After God knows how long... I'm back! Was about time...

I have been writing all this time, but no FF net material. Dutch stories, for example. Anyway, this is my failed attempt at humor. It is a one-shot for now, but should any of you like it enough to want me to make it a multi-chapter (or collection of one-shots about these two), I will do so.

This idea came to me when I started listing thing William and England/Arthur have in common. Other than their seiyuu (Noriaki Sugiyama), that is. Please forgive how OOC they are (especially Will), I blame the fact they're drunk~! Should there be more chapters, I'll try to make them both more in character, I promise.

*I own only the story, not the characters or Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler or Hetalia*

Now, without further ado... my latest fanfic~!

You know, after having worked tons of overtime, having to deal with two useless co-workers, nine different locations to reap souls in one day, three of those locations containing more than five souls each because of some accident like fire or a carriage accident, and then the usual paperwork and finally, the icing on the cake, a dreadfully long, dull meeting that resulted in absolutely nothing...

...even someone like William T. Spears might get the urge to just go out, be alone, and get as drunk as one can get, if only to forget that day. Get the urge to do it, of course, not actually doing so. That is, until this particular thing happened for the third time. In a single week. Fifth week in a row. That is when he found himself sitting at a bar, an empty glass in front of him -which he had just emptied the sixth time, might I add- and an equally stressed, depressed, and trying-to-get-wasted man beside him. The rest of the pub had become more or less abandoned after this particular man had entered, but Will, not wanting to throw this chance of being... well, like any of his colleagues would be on a Saturday evening, really... away, decided to just stay. Why would he leave just because some humans did, anyway? Whatever this man would do or be like, it's not like William could die from any of it, after all. He hadn't died in the last three-hundred-sixty-two years, after all, and he didn't think his death would come anytime soon. So why worry? And besides, hopefully, in just a few minutes he'd be too drunk to even care, anyway... Yes, this was just his perfect, well-deserved, relaxed evening filled with alcohol and no work, and he would enjoy it while he had the chance, damn it!

But, him being himself, when even the bartender seemed to get nervous the moment this man sat down, he just couldn't help but ask: "So... why does everyone run away from you, if I may ask?"...Blame the alcohol for his bluntness. The man sighed, chuckled a bit as well, ordered a whisky then answered. "Well, I am the most notorious drinker in all of England, after all. Apparently I can get pretty... unlike myself when drunk, to put it like that." He laughed a bit, then drunk his glass of whisky in one go before adding: "To be honest, I wouldn't know. I never remember anything of it all, but my brothers, friends, colleagues... they all tell me the same old story every time. So I guess there must be some truth to it." He then looked at Will -after ordering a second whisky, of course- and raised a single, quite large eyebrow curiously. "And you? Why are you still here, and not on the run like all the others?" William just shrugged, ordered himself another round as well, and then sighed. "Well, seeing as this is my first work-free evening in about... four months or so, I'm not planning on just throwing it away. Not because some darned humans are doing so, that's for sure." Wait... didn't he just... run his mouth on something? Aahh, who cares! It was probably nothing, anyway. The other man laughed, already finishing his fourth round -Gods, he was a fast drinker, Will had to give him that- and then asked further. "Why in so long? Do you work night-shifts or something?" Will shrugged again, finally beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol. Why in the name of death did Grim Reapers have such high alcohol-tolerance, honestly? It's not like it was useful in their line of work, after all, and on evenings like this, when one tried to get drunk, it was just a pest. With a sigh, the Reaper answered, "Night, day... seven days a week... alert every second of it. I know that 'death doesn't wait', but sometimes I wish it would." Wait a moment... now that was where he had gone wrong last thing he had told this man, too, wasn't it? He was busy blowing his... cover? Nah, he'd just walked in this place, not bothering to act particularly human from the get-go, anyway. Humans thought Reapers were skeleton-like creatures with huge scythes and wearing a dark cloak. No one'd suspect someone in a suit, with perfectly combed, raven-black hair, green eyes instead of red ones and wearing glasses at all times, and in any other visible way a human, to be the bringer of death. Well, no, that wasn't really true. The collector of souls, was more like it, but who the hell cares? Apparently, the blonde man beside him did. "He-hey!" the man exclaimed, startling William a bit. "You... you're a Grim Reaper, aren't you!" Taken aback by this, Will quickly stuttered a response. "'C-'course not! Isn't the Grim Reaper a skeleton-type thing? Why would I be a-?" Before he could finish his -rather hopeless- protest, the man had already leaned in closer to him and whispered, "Ah, don't worry, man! I've had to deal with your kind before, you know? And besides, after this much whisky, the bartender will just pass us off as rambling because we're drunk. He always does when I come here with America, Scotland, Germany, Prussia, Netherlands or anyone else, after all!" His mind practically on hold after this, Will just drank his whisky and didn't answer. But, screw manners or secrecy and blame the alcohol, it didn't take him long at all before he just blurted out: "You come here with nations? Countries? What the hell-?"

"Am I? Why, I'm sorry for not introducing myself properly yet, my dearest Reaper!" the man laughed, giving a small, slightly swaying bow. "I am England, main representative of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. And what, pray tell, is your name?"

"I am William T. Spears, head of the Grim Reaper Soul Dispatch, London Division, Management Department, manager of the Dispatch Office itself." England made an impressed noise, which at the same time sounded almost pitying. "Sounds like a hell of a lot of work. Do you have to sign your paperwork like that, too?" With a sigh, William nodded, and England patted him on the back a bit. "And here I thought I had a lot of writing to do, with my 'England of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland'!" William laughed, which was cut off when he heard the door open followed by a surprised "Mr. Spears?!" And when Will turned around, his idea was confirmed. Ronald Knox. "You," the stressed-out Reaper said to his subordinate threateningly as he glared at him. "Are not welcome here, you got it? Go find another pub, you git. Knowing you, I'm more than certain you can, so go." The younger Reaper just stared, utterly shocked at finding his superior with the stick permanently lodged up his ass in a pub, chatting with someone. So miracles do exist! When the younger man still hand't made any attempt to leave, or even move at all, Will turned England around to face Ronald, and threatened, "See this? This is England, you git. 'Most notorious drinker' in all of England, erm, himself or... what the fuck ever... And this," He now pointed to himself. "Is the crankiest Reaper in the whole god forsaken world! Neither are fun when drunk, which we'll be in a few minutes from now... if not already... so you better get going already!" Ronald then decided his boss was indeed drunk, and wasted no time to just turn around and go. The moment he was out of the pub, England began laughing. "Don't you just love having authority over others? I know I do!" When the laughing subsided, however, he followed William's gaze -which was still fixed on the place Ronald had just been, shooting green fire of rage- looking equally pissed. "But I say, that git looked a lot like America. I dun'like America. Not in the least."

"Well, Knox isn't the worst, really. Just immature at times," William confessed, which got answered by a stare from England. He raised one eyebrow curiously, and the nation said, "Exactly like America on that part. Well, it's true, a personality like that may be annoying, but it could be worse. Like France: he's overly dramatic at times, calls himself the country of love, has a rather touchy-feely personality as well -and not in the innocent way. A real pervert, and if you're having a bad day... it's usually because France will most likely rape you sooner or later, and you know it. I hate his damn guts."

At this, an image came to William's foggy mind. An image containing a lot of red, a Cheshire grin with shark-like teeth, and a lot of "DEATH~!"... an image of none other than Grell Sutcliff. He shuddered, and England concluded with a sigh, "So you know one of those too, huh? Just bloody great..." The two kept chatting like this, and drinking, of course. By the end of the evening, both had consumed an amount of alcohol that would've most likely killed any random human, and neither was really in a state of even moving. William had spent the evening complaining about his colleagues and his work, while England at some point had begun crying his head off over the American Revolution. And then, after god knows how long... the door opened again, and the same voice as a little while sounded from behind them. "See, Grell? I told you he's here, drinking his ass off! Or well... seems they're finally finished. And unconscious... are we sure they're still alive?" Ronald now sounded a bit worried, and somewhere in their foggy, half-conscious minds, both the Reaper and the nation registered the sound of feet tapping on the floor and coming closer. Then a suspiciously foreign-sounding laughter. "Ohn-hon-hon~! Don't worry, Ronald, mon cher. Both are alive and well!...and vulnerable, ohn-hon-hon~!" Then came an almost child-like laughter. "Ahahaha! Look at Iggy, the fool'll never learn he mustn't drink so much, will he?" It sounded... American. Well, whatever it was, that was no British accent, and they were in England, so... yikes. Then lastly, after both William and England felt someone tugging on their clothes, unable to protest in their completely wasted state, a fourth and last voice joined in. "Hey, hey! Francis, don't go stripping my dearest superior~! I claim Will~darling~!"

God, they were screwed.

Well, uh... not much left to say here! Except for: one of the Dutch stories I have written is a Dutch version of HetaOni, and quite honestly, considering it is my first story that isn't English, it is my personal pride! Better than The Fantasy, that's for sure. So if there are any Dutch HetaOni fans out there reading this, and they want me to upload it, tell me and I will! (I might even go as far as to translate the whole thing to English, if anyone here wants me to! Yes, I have written an ending to it, don't worry~!)

And lastly, it is not a must, but reviews would of course be very much appreciated~! Though, I'll add: no flaming, please. Some helpful critique is so much better~!