting a challenge!"

"That's because you are sca~ared."

"I'm not scared of you, damn Frenchman."

"No, but you are scared of losing."

England was not going to take this from bloody France, no, sir. "Fine!" he said. "I'll be a perfect gentleman for the rest of the night. It's far more than you could ever be. And... let's say a hundred pounds to the winner?"

"Oh, non, Angleterre, I wasn't thinking of money." France grinned in what was supposed to be a charming way and reached over the bar, withdrawing an elegant bottle of wine. "It's something I brought for Amerique, but I'm sure he won't mind." France's eyes twinkled mischievously. "For every scowl or rude comment you make, you have to down a shot of this... my own personal wine."

England looked between France and the bottle with great suspicion. "There's no way in hell I'm drinking anything you touched."

"Oh? What happened to your confidence? Afraid you will lose?"

"To you? Never?"

"Then accept my challenge!"

It was absolutely ridiculous and immature, but England wasn't the best at resisting the effects of even a little alcohol, and somewhere deep in his mind, he knew it, too. But too late; he was not going to back down from France's challenge, stupid as it may have been.

"Hang on," he said, arriving at the important point. "What if I win? What do I get out of it?"

France considered this. "If you can go the entire night without drinking a drop of my wine, I'll give you your hundred pounds and promise to leave you alone for the rest of the year. How does that sound?"

It sounded like an excellent deal. England's eyes gleamed. "And I want more of that wine, too. Vintage, isn't it? Must be worth a hefty price."

"Oh, Angleterre, you drive a hard bargain," France said playfully. "But if you insist, then I will throw that in as well."

As France returned to his observation of the less-than-stellar karaoke, England scoffed, already looking forward to the profit he would be making. This was truly one of the easiest bets he'd ever made; he could win without a problem and show that Frenchman exactly who the true gentleman was.

The North American twins were neck-and-neck in a fierce game of Mario Kart, with Sealand right behind them, and France bringing up a meandering rear. The older nation was quite content with fourth place, preferring to watch the others and smile at how competitive they were. The game even brought forth Canada's dormant aggressive nature, and he muttered small expletives as America edged past him, skillfully zooming around a curve.

England had excused himself to the bathroom some time ago, and when he abruptly returned, he took them all by surprise.

"Hand over that controller, Frenchy," said a belligerent and slightly slurred voice. To France's surprise, the controller was yanked out of his hand by none other than England himself, who sat down in their middle and concentrated on the large flat-screen TV.

Everyone was so shocked that they forgot their game for a moment. "Um, England?" Canada said, after several moment of stunned silence. "What are you doing?"

England took a moment to contemplate this question, fiddling with the controller. "Winning," he said simply.

Everyone spun around to look at the TV. England had figured out the controls in record time and was now speeding past all of them. "Hey!" Sealand exclaimed, outraged. "No fair!" And then they were all scrambling to catch up, but much too late. England dominated the race, displaying utter aggressiveness in maintaining first place. Canada came the closest to beating him, a hair away by the time England passed the finish line first.

"Hah!" England declared in drunken triumph. "I *hic* win!"

"No way, dude," America said in utter surprise, mirroring the other three. "Are you drunk?"

"No," England said, in a way that answered the question otherwise. "I'm *hic* perfectly normal."

"You are drunk!" America said and found this hilarious.

While America was busy cracking up, Canada and Sealand looked completely nonplussed, while France was merely serene. "Wait a sec!" Sealand said. "You never act cool when you're drunk!"

America recovered from his laughter, a little bit. "That's true," he said, sniffing and giggling. "Man, what did you get into?"

"Frenchy's wine," England said, rather dreamily. "It's... it's... airy."

Everyone looked accusingly at France, who lost none of his innocent serenity. America buried his laughter for a moment. "What the hell did you put in the wine?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing," France said, shaking his head in denial. "We simply had a bet, but I'm afraid poor Angleterre has a hard time controlling his impulses. I think he may have... overindulged." France smiled. "My wine is good for you. It makes one... relax."

"Relax? More like his personality did a total 180!"

"I'm right here," England said, annoyed, made all the more comical by the way he swayed slightly. "Don't talk about me *hic* when I'm right in front of you. C'mon, let's have another go!" He waved the controller around, smiling lopsidedly.

This was too much for America, who could only maintain seriousness for so long and who started snorting again. Even Canada started grinning, and Sealand had a sudden, fortuitous light bulb.

"Hey! He's vulnerable now!" the wannabe nation said excitedly. "That's it, England, I'm declaring war on you, and you will recognize me as a country now!" Of course, no one took this seriously, not even the heavily drunk England, who was trying to start another game. Sealand retreated for a moment to assess his battle plan.

It seemed that England's brief spurt of video game brilliance had passed, and now he was hopelessly confused. "A-America," he said and hiccupped. "How do you *hic* work this thing?"

America choked on his laughter in an effort to answer. "I think that's enough video games for tonight," he said, coughing, and pried the controller from England, who stared down at his now-empty hands, rather perplexed.

Meanwhile, Sealand had revisited his war plan and had come up with a better strategy, which involved sneaking into America's kitchen and obtaining the nearest pointy object... namely, a long fork. Armed with his newly found weapon, he burst back into the game room with a war cry and attempted to spear his older brother with the fork. Unfortunately for him, his reach wasn't as long as he thought, and France easily snatched the fork from his grasp. "Don't run with sharp objects," the older nation reprimanded him sternly, getting up to place the fork in an area out of Sealand's short reach.

"Hey," England said indignantly, and to their surprise, he stood and slung an arm around Sealand's shoulders. "Hey. None of that. We're *hic* buds now, right?"

"Buds?" America and Canada asked in unison, sniggering together.

Sealand's eyes were wide. "Are you finally admitting that I'm a country?"

"Sure!" England said with another lopsided grin. "Why not?"

Sealand was so excited that he let out a cheer and declared that they were at peace.

England tried to do the same to America and Canada, who ducked away before he could latch on to their necks. "C'mon, guys," England said. "Let's *hic* do some karaoke. Or somethin'. Heheh." It seemed that he was content to sing with or without it, because a moment later they heard him mumbling an old drinking song to himself, missing half the words.

"No, really, France," America said, shaking his head but still smiling. "Did you spike the wine?"

"I didn't!" said France, all innocence and virtue. "I told you, my wine is good for you... unlike English liquor," he added pointedly.

"Uh-huh," America said, unconvinced. "Right. I think it's about time for someone to go to bed. Right, England?" In all the strangeness of England's new drunken personality, no one even noticed that it was America being the responsible one for once.

England frowned, his large brows furrowing in frustration. "No, that's not *hic* right. Not England."

"You're saying that you're not England?" America asked with another giggle.

"No... I mean, yes... I mean, no... I mean... *hic*..." England scowled, finding this grammatical problem to be too difficult to work out in his current state. "I'm England. But I need a... a nick... a nickname!"

America looked at Canada, who looked at France, who looked at England, and Sealand found the idea of England wanting a nickname to be too funny to handle. While he tried to stifle giggles in a corner, France raised an eyebrow. "Angleterre, you tend to throw a fit when we try to give you nicknames."

"But I need one," England insisted. "A cool one. To *hic* fit in."

America sighed. England wasn't all that different even in this cheery drunken state - at least, not fundamentally. "Oh, Arthur," he muttered to himself, shaking his head, then said, louder, "Then let's get you the most awesome nickname ever! Did ya have anything in mind?"

"Um... how about... Iggy?" England suggested, pondering the situation with a deeply thoughtful look.

In his little corner of amusement, Sealand had to hold back tears. England's words were rather slurred, so America thought he must have misheard. Yes, that had to be it. "Did you say Iggy?"

England nodded vigorously.

"You really want to be called Iggy," America said disbelievingly, and a huge grin spread across his face. "Hah! Oh, you are never gonna live this down once you're sober! It's your funeral, Iggy." And... there went his brief stint in reading the atmosphere.

England was oblivious to America's amusement. In fact, he was busy bothering France about the wine, obviously feeling the need to indulge in some more. "Do you *hic* have any left?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Iggy," France said gently. "It's possible to have too much of a good thing."

"Yep!" America said. "You definitely need to go to bed now, Iggy."

But it seemed that the wine also imbued England with endless energy. "It's not even *hic* twelve yet!" he protested. "C'mon, we can play poker or *hic* something." He made good on this suggestion by heading for the poker table. Halfway there, he pitched forward; he was snoring before he hit the ground, and he hit the ground before any of them could catch him.

"Is he okay?" Canada asked in concern, as America and France inspected him.

"Yeah," America said, looking slightly relieved. "Nothing broken. He's just going to be extra sore when he wakes up." They looked down at the snoring nation, who appeared quite peaceful and content. "Aww," America said, grinning. "He's sorta adorable right now."

"Shall I bring him to the guest bedroom?" France asked.

"Very funny, you pervy European. I'll bring him." America lifted England easily, draping the older nation's arm around his shoulders. England didn't even stir, smiling faintly in whatever dreamland he inhabited.

"I wouldn't do anything to him!" France said, gazing at America in mock hurt. "You wound me, Amerique."

America did not seem the least bit concerned by that. "I'll be right back," he said and carried England out of the room.

When they'd gone, Canada stared after them for a few moments. "You know," he said thoughtfully, a little sadly, "that's the first time I've ever seen him as a happy drunk."

"Makes for a nice change, doesn't it?" France agreed with a nod.

Canada gave him a sideways glance. "Did you put anything in the wine?" he asked. "And tell the truth, Papa."

France smiled. "I did nothing of the sort. But it is my wine, after all."

"Hmm," Canada said, and he still looked slightly skeptical. But he seemed to be deep in thought - that is, until he looked past France, and his eyes widened. "Oh, dear... Sealand's gotten into the bar."

France heaved a sigh and turned to find Sealand creeping through the mini-bar; the wannabe nation was eyeing the many different bottles and attempting to be stealthy while selecting one for a taste-test. "That boy... mon dieu, he is impossible sometimes. Sealand!" he called and was ignored. "Cher, you cannot just do these things!" He ran to the bar to extract Sealand from it, and Canada chuckled to himself.

England awoke with a splitting headache and absolutely no memory of how he'd gotten it. Though it wasn't that hard to tell, really. Hadn't he sworn not to drink again?

I'm going to keep that promise next time, he thought with a groan. Where the bloody hell am I?

He'd been at America's party; that much he remembered. And his surroundings vaguely looked like America's house - the guest bedroom, he thought. Had he passed out drunk? England shuddered at the thought. Damn that Frenchman for convincing him to play a stupid game like that. From now on, he wasn't going to drink a drop any time he was near France.

The light from the window had decided that it liked shoving white hot swords into his brain through his eyes, and England stumbled out of bed to close the curtains. He had just done so when he heard the door open, and America's cheerful voice grated on his head like a drill.

"Morning, Iggy!"

Something wasn't right about that statement, but it took England's hazy mind several seconds to work it out. "Iggy?" he asked hoarsely. "Where did you come up with a stupid name like that?"

"I didn't," America said mischievously, leaning in the doorway. "You did."

"I did no such thing."

"Yes you did, last night. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, hell," England said wearily. Of course he didn't remember. God, what idiotic things had he spouted? He just hoped dearly that he hadn't melted into depression or turned embarrassingly belligerent like he sometimes did.

"You don't!" America said and snickered.

The younger nation's laughter felt like nails to England's tender brain. "You... are so... obnoxious," England muttered, wrestling with the nausea that swirled in his stomach.

"Oh my gosh, you were awesome last night," America said. "You know you actually beat us at Mario Kart? And it's like you were trying to be cool or something. You even gave yourself a stupid nickname! Iggy. That is forever your name now, dude. I hope you know that."

"Oh, God," England said in despair and sank down on the bed, rubbing his sore head. Come to think of it, his whole body was sore. How drunk had he been? "I made myself look like a fool."

"Nah," America said offhandedly, surprising England. "Okay, so you were kinda lame even when you were trying to be cool, and you looked pretty stupid when you fell down, but it was nice, y'know, you acting like that. You should try it more often."

England frowned to consider this and immediately regretted the action, as it drove the swords even deeper into his brain. He winced. "I don't... I'm not like you, America. Not all of us enjoy being loud and obnoxious all of the time."

"Well, no," America said reasonably. "But you could at least sit down for a game of Mario Kart once in a while. And karaoke."

England thought about this, or rather, tried to think, but ended up wincing again. "Mario Kart, yes. Karaoke, never."

"One of these days you're going to embrace your inner rocker again, Iggy. Just you watch."

"No, I will not, and stop calling me Iggy."

"Never."

"America, don't be a child."

"It's your own damn fault, old man. Live with the consequences of your mistakes!"

"Mistakes? I was drunk on that damned Frenchman's suspicious wine!"

"Doesn't matter!" America said cheerfully, and his voice pounded in England's head like a sledgehammer. "I'll go make something that'll sit well on your stomach, 'kay?" He disappeared from the room, only to pop his head back in a moment later, his grin even wider. It made England nervous. "By the way," America added and seemed to be savoring his words, "you kinda sorta acknowledged Sealand as a country last night, too."

"What?" England demanded. "That boy is not a country, dammit! For the love of God, he's an old military fort!"

"Yeah, well, you're going to have to work that out with him," America said, snorting. "Good luck with that!" He disappeared once more.

England clutched his head and slumped back on the bed with a groan.

Notes: This is just my personal headcanon as to how England obtained the nickname Iggy, as in the webcomic it comes from his Japanese name, Igirisu, yet he speaks English.