Family Ties [Part 57]
Title: Family Ties
Characters (in this chapter): England, Wales, Scotland, France, Russia
Rating: 12
Warnings: Violence, me fixing what I broke.
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.
Scotland's cities may have changed since the last time England had invaded, but the highlands had not. As usual, they were as inhospitable to lifeforms higher than your average goat than the bottom on the ocean. Well, maybe he was going a bit far with that. He'd always had that feeling, when on his brother's land. Like it didn't want him here, like he didn't belong. Which, he supposed, would be accurate.
Wales seemed a little more comfortable, maybe because they'd found a small flock of untended sheep a while back and they'd been following their procession of military vehicles, jeeps and a single tank since the rest of the army was holding the cities, for the last 3 miles. With the army moving so slowly to avoid being detected, as well as to allow the Kyushu chance to find the scrambler, this was an easy feat for the little hoofed creatures. It made Darren content at least. It also reminded Arthur that they hadn't been home in nearly two months.
Green eyes stared up at the large aerial dish that was mounted on the back of the truck they were trailing on. England himself was sitting in the back with it and a few other soldiers, keeping an eye on the instruments. Nothing yet.
"Think it's gonna rain?" asked Wales, looking up at the overcast sky. The clouds hung heavy and gray, though the day was warm and muggy, sticking clothes to skin. Early September weather.
"Maybe. Be our luck, wouldn't it." England shifted position, leaning against the Kyushu.
A loud beep sounded, and he jumped off it immediately. The beep rose in intensity, and the soldier's radios crackled with static.
"What the- did you break it?!" the older brother cried, looking at the instruments. England scrambled after him.
"I barely touched it! It can't-"
The beeping rose to a high wail, along with something that reminded Arthur of the old sound dial-up internet used to make; a screeching beep, a whoosh of loud static, before jittering into nothing.
A cheerful "ding!" and a robotic, feminine voice declaring "gunbiteppai", or something to that effect. Wales and England shared a look.
"Did that just..."
"I think it did..."
-----
It was cold here. It was cold and dark and foggy. He only knew it was foggy because of the occasional glimmer of light that seemed to shine through the mist, before quickly vanishing. Some of the time he would hear voices with the light as well, people he could have sworn he knew, were important some how, but the fog covered it up and soon it was gone, and once it was gone it didn't matter, right?
Besides, being somewhere cold and dark was much better than being somewhere too hot and full of pain, like he was sure the light would take him to. Stupid light. Trying to trick him.
And it was back again today. He'd been having a nice nap too. He waited for it to go away.
It didn't.
It got brighter instead, burning his eyes if he looked at it.
"Fuck off." he mumbled. That didn't work either; it got even brighter as though it responded to that. Feh, stupid thing, didn't know when to give up. He knew people like that. Idiots like England and France...
... huh? He knew people?
Yeah, he knew people. How could he forget? He'd had to spend his entire life enduring Aine's high pitch screaming voice and wild temper, North's ability to start a fight out of nowhere and make something out of nothing, Darren's infuriating sarcasm and stubbornness, and Artie's bratty behavior, temper tantrums and the insistence that he was head of the family when he was nothing more than a wee thing. And France would always antagonise him, and he would join in because the look on England's face when he did was priceless...
Good times, good times.
Now who was he again?
The light was even brighter now, but it had stopped burning his eyes. It was easy to get used to actually, all the warmth. He could feel his fingers and toes again, though he'd never noticed stopping either. There was grass under him. The fog was less now, and he could see around him. A field. His field.
The highlands.
Oh yeah. James Kirkland. He was Scotland.
It was as though the light had been waiting for that revelation, and the fog rushed away in a howl of wind. The world was clear again, wide views of rolling hills and high mountains and snowy peaks and jagged coastline with islands reaching out of the chilly north sea. Thick forests full of deer and the odd unicorn, lochs and the sunrise before it vanished behind the ever present overhanging clouds. People, his people singing and laughing and fighting and living and proud to call themselves Scottish.
History, his life flashed through his mind. Wars and peace, kingdoms and clans, pacts made in blood and alliances forged in iron.
Alliances...
Why could he hear screaming?
He was running towards the noise before he could stop to think. He had to stop that screaming, he knew that voice. That was one of the last voices in the world that he would want to hear screaming in pain like that. It wasn't constant, just little bursts, yelps and cries that seemed to reign themselves in, but it was enough to track by.
Scotland jerked back into his body as though he'd been running the whole way there, breath coming in gasps.
Disoriented, he quickly took in the scene before him. An unfamiliar room, red carpet, gold curtains, high windows, bookshelves and computer screens along the walls, papers on a desk, Russia with a pipe-
Russia with a pipe beating France.
Scotland put himself between the next blow of the cold metal object, which had been going for his lover's head. It caught his shoulder, and he felt a bone snap with the force, before quickly clicking back into place like nothing had happened. It hurt like a bitch, but the pain was nothing. His first and most important objective would be getting Russia away from France.
"What," Russia said softly, eyes narrowing. "Do you think you're doing, Scotland?"
The red head's hand enclosed over the pipe, ripping it out of gloved hands and throwing it across the room. "Stopping you."
Cold violet eyes watched it clatter to the ground next to a bookshelf. "Stand down. That is an order."
"How about ye go fuck yerself?"
"James!" Francis rasped behind him, grabbing onto his trouser leg. "Run, for the love of god, if you're back to being you-"
"Then yer'll know that I don't just run." He shot him a grin. France didn't look in a state to be returning it, blood cascading down his face from some head wound in his hairline, lip split. From the fact he wasn't getting up, his legs were probably broken. Scotland turned back to Russia. "What makes you think ye can give me orders?"
"Well it was working so well before, da?" For all the cheer his voice held, the dark undertone in Ivan's voice would have shaken smaller men.
"That ends here." Scotland replied, grabbing the front of Russia's uniform. "Yer've gone too far this time. But how's about I give ye a Glasgow kiss afore we go?"
He savored the look of mild confusion in the taller man's eyes before headbutting him on the nose hard enough to hear a satisfying crunch.
Summer meant he did not have General Winter's strength to draw on, and so, swearing in his own language, Russia stumbled back, momentarily stunned. James took this chance, reaching down and scooping up France in one go, forcing himself to ignore the mild cry of pain the touch gave, and started running. Running and running and running, out of the headquarters, into the car park, into one of the sleek black cars the NWO owned, depositing France on the seat next to him.
"What are you going to do without a key, mon cher?" the blonde seemed slightly dizzy with blood loss, because he had a vacant looking smile on his face. Scotland ran round the front of the car, opening up the hood and fiddling around with the electronics, unmindful of electrocution when France was bleeding on the seats. "Oh, hot wiring. Of course." A weary, half mad laugh. "Well, if I'm going to go finally mad, this is probably one of the better delusions to have."
"I ain't no delusion, Francis." Spark, spark, hah! Victorious, Scotland climbed back into the car, shut the door and put his foot down. "This time, we're both wide awake."
Notes:
- A Glasgow kiss is a headbutt, as Scotland demonstrated. Similarly, a Glasgow grin is when you stick a knife in someone's mouth and slash them ear to ear, then kick them in the groin to make them scream. As you can plainly see, Glasgow is a peaceful, wonderful city with a low crime rate where everyone eats rainbows for breakfast. <3
- "Gunbiteppai" means "complete disarmament". Written 軍備撤廃 or ぐんびてっぱい
- Info on how to hot wire a car courtesy of nenamoo
Part 58
Characters (in this chapter): England, Wales, Scotland, France, Russia
Rating: 12
Warnings: Violence, me fixing what I broke.
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.
Scotland's cities may have changed since the last time England had invaded, but the highlands had not. As usual, they were as inhospitable to lifeforms higher than your average goat than the bottom on the ocean. Well, maybe he was going a bit far with that. He'd always had that feeling, when on his brother's land. Like it didn't want him here, like he didn't belong. Which, he supposed, would be accurate.
Wales seemed a little more comfortable, maybe because they'd found a small flock of untended sheep a while back and they'd been following their procession of military vehicles, jeeps and a single tank since the rest of the army was holding the cities, for the last 3 miles. With the army moving so slowly to avoid being detected, as well as to allow the Kyushu chance to find the scrambler, this was an easy feat for the little hoofed creatures. It made Darren content at least. It also reminded Arthur that they hadn't been home in nearly two months.
Green eyes stared up at the large aerial dish that was mounted on the back of the truck they were trailing on. England himself was sitting in the back with it and a few other soldiers, keeping an eye on the instruments. Nothing yet.
"Think it's gonna rain?" asked Wales, looking up at the overcast sky. The clouds hung heavy and gray, though the day was warm and muggy, sticking clothes to skin. Early September weather.
"Maybe. Be our luck, wouldn't it." England shifted position, leaning against the Kyushu.
A loud beep sounded, and he jumped off it immediately. The beep rose in intensity, and the soldier's radios crackled with static.
"What the- did you break it?!" the older brother cried, looking at the instruments. England scrambled after him.
"I barely touched it! It can't-"
The beeping rose to a high wail, along with something that reminded Arthur of the old sound dial-up internet used to make; a screeching beep, a whoosh of loud static, before jittering into nothing.
A cheerful "ding!" and a robotic, feminine voice declaring "gunbiteppai", or something to that effect. Wales and England shared a look.
"Did that just..."
"I think it did..."
-----
It was cold here. It was cold and dark and foggy. He only knew it was foggy because of the occasional glimmer of light that seemed to shine through the mist, before quickly vanishing. Some of the time he would hear voices with the light as well, people he could have sworn he knew, were important some how, but the fog covered it up and soon it was gone, and once it was gone it didn't matter, right?
Besides, being somewhere cold and dark was much better than being somewhere too hot and full of pain, like he was sure the light would take him to. Stupid light. Trying to trick him.
And it was back again today. He'd been having a nice nap too. He waited for it to go away.
It didn't.
It got brighter instead, burning his eyes if he looked at it.
"Fuck off." he mumbled. That didn't work either; it got even brighter as though it responded to that. Feh, stupid thing, didn't know when to give up. He knew people like that. Idiots like England and France...
... huh? He knew people?
Yeah, he knew people. How could he forget? He'd had to spend his entire life enduring Aine's high pitch screaming voice and wild temper, North's ability to start a fight out of nowhere and make something out of nothing, Darren's infuriating sarcasm and stubbornness, and Artie's bratty behavior, temper tantrums and the insistence that he was head of the family when he was nothing more than a wee thing. And France would always antagonise him, and he would join in because the look on England's face when he did was priceless...
Good times, good times.
Now who was he again?
The light was even brighter now, but it had stopped burning his eyes. It was easy to get used to actually, all the warmth. He could feel his fingers and toes again, though he'd never noticed stopping either. There was grass under him. The fog was less now, and he could see around him. A field. His field.
The highlands.
Oh yeah. James Kirkland. He was Scotland.
It was as though the light had been waiting for that revelation, and the fog rushed away in a howl of wind. The world was clear again, wide views of rolling hills and high mountains and snowy peaks and jagged coastline with islands reaching out of the chilly north sea. Thick forests full of deer and the odd unicorn, lochs and the sunrise before it vanished behind the ever present overhanging clouds. People, his people singing and laughing and fighting and living and proud to call themselves Scottish.
History, his life flashed through his mind. Wars and peace, kingdoms and clans, pacts made in blood and alliances forged in iron.
Alliances...
Why could he hear screaming?
He was running towards the noise before he could stop to think. He had to stop that screaming, he knew that voice. That was one of the last voices in the world that he would want to hear screaming in pain like that. It wasn't constant, just little bursts, yelps and cries that seemed to reign themselves in, but it was enough to track by.
Scotland jerked back into his body as though he'd been running the whole way there, breath coming in gasps.
Disoriented, he quickly took in the scene before him. An unfamiliar room, red carpet, gold curtains, high windows, bookshelves and computer screens along the walls, papers on a desk, Russia with a pipe-
Russia with a pipe beating France.
Scotland put himself between the next blow of the cold metal object, which had been going for his lover's head. It caught his shoulder, and he felt a bone snap with the force, before quickly clicking back into place like nothing had happened. It hurt like a bitch, but the pain was nothing. His first and most important objective would be getting Russia away from France.
"What," Russia said softly, eyes narrowing. "Do you think you're doing, Scotland?"
The red head's hand enclosed over the pipe, ripping it out of gloved hands and throwing it across the room. "Stopping you."
Cold violet eyes watched it clatter to the ground next to a bookshelf. "Stand down. That is an order."
"How about ye go fuck yerself?"
"James!" Francis rasped behind him, grabbing onto his trouser leg. "Run, for the love of god, if you're back to being you-"
"Then yer'll know that I don't just run." He shot him a grin. France didn't look in a state to be returning it, blood cascading down his face from some head wound in his hairline, lip split. From the fact he wasn't getting up, his legs were probably broken. Scotland turned back to Russia. "What makes you think ye can give me orders?"
"Well it was working so well before, da?" For all the cheer his voice held, the dark undertone in Ivan's voice would have shaken smaller men.
"That ends here." Scotland replied, grabbing the front of Russia's uniform. "Yer've gone too far this time. But how's about I give ye a Glasgow kiss afore we go?"
He savored the look of mild confusion in the taller man's eyes before headbutting him on the nose hard enough to hear a satisfying crunch.
Summer meant he did not have General Winter's strength to draw on, and so, swearing in his own language, Russia stumbled back, momentarily stunned. James took this chance, reaching down and scooping up France in one go, forcing himself to ignore the mild cry of pain the touch gave, and started running. Running and running and running, out of the headquarters, into the car park, into one of the sleek black cars the NWO owned, depositing France on the seat next to him.
"What are you going to do without a key, mon cher?" the blonde seemed slightly dizzy with blood loss, because he had a vacant looking smile on his face. Scotland ran round the front of the car, opening up the hood and fiddling around with the electronics, unmindful of electrocution when France was bleeding on the seats. "Oh, hot wiring. Of course." A weary, half mad laugh. "Well, if I'm going to go finally mad, this is probably one of the better delusions to have."
"I ain't no delusion, Francis." Spark, spark, hah! Victorious, Scotland climbed back into the car, shut the door and put his foot down. "This time, we're both wide awake."
Notes:
- A Glasgow kiss is a headbutt, as Scotland demonstrated. Similarly, a Glasgow grin is when you stick a knife in someone's mouth and slash them ear to ear, then kick them in the groin to make them scream. As you can plainly see, Glasgow is a peaceful, wonderful city with a low crime rate where everyone eats rainbows for breakfast. <3
- "Gunbiteppai" means "complete disarmament". Written 軍備撤廃 or ぐんびてっぱい
- Info on how to hot wire a car courtesy of nenamoo
Part 58