Family Ties [Part 95]
Nov. 9th, 2010 01:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hellzabethTitle: Family Ties
Characters (in this chapter): Prussia, Belarus, Wales, Northern Ireland, England, Scotland, Ireland, Diaspora!Israel, France
Rating: 12
Warnings: ... more headcanon? Extreme lateness?
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.
Prussia, Wales and Belarus all waited patiently next to the door that Prussia had gone into. Or, more specifically, Prussia was waiting by the door, and the two smaller Nations were peaking around the corner from the stairs. There was the sound of someone struggling with something inside, it sounded like a bird, and Prussia waited a few more moments before rolling his eyes and going in, leaving the door half open behind him. Belarus and Wales shared a look, before starting to creep along the hallway.
"... just happened?" asked a voice that made Wales' breath catch in his throat. "Ow... ow, okay, that kind of hurts."
"Yeah, it'll ache for a while, but it goes. Keep stretching and it gets easier." said Prussia. Through the gap in the door, Wales could see a lot of light. Was he looking into a window? "Okay, I know this is new for you and all, but if I weren't the awesome me I'd be kind of blinded now, turn it down a little."
"I don't know how!" North exclaimed, the rustling sound of feathers becoming more agitated. "Ow!"
"I said stretch, not flail about like a moron!" the albino Nation groaned. "You're not coming downstairs until you figure out how to keep yourself under control, because I sure as heck ain't gonna tell you."
"That's not fair!"
"You know what's not fair? Me having to look after your wise-ass older-now-younger brother! I could be doing a million other things!"
"Like what?"
"Er..."
Luckily Prussia was saved from having to answer by Northern Ireland cutting over him. "Hold on, did you say my older brother? Wha- did one of them die?" Wales wanted to run in there, show he was alive and he was alright, but something stopped him.
"You weren't the only one killed off by that blast, you know." Prussia said, and a hand landed on the door handle. "Wales is fine, and your other siblings all survived, so you got off unbelievably lucky. Anyway, I've got two kids to watch so you get yourself in check and come downstairs whenever."
Belarus and Wales ran back to their hiding place on the stairs as quickly and quietly as they could. Wales' heart was pounding. Alive alive alive, North was alive and alright! Now if they could just get home...
Oh geez, he'd have to go home looking like this, wouldn't he.
----
Touching down on home soil was a massive comfort for all involved, most of the tension draining out of them as soon as they did. England sighed as France wheeled him out of the airport, breathing in the smell of home. Well, actually it was a bit smoggy here in Heathrow, but luckily not nearly as crowded coming out of the airport as it was going in...
So many people were leaving...
Scotland looked around the place, leaning on his crutch with his one leg missing, otherwise nearly in full health. "Home sweet home for ye, Artie."
Sarah wheeled Ireland out into the air as well. It'd taken a lot of convincing to get her to let them come home, but not nearly as much as England had at first thought. Maybe because the words "my people" and "let" and "go" had been tossed around in the same sentence. "Well it's about as chaotic as I thought it would be."
"Where're we going, back to the old house?" Scotland asked, hobbling forward towards the waiting government lent vehicle.
"Which one, the one from the 1800s or that old bloody castle I don't even know if it's standing any more?" England asked, watching his breath steam in the air with dull interest. "Because my cottage was in the Splash Zone so we can't go there."
"Don't get sarky, you were the one that wanted to come back here. We could have gone to my house." the elder brother grumbled, getting carefully into the waiting car and watching England gingerly lift himself from his wheelchair to the car seat. "But I guess there's no room for a Christmas tree."
"... Christmas?" said Ireland quietly, where she'd been maneuvered carefully into the seat next to England. "How close are we to Christmas?"
"It's only a week left to go..." Scotland answered, gentle as he could. Ireland still wasn't really with it, even if she had regained her voice. Nobody could blame her. "Today's the 18th."
"Oh." was all she said in reply, watching the scenery go by as the car set off.
The rest of the journey was spent in silence, England occasionally swearing when they turned a corner and he bumped his injured side. They traveled for hours along empty roads, cars abandoned where they were in some places, and while they didn't travel far enough to see the damage of the blast itself, there was still a distinct sense of injury and damage amongst the people. England was scowling silently to himself when Scotland looked at him and told him that gripping his injured arm like that would only make it worse. By the time they'd made it to the old house, the three of them were even more depressed than usual.
When they got there, they were quite surprised to see the tents and marquees set up all over the front gardens, the large and imposing house that had once housed the 54 colonies of the British Empire surrounded by what seemed to be a much less lively version of Glastonberry. There were larger white marquees about the place, and the doors of the main house were propped open. Here and there, people wandered, in varying states of injury, or else in nurses uniforms, or simple over-alls and aprons. England stared wordlessly, disbelieving.
"What the... where did these guys come from?" muttered James.
"I think they've turned our house into a makeshift hospital..." Arthur wondered in reply as the car stopped. He opened the door and didn't wait for a wheelchair, leaning against the car to look around. Several people were looking back at him, probably at the burns that crept up along his face. They were disappearing slowly, healing into scars that were thankfully the same colour of his skin, if not a little darker.
"Well we can't bloody tell them to move." the elder brother added, getting out himself and hobbling forwards with his crutch. "Look at all of them-"
"Hello, sorry, I'm just coming!" came a cry, a woman flying down the front steps as fast as she could, nurse's outfit dirty with a little blood and something nobody wanted to guess at. England gaped at her. She was more than familiar just because she was his.
"Dora?!" he exclaimed, nearly losing his grip on the bonnet of the car. The rotund woman gazed at him uncomprehendingly.
"Arthur?! My god, what on earth are you doing here? And what happened to you!?" she cried, dodging round a few tents to get to him. "Your face, your arm! I haven't seen you since Birmingham and this is what you come back like?"
"Er, Artie, who's this?" Scotland asked over the woman's flustered fussing.
England remembered his brother's existence for a moment. "Oh, yes, I suppose you wouldn't remember when you detonated that bomb under mine and Darren's tank back in Birmingham."
Looking vaguely ill at the thought of his actions, Scotland shook his head, only to be patted on the shoulder by France.
"Dora here looked after us while we were out of commission. Little underground hospital in occupied territory." he finished explaining. The woman herself turned her attention to James and Francis.
"Who are these two, Arthur?" she asked, moving around the car to fuss over them instead.
"My older brother, James, and his... boyfriend, Francis." England looked like he'd bitten something sour at the mention of it. France, seeing his face, looked smug.
Dora was still hovering. "I can see the relation, same eyes. But oh no, Francis I think you're beginning to come down with the raddies, and James- you're fine actually, but that leg- you need a better crutch than that!"
The two other Nations gave England a look. He shrugged helplessly. "Don't fight her, she'll only force you into bed with restraints."
"I have a question." said France. "What are 'the raddies'?"
"Oooh, you're French!" Dora cried, abruptly ceasing in her examination. "Oh la la, vive la résistance." her accent was terrible, but she quickly continued. "The raddies means radiation sickness. You don't have it badly, though. But I have my eye on you." she waggled her finger at him. Sarah, meanwhile, was helping Ireland out of the car and into a wheelchair. Dora went still looking at her, and then swept over to look at her closely. "Oh bless your heart, you're a fighter aren't you. Come on, let's get you inside." she motioned for a few assistants to come over and help the wheelchair up the stairs, and looked around, even inside the car. "... Arthur, where's Darren?"
Silence. Scotland looked away, France squeezing his hand without a word. England opened his mouth, shut it, and finally managed. "He was in the blast radius. He... he didn't make it."
Dora's face fell. "Oh..." she said quietly, looking upwards and closing her eyes in a brief, silent prayer. She drew in a breath through her nose. "We must... we must carry on." she uttered, turning and following her staff into the house. "All of you get inside, I'll find a space for you somehow..."
England finally found his way to his wheelchair, France resuming his early job of pushing him along. "I should hope so, it's my bloody house."
Dora paused. "This is yours? I never knew you were this... this..."
"Rich? I'm not, it's a family house. Generations and all that." Now Ireland's wheelchair was at the top of the stairs, the nurses came back down to get his. "I don't mind you using it."
"I thought it was abandoned..." she said, still seeming surprised. But then she thought for a moment. "Though, there was this photo I found in one of the bedrooms, there was a man in it that looked very much like you." Her eyes traveled to Scotland even as she walked along the hall. "And you were in it too. And, the other woman- is she your sister? - she was in it too."
"Yes, Aine is my older sister." England confirmed, but now he was wary. If she'd seen those photos, what if she'd gone into the basement? From the look in Dora's eye, she was beginning to have her doubts as well.
"... the picture was dated in the 1800s, Arthur."
Scotland, France and England shared a look.
"I think I might need to tell you something important, Dora. Quietly. Alone."
Part 96
Notes:
- So I disappeared for a while. If you've been reading Monster Mash, that's why. Serial killer!Alfred, vampire!Arthur and ghost!France have taken over my mind.
- I'm going to give up and say that Gilbert's house exists in a kind of time vacuum or something because argh what is this chronology their narration is about half a week behind the rest argh argh.
Characters (in this chapter): Prussia, Belarus, Wales, Northern Ireland, England, Scotland, Ireland, Diaspora!Israel, France
Rating: 12
Warnings: ... more headcanon? Extreme lateness?
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.
Prussia, Wales and Belarus all waited patiently next to the door that Prussia had gone into. Or, more specifically, Prussia was waiting by the door, and the two smaller Nations were peaking around the corner from the stairs. There was the sound of someone struggling with something inside, it sounded like a bird, and Prussia waited a few more moments before rolling his eyes and going in, leaving the door half open behind him. Belarus and Wales shared a look, before starting to creep along the hallway.
"... just happened?" asked a voice that made Wales' breath catch in his throat. "Ow... ow, okay, that kind of hurts."
"Yeah, it'll ache for a while, but it goes. Keep stretching and it gets easier." said Prussia. Through the gap in the door, Wales could see a lot of light. Was he looking into a window? "Okay, I know this is new for you and all, but if I weren't the awesome me I'd be kind of blinded now, turn it down a little."
"I don't know how!" North exclaimed, the rustling sound of feathers becoming more agitated. "Ow!"
"I said stretch, not flail about like a moron!" the albino Nation groaned. "You're not coming downstairs until you figure out how to keep yourself under control, because I sure as heck ain't gonna tell you."
"That's not fair!"
"You know what's not fair? Me having to look after your wise-ass older-now-younger brother! I could be doing a million other things!"
"Like what?"
"Er..."
Luckily Prussia was saved from having to answer by Northern Ireland cutting over him. "Hold on, did you say my older brother? Wha- did one of them die?" Wales wanted to run in there, show he was alive and he was alright, but something stopped him.
"You weren't the only one killed off by that blast, you know." Prussia said, and a hand landed on the door handle. "Wales is fine, and your other siblings all survived, so you got off unbelievably lucky. Anyway, I've got two kids to watch so you get yourself in check and come downstairs whenever."
Belarus and Wales ran back to their hiding place on the stairs as quickly and quietly as they could. Wales' heart was pounding. Alive alive alive, North was alive and alright! Now if they could just get home...
Oh geez, he'd have to go home looking like this, wouldn't he.
----
Touching down on home soil was a massive comfort for all involved, most of the tension draining out of them as soon as they did. England sighed as France wheeled him out of the airport, breathing in the smell of home. Well, actually it was a bit smoggy here in Heathrow, but luckily not nearly as crowded coming out of the airport as it was going in...
So many people were leaving...
Scotland looked around the place, leaning on his crutch with his one leg missing, otherwise nearly in full health. "Home sweet home for ye, Artie."
Sarah wheeled Ireland out into the air as well. It'd taken a lot of convincing to get her to let them come home, but not nearly as much as England had at first thought. Maybe because the words "my people" and "let" and "go" had been tossed around in the same sentence. "Well it's about as chaotic as I thought it would be."
"Where're we going, back to the old house?" Scotland asked, hobbling forward towards the waiting government lent vehicle.
"Which one, the one from the 1800s or that old bloody castle I don't even know if it's standing any more?" England asked, watching his breath steam in the air with dull interest. "Because my cottage was in the Splash Zone so we can't go there."
"Don't get sarky, you were the one that wanted to come back here. We could have gone to my house." the elder brother grumbled, getting carefully into the waiting car and watching England gingerly lift himself from his wheelchair to the car seat. "But I guess there's no room for a Christmas tree."
"... Christmas?" said Ireland quietly, where she'd been maneuvered carefully into the seat next to England. "How close are we to Christmas?"
"It's only a week left to go..." Scotland answered, gentle as he could. Ireland still wasn't really with it, even if she had regained her voice. Nobody could blame her. "Today's the 18th."
"Oh." was all she said in reply, watching the scenery go by as the car set off.
The rest of the journey was spent in silence, England occasionally swearing when they turned a corner and he bumped his injured side. They traveled for hours along empty roads, cars abandoned where they were in some places, and while they didn't travel far enough to see the damage of the blast itself, there was still a distinct sense of injury and damage amongst the people. England was scowling silently to himself when Scotland looked at him and told him that gripping his injured arm like that would only make it worse. By the time they'd made it to the old house, the three of them were even more depressed than usual.
When they got there, they were quite surprised to see the tents and marquees set up all over the front gardens, the large and imposing house that had once housed the 54 colonies of the British Empire surrounded by what seemed to be a much less lively version of Glastonberry. There were larger white marquees about the place, and the doors of the main house were propped open. Here and there, people wandered, in varying states of injury, or else in nurses uniforms, or simple over-alls and aprons. England stared wordlessly, disbelieving.
"What the... where did these guys come from?" muttered James.
"I think they've turned our house into a makeshift hospital..." Arthur wondered in reply as the car stopped. He opened the door and didn't wait for a wheelchair, leaning against the car to look around. Several people were looking back at him, probably at the burns that crept up along his face. They were disappearing slowly, healing into scars that were thankfully the same colour of his skin, if not a little darker.
"Well we can't bloody tell them to move." the elder brother added, getting out himself and hobbling forwards with his crutch. "Look at all of them-"
"Hello, sorry, I'm just coming!" came a cry, a woman flying down the front steps as fast as she could, nurse's outfit dirty with a little blood and something nobody wanted to guess at. England gaped at her. She was more than familiar just because she was his.
"Dora?!" he exclaimed, nearly losing his grip on the bonnet of the car. The rotund woman gazed at him uncomprehendingly.
"Arthur?! My god, what on earth are you doing here? And what happened to you!?" she cried, dodging round a few tents to get to him. "Your face, your arm! I haven't seen you since Birmingham and this is what you come back like?"
"Er, Artie, who's this?" Scotland asked over the woman's flustered fussing.
England remembered his brother's existence for a moment. "Oh, yes, I suppose you wouldn't remember when you detonated that bomb under mine and Darren's tank back in Birmingham."
Looking vaguely ill at the thought of his actions, Scotland shook his head, only to be patted on the shoulder by France.
"Dora here looked after us while we were out of commission. Little underground hospital in occupied territory." he finished explaining. The woman herself turned her attention to James and Francis.
"Who are these two, Arthur?" she asked, moving around the car to fuss over them instead.
"My older brother, James, and his... boyfriend, Francis." England looked like he'd bitten something sour at the mention of it. France, seeing his face, looked smug.
Dora was still hovering. "I can see the relation, same eyes. But oh no, Francis I think you're beginning to come down with the raddies, and James- you're fine actually, but that leg- you need a better crutch than that!"
The two other Nations gave England a look. He shrugged helplessly. "Don't fight her, she'll only force you into bed with restraints."
"I have a question." said France. "What are 'the raddies'?"
"Oooh, you're French!" Dora cried, abruptly ceasing in her examination. "Oh la la, vive la résistance." her accent was terrible, but she quickly continued. "The raddies means radiation sickness. You don't have it badly, though. But I have my eye on you." she waggled her finger at him. Sarah, meanwhile, was helping Ireland out of the car and into a wheelchair. Dora went still looking at her, and then swept over to look at her closely. "Oh bless your heart, you're a fighter aren't you. Come on, let's get you inside." she motioned for a few assistants to come over and help the wheelchair up the stairs, and looked around, even inside the car. "... Arthur, where's Darren?"
Silence. Scotland looked away, France squeezing his hand without a word. England opened his mouth, shut it, and finally managed. "He was in the blast radius. He... he didn't make it."
Dora's face fell. "Oh..." she said quietly, looking upwards and closing her eyes in a brief, silent prayer. She drew in a breath through her nose. "We must... we must carry on." she uttered, turning and following her staff into the house. "All of you get inside, I'll find a space for you somehow..."
England finally found his way to his wheelchair, France resuming his early job of pushing him along. "I should hope so, it's my bloody house."
Dora paused. "This is yours? I never knew you were this... this..."
"Rich? I'm not, it's a family house. Generations and all that." Now Ireland's wheelchair was at the top of the stairs, the nurses came back down to get his. "I don't mind you using it."
"I thought it was abandoned..." she said, still seeming surprised. But then she thought for a moment. "Though, there was this photo I found in one of the bedrooms, there was a man in it that looked very much like you." Her eyes traveled to Scotland even as she walked along the hall. "And you were in it too. And, the other woman- is she your sister? - she was in it too."
"Yes, Aine is my older sister." England confirmed, but now he was wary. If she'd seen those photos, what if she'd gone into the basement? From the look in Dora's eye, she was beginning to have her doubts as well.
"... the picture was dated in the 1800s, Arthur."
Scotland, France and England shared a look.
"I think I might need to tell you something important, Dora. Quietly. Alone."
Part 96
Notes:
- So I disappeared for a while. If you've been reading Monster Mash, that's why. Serial killer!Alfred, vampire!Arthur and ghost!France have taken over my mind.
- I'm going to give up and say that Gilbert's house exists in a kind of time vacuum or something because argh what is this chronology their narration is about half a week behind the rest argh argh.
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Date: 2010-11-09 06:53 am (UTC)And now I'm just imagining that half the old mansion has been raided and/or all the furniture pushed to one side because it was assumed to be "abandoned" and now there are people swarming all over it. |D Biggest makeshift hospital ever with a nice view at the very least y/y. XD
Also hi Dora, why are you so awesome, sweeping in there like a valkyrie and terrifying everyone into obeying just out of your sheer epicness. And this England, is what you get for having so many photos lying around the house orz. It's so hard to imagine France as anyone's boyfriend sometimes but bawww, so cute you guys. If anything this war has done wonders for your relationship. /shot