Family Ties [Part 21] (otherwise known as part 40)
Title: Family Ties
Characters (in this chapter): Scotland, France, Palestine, Jordan, Syria, Russia, Finland, Sweden.
Rating: 18
Warnings: Guns, graphic description of wounds.
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.
“Psst. Hey, Francis.”
“Mmph.”
“Francis, wake up.”
“Hmm…”
“France!”
“Mon dieu, quoi.”
“Did ye just feel something… change?”
“Non, cher, I did not. I did feel relaxed and asleep and was enjoying a nice red wine in a sunny orchard.”
“Don’t sulk on me now, Francis, I’m serious. I think something’s just changed in my government.”
France rolled over in bed, squinting through the dark at Scotland’s face. “Are you sure you did not get heat stroke from the sun again?”
“Of course I’m bloody sure, it feels different.” The red head was frowning concernedly at him. France was about to respond reassurances when something- changed, like James had said.
“Oh.” He blinked. No visible difference to the world. Slightly lightheaded. What was that sensation? Familiar, it was familiar somehow… “A power shift. I think that was a power shift.” This only made James’ eyebrows pull together more.
“Power shift? But I don’t- the election’s not until…”
“I haven’t got another one for two years…” France muttered, sitting up. He guessed at it being about midnight. Which meant, counting back the time zones, that it was 9pm at their houses. Not the usual time for a power shift… unless it was done behind the scenes.
Scotland sat up, then wobbled a little, a hand going to his head. “Geez, what the hell-” Another wave hit France then. The world wavered, before settling.
“Alright, this has now gotten worrying.” He muttered, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, pulling on a shirt as Scotland shuffled to do the same behind him. “When was the last time you saw Russia?”
“About three days ago.” Scotland replied, stepping into his shoes. “Before the attacks on the quarter our south east military spots and all of the decoys.”
“I’m beginning to think he hasn’t been in the country with us for a long time.” France frowned, making his way to the tent flap, stepping out into the night-
- to find himself with the business end of a gun in his face.
“Where do you think you’re goin’ so late at night, France?” smiled Palestine, dark eyes narrowed.
“I think the better question would be; why are you pointing a shotgun in your ally’s face, Palestine?” he responded, calmly as he could. Panicking would do him no favours in this situation. He shifted his hand back inside the tent and signaled Scotland to take the other exit flap.
“Because currently, you’re the third largest nuclear power in the world.” He raised his brows like it was an unbelievable thing to say. “And we can’t have you running off just because you don’t like how things are going.”
“I was just going to see Russia.”
A soft bang, almost a gunshot but not, caught his attention. He whirled to look back into the still open tent-flap. Scotland sat hunched over on the floor, a splash of blood soaking into the sand. Jordan stood with a pistol, equipped with a silencer, still pointed at the red head.
“James!” Francis almost went to him, but the sound of the shotgun being primed in his ear made him freeze. Scotland removed one bloodied hand from his stomach, waving him off. The injury was healing, insides and muscles and skin stitching together in a grossly fascinating display.
“Russia’s not here, can we take a message?” Syria appeared next to Jordan, his own gun in hand as he twisted the silencer onto the barrel. France turned back to Palestine, face furious.
“You can’t do this! We’ve not done anything but help you, even when our hearts aren’t truly in this stupid, pointless war-”
“Now, see, that’s exactly the problem.” Palestine tilted his head. “You don’t want a war. We do want a war. You have lots of nukes. We don’t have lots of nukes. The enemy has lots of nukes. See what I mean?”
“So use Russia’s! He has more than I do!” Another muffled bang, and France saw James go down again from where he’d been trying to get up, shot in the shoulder.
“But it’s still not enough to match America.” Reasoned Palestine slowly, like he was talking to a particularly dim child. “With you and Russia, we’re about even. And once we take that land stealing bastard’s, we’ll have more.” His smile widened. “Oh, and if you thought you could just pull out, then you’d be wrong. I’m sure you’ve felt it by now.”
“Ye crazy… bastards…” Scotland gasped from the floor, still winded from the pain. “Th’ hell did y’ do…”
Syria kicked him in the stomach where he was still healing. “You’re familiar with the term ‘puppet government’, aren’t you?”
“That’s- illegal!” It seemed like a useless protestation, and from behind him, Palestine laughed at it.
“And that’s why it works. Now, I think it’s time you went back to bed.”
Something hard hit the back of France’s head, and everything was swallowed by darkness.
-----
“Russia, get the hell off my land!” Finland shouted over the blizzard. Sweden loomed behind him. Ivan smiled amicably, hands in the pockets of his greatcoat.
“Ah, but Finland, you’re neutral territory, da? There is nothing wrong with me being here.” The wind ruffled his hair to one side, whipping out the ends of his scarf.
“There is everything wrong with you being here! I’m not joining this war on either side, so you have exactly ten seconds to take your men and retreat before I shoot you!” He aimed his rifle. “I’m sure you remember I have good aim.”
Russia’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and his smile slipped a little. It picked back up again quickly, and wider too. “I assure you I’m not here to quarrel with you. You may not have declared war on me, but you’re harboring someone who has.” A few moments of stunned silence passed, Finland’s jaw eventually dropping open in horror.
“You can’t possibly- he’s a child, Russia, he doesn’t mean it!” he shook his head, disbelieving. Sweden’s expression had shifted from it’s usual stormy to livid.
“Child or not, he is a recognised country now, da?”
“H’s und’r m’ pr’tect’on.” Sweden growled.
“Are you actually trying to provoke a war on every possible front?!”
“Nyet, but it is always good, when fighting, to take down the smallest opponents first.” He smiled cheerfully, and started moving forward. Finland brought up his gun, Sweden doing the same.
“Two more steps and you’re a bloody smear in the snow!” he warned, teeth grit. Russia raised his eyebrows in mock shock.
“Oh, does this mean you declare war on me?” he asked, tilting head.
“No, I’m kicking you out of my country! And then I’m going home, and I’m going to go to bed and carry on with my life.” Finland frowned determinedly.
Russia looked disappointed. “Aw…” he brightened. “Would you declare war on me if I told you that the men behind me are not the only ones I brought? Or maybe, if I told you that you probably have no house to go back to by now… would you say it then?”
General Winter sent winds that howled for blood, and they got it.
Notes:
- Welcome, everyone who came here from the kink meme! Might I advise you to go back and look over the old chapters again? They've been edited quite a lot, mainly grammar and spelling errors, but there's a lot of extra bits added too! It's worth a look! Here's the tag for it. Or you could just go to the beginning.
- France is a growing nuclear power. America ranks first, then Russia, then France. Or at least, they will by 2020.
- I made Sealand a country, albiet a micronation, as mentioned in the earlier chapter? The rate he's gaining citizens, he's got to be eventually. Also, he randomly obtains land somehow. Because someone sold it to him. Me.
Part 22
Characters (in this chapter): Scotland, France, Palestine, Jordan, Syria, Russia, Finland, Sweden.
Rating: 18
Warnings: Guns, graphic description of wounds.
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.
“Psst. Hey, Francis.”
“Mmph.”
“Francis, wake up.”
“Hmm…”
“France!”
“Mon dieu, quoi.”
“Did ye just feel something… change?”
“Non, cher, I did not. I did feel relaxed and asleep and was enjoying a nice red wine in a sunny orchard.”
“Don’t sulk on me now, Francis, I’m serious. I think something’s just changed in my government.”
France rolled over in bed, squinting through the dark at Scotland’s face. “Are you sure you did not get heat stroke from the sun again?”
“Of course I’m bloody sure, it feels different.” The red head was frowning concernedly at him. France was about to respond reassurances when something- changed, like James had said.
“Oh.” He blinked. No visible difference to the world. Slightly lightheaded. What was that sensation? Familiar, it was familiar somehow… “A power shift. I think that was a power shift.” This only made James’ eyebrows pull together more.
“Power shift? But I don’t- the election’s not until…”
“I haven’t got another one for two years…” France muttered, sitting up. He guessed at it being about midnight. Which meant, counting back the time zones, that it was 9pm at their houses. Not the usual time for a power shift… unless it was done behind the scenes.
Scotland sat up, then wobbled a little, a hand going to his head. “Geez, what the hell-” Another wave hit France then. The world wavered, before settling.
“Alright, this has now gotten worrying.” He muttered, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, pulling on a shirt as Scotland shuffled to do the same behind him. “When was the last time you saw Russia?”
“About three days ago.” Scotland replied, stepping into his shoes. “Before the attacks on the quarter our south east military spots and all of the decoys.”
“I’m beginning to think he hasn’t been in the country with us for a long time.” France frowned, making his way to the tent flap, stepping out into the night-
- to find himself with the business end of a gun in his face.
“Where do you think you’re goin’ so late at night, France?” smiled Palestine, dark eyes narrowed.
“I think the better question would be; why are you pointing a shotgun in your ally’s face, Palestine?” he responded, calmly as he could. Panicking would do him no favours in this situation. He shifted his hand back inside the tent and signaled Scotland to take the other exit flap.
“Because currently, you’re the third largest nuclear power in the world.” He raised his brows like it was an unbelievable thing to say. “And we can’t have you running off just because you don’t like how things are going.”
“I was just going to see Russia.”
A soft bang, almost a gunshot but not, caught his attention. He whirled to look back into the still open tent-flap. Scotland sat hunched over on the floor, a splash of blood soaking into the sand. Jordan stood with a pistol, equipped with a silencer, still pointed at the red head.
“James!” Francis almost went to him, but the sound of the shotgun being primed in his ear made him freeze. Scotland removed one bloodied hand from his stomach, waving him off. The injury was healing, insides and muscles and skin stitching together in a grossly fascinating display.
“Russia’s not here, can we take a message?” Syria appeared next to Jordan, his own gun in hand as he twisted the silencer onto the barrel. France turned back to Palestine, face furious.
“You can’t do this! We’ve not done anything but help you, even when our hearts aren’t truly in this stupid, pointless war-”
“Now, see, that’s exactly the problem.” Palestine tilted his head. “You don’t want a war. We do want a war. You have lots of nukes. We don’t have lots of nukes. The enemy has lots of nukes. See what I mean?”
“So use Russia’s! He has more than I do!” Another muffled bang, and France saw James go down again from where he’d been trying to get up, shot in the shoulder.
“But it’s still not enough to match America.” Reasoned Palestine slowly, like he was talking to a particularly dim child. “With you and Russia, we’re about even. And once we take that land stealing bastard’s, we’ll have more.” His smile widened. “Oh, and if you thought you could just pull out, then you’d be wrong. I’m sure you’ve felt it by now.”
“Ye crazy… bastards…” Scotland gasped from the floor, still winded from the pain. “Th’ hell did y’ do…”
Syria kicked him in the stomach where he was still healing. “You’re familiar with the term ‘puppet government’, aren’t you?”
“That’s- illegal!” It seemed like a useless protestation, and from behind him, Palestine laughed at it.
“And that’s why it works. Now, I think it’s time you went back to bed.”
Something hard hit the back of France’s head, and everything was swallowed by darkness.
-----
“Russia, get the hell off my land!” Finland shouted over the blizzard. Sweden loomed behind him. Ivan smiled amicably, hands in the pockets of his greatcoat.
“Ah, but Finland, you’re neutral territory, da? There is nothing wrong with me being here.” The wind ruffled his hair to one side, whipping out the ends of his scarf.
“There is everything wrong with you being here! I’m not joining this war on either side, so you have exactly ten seconds to take your men and retreat before I shoot you!” He aimed his rifle. “I’m sure you remember I have good aim.”
Russia’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and his smile slipped a little. It picked back up again quickly, and wider too. “I assure you I’m not here to quarrel with you. You may not have declared war on me, but you’re harboring someone who has.” A few moments of stunned silence passed, Finland’s jaw eventually dropping open in horror.
“You can’t possibly- he’s a child, Russia, he doesn’t mean it!” he shook his head, disbelieving. Sweden’s expression had shifted from it’s usual stormy to livid.
“Child or not, he is a recognised country now, da?”
“H’s und’r m’ pr’tect’on.” Sweden growled.
“Are you actually trying to provoke a war on every possible front?!”
“Nyet, but it is always good, when fighting, to take down the smallest opponents first.” He smiled cheerfully, and started moving forward. Finland brought up his gun, Sweden doing the same.
“Two more steps and you’re a bloody smear in the snow!” he warned, teeth grit. Russia raised his eyebrows in mock shock.
“Oh, does this mean you declare war on me?” he asked, tilting head.
“No, I’m kicking you out of my country! And then I’m going home, and I’m going to go to bed and carry on with my life.” Finland frowned determinedly.
Russia looked disappointed. “Aw…” he brightened. “Would you declare war on me if I told you that the men behind me are not the only ones I brought? Or maybe, if I told you that you probably have no house to go back to by now… would you say it then?”
General Winter sent winds that howled for blood, and they got it.
Notes:
- Welcome, everyone who came here from the kink meme! Might I advise you to go back and look over the old chapters again? They've been edited quite a lot, mainly grammar and spelling errors, but there's a lot of extra bits added too! It's worth a look! Here's the tag for it. Or you could just go to the beginning.
- France is a growing nuclear power. America ranks first, then Russia, then France. Or at least, they will by 2020.
- I made Sealand a country, albiet a micronation, as mentioned in the earlier chapter? The rate he's gaining citizens, he's got to be eventually. Also, he randomly obtains land somehow. Because someone sold it to him. Me.
Part 22