Family Ties [Part 83]
Title: Family Ties
Characters (in this chapter): Turkey, Afghanistan, Greece, Portugal, France, Scotland, Quebec, America, Russia, Ukraine, England, Ireland, Northern Ireland, Wales! Phew.
Rating: 15
Warnings: BOOM
Summary: Uh, I need to be banned from the kink meme or monsters like this happen? Essentially, Scotland leaves the UK, which gives Northern Ireland an excuse to up and out as well, which leaves England and Wales all alone. Oh yeah, and this somehow leads to World War Three.
Turkey stopped the car they'd borrowed without permission, and rolled his shoulders. Okay, so they'd had to shoot a guy to get it, but he was going to shoot them first. Plus, it was a really nice car.
"Alright kiddies, everyone out, we're here."
Afghanistan hopped out of the back and stretched sighing in satisfaction and then flinching from the cold air. "Coooold why is it so cold..." she murmured to herself.
"Moscow's in much worse shape than the last time I saw it." Portugal commented, eyes following the pillars of billowing smoke that rose into the air and mingled with the clouds.
"That can be expected, though." Greece deadpanned, helping Afghanistan open the back of the car, the button too stiff for her. As soon as the hatchback opened, several belts of ammunition spilled out, and Afghanistan had to lean her weight on a rocket launcher to stop that from falling out too. Finally balancing the pile of weapons, she plucked various guns and projectiles out and passed them around.
Turkey loaded a shotgun with glee. "Suit up everyone, we have a job to do."
---
The trucks hummed with anticipation, engines revving when over-enthusiastic soldiers got excited, quickly disciplined by their superiors. The sky was forbodingly gray, but no snow fell, and the streets had been quickly cleared by all the movement. Looming impressively despite having been built on such short notice, the NWO headquarters sported several turrets that had not been there ob the maps before, but the WDF were well prepared. The tanks and their shields would lead the charge through the gates, then allowing the infantry and other soldiers to slip through the holes in the walls, and the barged open doors. Reinforced or not, nothing was going to stop their advance today.
The snipers no doubt just waiting for a sign of movement were a worry, as they couldn't see them for toffee from where they were, but that might just have to be the price to pay to end this war.
Demands were issued over loudspeaker for the Executive Leader to come out with his hands up. Still, no movement from within the building.
"Hah." scoffed Scotland, sitting in a medical truck and hovering watchfully over France, who was finally receiving attention to his wounds. There was only so much first aid you could administer to broken ribs after all. "Like he'd come out. Probably cowerin' under his desk."
France hissed in pain as the nurse had to re-break his wrist to make it heal properly while another operated to remove the tracker. They only had enough anesthetic to numb one of his arms, with so many casualties from fighting their way into the city already. "Let's not speak too soon, mon coeur." He spoke around the piece of cloth he had in his mouth to bite down on. "Are you sure you want to stay here and not go fight with the others?"
A small smile appeared on Scotland's face. "Nah. They can handle themselves, and if I get too close to Éibhear again I might never be able to pull him off me."
France's amused snort was punctuated by a quiet beeping ring from his mobile phone, sitting on a table by the side. "Would you get that, James?"
The red head obliged, flicking the extremely fancy but now nearly two years out of fashion phone up and putting it to his ear. "'ello?"
"Er." said an unfamiliar voice. "France?"
The man in question gave a muffled yelp of pain and his wrist was splinted. "He's a bit busy, can I take a message?"
"So Scotland then?"
"Aye, that's me." He stroked the sweat off his lover's damp forehead, unsticking the blonde locks. "Who's this?"
"Well I originally called Wales but he said he was a little busy and said to call you now you're out of the woods and on the good side again." rambled the voice, and he didn't sound that old, maybe a late teen. He also sounded worried and a bit panicked. "It's Quebec."
"Quebec?" echoed James.
"Quebec!" France exclaimed, surprised, and gave the taller man an urgent look. "Hold the phone to my ear. Mon chou, dites-moi tout."
Scotland did so, and there followed a conversation in such rapid French he couldn't begin to make heads or tails of it even with his limited knowledge. Instead he had to go by the tones, which also switched faster than Ireland's mood when she was PMSing. Happy, then gravely sad, then slightly irritable, then worried, then even more worried, and here was where Scotland started picking up the word "Amérique" over and over in increasingly frantic tones. After a lot more "quoi?!" and "mon dieu"s, he interrupted.
"Francis?" he asked, afraid that cutting through a conversation this tense would somehow get him killed, immobilised arms or not. He got a sharp look either way. "What's going on?"
"America has completely lost his mind!" Francis would have gestured were he able to, but settled for shaking his head. "Mexico's been imprisoned and he's been doing absolutely unspeakable things to Ukraine, and god knows only what to Russia. He's gone too far. Someone has to stop it, stop him. Shh, mon cheri, tout ira bien, je vous promets." he turned back to speaking to the phone while Scotland's mind reeled over the implications of Alfred going over the edge.
If he'd had a functioning phone, he would have called the others to warn them, but as it was he was stuck here looking after France. He looked towards the NWO building and heard the first shots fired.
"Ye better hurry, ye bastards. We've got a black sheep to sort out."
---
There was a good reason for Quebec's hysteria.
America didn't notice him watching through the crack in the doorway. He was too busy sitting on Russia's back, taunting the weakened Nation as he twitched in the throws of something similar to a heart attack. He wouldn't die from it, oh no, it was just what came from having your capital city attacked. If he hadn't been whiting out occasionally, Russia probably might have thrown the younger boy off him and scrambled across the room to help his sister. Quebec couldn't see her, didn't need to, he could see the small river of blood that headed towards the drain in the middle of the sterile concrete room. The occasional sob and soft call of "Vanya" was the only sign she was still there.
"Oh hey, you nearly knocked me off there, Russki!" America cheered, face bright with childlike glee. "Man, this is better than a rodeo! Giddy up!"
Quebec retched quietly behind the door, unheard save by France on the phone.
Russia stopped twitching for a moment, turning his head to look at the other Nation on top of him, nose blooded and one eye swollen. He smiled, and there was a tooth missing.
"Nice to see you're having fun." he rasped, the result of a half-crushed windpipe. Granted he'd broken America's nose in retaliation, but he wasn't the one writhing on the floor. He was grinning instead.
"Tonnes." he assured, nodding. "I could do this all day. I think I will."
"You like these kinds of games as much as I do." he continued. A heavy hand landed on his head, grinding it into the floor.
"Hey, no mind games, back to the rodeo." the teen pouted. But Russia didn't stop.
“This was a good game, America, and it is nice to see you’re willing to “sink to my level” as you say, to play it." Russia continued before the other blonde could make another witty comment. "But you are wrong to think it is checkmate. I still have one last piece to move.”
"Beg pardon?" America growled lowly.
A shudder ran through the Slavic man's body. "Haha... as we speak, your WDF forces are storming my NWO headquarters, in my city. But do you know what they're not doing? What they haven't done?"
For once America said nothing.
"Maybe I should put it in terms you understand." Russia pondered. "They do not have anyone covering home base. And I still have one batter up."
---
In his office, as the walls shook, the NWO Executive Leader reached round and pushed a button on his desk.
---
Poland paused in pulling Lithuania through the hole that had been blasted in their jail cell by a stray rocket. "Uh. Liet."
The brunette looked at him. "Yes?"
"I, uh. I think someone just launched a missile." the green eyes blinked, and a frown formed. "Only, I never knew I even had any nukes."
"You don't." Lithuania affirmed, a similar frown appearing. "Do you?"
"No..." Poland tilted his head to the side. "Wait." He patted his side, where he felt the odd tingling. A small scar had appeared there, unnoticed, barely bigger than a pin's head. "Uh oh. That Russian son of a bitch."
---
"Eat lead!" crowed Northern Ireland as he mowed down three men with a semi-automatic. His magazine ran out and his sister simply tossed him another gun. "Yeaaaaah!"
"You're wasting ammo!" called England, but he was ignored. Instead, had to roll out of the way as Wales tore a grenade pin out with his teeth and chucked it down a hallway.
"Fire in the hole!" he cried, but the grin didn't leave his face.
The group plugged their ears as the blast sent the doors sailing off more than a few offices, where there had once been usual secretarial staff there were now soldiers. Oddly, there were other sounds of fighting coming from the other end of the hall. Using a mirror, Ireland peeked round the corner, and grinned. "Artie, you're gonna want to see this."
England looked in the mirror just in time to see Portugal clubbing some poor hapless soldier upside the head with the hard end of his gun.
"Port!" He called, watching the man jump at his name in the mirror. Cautiously and carefully, he crept out from behind the corner. Slowly, the other man's face dawned into a brilliant smile, and he lept over the bodies littering the hallway to enclose his lover in a very strong hug that nearly knocked the air clean out of England's lungs. "Port- can't breathe!"
Released, the two stared at each other like they were trying to imprint the other's image on their retinas. North mimed being sick and Turkey rolled his eyes.
"If you lovebirds are done." Ireland snarked, but she was smiling fondly. "We've got a Boss to brutally dismember."
"Thanks for that lovely description." Wales remarked, picking his way through the slumped dead and dying. Other soldiers darted past and along the hallways, kicking in doors. Above the chaos, Wales' phone gave off a familiar ring. "Oh for the love of God why do I still have this thing?!" He snatched it out of his pocket and jabbed at the screen angrily. The caller ID flashed up.
Boss.
"Uhoh. Gotta take this." He opened it up, holding it to his ear. "Hullo?"
"Wales!" his boss cried, though technically he was his and England's shared boss. That wasn't particularly important. "Thank god, you and your family are safe right now, right?"
"Uh, well we're in the middle of NWO headquarters--" he started, but was cut off by a large amount of swearing.
"Damn it, no, you need to get out of there and get somewhere safe, somewhere where people can look after you!"
This was confusing. "Why?"
"There's a nuclear missile incoming straight for us!" the Prime Minister shouted. "Right for you, all of you!"
The others had stopped what they were doing to stare at their brother's rapidly paling face. The horror started to grow. "Shit. How big is it?"
"We tried to make it change course by firing at it in mid air, but it's still on course for the Irish Sea! It's massive, I never thought they'd use it, we all decided against it--"
"Darren?" Ireland asked, laying a hand on his arm. He realised he was shaking. "What's happening? What's wrong? Darren?"
"Nuke." he uttered, and everyone's eyes went wide. "It's coming straight for us and there's-"
There was nothing they could do.
"Bugger." England said.
---
Mothers clung to their children. Husbands to their wives. Friends to friends to enemies.
Above them, the vapor trails of their imminent destruction traced a path straight through the sky, a small black dot disappearing out to sea. A few stood on the beaches, arms open and resigned.
There was not enough time to cry.
The nuke detonated half a mile underwater, flinging up a million tonnes of water into the atmosphere. A reaction that could be seen from space, as searing hot and irradiated water fell upon the British Isles and Ireland.
Then the wave, towering greater than the highest building built, raced inland undeterred by hills or mountains or trees.
And then there was silence.
---
England collapsed forward, choking on salt water, caught by a frantic Portugal.
Ireland fell only seconds before North, crumpling into a heap on the floor.
Scotland shuddered and gargled on water from nowhere, the nurses frantically trying to save a drowning man miles from any kind of deep water. He didn't hear France screaming his name.
Wales' phone slipped from his hand, his back hit the wall, and he knew no more.
Notes:
- You can go ahead and hate me now, but I even made this chapter extra long, all special for you.
- This is the Irish Sea, for the geographically unaware. The black dot is where the nuke landed. The red patch is the "splash zone".
Part 84
Characters (in this chapter): Turkey, Afghanistan, Greece, Portugal, France, Scotland, Quebec, America, Russia, Ukraine, England, Ireland, Northern Ireland, Wales! Phew.
Rating: 15
Warnings: BOOM
Summary: Uh, I need to be banned from the kink meme or monsters like this happen? Essentially, Scotland leaves the UK, which gives Northern Ireland an excuse to up and out as well, which leaves England and Wales all alone. Oh yeah, and this somehow leads to World War Three.
Turkey stopped the car they'd borrowed without permission, and rolled his shoulders. Okay, so they'd had to shoot a guy to get it, but he was going to shoot them first. Plus, it was a really nice car.
"Alright kiddies, everyone out, we're here."
Afghanistan hopped out of the back and stretched sighing in satisfaction and then flinching from the cold air. "Coooold why is it so cold..." she murmured to herself.
"Moscow's in much worse shape than the last time I saw it." Portugal commented, eyes following the pillars of billowing smoke that rose into the air and mingled with the clouds.
"That can be expected, though." Greece deadpanned, helping Afghanistan open the back of the car, the button too stiff for her. As soon as the hatchback opened, several belts of ammunition spilled out, and Afghanistan had to lean her weight on a rocket launcher to stop that from falling out too. Finally balancing the pile of weapons, she plucked various guns and projectiles out and passed them around.
Turkey loaded a shotgun with glee. "Suit up everyone, we have a job to do."
---
The trucks hummed with anticipation, engines revving when over-enthusiastic soldiers got excited, quickly disciplined by their superiors. The sky was forbodingly gray, but no snow fell, and the streets had been quickly cleared by all the movement. Looming impressively despite having been built on such short notice, the NWO headquarters sported several turrets that had not been there ob the maps before, but the WDF were well prepared. The tanks and their shields would lead the charge through the gates, then allowing the infantry and other soldiers to slip through the holes in the walls, and the barged open doors. Reinforced or not, nothing was going to stop their advance today.
The snipers no doubt just waiting for a sign of movement were a worry, as they couldn't see them for toffee from where they were, but that might just have to be the price to pay to end this war.
Demands were issued over loudspeaker for the Executive Leader to come out with his hands up. Still, no movement from within the building.
"Hah." scoffed Scotland, sitting in a medical truck and hovering watchfully over France, who was finally receiving attention to his wounds. There was only so much first aid you could administer to broken ribs after all. "Like he'd come out. Probably cowerin' under his desk."
France hissed in pain as the nurse had to re-break his wrist to make it heal properly while another operated to remove the tracker. They only had enough anesthetic to numb one of his arms, with so many casualties from fighting their way into the city already. "Let's not speak too soon, mon coeur." He spoke around the piece of cloth he had in his mouth to bite down on. "Are you sure you want to stay here and not go fight with the others?"
A small smile appeared on Scotland's face. "Nah. They can handle themselves, and if I get too close to Éibhear again I might never be able to pull him off me."
France's amused snort was punctuated by a quiet beeping ring from his mobile phone, sitting on a table by the side. "Would you get that, James?"
The red head obliged, flicking the extremely fancy but now nearly two years out of fashion phone up and putting it to his ear. "'ello?"
"Er." said an unfamiliar voice. "France?"
The man in question gave a muffled yelp of pain and his wrist was splinted. "He's a bit busy, can I take a message?"
"So Scotland then?"
"Aye, that's me." He stroked the sweat off his lover's damp forehead, unsticking the blonde locks. "Who's this?"
"Well I originally called Wales but he said he was a little busy and said to call you now you're out of the woods and on the good side again." rambled the voice, and he didn't sound that old, maybe a late teen. He also sounded worried and a bit panicked. "It's Quebec."
"Quebec?" echoed James.
"Quebec!" France exclaimed, surprised, and gave the taller man an urgent look. "Hold the phone to my ear. Mon chou, dites-moi tout."
Scotland did so, and there followed a conversation in such rapid French he couldn't begin to make heads or tails of it even with his limited knowledge. Instead he had to go by the tones, which also switched faster than Ireland's mood when she was PMSing. Happy, then gravely sad, then slightly irritable, then worried, then even more worried, and here was where Scotland started picking up the word "Amérique" over and over in increasingly frantic tones. After a lot more "quoi?!" and "mon dieu"s, he interrupted.
"Francis?" he asked, afraid that cutting through a conversation this tense would somehow get him killed, immobilised arms or not. He got a sharp look either way. "What's going on?"
"America has completely lost his mind!" Francis would have gestured were he able to, but settled for shaking his head. "Mexico's been imprisoned and he's been doing absolutely unspeakable things to Ukraine, and god knows only what to Russia. He's gone too far. Someone has to stop it, stop him. Shh, mon cheri, tout ira bien, je vous promets." he turned back to speaking to the phone while Scotland's mind reeled over the implications of Alfred going over the edge.
If he'd had a functioning phone, he would have called the others to warn them, but as it was he was stuck here looking after France. He looked towards the NWO building and heard the first shots fired.
"Ye better hurry, ye bastards. We've got a black sheep to sort out."
---
There was a good reason for Quebec's hysteria.
America didn't notice him watching through the crack in the doorway. He was too busy sitting on Russia's back, taunting the weakened Nation as he twitched in the throws of something similar to a heart attack. He wouldn't die from it, oh no, it was just what came from having your capital city attacked. If he hadn't been whiting out occasionally, Russia probably might have thrown the younger boy off him and scrambled across the room to help his sister. Quebec couldn't see her, didn't need to, he could see the small river of blood that headed towards the drain in the middle of the sterile concrete room. The occasional sob and soft call of "Vanya" was the only sign she was still there.
"Oh hey, you nearly knocked me off there, Russki!" America cheered, face bright with childlike glee. "Man, this is better than a rodeo! Giddy up!"
Quebec retched quietly behind the door, unheard save by France on the phone.
Russia stopped twitching for a moment, turning his head to look at the other Nation on top of him, nose blooded and one eye swollen. He smiled, and there was a tooth missing.
"Nice to see you're having fun." he rasped, the result of a half-crushed windpipe. Granted he'd broken America's nose in retaliation, but he wasn't the one writhing on the floor. He was grinning instead.
"Tonnes." he assured, nodding. "I could do this all day. I think I will."
"You like these kinds of games as much as I do." he continued. A heavy hand landed on his head, grinding it into the floor.
"Hey, no mind games, back to the rodeo." the teen pouted. But Russia didn't stop.
“This was a good game, America, and it is nice to see you’re willing to “sink to my level” as you say, to play it." Russia continued before the other blonde could make another witty comment. "But you are wrong to think it is checkmate. I still have one last piece to move.”
"Beg pardon?" America growled lowly.
A shudder ran through the Slavic man's body. "Haha... as we speak, your WDF forces are storming my NWO headquarters, in my city. But do you know what they're not doing? What they haven't done?"
For once America said nothing.
"Maybe I should put it in terms you understand." Russia pondered. "They do not have anyone covering home base. And I still have one batter up."
---
In his office, as the walls shook, the NWO Executive Leader reached round and pushed a button on his desk.
---
Poland paused in pulling Lithuania through the hole that had been blasted in their jail cell by a stray rocket. "Uh. Liet."
The brunette looked at him. "Yes?"
"I, uh. I think someone just launched a missile." the green eyes blinked, and a frown formed. "Only, I never knew I even had any nukes."
"You don't." Lithuania affirmed, a similar frown appearing. "Do you?"
"No..." Poland tilted his head to the side. "Wait." He patted his side, where he felt the odd tingling. A small scar had appeared there, unnoticed, barely bigger than a pin's head. "Uh oh. That Russian son of a bitch."
---
"Eat lead!" crowed Northern Ireland as he mowed down three men with a semi-automatic. His magazine ran out and his sister simply tossed him another gun. "Yeaaaaah!"
"You're wasting ammo!" called England, but he was ignored. Instead, had to roll out of the way as Wales tore a grenade pin out with his teeth and chucked it down a hallway.
"Fire in the hole!" he cried, but the grin didn't leave his face.
The group plugged their ears as the blast sent the doors sailing off more than a few offices, where there had once been usual secretarial staff there were now soldiers. Oddly, there were other sounds of fighting coming from the other end of the hall. Using a mirror, Ireland peeked round the corner, and grinned. "Artie, you're gonna want to see this."
England looked in the mirror just in time to see Portugal clubbing some poor hapless soldier upside the head with the hard end of his gun.
"Port!" He called, watching the man jump at his name in the mirror. Cautiously and carefully, he crept out from behind the corner. Slowly, the other man's face dawned into a brilliant smile, and he lept over the bodies littering the hallway to enclose his lover in a very strong hug that nearly knocked the air clean out of England's lungs. "Port- can't breathe!"
Released, the two stared at each other like they were trying to imprint the other's image on their retinas. North mimed being sick and Turkey rolled his eyes.
"If you lovebirds are done." Ireland snarked, but she was smiling fondly. "We've got a Boss to brutally dismember."
"Thanks for that lovely description." Wales remarked, picking his way through the slumped dead and dying. Other soldiers darted past and along the hallways, kicking in doors. Above the chaos, Wales' phone gave off a familiar ring. "Oh for the love of God why do I still have this thing?!" He snatched it out of his pocket and jabbed at the screen angrily. The caller ID flashed up.
Boss.
"Uhoh. Gotta take this." He opened it up, holding it to his ear. "Hullo?"
"Wales!" his boss cried, though technically he was his and England's shared boss. That wasn't particularly important. "Thank god, you and your family are safe right now, right?"
"Uh, well we're in the middle of NWO headquarters--" he started, but was cut off by a large amount of swearing.
"Damn it, no, you need to get out of there and get somewhere safe, somewhere where people can look after you!"
This was confusing. "Why?"
"There's a nuclear missile incoming straight for us!" the Prime Minister shouted. "Right for you, all of you!"
The others had stopped what they were doing to stare at their brother's rapidly paling face. The horror started to grow. "Shit. How big is it?"
"We tried to make it change course by firing at it in mid air, but it's still on course for the Irish Sea! It's massive, I never thought they'd use it, we all decided against it--"
"Darren?" Ireland asked, laying a hand on his arm. He realised he was shaking. "What's happening? What's wrong? Darren?"
"Nuke." he uttered, and everyone's eyes went wide. "It's coming straight for us and there's-"
There was nothing they could do.
"Bugger." England said.
---
Mothers clung to their children. Husbands to their wives. Friends to friends to enemies.
Above them, the vapor trails of their imminent destruction traced a path straight through the sky, a small black dot disappearing out to sea. A few stood on the beaches, arms open and resigned.
There was not enough time to cry.
The nuke detonated half a mile underwater, flinging up a million tonnes of water into the atmosphere. A reaction that could be seen from space, as searing hot and irradiated water fell upon the British Isles and Ireland.
Then the wave, towering greater than the highest building built, raced inland undeterred by hills or mountains or trees.
And then there was silence.
---
England collapsed forward, choking on salt water, caught by a frantic Portugal.
Ireland fell only seconds before North, crumpling into a heap on the floor.
Scotland shuddered and gargled on water from nowhere, the nurses frantically trying to save a drowning man miles from any kind of deep water. He didn't hear France screaming his name.
Wales' phone slipped from his hand, his back hit the wall, and he knew no more.
Notes:
- You can go ahead and hate me now, but I even made this chapter extra long, all special for you.
- This is the Irish Sea, for the geographically unaware. The black dot is where the nuke landed. The red patch is the "splash zone".
Part 84