[Fic] Cats Only Know
TITLE: Cats Only Know
AUTHOR: shilasu
RECIPIENT: long_scarves
GENRE: Romance/humor/supernatural
RATINGS/WARNINGS: PG-13 for language
SUMMARY: America brings over a pair of cats that are hellbent on causing chaos, and just maybe what should have happened a long time ago.
NOTES: Original prompt was "England, America, and cats. Whether they are cats, turn into cats, are playing with cats, exhibit cat-like behavior, it's all good." It's based on that, but it also blew up at the last minute--it's over 4600 words and I wasn't expecting a third of that--so I hope you like it anyway.
Also, my official de-lurking post in this comm, yay!
It's America's fault, obviously. Who else would interrupt England's preciously small amount of relaxation time to show off his damned pets? (At least it's not Tony. He would have slammed his door in the younger nation's face if it was. Not that it would do much good, since doors are just formalities for America.)
Anyway, back to the beginning. He had just sat down with a fresh cup of tea, and set out to get some serious work done on his Christmas knitting--apparently both Canada and America were having a bitter cold snap--and even if it warmed up by Christmas, new, extra-warm clothing wouldn't go amiss. The steady motions of rounds and rounds of stocking stitch also sounded much more soothing than even his embroidery would be.
Probably not long after he started knitting, but long enough to get lost in the clacking needles, came the banging of his front door that could only signal two things: Sealand attacking his house with cricket balls and a damned miniature trebuchet, or America knocking. Since Finland had just called to tell him how excited Sealand was to help him prepare for Christmas, it could only be the latter. With a low groan he shoved the sweater he was knitting for America (Who was he to be afraid of that bloody "curse"? His real magic ran circles around it, thank you very much.) away, and threw open the door to see America standing there grinning at him with a cat under each arm.
"Hey, what's up?" America carefully rearranged the cats to reach for England's hair without either of them going in for the bite.
England took a few quick steps back, eying the cats warily. "What are you doing here without even calling me? You with your… pets, nonetheless."
America let out a booming laugh and switched the one cat back under his arm. "Ever heard of a surprise, old man? Calling would wreck it! And my cats are awesome. Are you gonna let me in?"
He sighed and stepped aside. "Mind that they behave now." After a pause, England sighed and gestured toward him. "On second thought, follow me." He turned and started weaving thorough the hallways of his house down to the finished part of the cellar.
"Aw, you don't trust my training?" America gave him impressive puppy-dog eyes, and England found himself wondering why, exactly America had gotten cats before the other blond spoke up again. "Anyway, this here is Libby," he said, holding the grey cat with black tiger stripes in his right arm forward. "And this one is Amya." He nodded toward the tan cat with the suspiciously familiar fine coat resting on his left arm.
"America. Did you adopt a Cornish Rex?"
The younger nation flashed a grin before holding Amya out again. "Yep! It made me think of yo--ow!" Amya apparently was having none of that, digging claws into America's arm to launch off and go running, quickly followed by Libby.
England shoved America aside, ignoring his whining for sympathy, and sprinted out the door to get the cats before they could get into anything. Unfortunately, the damned cats darted to and fro, ducking under or climbing over obstacles in perfect time with each other, so that just as he got close to one, the other caused a distraction. He was so intent on catching them, he wasn't consciously aware of where the cats were heading, until he tripped over a stone sticking out of the floor and crashed into a set of shelves, with America tumbling after him.
America broke out in a coughing fit, and fought out a "What's that smell?" before England even noticed it, but the scent of his various potions was undeniable. He didn't get to think much, though, before fumes took him over and everything went black.
America groaned under his breath at the weird pain in his head as he opened his eyes to see a pair of tan ears under him. "G'way 'mya," he murmured, and shoved lightly at her.
Instead of the cat's familiar whine, he heard a deeper one underneath him quickly followed by an arm flying out at his face. America jumped back in surprise and landed on his ass on one of the cats' tail, but oddly neither yelped at him.
Suddenly, he was staring at an England with cat ears perched in his hair and a flicking tail glaring at him. England launched right into some lecture that he didn't really care about and didn't even hear as he reached out to pet at the ears. Just as he got close, the other blond darted out of the way and he felt something pulling from behind. America twisted around to catch sight of a golden tail sticking out of his jeans--other end in England's hand, and yelped.
England sighed and let go. "What was that bit about your cats being well-behaved that you said earlier?"
"Man, I don't even know where we are, why are you blaming me," America whined, feeling something twitch on top of his head--he ran his hand through his hair and caught his fingers on a matching pair of cat ears on his head.
England gave him that "how much of a idiot are you" look that America could see in his sleep and picked up the broken neck of a smoky glass bottle and twisted it so the drops of liquid inside were just barely visible. "There was…" He paused for a second. "Essence of shadowfire in this one." England set it down and carefully picked up a shard of glass with powdered… something still clinging to it. "Ground wormwood. A prime potion ingredient. In other words, your cats have the same bloody talent as you for breaking into my spell-casting rooms!."
America laughed at that, the sound coming out with an odd undertone that he didn't remember having before. "Oh, yeah, your hocus-pocus thing! Of course!" He shoved himself up and stepped back away from the now-bristling smaller blond.
"How the fuck do you expect to explain the ears and t-tails otherwise?"
America shrugged, and licked the back of his wrist, only half-aware that he was doing it.
England groans and looked around him, tail twitching. "Of course. Now, where are those cats? Do they answer to their names?"
Honestly, America didn't even know, because who ever heard of cats listening, but he turned toward the rest of the room and called "Libby! Amya!" anyway. He was rewarded with a soft purr before a dark thing came flying at him. America struggled to catch the flying thing, only to find Libby staring back at him with innocent eyes. A yowl from near his feet drew both their eyes to Amya standing with her fur bristled, glaring at a piece of glass. He laughed. "Iggy, can you get her for me?"
England muttered something under his breath about America being utterly predictable, but picked the cat up anyway. "Now, we shut them in the laundry room upstairs and try to find a remedy for this… situation."
"Hey! Why do you want to shut my poor cats up?" America gave what he hoped was a decent use of puppy-dog eyes at England, but who ever heard of a cat doing that? Hell, it probably wouldn't even work.
The way that England stalked out of the room, tail and ears held as stiff as his walk, made it obvious even to America that he wouldn't have any room to argue. He pouted and followed, carrying Libby upstairs and setting her on the floor of the laundry room next to Amya, before stepping back to let England shut and lock the door.
"So, now what do we do?" America wasn't interested in watching England flipping pages and cursing his way thorough his weird spellbooks and sitting stock straight in a hard chair, but knowing his luck, that was exactly what was going to happen.
England glared at him. "I am going to go do some research. You are to sit down and not touch anything. On second thought, follow me. I'd rather not leave you unattended."
Damn. So America was right. He followed England back downstairs anyway, since the ears and tail just felt really weird and it would be nice to get rid of them--he wouldn't mind if the other nation kept them, though, he was kinda… cute with them. England gave him a sharp order to stand right in front of the door to the room with the potion cabinet and not to touch anything, with either his hands or tail. Hands were easy, since he had pockets, but his tail? He couldn't keep it from flicking back and forth a little, but as long as it didn't hit anything he figured it was okay.
Over by the remains of the cabinet and bottles, England was muttering something under his breath that America couldn't make out, the words alternating between sounding rough and smooth. It sounded kinda cool, but England soon finished and pulled him back fully out of the room and into one of his libraries. This one was all made out of stone, which was kinda cool--the stone must be non-porous, to keep water from ruining the books--and also not cool, since England shoved him into a chair made of the same material and sitting on rock was only cool after he was climbing on it. America fidgeted a little to get the tail curving around his butt more comfortably and settled in to watch England.
The older nation was darting back and forth, grabbing books and flipping through them, shoving some back onto the shelf and putting others on the table with no real rhyme or reason to it. After there was a good-sized stack, though, he spread them out and started looking through them exactly in the way America had imagined. The only part he missed was how England's cat ears and tail kept flicking until he realized it and held them stiffly still for a bit before getting distracted.
Between watching England's ear and tail and not quite listening to his cursing, America was staring to doze off--even on the hard, uncomfortable chair--when he heard another crash, and England's cursing ratchet up in volume with an odd undertone similar to America's from before showing up in England's voice. America leapt up, hitting his tail on the chair, to see that Libby and Amya had somehow snuck out of the laundry room into the library to scratch up the books. Shit.
"Why the fuck haven't you filed down the tips of your cats' bloody claws?" England shrieked--actually shrieked--at him, before batting at the cats to get them off the books. Libby hissed at him and went back to turning the book she was at into shreds, and Amya completely ignored him. England muttered something under his breath that America couldn't make out before hissing back at Libby.
America couldn't help but crack up at the sound of England actually hissing like a cat, it fit the other nation way too well and yet it only was a side-effect of… whatever this was that he could do it. England spun around and stalked over to him as soon as he heard the other laughing and started in on a lecture about how this really wasn't the time for it, how uncontrolled transformations were dangerous and a whole bunch of other stuff that went completely over his head. America's eyes drifted away from the yelling blond, to notice that the destruction of the books had apparently kicked into high gear after England looked away. "Hey, Iggy?"
England sputtered and hit his fist against America's chest lightly to turn his attention back to him before adding comments along the lines of "Pay attention!", and "Say my name properly, you git!" to the lecture.
America groaned, feeling a rumbling in his throat that he couldn't remember having before. He grabbed England and turned him around. England stared for a second, before diving to grab the cats and shove them at America. He caught them roughly, just avoiding a scratch under the arm of his glasses as England flipped through what remained of the books. By the way he sank against the table, it was pretty damn obvious that what he was looking for was unsalvageable.
America fought back the urge to set the cats down and hug him, even through he wasn't feeling very heroic about it. "So, uh, what are we doing now?"
England was sorely tempted to bang his head against the table, however, he wasn't about to sink as low as to actually do it. America and his damned cats were certainly trying to make him do so, though, what with the interruption, unexpected transformation into cat-like creatures even he didn't quite understand, and now the destruction of centuries-old magical knowledge in minutes. "What do you think, git?"
He wasn't really expecting an answer, since America was so irritatingly, deliberately ignorant about magic, but one came anyway. "Maybe, we, uh, could try to tire them out? I brought toys!"
England buried his face in his hands at that. "it would have been useful to know that earlier."
America laughed again, his cat-voice tinging it, before carefully transferring Amya into England's arms. "Here, take her, since she wasn't the one hissing at you." He started leading the way out of the room, before pausing. "Uh, England? Any way out of this maze you call a basement?"
England stepped past America to lead the way back up the the ground floor, his tail flicking out of the frustration he was otherwise doing so well at hiding. Hopefully America's inability to read the atmosphere would be strong enough to keep him for figuring out what was going on.
Soon enough, they reached a spare room that England deemed sufficiently free of items to be ruined before America proved him so very wrong.
They set the cats down, and America pulled two toy mouses out of a pocket in his bomber jacket, which he had grabbed from the sofa, and threw one to each cat, both of which attacked the mice with gusto. "Catnip," he said, by way of explanation. England nodded silently, before another toy mouse flew at him.
He caught the toy by instinct, but ground out "What the hell are you doing?", while trying not to concentrate on the smell of the catnip that was also stuffed inside this mouse.
"I thought you could use some calming down! Your tail and ears practically scream how tense you are!"
Fuck. England had forgotten about how easily America understood animals. It only made sense that he could read England's body language so much better at the moment. He threw the mouse back at America. "Git."
America laughed again, a bit more breathy than usual. "Oh, you wanna play with me, huh~?" He tossed the toy back at England, almost hitting his face.
England had tried to hold his breath as it flew at him, but as soon as it got too close to his face he let out his breath and got a whiff of catnip. It made him feel a little light-headed, so he threw the mouse back at America.
The two of them soon got into a throwing fight with the toy, America's laugh getting more rowdy and England starting to giggle as everything went fuzzy around him. Apparently it was affecting America just as much as he lost his balance in the middle of a wild throw and grabbed at England's tail, dragging both of them down in a pile.
America laughed and brushed his hand against England's ear. This time, though, it didn't sound like such a bad idea to let himself be pet, so he leaned into America's touch, and let out a soft sigh.
"Like that, Iggy?" America whispered to him, voice warm and surprisingly lacking in the arrogance England was expecting. England grabbed at his tail, though, for the principle of the matter. America purred in response, so he apparently didn't mind it either, though.
England poked at his tail more, which soon turned into petting, with his own purrs slipping out in time with America's. The next thing he knew he was in America's lap, with the golden blond alternating between lightly licking at his cheek and petting at his ears, and England's own hand was brushing over America's other arm. He was vaguely aware of their purring echoing in his head and warmth gathering in his chest, as the giddiness took over and he sank back under.
America yawned and stretched his back and snuggled back down into the warmth underneath him. Something made a soft noise down there, and he turned to look down. England's arms, legs, and tail were tangled in with his, half lying on his lap and eyes closed. He poked at England's face, making his eyes flicker open, deeper green than he remembered. England batted at his hand and… cuddled up against America, there was no other word for it. America felt his face grown warm, but the something about the way England was clinging to him kept him from pushing him away.
America stretched out on his back to look around without disturbing England too much. The catnip mouses were over in a pile in the corner, which he figured was why he was awake--it was kinda weird getting high off catnip, especially since he wasn't really a cat, but hey. If it made England go all cuter than normal and cuddly, that was cool. It might not be something he wanted all the time, but it was nice once in a while.
He wasn't sure where the cats themselves were, though. That might be a problem, if they got into more trouble. On the other hand, he'd get in trouble for shoving England away, and in fact for throwing the mouse at him, anyway.
There was something weird under the chair in the direction of his feet, though. That was worth investigating, though, so he turned to untangling himself from England. It still was kinda strange to him even after the two of them sleeping together after horror movies that England tended to sleep in such casual positions--it went against his whole thing about being a gentleman, but America wasn't quite sure what to make of that, really.
He shook his head, to stop musing about England, so he could set to work getting out. Arms first, he decided, and he got untangled quicker than expected, only to have England clinging back on him right after. After a few tries and surrendering his jacket to the cause for something that England could hold, he ended up free enough to move the older nation off completely and hopefully untangle their legs in the process. In the midst of actually moving, England let out a whine like Libby did when moved so America froze in fear of retaliation that didn't end up coming. Huh. Anyway, America scrambled away from him completely and dove toward the chair.
The last time America checked, England wasn't in the habit of hiding things under chairs--in fact he kept the floor underneath his funiture spotless, which America thought was going way too far, but whatever. That only meant it had to be awesome, he decided, and reached under. His fingers brushed what felt like yarn, and the cat-thing in him suddenly got really damn interested in the ball. (It had it be something else in him, really. Maybe his scientists were working on that personality transplant thing he suggested a while back. Why they were using him and a cat he had no idea, but it made more sense than magic.) He was about to dig his fingers in like claws before he got interrupted.
That interruption, was, of course, by England, who had just thrown his bomber jacket at America. "What the bloody hell do you were you thinking, trying to use catnip on me? And put down my damn wool!"
"Wool?" America echoed but dropped the ball. "Is that what this is made of?
England responded with something, but America was too busy pulling on the end of the yarn, which was attached to something else under the chair. What came out was a navy blue knitted tube on what looked like a string connecting two knitting needles. He turned it over in his hands as England's yelling got louder, until it got pulled out of his hands. "What's that supposed to be?"
"It's none of your business!" England shoved the thing behind him in an effort to hide it.
"No, really. It's a tube. Why are you knitting a tube that big?" America leaned back on his heels, careful of his tail.
England's cat eats drooped. "It was going to be your Christmas present, but I don't even know why I bothered." He tossed it across the floor, needle clanking on the ground and ball of yarn unraveling as it went.
"Why would I want a tube?" America asked before his mind caught up with his mouth and he realized that might not be the best thing to say.
"It was a sweater, you dolt! Another thing you wouldn't wear, anyway!" England curled up on himself a little, eyes still full of a decent amount of anger.
"I wear the stuff you make! Just… not when you're there!"
England sighed and gave in to burying his face in his hands. "Of course. Didn't you even think I might want to see you in it? To see just how good you look in it?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth he pushed against his eyes harder, as if to block out the rest of the world.
America jumped up, tail and ears flicking wildly. "You think I look good?"
"No! I didn't mean it like that!"
America sank down next to England. "I thought you were making it like for a kid." America poked at the closer of England's cat ears and England dropped his hands from his eyes. "If not, then…." He grinned and flicked the ear, making England blush deep red.
"Git! What are you implying?"
America laughed. "It was all your dirty mind there, Iggy. But we already both know that you're a pervert, so let's move on to something I don't know. So you have a crush on me, huh?"
England stared at America for a long while before looking off in the distance over his shoulder. "Well, I wouldn't use that exact phrase, but… I do care about you in a way I don't care about anyone else."
America sat there for a moment before pouncing on England, grinning wildly. "Good enough for me! So, let's go out or something!" His hand drifted back up to England's ear and petted through the other stuttering out a comment about how it was too suspicious for them to go outside part cat and if America wanted to date he should have just said that.
America pouted. "Fine. Do you want to date me?" He tilted his head, eyes locked on England. The smaller nation swallowed hard, ears--and probably tail--flicking in time with the bobbing of his Adam's apple. Between the attractiveness of England himself that America couldn't really put into words and the cat's excitement about the idea of a mate, America was tempted to just go up against him and lick. He didn't quite remember the details of when he was licking England under the influence, but he did remember that he liked it. A lot.
"Hey!"
America jumped and his tail stood up. "What is it, babe?"
England gave him a dirty look--probably for the pet name, but America liked how it sounded and didn't want to stop--before nodding. "Yes. We can go to a restaurant after I fix this cat problem, as long as you promise to dress up for me."
"Fuck yeah!"
England rolled his eyes before getting up and walking over to the half-done sweater. "Thanks for not turning on me," he said, looking at it.
"What?" America asked from behind him, leaning over to see better.
"Nothing!"
England was still smiling slightly at the sweater (Of course he would beat the curse!) when he heard a jingling sound from behind him followed by America yelping. He spun around to see the cats standing between them, Amya looking at America while Libby was looking at him. "Where were you two?"
America laughed again, but nervously this time before saying "I guess we forgot about them." England was about to retort that it was only America who forgot--even though he did too, it wouldn't be appropriate for him to admit it--until America dove at Amya to take ahold of her and both of the cats scattered.
The two of them stood up, putting aside the details of what just happened to chase the cats before something else in England's house was destroyed. At least, England was worried about the possible destruction, America most likely was more worried about being sent to the figurative doghouse already. Unfortunately, both of them had forgotten about the wool connecting the sweater to the ball, although the cats didn't since they maneuvered the two of them into just the right place to trip over it.
America tried to reason out with the cats why exactly it was a bad idea to go toe to toe with two strong nations, while England was eying them carefully. Something about the two cats felt off, enough so he wondered why he hadn't noticed it before. There was a power about them, even. When America noticed that England wasn't cursing out his cats, he fell silent too, giving England an odd look.
England took a deep breath before reaching out. Amya slinked over and bit his hand as Libby scratched at a yelping America. He sat there through the pain, even grabbing at America as he tried to stand up. Even though America could have broken away, he sank back down next to England with a confused look on his face. The cats almost nodded at each other as the power surged with a blast of light leaving them knocked on the ground.
The first thing that England noticed was that the odd feeling of his tail sticking out of his trousers was gone. He reached up to touch where his cat ears had been and felt nothing besides his hair. England turned to the side to see America, also lacking ears and tail. Good, they appeared to be back to normal.
America was pouting, though, and England couldn't for the life of him determine exactly why, so he was left to ask why he was making that ridiculous face. The younger nation immediately responded with a "You don't have those cool ears anymore and I liked petting them a lot, okay."
England rolled his eyes. "Do you really care that much?"
America nodded, giving him puppy-dog eyes.
"I do have hair, you know. Also, didn't you want to go have dinner with me? I suppose we could find something suitable for you to wear."
America pumped his fist in joy before turning to England. "What about my cats? You were so upset about them messing up your stuff before."
"I'm not anymore."
"Okay!" America ran off, most likely to search through England's clothes for something that would fit and he wouldn't mind wearing.
England stared at the creatures standing in the room meeting his gaze firmly. They certainly weren't normal cats, but he suspected they were had some tie to the fae. As to why exactly America could see these specific two cats, he would have to do more investigation, but he didn't mind at all. It was almost as if the goal of the cats in the first place was to bring he and America together, and he had to respect them for that. Libby stepped forward and gave his hand a slow, deliberate lick before running off in the direction America ran.
England reached out to Amya, who walked over and sniffed at his hand, before leaning into his touch and purring loudly. "Hello, there, girl."
---------------
Notes:
Stocking stitch, or stockinette stitch in the US, is the stitch the plain part of sweaters are made out of, with v's in the front and bars in the back.
The "sweater curse" is a part of knitting lore that says that if you knit something for a love interest you're not married to, or an equivalent, that person will dump you. I'm using it rather loosely here, since they're nations and not actually together, but the basic idea of knitting being a threat to possible romantic ties is in there.
The "needles on a string" are circular needles, used to knit in the round, which makes the tubes America describes without needing a seam.
Libby, short for "Liberty" is meant to be a Maine Coon. Since Maine was actually part of Massachusetts until 1820 and Massachusetts was a huge part of the drive toward the American Revolution, Liberty would then be a pretty meaningful name.
Amya is, as mentioned, a Cornish Rex. Cornwall is a region in England that has a history that created some nationalist sentiment, which would obviously make England himself kinda twitchy. "Amya" is an American variant of the Japanese "Amaya", meaning "night rain", similar to America using "Iggy" as a variant of "Igirisu".
AUTHOR: shilasu
RECIPIENT: long_scarves
GENRE: Romance/humor/supernatural
RATINGS/WARNINGS: PG-13 for language
SUMMARY: America brings over a pair of cats that are hellbent on causing chaos, and just maybe what should have happened a long time ago.
NOTES: Original prompt was "England, America, and cats. Whether they are cats, turn into cats, are playing with cats, exhibit cat-like behavior, it's all good." It's based on that, but it also blew up at the last minute--it's over 4600 words and I wasn't expecting a third of that--so I hope you like it anyway.
Also, my official de-lurking post in this comm, yay!
It's America's fault, obviously. Who else would interrupt England's preciously small amount of relaxation time to show off his damned pets? (At least it's not Tony. He would have slammed his door in the younger nation's face if it was. Not that it would do much good, since doors are just formalities for America.)
Anyway, back to the beginning. He had just sat down with a fresh cup of tea, and set out to get some serious work done on his Christmas knitting--apparently both Canada and America were having a bitter cold snap--and even if it warmed up by Christmas, new, extra-warm clothing wouldn't go amiss. The steady motions of rounds and rounds of stocking stitch also sounded much more soothing than even his embroidery would be.
Probably not long after he started knitting, but long enough to get lost in the clacking needles, came the banging of his front door that could only signal two things: Sealand attacking his house with cricket balls and a damned miniature trebuchet, or America knocking. Since Finland had just called to tell him how excited Sealand was to help him prepare for Christmas, it could only be the latter. With a low groan he shoved the sweater he was knitting for America (Who was he to be afraid of that bloody "curse"? His real magic ran circles around it, thank you very much.) away, and threw open the door to see America standing there grinning at him with a cat under each arm.
"Hey, what's up?" America carefully rearranged the cats to reach for England's hair without either of them going in for the bite.
England took a few quick steps back, eying the cats warily. "What are you doing here without even calling me? You with your… pets, nonetheless."
America let out a booming laugh and switched the one cat back under his arm. "Ever heard of a surprise, old man? Calling would wreck it! And my cats are awesome. Are you gonna let me in?"
He sighed and stepped aside. "Mind that they behave now." After a pause, England sighed and gestured toward him. "On second thought, follow me." He turned and started weaving thorough the hallways of his house down to the finished part of the cellar.
"Aw, you don't trust my training?" America gave him impressive puppy-dog eyes, and England found himself wondering why, exactly America had gotten cats before the other blond spoke up again. "Anyway, this here is Libby," he said, holding the grey cat with black tiger stripes in his right arm forward. "And this one is Amya." He nodded toward the tan cat with the suspiciously familiar fine coat resting on his left arm.
"America. Did you adopt a Cornish Rex?"
The younger nation flashed a grin before holding Amya out again. "Yep! It made me think of yo--ow!" Amya apparently was having none of that, digging claws into America's arm to launch off and go running, quickly followed by Libby.
England shoved America aside, ignoring his whining for sympathy, and sprinted out the door to get the cats before they could get into anything. Unfortunately, the damned cats darted to and fro, ducking under or climbing over obstacles in perfect time with each other, so that just as he got close to one, the other caused a distraction. He was so intent on catching them, he wasn't consciously aware of where the cats were heading, until he tripped over a stone sticking out of the floor and crashed into a set of shelves, with America tumbling after him.
America broke out in a coughing fit, and fought out a "What's that smell?" before England even noticed it, but the scent of his various potions was undeniable. He didn't get to think much, though, before fumes took him over and everything went black.
America groaned under his breath at the weird pain in his head as he opened his eyes to see a pair of tan ears under him. "G'way 'mya," he murmured, and shoved lightly at her.
Instead of the cat's familiar whine, he heard a deeper one underneath him quickly followed by an arm flying out at his face. America jumped back in surprise and landed on his ass on one of the cats' tail, but oddly neither yelped at him.
Suddenly, he was staring at an England with cat ears perched in his hair and a flicking tail glaring at him. England launched right into some lecture that he didn't really care about and didn't even hear as he reached out to pet at the ears. Just as he got close, the other blond darted out of the way and he felt something pulling from behind. America twisted around to catch sight of a golden tail sticking out of his jeans--other end in England's hand, and yelped.
England sighed and let go. "What was that bit about your cats being well-behaved that you said earlier?"
"Man, I don't even know where we are, why are you blaming me," America whined, feeling something twitch on top of his head--he ran his hand through his hair and caught his fingers on a matching pair of cat ears on his head.
England gave him that "how much of a idiot are you" look that America could see in his sleep and picked up the broken neck of a smoky glass bottle and twisted it so the drops of liquid inside were just barely visible. "There was…" He paused for a second. "Essence of shadowfire in this one." England set it down and carefully picked up a shard of glass with powdered… something still clinging to it. "Ground wormwood. A prime potion ingredient. In other words, your cats have the same bloody talent as you for breaking into my spell-casting rooms!."
America laughed at that, the sound coming out with an odd undertone that he didn't remember having before. "Oh, yeah, your hocus-pocus thing! Of course!" He shoved himself up and stepped back away from the now-bristling smaller blond.
"How the fuck do you expect to explain the ears and t-tails otherwise?"
America shrugged, and licked the back of his wrist, only half-aware that he was doing it.
England groans and looked around him, tail twitching. "Of course. Now, where are those cats? Do they answer to their names?"
Honestly, America didn't even know, because who ever heard of cats listening, but he turned toward the rest of the room and called "Libby! Amya!" anyway. He was rewarded with a soft purr before a dark thing came flying at him. America struggled to catch the flying thing, only to find Libby staring back at him with innocent eyes. A yowl from near his feet drew both their eyes to Amya standing with her fur bristled, glaring at a piece of glass. He laughed. "Iggy, can you get her for me?"
England muttered something under his breath about America being utterly predictable, but picked the cat up anyway. "Now, we shut them in the laundry room upstairs and try to find a remedy for this… situation."
"Hey! Why do you want to shut my poor cats up?" America gave what he hoped was a decent use of puppy-dog eyes at England, but who ever heard of a cat doing that? Hell, it probably wouldn't even work.
The way that England stalked out of the room, tail and ears held as stiff as his walk, made it obvious even to America that he wouldn't have any room to argue. He pouted and followed, carrying Libby upstairs and setting her on the floor of the laundry room next to Amya, before stepping back to let England shut and lock the door.
"So, now what do we do?" America wasn't interested in watching England flipping pages and cursing his way thorough his weird spellbooks and sitting stock straight in a hard chair, but knowing his luck, that was exactly what was going to happen.
England glared at him. "I am going to go do some research. You are to sit down and not touch anything. On second thought, follow me. I'd rather not leave you unattended."
Damn. So America was right. He followed England back downstairs anyway, since the ears and tail just felt really weird and it would be nice to get rid of them--he wouldn't mind if the other nation kept them, though, he was kinda… cute with them. England gave him a sharp order to stand right in front of the door to the room with the potion cabinet and not to touch anything, with either his hands or tail. Hands were easy, since he had pockets, but his tail? He couldn't keep it from flicking back and forth a little, but as long as it didn't hit anything he figured it was okay.
Over by the remains of the cabinet and bottles, England was muttering something under his breath that America couldn't make out, the words alternating between sounding rough and smooth. It sounded kinda cool, but England soon finished and pulled him back fully out of the room and into one of his libraries. This one was all made out of stone, which was kinda cool--the stone must be non-porous, to keep water from ruining the books--and also not cool, since England shoved him into a chair made of the same material and sitting on rock was only cool after he was climbing on it. America fidgeted a little to get the tail curving around his butt more comfortably and settled in to watch England.
The older nation was darting back and forth, grabbing books and flipping through them, shoving some back onto the shelf and putting others on the table with no real rhyme or reason to it. After there was a good-sized stack, though, he spread them out and started looking through them exactly in the way America had imagined. The only part he missed was how England's cat ears and tail kept flicking until he realized it and held them stiffly still for a bit before getting distracted.
Between watching England's ear and tail and not quite listening to his cursing, America was staring to doze off--even on the hard, uncomfortable chair--when he heard another crash, and England's cursing ratchet up in volume with an odd undertone similar to America's from before showing up in England's voice. America leapt up, hitting his tail on the chair, to see that Libby and Amya had somehow snuck out of the laundry room into the library to scratch up the books. Shit.
"Why the fuck haven't you filed down the tips of your cats' bloody claws?" England shrieked--actually shrieked--at him, before batting at the cats to get them off the books. Libby hissed at him and went back to turning the book she was at into shreds, and Amya completely ignored him. England muttered something under his breath that America couldn't make out before hissing back at Libby.
America couldn't help but crack up at the sound of England actually hissing like a cat, it fit the other nation way too well and yet it only was a side-effect of… whatever this was that he could do it. England spun around and stalked over to him as soon as he heard the other laughing and started in on a lecture about how this really wasn't the time for it, how uncontrolled transformations were dangerous and a whole bunch of other stuff that went completely over his head. America's eyes drifted away from the yelling blond, to notice that the destruction of the books had apparently kicked into high gear after England looked away. "Hey, Iggy?"
England sputtered and hit his fist against America's chest lightly to turn his attention back to him before adding comments along the lines of "Pay attention!", and "Say my name properly, you git!" to the lecture.
America groaned, feeling a rumbling in his throat that he couldn't remember having before. He grabbed England and turned him around. England stared for a second, before diving to grab the cats and shove them at America. He caught them roughly, just avoiding a scratch under the arm of his glasses as England flipped through what remained of the books. By the way he sank against the table, it was pretty damn obvious that what he was looking for was unsalvageable.
America fought back the urge to set the cats down and hug him, even through he wasn't feeling very heroic about it. "So, uh, what are we doing now?"
England was sorely tempted to bang his head against the table, however, he wasn't about to sink as low as to actually do it. America and his damned cats were certainly trying to make him do so, though, what with the interruption, unexpected transformation into cat-like creatures even he didn't quite understand, and now the destruction of centuries-old magical knowledge in minutes. "What do you think, git?"
He wasn't really expecting an answer, since America was so irritatingly, deliberately ignorant about magic, but one came anyway. "Maybe, we, uh, could try to tire them out? I brought toys!"
England buried his face in his hands at that. "it would have been useful to know that earlier."
America laughed again, his cat-voice tinging it, before carefully transferring Amya into England's arms. "Here, take her, since she wasn't the one hissing at you." He started leading the way out of the room, before pausing. "Uh, England? Any way out of this maze you call a basement?"
England stepped past America to lead the way back up the the ground floor, his tail flicking out of the frustration he was otherwise doing so well at hiding. Hopefully America's inability to read the atmosphere would be strong enough to keep him for figuring out what was going on.
Soon enough, they reached a spare room that England deemed sufficiently free of items to be ruined before America proved him so very wrong.
They set the cats down, and America pulled two toy mouses out of a pocket in his bomber jacket, which he had grabbed from the sofa, and threw one to each cat, both of which attacked the mice with gusto. "Catnip," he said, by way of explanation. England nodded silently, before another toy mouse flew at him.
He caught the toy by instinct, but ground out "What the hell are you doing?", while trying not to concentrate on the smell of the catnip that was also stuffed inside this mouse.
"I thought you could use some calming down! Your tail and ears practically scream how tense you are!"
Fuck. England had forgotten about how easily America understood animals. It only made sense that he could read England's body language so much better at the moment. He threw the mouse back at America. "Git."
America laughed again, a bit more breathy than usual. "Oh, you wanna play with me, huh~?" He tossed the toy back at England, almost hitting his face.
England had tried to hold his breath as it flew at him, but as soon as it got too close to his face he let out his breath and got a whiff of catnip. It made him feel a little light-headed, so he threw the mouse back at America.
The two of them soon got into a throwing fight with the toy, America's laugh getting more rowdy and England starting to giggle as everything went fuzzy around him. Apparently it was affecting America just as much as he lost his balance in the middle of a wild throw and grabbed at England's tail, dragging both of them down in a pile.
America laughed and brushed his hand against England's ear. This time, though, it didn't sound like such a bad idea to let himself be pet, so he leaned into America's touch, and let out a soft sigh.
"Like that, Iggy?" America whispered to him, voice warm and surprisingly lacking in the arrogance England was expecting. England grabbed at his tail, though, for the principle of the matter. America purred in response, so he apparently didn't mind it either, though.
England poked at his tail more, which soon turned into petting, with his own purrs slipping out in time with America's. The next thing he knew he was in America's lap, with the golden blond alternating between lightly licking at his cheek and petting at his ears, and England's own hand was brushing over America's other arm. He was vaguely aware of their purring echoing in his head and warmth gathering in his chest, as the giddiness took over and he sank back under.
America yawned and stretched his back and snuggled back down into the warmth underneath him. Something made a soft noise down there, and he turned to look down. England's arms, legs, and tail were tangled in with his, half lying on his lap and eyes closed. He poked at England's face, making his eyes flicker open, deeper green than he remembered. England batted at his hand and… cuddled up against America, there was no other word for it. America felt his face grown warm, but the something about the way England was clinging to him kept him from pushing him away.
America stretched out on his back to look around without disturbing England too much. The catnip mouses were over in a pile in the corner, which he figured was why he was awake--it was kinda weird getting high off catnip, especially since he wasn't really a cat, but hey. If it made England go all cuter than normal and cuddly, that was cool. It might not be something he wanted all the time, but it was nice once in a while.
He wasn't sure where the cats themselves were, though. That might be a problem, if they got into more trouble. On the other hand, he'd get in trouble for shoving England away, and in fact for throwing the mouse at him, anyway.
There was something weird under the chair in the direction of his feet, though. That was worth investigating, though, so he turned to untangling himself from England. It still was kinda strange to him even after the two of them sleeping together after horror movies that England tended to sleep in such casual positions--it went against his whole thing about being a gentleman, but America wasn't quite sure what to make of that, really.
He shook his head, to stop musing about England, so he could set to work getting out. Arms first, he decided, and he got untangled quicker than expected, only to have England clinging back on him right after. After a few tries and surrendering his jacket to the cause for something that England could hold, he ended up free enough to move the older nation off completely and hopefully untangle their legs in the process. In the midst of actually moving, England let out a whine like Libby did when moved so America froze in fear of retaliation that didn't end up coming. Huh. Anyway, America scrambled away from him completely and dove toward the chair.
The last time America checked, England wasn't in the habit of hiding things under chairs--in fact he kept the floor underneath his funiture spotless, which America thought was going way too far, but whatever. That only meant it had to be awesome, he decided, and reached under. His fingers brushed what felt like yarn, and the cat-thing in him suddenly got really damn interested in the ball. (It had it be something else in him, really. Maybe his scientists were working on that personality transplant thing he suggested a while back. Why they were using him and a cat he had no idea, but it made more sense than magic.) He was about to dig his fingers in like claws before he got interrupted.
That interruption, was, of course, by England, who had just thrown his bomber jacket at America. "What the bloody hell do you were you thinking, trying to use catnip on me? And put down my damn wool!"
"Wool?" America echoed but dropped the ball. "Is that what this is made of?
England responded with something, but America was too busy pulling on the end of the yarn, which was attached to something else under the chair. What came out was a navy blue knitted tube on what looked like a string connecting two knitting needles. He turned it over in his hands as England's yelling got louder, until it got pulled out of his hands. "What's that supposed to be?"
"It's none of your business!" England shoved the thing behind him in an effort to hide it.
"No, really. It's a tube. Why are you knitting a tube that big?" America leaned back on his heels, careful of his tail.
England's cat eats drooped. "It was going to be your Christmas present, but I don't even know why I bothered." He tossed it across the floor, needle clanking on the ground and ball of yarn unraveling as it went.
"Why would I want a tube?" America asked before his mind caught up with his mouth and he realized that might not be the best thing to say.
"It was a sweater, you dolt! Another thing you wouldn't wear, anyway!" England curled up on himself a little, eyes still full of a decent amount of anger.
"I wear the stuff you make! Just… not when you're there!"
England sighed and gave in to burying his face in his hands. "Of course. Didn't you even think I might want to see you in it? To see just how good you look in it?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth he pushed against his eyes harder, as if to block out the rest of the world.
America jumped up, tail and ears flicking wildly. "You think I look good?"
"No! I didn't mean it like that!"
America sank down next to England. "I thought you were making it like for a kid." America poked at the closer of England's cat ears and England dropped his hands from his eyes. "If not, then…." He grinned and flicked the ear, making England blush deep red.
"Git! What are you implying?"
America laughed. "It was all your dirty mind there, Iggy. But we already both know that you're a pervert, so let's move on to something I don't know. So you have a crush on me, huh?"
England stared at America for a long while before looking off in the distance over his shoulder. "Well, I wouldn't use that exact phrase, but… I do care about you in a way I don't care about anyone else."
America sat there for a moment before pouncing on England, grinning wildly. "Good enough for me! So, let's go out or something!" His hand drifted back up to England's ear and petted through the other stuttering out a comment about how it was too suspicious for them to go outside part cat and if America wanted to date he should have just said that.
America pouted. "Fine. Do you want to date me?" He tilted his head, eyes locked on England. The smaller nation swallowed hard, ears--and probably tail--flicking in time with the bobbing of his Adam's apple. Between the attractiveness of England himself that America couldn't really put into words and the cat's excitement about the idea of a mate, America was tempted to just go up against him and lick. He didn't quite remember the details of when he was licking England under the influence, but he did remember that he liked it. A lot.
"Hey!"
America jumped and his tail stood up. "What is it, babe?"
England gave him a dirty look--probably for the pet name, but America liked how it sounded and didn't want to stop--before nodding. "Yes. We can go to a restaurant after I fix this cat problem, as long as you promise to dress up for me."
"Fuck yeah!"
England rolled his eyes before getting up and walking over to the half-done sweater. "Thanks for not turning on me," he said, looking at it.
"What?" America asked from behind him, leaning over to see better.
"Nothing!"
England was still smiling slightly at the sweater (Of course he would beat the curse!) when he heard a jingling sound from behind him followed by America yelping. He spun around to see the cats standing between them, Amya looking at America while Libby was looking at him. "Where were you two?"
America laughed again, but nervously this time before saying "I guess we forgot about them." England was about to retort that it was only America who forgot--even though he did too, it wouldn't be appropriate for him to admit it--until America dove at Amya to take ahold of her and both of the cats scattered.
The two of them stood up, putting aside the details of what just happened to chase the cats before something else in England's house was destroyed. At least, England was worried about the possible destruction, America most likely was more worried about being sent to the figurative doghouse already. Unfortunately, both of them had forgotten about the wool connecting the sweater to the ball, although the cats didn't since they maneuvered the two of them into just the right place to trip over it.
America tried to reason out with the cats why exactly it was a bad idea to go toe to toe with two strong nations, while England was eying them carefully. Something about the two cats felt off, enough so he wondered why he hadn't noticed it before. There was a power about them, even. When America noticed that England wasn't cursing out his cats, he fell silent too, giving England an odd look.
England took a deep breath before reaching out. Amya slinked over and bit his hand as Libby scratched at a yelping America. He sat there through the pain, even grabbing at America as he tried to stand up. Even though America could have broken away, he sank back down next to England with a confused look on his face. The cats almost nodded at each other as the power surged with a blast of light leaving them knocked on the ground.
The first thing that England noticed was that the odd feeling of his tail sticking out of his trousers was gone. He reached up to touch where his cat ears had been and felt nothing besides his hair. England turned to the side to see America, also lacking ears and tail. Good, they appeared to be back to normal.
America was pouting, though, and England couldn't for the life of him determine exactly why, so he was left to ask why he was making that ridiculous face. The younger nation immediately responded with a "You don't have those cool ears anymore and I liked petting them a lot, okay."
England rolled his eyes. "Do you really care that much?"
America nodded, giving him puppy-dog eyes.
"I do have hair, you know. Also, didn't you want to go have dinner with me? I suppose we could find something suitable for you to wear."
America pumped his fist in joy before turning to England. "What about my cats? You were so upset about them messing up your stuff before."
"I'm not anymore."
"Okay!" America ran off, most likely to search through England's clothes for something that would fit and he wouldn't mind wearing.
England stared at the creatures standing in the room meeting his gaze firmly. They certainly weren't normal cats, but he suspected they were had some tie to the fae. As to why exactly America could see these specific two cats, he would have to do more investigation, but he didn't mind at all. It was almost as if the goal of the cats in the first place was to bring he and America together, and he had to respect them for that. Libby stepped forward and gave his hand a slow, deliberate lick before running off in the direction America ran.
England reached out to Amya, who walked over and sniffed at his hand, before leaning into his touch and purring loudly. "Hello, there, girl."
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Notes:
Stocking stitch, or stockinette stitch in the US, is the stitch the plain part of sweaters are made out of, with v's in the front and bars in the back.
The "sweater curse" is a part of knitting lore that says that if you knit something for a love interest you're not married to, or an equivalent, that person will dump you. I'm using it rather loosely here, since they're nations and not actually together, but the basic idea of knitting being a threat to possible romantic ties is in there.
The "needles on a string" are circular needles, used to knit in the round, which makes the tubes America describes without needing a seam.
Libby, short for "Liberty" is meant to be a Maine Coon. Since Maine was actually part of Massachusetts until 1820 and Massachusetts was a huge part of the drive toward the American Revolution, Liberty would then be a pretty meaningful name.
Amya is, as mentioned, a Cornish Rex. Cornwall is a region in England that has a history that created some nationalist sentiment, which would obviously make England himself kinda twitchy. "Amya" is an American variant of the Japanese "Amaya", meaning "night rain", similar to America using "Iggy" as a variant of "Igirisu".