hellzabeth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hellzabeth) wrote2010-02-24 12:05 am
hellzabeth) wrote2010-02-24 12:05 am
Entry tags:
Family Ties [Part 11]
Title: Family Ties
Characters (in this chapter): England, Wales, Scotland, America.
Rating: 15
Warnings: The British Empire through rose-tinted lenses, things go boom, Wales hulks out.
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.
The dining room table always felt too large for just two people.
In truth, it had been bought to seat eight if needed, four more often than not. There had once been times when this room had been full of sound, when Ireland had slapped Australia’s reaching fingers away from the roast potatoes and told him to use a spoon or he’d not get any desert, when India had rolled her eyes and gone to get more gravy for something like the fifth time in one evening, she and South Africa laughing in the kitchen together and stealing the leftovers. And after, New Zealand and Australia would run off without being told to get down from the table, and Kenya would have to carry them back, tucked under one arm each. England would laugh and roll his eyes, Scotland would give them tips on dodging the tall African woman’s long reach, and Wales would chuckle quietly with Canada, floating out of the room by themselves, unnoticed, to perhaps play with tiny Hong Kong, who was being fed in the kitchen because he refused to use a knife and fork again.
Wales understood why England was getting so worried about sitting at this table on his own. It was depressing enough already.
“So.” England started, leaning forward on his elbows to stare along the length of the table at his brother. “Where, exactly, are you getting the weapons?”
“Arthur, it’s not me-”
“Do not presume to address me like that, Wales.” Green eyes pierced him, and fists clenched. Darren started again.
“England.” He stiffly tried again. “I can only hope you’ll believe me when I say I’ve been framed. I have had no participation in those attacks. I don’t support them or condone them.” He paused, surprised he’d been allowed to go on for so long. “I don’t want to hurt you. You’re my brother.”
“And a fat lot of good that means in this family.” England scoffed. “Whether they’re doing this on your behalf or not, they’re still your people, and you must take responsibility.” Wales unconsciously straightened in his chair. He didn’t like those words. Nobody who knew England when he was an Empire would like those words.
“Arth- England. I don’t- I don’t know what to say to that. But I’m not leaving you.” He said determinedly. England sat back in his chair, a tiny, bitterly mocking smile on his face.
“Prove it.”
Wales took a deep breath.
“I, Cymru of the United Kingdom of England and Wales, hereby disown any insurgents who use violence to rise up against the Kingdom of England. I swear this on my own blood and land, to Albion of the United Kingdom of England and Wales. Should I break this contract, the former mentioned is within rights to destroy me.”
England’s eyes had gone impossibly wide, indicating that this was the last thing he had expected. Wales tried not to show how much that had hurt. His brother knew anyway.
“Darren…”
“How was that?” He managed a small grin. Arthur looked about ready to cry from relief.
“Darren, you- you’re really not-”
Then the world shattered.
The glass is everywhere, despite efforts to clear a space to move in. The wailing of the air raid siren has to be shouted over in order to communicate anything at all, and then there’s now the additional problem of talking over the human screams as well.
“Hold him still for me, Jimmy, I need to grab more bandages!” Wales yells over all the noise. Scotland skids into the room, boots crunching on glass and broken china.
“We need t’ get out of here! Aine’s already run for the shelter!” he calls back, arms full of supplies just in case they were in the shelter a long while. They both wince as somewhere in the distance there was a loud boom, and the suffering screams lift up a notch. Even in the dark, it’s easy to see the blood spreading through white cloth.
“We can’t just move him when he’s like this! What if he-” another bomb, and legs buck up as England’s entire body seizes, gasps replacing screams, voice-box wasted. “Bloody hell- fine!” Wales manoeuvres himself from where he was pinning his brother’s hands to the floor so that Scotland can scoop him up.
A whistling sound over head.
“Fuck, a doodlebug!” Scotland swears, diving under the table, Arthur in his arms. “Go find Aine, we’ll stay here!”
“But-!”
“We’ve survived bein’ burned before, just go!” England grabs onto Scotland’s shirt, with strength that almost rips the fabric.
You run too he says with his eyes, glaring for emphasis by the end.
“No fuckin’ way mate.” Scotland instead pulls him closer, listening to that whistling getting closer… higher pitched… screeching like a faerie battle cry, only anything but. “We’re in this one t’gether.”
England chokes on a sob as the world ends.
“Arthur?”
It was too bright. He had a headache. Actually, he had an everything ache. He was trapped between tightly tucked in sheets, definitely not his duvet, and the mattress was too hard to be his own memory foam one from back home.
He was in the goddamn hospital again, wasn’t he.
The nation groaned, squeezing his eyes tightly shut before bravely peeking out of one. “’s too bright.”
“Duh, it’s the middle of the day.”
The unexpected voice made him snap awake, eyes zeroing instantly on America, who had an interesting mix of an amused and concerned expression on his face.
“Alfred…” his throat hurt, sore like he’d been barking orders. Or screaming. “What happened?”
“I’m going to fucking kill your brother, that’s what.” America chirped in reply. England closed his eyes again, trying to shift and sit up; ignoring America’s warnings and only stopping once he felt a flare of pain in his chest. “Hey whoa, easy there. You got hit by glass, and they tried to attack London again.” England gave him a look.
“You shouldn’t interfere with my internal affairs. And don’t coddle me, Alfred, I’m-”
“-older than Jesus and not a baby, okay, okay, I get it.” The American raised his hands is acceptance, then became a little more serious. “They found your house.” At England’s gobsmacked expression, he continued. “I know, we’re still trying to find out how they got that info, since only the government are supposed to know where you and Darren live-”
“Where is he?” England cut over, suddenly struck by the realisation he couldn’t see his brother anywhere in the room.
“Er.” America blinked. “He stormed out earlier while they were taking the glass out of you. I think he said something about calling a world meeting. Man, he looked really angry.”
England was rather abruptly reminded of why Wales was represented by the dragon. He had a feeling the rest of the world would be too.
“Oh bugger.”
Notes:
- A doodlebug is a kind of bomb, remotely controlled and flown through the air by itself. They were dropped regularly on London during the blitz, and let me tell you, that sound is terrifying.
Part 12
Characters (in this chapter): England, Wales, Scotland, America.
Rating: 15
Warnings: The British Empire through rose-tinted lenses, things go boom, Wales hulks out.
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.
The dining room table always felt too large for just two people.
In truth, it had been bought to seat eight if needed, four more often than not. There had once been times when this room had been full of sound, when Ireland had slapped Australia’s reaching fingers away from the roast potatoes and told him to use a spoon or he’d not get any desert, when India had rolled her eyes and gone to get more gravy for something like the fifth time in one evening, she and South Africa laughing in the kitchen together and stealing the leftovers. And after, New Zealand and Australia would run off without being told to get down from the table, and Kenya would have to carry them back, tucked under one arm each. England would laugh and roll his eyes, Scotland would give them tips on dodging the tall African woman’s long reach, and Wales would chuckle quietly with Canada, floating out of the room by themselves, unnoticed, to perhaps play with tiny Hong Kong, who was being fed in the kitchen because he refused to use a knife and fork again.
Wales understood why England was getting so worried about sitting at this table on his own. It was depressing enough already.
“So.” England started, leaning forward on his elbows to stare along the length of the table at his brother. “Where, exactly, are you getting the weapons?”
“Arthur, it’s not me-”
“Do not presume to address me like that, Wales.” Green eyes pierced him, and fists clenched. Darren started again.
“England.” He stiffly tried again. “I can only hope you’ll believe me when I say I’ve been framed. I have had no participation in those attacks. I don’t support them or condone them.” He paused, surprised he’d been allowed to go on for so long. “I don’t want to hurt you. You’re my brother.”
“And a fat lot of good that means in this family.” England scoffed. “Whether they’re doing this on your behalf or not, they’re still your people, and you must take responsibility.” Wales unconsciously straightened in his chair. He didn’t like those words. Nobody who knew England when he was an Empire would like those words.
“Arth- England. I don’t- I don’t know what to say to that. But I’m not leaving you.” He said determinedly. England sat back in his chair, a tiny, bitterly mocking smile on his face.
“Prove it.”
Wales took a deep breath.
“I, Cymru of the United Kingdom of England and Wales, hereby disown any insurgents who use violence to rise up against the Kingdom of England. I swear this on my own blood and land, to Albion of the United Kingdom of England and Wales. Should I break this contract, the former mentioned is within rights to destroy me.”
England’s eyes had gone impossibly wide, indicating that this was the last thing he had expected. Wales tried not to show how much that had hurt. His brother knew anyway.
“Darren…”
“How was that?” He managed a small grin. Arthur looked about ready to cry from relief.
“Darren, you- you’re really not-”
Then the world shattered.
The glass is everywhere, despite efforts to clear a space to move in. The wailing of the air raid siren has to be shouted over in order to communicate anything at all, and then there’s now the additional problem of talking over the human screams as well.
“Hold him still for me, Jimmy, I need to grab more bandages!” Wales yells over all the noise. Scotland skids into the room, boots crunching on glass and broken china.
“We need t’ get out of here! Aine’s already run for the shelter!” he calls back, arms full of supplies just in case they were in the shelter a long while. They both wince as somewhere in the distance there was a loud boom, and the suffering screams lift up a notch. Even in the dark, it’s easy to see the blood spreading through white cloth.
“We can’t just move him when he’s like this! What if he-” another bomb, and legs buck up as England’s entire body seizes, gasps replacing screams, voice-box wasted. “Bloody hell- fine!” Wales manoeuvres himself from where he was pinning his brother’s hands to the floor so that Scotland can scoop him up.
A whistling sound over head.
“Fuck, a doodlebug!” Scotland swears, diving under the table, Arthur in his arms. “Go find Aine, we’ll stay here!”
“But-!”
“We’ve survived bein’ burned before, just go!” England grabs onto Scotland’s shirt, with strength that almost rips the fabric.
You run too he says with his eyes, glaring for emphasis by the end.
“No fuckin’ way mate.” Scotland instead pulls him closer, listening to that whistling getting closer… higher pitched… screeching like a faerie battle cry, only anything but. “We’re in this one t’gether.”
England chokes on a sob as the world ends.
“Arthur?”
It was too bright. He had a headache. Actually, he had an everything ache. He was trapped between tightly tucked in sheets, definitely not his duvet, and the mattress was too hard to be his own memory foam one from back home.
He was in the goddamn hospital again, wasn’t he.
The nation groaned, squeezing his eyes tightly shut before bravely peeking out of one. “’s too bright.”
“Duh, it’s the middle of the day.”
The unexpected voice made him snap awake, eyes zeroing instantly on America, who had an interesting mix of an amused and concerned expression on his face.
“Alfred…” his throat hurt, sore like he’d been barking orders. Or screaming. “What happened?”
“I’m going to fucking kill your brother, that’s what.” America chirped in reply. England closed his eyes again, trying to shift and sit up; ignoring America’s warnings and only stopping once he felt a flare of pain in his chest. “Hey whoa, easy there. You got hit by glass, and they tried to attack London again.” England gave him a look.
“You shouldn’t interfere with my internal affairs. And don’t coddle me, Alfred, I’m-”
“-older than Jesus and not a baby, okay, okay, I get it.” The American raised his hands is acceptance, then became a little more serious. “They found your house.” At England’s gobsmacked expression, he continued. “I know, we’re still trying to find out how they got that info, since only the government are supposed to know where you and Darren live-”
“Where is he?” England cut over, suddenly struck by the realisation he couldn’t see his brother anywhere in the room.
“Er.” America blinked. “He stormed out earlier while they were taking the glass out of you. I think he said something about calling a world meeting. Man, he looked really angry.”
England was rather abruptly reminded of why Wales was represented by the dragon. He had a feeling the rest of the world would be too.
“Oh bugger.”
Notes:
- A doodlebug is a kind of bomb, remotely controlled and flown through the air by itself. They were dropped regularly on London during the blitz, and let me tell you, that sound is terrifying.
Part 12