Family Ties [Part 38]
Apr. 28th, 2010 11:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hellzabethTitle: Family Ties
Characters (in this chapter): England, Wales, Scotland, America, Canada, Mexico and Brazil.
Rating: 15? idk
Warnings: Graphic descriptions of damaged pavement?
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.
It was far too quiet.
Even for occupied territory, the streets were dead, not a single soul about. No movements in the windows, no open shop fronts, no cars on the sides of the road. Even the traffic lights were off. The entirety of Birmingham was shut down. Dead. Which explained the numbness that England was feeling in his left hand, but did not lessen his feeling of dread.
He could feel the disturbed confusion radiating off the soldiers inside the tank and those sitting on the others behind him, all of them holding onto their guns like they were their firstborns, wary eyes snapping to every shadowed corner and wind-rustled curtain. England barely breathed.
Even Wales jumped when a pigeon suddenly soared overhead with a cooing call. Both the Nations forced themselves to relax; getting tense would do them no good.
"Where the fuck are they..." the smaller brother whispered, eyebrows pulled tight together and jaw clenched. Wales gave him a one-shouldered shrug in return.
"For some reason, I don't think we want to know."
Something screeched. It took a nano-second for the soldiers' instincts to kick in, as they all ducked for cover behind their tank, which rumbled to a sudden halt.
The shell hit the force-field with an ear splitting noise, like fingernails against chalk and thunder at the same time. England and Wales grit their teeth and put their hands over their ears, but neither closed their eyes. This proved to their advantage, because they were the first to witness a fully-activated bomb explode after losing a fight with a force field. Shrapnel flew everywhere, smoking and fizzing with static and red hot from the friction. One flew so far as to hit a nearby plastic bin, where it stuck and warped the material as it melted into a black, useless blob.
"... alright, the shields work." England breathed, eyes wide and staring at what used to be a pavement slab as it melted under the heat.
Wales gave a half hysterical laugh. "The look on Jim's face right now must be priceless."
Three more whizzing sounds made themselves known, each exploding with a small pop-bang. Looking up, the siblings, as well as the rest of the soldiers, spotted life on the roofs.
And in the windows.
And in the shrubbery, the corner shops, the doorways. The place was suddenly crawling with NWO soldiers. England and Wales held their guard, but dared not fire. Stupidly, they hadn't tested whether they could fire bullets from inside the force-field.
"That's a nice trick ye got there laddies!" bellowed a familiar voice. Green eyes met green, and Wales' expression resembled that of a person about to be ill.
"Shit." he muttered. "Shit. They really did get him. That's not- it can't be our brother."
England swallowed a lump in his throat. Those were the eyes of someone who had retreated into their own consciousness, hiding from the pain and the world until it went away, until things got better. He himself had induced it in many a country, when he was an Empire, but never, never Scotland. He had never been able to break his northern brother, and the fact that someone else had was just-- wrong.
Nobody was allowed to hurt his family but him.
"Don't be a fool James!" England called, hands on his gun. "Don't make us shoot you!"
The Scotsman merely laughed. "Yeh've shot me before an' yer'll shoot me again. Do I look like the kind o' man that's bothered?"
"James, if you come with us now we can help you!" Wales tried, looking for some kind of flash of personality in those flat green orbs. "Ivan can't hurt you where we are."
Something like confusion flickered on Scotland's face. "Hurt me? He's not hurt me. I'm fine. Everything is fine." It seemed like a rehearsed response, robotic and cold.
"Oh for God's sake, you are not bloody fine!" Arthur was so close to facepalming at the whole situation. Here they were, at a stalemate, in an abandoned street in Birmingham, ignoring the sounds in the background that indicated the other tanks had engaged in combat with the NWO forces not far from where they were; perhaps even on the next street over. "Just get over here."
Scotland mimed thoughtfulness, a comic move that was entirely unlike him and only served to add to the uneasy feeling that this was not their brother of 2000 years they were talking to. "Hm, nah."
Bullets whizzed and hit and split into shards, hundreds of them shot at the tanks, round after round of wasted artillery. A few shards shot back, hitting soldiers in the face and arms and torso like tiny, red hot and even more deadly bullets. A few ripped through Scotland, grazing his arms and legs and one coming dangerously close to his eye, leaving a cauterised cut on his cheek. It healed slower than usual, everything did. That had never happened before either.
"Forwards!" England barked orders to the tanks, and they began to rumble a slow pace towards the invading army. James stood perfectly still, grin fading off his face into a perfectly blank look which was potentially more disturbing than any vicious smile he could make.
"Holy shit, he's completely lost it hasn't he?" Wales gaped, disbelieving.
Suddenly, the NWO turned tail and ran.
England blinked at their retreating backs. "What the..."
Scotland stopped and turned while they were still in earshot and yelled. "Hey, are those things protected from the bottom as well?!"
Both Nations looked down at the rather fresh looking concrete their tanks were rolling over.
"Cachau." muttered Wales.
---
"Shit!" America slammed his hands down on the map, the paper crunching as it wrinkled in his grip. "That son of a bitch! The fuck does he think he's doing?! He promised me, he fucking promised me no nukes, and look what he's pushing me to do! He's re-establishing the goddamn fucking Soviet Bloc!"
Canada hovered uncertainly in the background, exchanging looks of worried anxiety with Mexico and Brazil.
"First England won't let me come help him fight on his home territory, then Australia refuses my calls again for the third time this week because he's still doing recon runs to find his sister and is helping her land get governed in the mean time, and now Russia pulls this bullshit!" the blonde Nation breathed heavily, shaking in a barely-perceptible way.
"Al..." Canada reached out to his brother, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I want to to know that whatever you decide, I'm with you."
America's lips thinned into a determined line.
"Right." he drew a deep breath through his nose. "Right. Brazil, think of a city in Russia that's not Moscow or St Petersberg."
Put on the spot, Brazil hesitated. "Uh, I dunno, um..."
"Omsk?" Mexico offered, frowning with her arms folded. She didn't look happy about this, despite her suggestion.
"Where's that?" America asked, looking over the crumpled map. Canada reached over and pointed it out.
"It's there. Not too close to Moscow but it's still... got a lot of people."
America brought out a pen and, with deliberate slowness, crossed out the city.
"Not any more."
Notes:
- The modified tanks are all Challenger 2s, only probably by this point they'd be Challenger 3s or something. It's the future, use your ~*imagination*~.
- "Cachau" = "shit" in Welsh.
- Yeah, I did it. I said downhill.
- Um... don't hurt me?
Part 39
Characters (in this chapter): England, Wales, Scotland, America, Canada, Mexico and Brazil.
Rating: 15? idk
Warnings: Graphic descriptions of damaged pavement?
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.
It was far too quiet.
Even for occupied territory, the streets were dead, not a single soul about. No movements in the windows, no open shop fronts, no cars on the sides of the road. Even the traffic lights were off. The entirety of Birmingham was shut down. Dead. Which explained the numbness that England was feeling in his left hand, but did not lessen his feeling of dread.
He could feel the disturbed confusion radiating off the soldiers inside the tank and those sitting on the others behind him, all of them holding onto their guns like they were their firstborns, wary eyes snapping to every shadowed corner and wind-rustled curtain. England barely breathed.
Even Wales jumped when a pigeon suddenly soared overhead with a cooing call. Both the Nations forced themselves to relax; getting tense would do them no good.
"Where the fuck are they..." the smaller brother whispered, eyebrows pulled tight together and jaw clenched. Wales gave him a one-shouldered shrug in return.
"For some reason, I don't think we want to know."
Something screeched. It took a nano-second for the soldiers' instincts to kick in, as they all ducked for cover behind their tank, which rumbled to a sudden halt.
The shell hit the force-field with an ear splitting noise, like fingernails against chalk and thunder at the same time. England and Wales grit their teeth and put their hands over their ears, but neither closed their eyes. This proved to their advantage, because they were the first to witness a fully-activated bomb explode after losing a fight with a force field. Shrapnel flew everywhere, smoking and fizzing with static and red hot from the friction. One flew so far as to hit a nearby plastic bin, where it stuck and warped the material as it melted into a black, useless blob.
"... alright, the shields work." England breathed, eyes wide and staring at what used to be a pavement slab as it melted under the heat.
Wales gave a half hysterical laugh. "The look on Jim's face right now must be priceless."
Three more whizzing sounds made themselves known, each exploding with a small pop-bang. Looking up, the siblings, as well as the rest of the soldiers, spotted life on the roofs.
And in the windows.
And in the shrubbery, the corner shops, the doorways. The place was suddenly crawling with NWO soldiers. England and Wales held their guard, but dared not fire. Stupidly, they hadn't tested whether they could fire bullets from inside the force-field.
"That's a nice trick ye got there laddies!" bellowed a familiar voice. Green eyes met green, and Wales' expression resembled that of a person about to be ill.
"Shit." he muttered. "Shit. They really did get him. That's not- it can't be our brother."
England swallowed a lump in his throat. Those were the eyes of someone who had retreated into their own consciousness, hiding from the pain and the world until it went away, until things got better. He himself had induced it in many a country, when he was an Empire, but never, never Scotland. He had never been able to break his northern brother, and the fact that someone else had was just-- wrong.
Nobody was allowed to hurt his family but him.
"Don't be a fool James!" England called, hands on his gun. "Don't make us shoot you!"
The Scotsman merely laughed. "Yeh've shot me before an' yer'll shoot me again. Do I look like the kind o' man that's bothered?"
"James, if you come with us now we can help you!" Wales tried, looking for some kind of flash of personality in those flat green orbs. "Ivan can't hurt you where we are."
Something like confusion flickered on Scotland's face. "Hurt me? He's not hurt me. I'm fine. Everything is fine." It seemed like a rehearsed response, robotic and cold.
"Oh for God's sake, you are not bloody fine!" Arthur was so close to facepalming at the whole situation. Here they were, at a stalemate, in an abandoned street in Birmingham, ignoring the sounds in the background that indicated the other tanks had engaged in combat with the NWO forces not far from where they were; perhaps even on the next street over. "Just get over here."
Scotland mimed thoughtfulness, a comic move that was entirely unlike him and only served to add to the uneasy feeling that this was not their brother of 2000 years they were talking to. "Hm, nah."
Bullets whizzed and hit and split into shards, hundreds of them shot at the tanks, round after round of wasted artillery. A few shards shot back, hitting soldiers in the face and arms and torso like tiny, red hot and even more deadly bullets. A few ripped through Scotland, grazing his arms and legs and one coming dangerously close to his eye, leaving a cauterised cut on his cheek. It healed slower than usual, everything did. That had never happened before either.
"Forwards!" England barked orders to the tanks, and they began to rumble a slow pace towards the invading army. James stood perfectly still, grin fading off his face into a perfectly blank look which was potentially more disturbing than any vicious smile he could make.
"Holy shit, he's completely lost it hasn't he?" Wales gaped, disbelieving.
Suddenly, the NWO turned tail and ran.
England blinked at their retreating backs. "What the..."
Scotland stopped and turned while they were still in earshot and yelled. "Hey, are those things protected from the bottom as well?!"
Both Nations looked down at the rather fresh looking concrete their tanks were rolling over.
"Cachau." muttered Wales.
---
"Shit!" America slammed his hands down on the map, the paper crunching as it wrinkled in his grip. "That son of a bitch! The fuck does he think he's doing?! He promised me, he fucking promised me no nukes, and look what he's pushing me to do! He's re-establishing the goddamn fucking Soviet Bloc!"
Canada hovered uncertainly in the background, exchanging looks of worried anxiety with Mexico and Brazil.
"First England won't let me come help him fight on his home territory, then Australia refuses my calls again for the third time this week because he's still doing recon runs to find his sister and is helping her land get governed in the mean time, and now Russia pulls this bullshit!" the blonde Nation breathed heavily, shaking in a barely-perceptible way.
"Al..." Canada reached out to his brother, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I want to to know that whatever you decide, I'm with you."
America's lips thinned into a determined line.
"Right." he drew a deep breath through his nose. "Right. Brazil, think of a city in Russia that's not Moscow or St Petersberg."
Put on the spot, Brazil hesitated. "Uh, I dunno, um..."
"Omsk?" Mexico offered, frowning with her arms folded. She didn't look happy about this, despite her suggestion.
"Where's that?" America asked, looking over the crumpled map. Canada reached over and pointed it out.
"It's there. Not too close to Moscow but it's still... got a lot of people."
America brought out a pen and, with deliberate slowness, crossed out the city.
"Not any more."
Notes:
- The modified tanks are all Challenger 2s, only probably by this point they'd be Challenger 3s or something. It's the future, use your ~*imagination*~.
- "Cachau" = "shit" in Welsh.
- Yeah, I did it. I said downhill.
- Um... don't hurt me?
Part 39
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-04-29 09:48 am (UTC)*covers ears* woah.
Yes well, my LJ-cuts do tend to at least lend to the story. Unless I'm feeling like psyching you out of course. What, when she shell hit the barrier? Yeah, that's pretty cool to watch if you're not about to bolt in terror.