Title: Lagniappe
Author: PwnedByPineapple
Summary: On a stormy Halloween night, America and Canada get lost in Louisiana's backwoods and encounter the forgotten creatures that lurk in the bayous. Folklore-based. State OCs included for convenience.
Rating/Warning(s): T; violence, language
Notes: State OCs included in this fic. Why? Because I needed a convenient excuse for the setting and for in-story explanations. Happy Halloween!
Disclaimer: This fangirl owns nothing but the Louisiana, Texas, and Mississippi OCs.
A storm was rising from the north, a behemoth that reared a massive head as it bore down on the bayous with a vengeance. Evening had set long ago, and night had thrown its sweeping arms securely over this corner of the world; thanks to the storm, the atmosphere was darker than usual, nearly pitch by the time Louisiana and Norway reached the back roads. Midnight was approaching, heralded by ferocious winds and an even worse chill, and Louisiana shivered in her truck, turning the heater on full blast and cursing the ill-timing of it all.
Only America could get lost on his own soil. Only him. What she couldn't figure out was how he'd ended up way out here, this far in the backwoods. She'd given him careful, explicit instructions on how to get to the camp; for le Bon Dieu's sake, it wasn't like it was her hard-to-find hunting camp, and it wasn't even in the swamp proper!
As was her habit, Louisiana had invited a few people over for Halloween. Texas and Mississippi had been first on her list, of course; they got together almost every year. Norway had already been visiting in the past week; he and Louisiana were in the midst of business plans, and she'd coaxed him into staying just a little bit longer to celebrate Halloween with them. (A holiday he incidentally wasn't too fond of, but she'd promised it'd be a relatively quiet thing, no trick-or-treaters.) France had been understandably busy, but America and Canada had agreed, and America had enthusiastically offered to drive them both down, even though Louisiana had wanted to pick them up instead. She wasn't spending Halloween at her house in New Orleans; no, she'd already been farther south, and she'd thought it would be more fun at her camp in the Lafourche area. Apparently not the best of ideas, if America was going to get himself and his brother lost along the way.
Louisiana sighed to herself. She should have gone to pick them up. It was so very typical a thing to happen, and it finally occurred to her that, if not driving to get them, she probably should have given the directions to Canada instead. He, at least, was sensible.
Well, it was too late for that. Now she had to find them.
It wasn't raining yet, but the wind was so strong and the surroundings so dark that she was forced to drive slowly. All she could see out the side windows was a waving black mass set against an even darker backdrop; the swamps were damn creepy at night, and the storm was making it worse. The truck's headlights provided her with an eerie view of the narrow road ahead, which hadn't been paved over in years and was more gravel than anything, virtually nonexistent this far into the swamps. It came to a dead end further down, and she knew she'd find America and Canada in between here and there. She'd told them to remain where they were until she came for them, and she just hoped they had enough sense to stay in their vehicle, preferably with the doors locked.
Louisiana glanced at her silent companion, who gazed out the opposite window as if he could actually see out of it. Norway wasn't much one for talking, but she was secretly rather glad he'd offered to come along; much as she loved this holiday, nights like tonight made Louisiana somewhat nervous. Things came out on nights like these, things she didn't want to encounter in stormy circumstances.
The storm was getting stronger, too, and the worst of it was soon to hit. Louisiana was having a hard enough time holding on to a radio station; her favorites had already turned to static as the approaching storm wreaked havoc with connections, and she had to constantly switch between stations to keep pace with weather updates.
"... this front... -ing through... advised to... indoors..."
Louisiana scowled as one of the last stations became too scratchy to understand; she fiddled with the dial a bit, but no good. Damn it.
And then a moment later... "There it is," Norway said suddenly, and Louisiana's eyes darted up from the radio. The headlights had illuminated an SUV, parked innocuously on the side of the so-called road. Louisiana sighed in relief, but the feeling was short-lived. As she eased her truck to a halt, she noticed a deepening frown on Norway's features, and as soon as the truck was at a complete halt, she followed his eyes and studied the scene more closely, peering forward through the windshield.
Her face mirrored her passenger's.
The SUV's doors were thrown open, and one of them was entirely missing.
There was something utterly maddening about roads in Texas's neighbor state. You could be driving along merrily, convinced you were headed in the right direction, until your irritating passenger in the seat next to you consulted a map bigger than himself and coolly informed you that you had no idea where you were going, heavily insinuating through his tone that you were an idiot. It was enough to drive someone up the wall, and Texas could not have been happier to see their destination - his sister's getaway camp.
"We are so late," Mississippi said; it was already dark, and there seemed to be a storm afoot. "Think she'll be mad?"
Texas frowned as he pulled into the dirt driveway - a driveway that, incidentally, was empty. "If she's even home," he said, leaning forward to look up at the elevated camp; no lights illuminated its depths. "There's no one here."
The two of them exchanged a brief, baffled glance, both at a loss to explain why they seemed to be the only ones present, and then Texas's cell rang.
He checked the ID and felt somewhat relieved. "Yo."
"Tex," said the none-too-happy and somewhat static-y voice of his neighbor and sister. "Where y'at?"
"Just got to your camp, actually. Damn, it's hard to hear ya. Where are you?"
There was an ominous pause. "Dad got lost, so me n' Lukas went to find him n' Mattie. I found their car," Louisiana told him.
Even more ominous. Texas had the feeling that he wasn't going to like what he heard next, and his fingers tightened on the cell. "Judging by yer less-than-overjoyed tone, I'm assuming they were not inside."
"Your intelligence astounds me." However, Texas could tell that Louisiana's heart wasn't in the jibe. She sounded really worried. "Listen. Looks like it got attacked by somethin' big. I found scratch marks and blood, and I don't see either of 'em anywhere."
Texas waved away Mississippi's curiosity with a scowl. He could hear something in Louisiana's tone that he didn't like. "Sis, you two better not go lookin' for 'em by yerselves in this weather."
"Sorry," Louisiana said, just as he'd expected her to. "You don't know what's out there, Tex. I do. I'm not gonna wait any longer than I have to."
Texas could only imagine what was out there. He muttered a curse at her, wishing she wasn't so damn stubborn, but there was no use arguing. His big-headed sister may have been a bossy and aggravating little thing most of the time, but she'd fight tooth and nail when she thought any member of her family was in danger. She'd metaphorically kill him if he tried to stop her, too. And besides, Norway was with her - that made it somewhat less worrying. "Fine. We'll be there ASAP. Wait- hang on..." He lowered the phone and waved a hand at Mississippi. "Find a pen and some paper!"
"What's going o-"
"Just do it!"
Mississippi scowled and began to rummage in the truck's glove compartment, and he eventually produced a worn-down pencil and the truck's registration papers. Texas couldn't care less. He snatched the items and raised the phone to his ear once more, cradling it with his shoulder. "'Kay, where are you?"
He jotted down the directions as fast as possible and grunted in thanks. "Maggie," he said suddenly, before Louisiana could end the call. "What... what exactly is out there?"
"I'll tell ya later," she said. "Get here soon." And she hung up without another word, before he could even tell her to be careful. Typical.
He lowered the phone slowly and stared at it, a frown resting on his face.
"Seriously," Mississippi insisted, looking as if he was about to whack Texas with the rolled-up map. "What happened? You've got that look in your eyes."
With a sudden movement, Texas jammed the keys back into the ignition and revved the engines, feeling them roar to life beneath him - a complement to the whistling winds outside. "I'll tell ya on the way," he said, backing up so fast that he ended up creating ruts that Louisiana would yell at him for. "We need to make a little detour."
Louisiana was buffeted by wind as she climbed out of her truck once more, flashlight in hand, and Norway appeared out of the gloom from the further investigation he'd been doing. He cradled a shotgun in one arm, and when he tried to offer it back to her, Louisiana shook her head. "Keep it," she said. "I've got another one. We're gonna need more than that, anyway." Shotguns, flashlights - they weren't nearly enough, not on a night like tonight.
It was always better to be safe.
Louisiana swung herself into the bed of her truck again and rummaged among the supplies that were always there. Most of it was hunting gear, but not all of it, no - her people may have been slowly forgetting their stories, but she wasn't. When she finally jumped out, it was with a backpack's worth of materials. Aside from a second pump action shotgun and flashlight, she had the works - a machete, enough ammo to supply a platoon, salt, silver, holy water, first aid kit, etc. No one could say she didn't come prepared when she drove out into the swamps. She'd even added another layer of jacket and had traded regular boots for hip boots.
Norway raised an eyebrow at the machete she wielded, but he didn't comment on it. "How many weapons do you have in there?" was all he asked, pitching his voice to be heard over the wind.
"A few," was her reply, and she handed him a box of Winchester shells. "Did you find anythin'?"
"They went that way," Norway answered, gesturing to the left side of the road and towards the dark expanse of swampland. "That's all I could find. Whatever happened, it didn't leave much." He frowned at her, barely visible in the dark. "You... seem to have an idea of what that was."
Louisiana gave him a wry look, though she wasn't sure if he could see it. "You know as well as I do that creatures of the night ain't yet vanished," she said. "Don't you feel it?"
There was a pause. "I've felt it since we got here," Norway admitted.
The winds were practically howling now, ferocious in their anger, and as Louisiana stepped past the scant shelter of her truck, she wrestled with them for dominance, trying to keep her feet. She won - she was Louisiana, after all, and though she fought such things often, they did not have power over her - and she remained on her feet, facing the darkness of the swamp. The first hints of thunder rumbled in the distance. The beam from her flashlight swung this way and that, briefly highlighting what they'd found earlier - the missing SUV door, several feet away from the vehicle to which it belonged.
She hadn't lied when she said she knew what was out there. Forgotten though her stories may have been becoming, that didn't make them any less real; if anything, they were more potent now, lashing out in slow death. And things would be worse, much worse, on a night like Halloween, which could more aptly be named the Devil's Night when it came to what lurked in her swamps and bayous. The attractive lure of nations' souls could bring out all manner of sleeping creatures, who would be strengthened by the human beliefs that this night was a night of spirits.
And I like this holiday, too, Louisiana thought darkly. I should have stayed in New Orleans. Better yet, I shouldn't have invited them at all.
But regrets were of no use at the moment; next time, she was doing all the driving. She thought back to what she and Norway had found before she'd called Texas - the torn door, the scratches on the SUV floor, the abandoned cell phones, and blood, smeared across the driver's seat.
America had been driving.
Louisiana's resolve hardened like steel; she was going to find those two, one way or another. This was her land, her swamps, and no evil entity that roamed this territory could deny her.
Closing her eyes, Louisiana delved deep into her being, past the swirl of humanity and consciousness, to a connection that dwelled in her very bones - the connection to the land that she so treasured. She called to it, embraced it, let it fill her up, and silently she asked the land for guidance.
Her eyes snapped open, flashing, and she gave Norway a glance. "Can you think of anythin' else we need?" she asked.
He shook his head, hefting the shotgun and giving her a tight grin of readiness.
They entered the trees without a backwards glance.
Canada had not felt such fear in a long time.
It wasn't the half-blind trek through the only half-drained swamp or the fact that he could hardly see anything past his feet. It wasn't the rumble of thunder in the distance or the rising, invasive winds that helped the occasional fall into swamp water to chill him to the bone. It wasn't even what he feared was still pursuing them or the fact that they were hopelessly lost in a hostile environment, surrounded by some nameless malicious presence that he felt on the fringes of his consciousness.
No - it was the fact that America wasn't even starting to heal. To Canada's mounting concern, his brother seemed to be getting progressively worse.
It was too cold, far too cold, for the alarming heat that radiated from America's body. Canada had looped one of America's arms around his own shoulders, taking on most of his brother's limp weight, and the northern twin had his remaining arm around America's waist, supporting him. Positioned so, he could feel the unnatural warmth and even worse, the trembling. It was as if America was in the clutches of fever.
Why? Why wasn't he healing? What was that thing that had attacked them, fast and strong enough to wound and possibly poison such a powerful nation?
"Stop," America finally gasped, when they'd reached a natural clearing of relatively dry land. "Need to... rest..."
Canada could hardly see a thing in the gloom, but he nodded and managed to prop his brother up against a tree. America let out a grateful sigh, closing his eyes and clutching at the bloody wound in his side where the creature had torn into him. With some gentle coaxing, Canada persuaded his brother to let him kneel down and inspect the gash, and what he saw did nothing to reassure him.
It wasn't healing.
America had closed his eyes, but he was still conscious - barely. "That storm's getting worse," he murmured, and indeed, the chilliness of the night had intensified. The winds were whistling through the trees, carrying all sorts of night sounds to them. It was eerie enough to send chills down Canada's spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Even more unnerving was the melancholy way in which America took note of the weather. Canada did not like to hear such weariness in his brother's voice, and he tried to keep his voice optimistic. Damn it, optimism was America's job. Why isn't he healing? "Maggie will figure it out," Canada said; he was still crouching beside his brother, and he gave America's shoulder a pat. "She was already looking for us, eh? She'll find us."
As if his words were capable of bringing salvation, Canada caught sight of a bright flicker dancing through the trees, some distance away. He surged to his feet, peering more closely, and a smile crossed his face. "That has to be her," he said. "Maggie! Maggie!"
But the wind snatched away his voice, erasing even the hint of a carrying echo. There was no way she'd hear him from here, and it didn't even look like she was heading in their direction in the first place.
Indecision swept over him in tidal proportions. He couldn't just leave America here, virtually defenseless as his brother was. But neither could Canada move with anything like speed if he was bringing the injured America along.
Canada hesitated. His mind wandered back to that horrible creature that had ripped the SUV's door off like it was nothing and sunk its jagged teeth into America as if he was so much meat. The memory drew forth a surge of protectiveness, and a wordless growl of frustration escaped him. What do I do?
"Go, Mattie," America said suddenly. He'd tilted his head back to gaze at Canada with dizzied eyes, and he grinned tiredly. "Can't be that far if you can see her. I'll be fine. S'not like I can die, right?" His smile was lopsided, reassuring; he was hiding his pain in order to comfort Canada. Seemed the fight hadn't gone out of him yet. The light seemed to be getting farther away, and that, finally, spurred Canada into action.
"I'll be right back," the northern twin said, bending down to give America's shoulder another squeeze. "Stay right there."
"Yeah, 'cause I was really thinking of going somewhere in this nice weather..."
Canada shook his head and then took off, urgency propelling him forward at a speed he would normally never have attempted in such a dangerous terrain. He did the best he could to keep the clearing sheltering his brother always at his back, and even though he may have been completely unfamiliar with the landscape, natural wood-craftiness took over. He made good time, nimbly avoiding the worst of the watery spots now that he had nothing to carry, and he made straight for the bobbing light, calling Louisiana's name.
It soon became a dizzying chase, and he wondered if the night was playing tricks on him, making the distance seem less than it actually was. The light hardly ever seemed to grow closer, and it got to the point that the darkness and the wind started to grow disorienting, his surroundings swirling around him and blurring together. It seemed that he was in thicker parts of the swamp, the more dangerous places, and he increased his pace in frustration.
Something suddenly snagged his foot, so violently that he cried out in shock. He was unable to stop his forward momentum, and he pitched forward, trying desperately to grab for some sort of handhold. He slid sideways, down some sort of steep land incline, and suddenly he was enveloped by icy coldness, water that stole the oxygen from his body and stung him fiercely. Breathing was no longer possible, and Canada thrashed against the sudden mess of roots and vines that sought to entrap him and drag him even further down. He choked out of reflex, and water filled his lungs.
No! He couldn't technically die, but drowning, even without permanent death... he fought wildly, panic starting to enter his mind as the surface seemed to get farther away. It was freezing and painful, and he could not reach the surface.
Damn it, no. America... America needed him. He couldn't fucking drown. But the strength was seeping out of his body as a terrible coldness replaced it, and no matter how hard he fought, something always caught him, kept him from reaching that tantalizing surface...
A bright, ghostly blue-white light suddenly appeared above him, vague and undefined above the surface of the water, and most definitely not Louisiana. Canada could feel a malevolent presence wash over him, chilling him and dragging him down even further, and even as the strength went completely out of his body, he imagined that the presence was laughing and hungering after his soul...
It vanished. Everything went dark.
Canada dimly felt hands grip his shoulders, gathering fistfuls of his shirt and yanking him upwards. His head broke the surface of the water, and immediately he was choking, trying to expel every bit of water that had filled his body. He could hardly see thanks to the coughing that wracked his body, but he was aware enough to know that a familiar face had saved him, even as the figure dragged him up onto solid ground.
Norway. Hadn't Norway been visiting Louisiana?
Canada shuddered as he vomited up the last of the water; his throat was aching and raw, and the cold was ten times as bad as before, soaked as he was. Norway gripped one of his arms, steadying him, and dazed, Canada looked from him to the silhouetted figure of Louisiana, positioned as she was between them and the ball of light. She was speaking to it, furious and commanding, and it was almost as if her words blew it back. Though it had no features, no earthly way of expressing emotion, he knew it was angry. It had lost potential, unsuspecting prey, and now, confronted by a being who knew exactly how to deal with it, it had no choice but to retreat, bobbing away.
As soon as it had disappeared and darkness had once again fallen, Canada heard rustling and approaching footsteps, and suddenly a pair of arms enveloped him, shaking almost as badly as him. "Thank God," Louisiana said, hugging him tightly. "Are you alright?"
Even through her layers of coats, she was warm, and it made him acutely aware of just how cold he was. "I-I'm f-fine," he said, teeth chattering; his voice rather belied the words, and Louisiana pulled away and gave him a Look.
"Of course you are," she said, shrugging off one of her coats and offering it to him. "In any other case, I'd tell you to change, but that ain't exactly practical. You'll just have to deal. Now," she said, as Canada wrapped himself in the coat, shivering, "where is Dad, and what the hell happened to you two?"
Canada's eyes widened, and panic bubbled to the surface. He rose unsteadily to his feet, spinning around. His eyes scanned the surrounding swamp, barely able to distinguish anything in the dark. "Oh, no," he whispered. He was disoriented. Completely turned around. "I-I left him to get you - or I thought it was you. I don't remember the way I came!"
"Hey!" Louisiana said, raising a hand as if to stall his worry, and she climbed to her feet with Norway's help. He handed her a machete and shotgun. "S'alright. I found you, didn't I? The land'll guide me to him."
That was right - she had a peculiar connection to her land, stronger than most in this modernized world. Canada watched as Louisiana closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. A few moments later, though nothing remarkable appeared to happen, her eyes opened, and she nodded, her gaze hardening. "Off we go. We'll talk on the way."
It was much easier going with two flashlights. Norway and Louisiana stayed on either side of Canada, Louisiana occasionally hacking away obstacles with her machete, and Canada briefly explained how, not long after America had called Louisiana, a horrible beast had attacked their vehicle - it had looked, for lack of a better term, like a werewolf. It had ripped off the driver's door and attacked America before either of them could so much as react. America had punched it away, but not before the damage was done. After that, they'd managed to get out of the SUV, but that was where the problems had started. America had once again beaten back the creature, this time using the ripped-off door, but the simple effort had taken it out of him in an alarming way. He'd nearly collapsed on the spot, only keeping his feet thanks to Canada, who had been forced to make a hasty retreat - unfortunately into the swamp.
"He kept getting worse and worse," Canada said. "Thanks to that stupid bite! Don't tell me that thing was really-"
"A rougarou," Louisiana finished grimly. "Haven't seen one of those in a while. But don't worry about America... if I'm right about the rougarou, he'll be fine."
Canada frowned at her. "And... that thing back there?" he asked, wondering how much she knew.
"Fifolet," Louisiana said. "Don't ask."
Before Canada could ask regardless, his attention was diverted by their surroundings. He recognized this place. He'd burned this area into his memory... except for one, vital thing that was missing. "Stop!" he gasped, looking around in horror. This couldn't be the place, could it? But even though it was dark, even though all he had was the light from a few flashlights, he knew it well.
It was the little clearing where he'd left America. And America was gone.
Pain. That was the sensation that woke America. There was a throbbing pain in his left side, and it lanced throughout his body, burning and writhing in his very blood. It hurt so damn much, and it was all he could do to open his eyes. His body responded to his mind's commands only as an afterthought, it seemed, and when his eyes had at last flickered open and focused, he saw roiling clouds above him.
He winced, expecting to feel the bite of the storm's winds, but nothing was forthcoming. He could hear wind and occasionally thunder, but the air around him was still. Unnaturally so.
With some difficulty, he pushed himself up on his elbows, taking in his surroundings in a glance. He was in a different clearing than the last one he remembered, and this one was bigger and most definitely manmade. Several yards away from him was the dim outline of a small, ramshackle, and, if the smell was anything to go by, rotting cabin. He wondered, at first, why he could even see it... and then he turned himself as quickly as possible, searching for the source of the faint light.
She was an old woman. She stood near him, and she glowed with unhealthy blue-white light, leering at him. She took a step towards him, and instinctively America tried to backpedal... which didn't exactly work, seeing as that he couldn't even get to his feet.
"It's a shame," the old woman rasped, "that you can resist the rougarou curse. You'd make a powerful servant, boy. But no matter..." Here she laughed, a cackle reminiscent of every TV witch America had ever seen... but so, so much worse. He shuddered. "You'll still make a delicious meal and gift for my master. Your soul is the strongest I've ever seen."
"The hell are you talking about?" America demanded, struggling to get his feet. He managed to climb up onto his knees, but the effort left him gasping. He was weak, weaker than he could ever remember feeling. What was happening?
The old woman only grinned dementedly at him; there was a hunger in her eyes, hunger for him, that gave him chills. He barely had time to react when she lunged for him, but he managed a punch, determined to fight her off no matter how weak he was.
He could not make contact with a solid form. It was as if his hand had gone straight through her.
She, however, latched onto him with terrifying strength. One of her hands twisted into his shirt and the other grabbed him by the hair. She was laughing as she did so, shrieking in wordless joy, and with a growl of rage America tried to throw her off. But like before, it was no use. He felt an alarming tug beneath his consciousness, as if his entire being had shifted, and he realized, as her rotted teeth bared and she bent towards him as if to take a bite, that his being was exactly what she was trying to feed on.
America's eyes widened in disgust and anger. No! His physical weakness was already humiliating. There was no way he'd let this bitch win in the mental department. His awesome soul was not going anywhere.
The two of them were locked in a struggle for dominance, the woman clinging to him as he fought her with all the concentration he possessed, frozen rigid from his exhaustion and effort. But though America mentally fought like a wildcat, he was growing tired; the weariness in his body was intensifying, and his mind wavered, wanting to give in, to sleep.
It would be so easy, to give in to sleep. He was so very tired...
"In nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sanctum."
The words, though unfamiliar, held undeniable power, and the sharp female voice rang through the clearing. The old woman flinched back, snarling, and America saw Louisiana and Canada emerge at a run from the darkness and the trees, both wielding shotguns. They came to an abrupt halt, apparently unable to go further.
"You can't get in!" the old woman shrieked, her hands tightening on her prey. America growled again, trying to pull away. "You can't get to him! My power is too strong!"
"Is it?" Louisiana said venomously, and both she and Canada spoke in unison.
"Au nom du pere et du fils et du saint esprit."
The old woman cried out with a spasm, and the two jumped into the clearing, as if all resistance had suddenly vanished. "Should I say it again?" Louisiana asked, approaching, circling like a cat after prey. "Can you stand to hear such holy names, you filthy demonic spawn?" As the old woman snarled once again, her hands finding America's neck, Louisiana's eyes narrowed. "Get the hell off him!" she spat. "You know nothing of power! Could you fight my gris-gris? I use it in the Holy One's name, and He will use me to send your pathetic soul back to your master!"
Indulging in wild laughter, the old woman's hands tightened on America's neck, caressing and stroking; he shuddered, grasping at his neck in an effort to pry her off, but his hands slid through her form. "Why haven't you done so already, then?" the woman said in maniacal glee. "If you are so powerful? The One you serve is not nearly so great as my Master!"
Then her eyes bulged as she stiffened, froze. A moment later, she cried out in agony. Ghostly flames enveloped her body, and America flinched, but he couldn't feel them. Her weight suddenly lifted from his body as she writhed, screaming bloody murder, and the gruesome sight of her burning body transfixed him.
"You're right," Louisiana said scornfully, as the woman lunged for her, screaming. "He doesn't possess your great stupidity."
Her eyes feral in rage and fear, the old woman burned up in one brutal burst of flame, and her final scream whipped around the clearing and dissolved into the howl of the winds, becoming enveloped and lost to the storm.
There was an entirely different light nearby, orange and flickering; it came from the cabin. Norway emerged from within a moment later, a lighter and small can of gas in his hands. "I got her," he informed them, looking satisfied, and Louisiana gave him an appreciative thumbs-up.
For a moment, things were still. Then America was struggling weakly to his feet, and Louisiana was hurrying forward. "You moron!" she said, setting aside her shotgun and catching his arms, helping him up. "Don't scare me like that! Learn to follow directions, dammit!"
"Sorry," he said shakily, giving her an apologetic grin. "You were really cool, though."
Louisiana made an aggravated noise of frustration and gave him a brief, tight hug. America winced but returned it with a smile, and as she pulled away and Norway came forward, he saw that Canada was hanging back. The northern twin was frowning, his eyes on their surroundings, and America opened his mouth to ask him what was wrong.
A vicious snarl erupted, and a huge shadow burst forth from the trees. The grotesque wolf creature was speed itself, lunging for them with murder in its yellow eyes. With a gasp, Louisiana twisted around, placing herself in between the approaching beast and America, but a second later, Norway did the same, throwing himself between her and the attack. The thing's claws raked across his back, and both America and Louisiana cried out in anger.
A shot rang out, and the creature fell back, howling in pain. Canada stalked forward, swinging the shotgun up once more and firing again. And again. He drove the creature into the ground, firing until it was good and dead and the shells ran out. It moved no more, and as Canada lowered the gun, he glared at the bloody body. "That was for my brother," he whispered.
They all stared at him, and America reflected in some surprise on the fact that his brother was, indeed, a badass.
Canada turned around abruptly, gazing at Norway in concern. "Are you alright?" he asked.
However, Norway had a rare smile on his face, and he waved away the others' worry. He turned slightly to the side, showing them that only the layers of coats had been torn, thick as they were. "Didn't even reach my back," he said.
They smiled with him, though a moment later, America was shaking his head. "What the hell just happened?" he asked, feeling enormously tired and as if he was going to pass out any second. He swayed a bit. "Seriously, just... what?"
Louisiana and Canada steadied him, and Louisiana made sure that Canada had a firm grip before picking up the lighter and gas can that Norway had dropped. "Best as I can figure it, she was a voodoo witch," the state explained as she knelt down, rummaging in her backpack and shoving the items in there. "However, she sold her soul to the Evil One, and when she died, she just kept on livin' in ghost form, doin' the Devil's dirty work." Rising, she picked up her shotgun and gestured to the body of the creature. America jumped when he saw that it was no longer wolfish in form; it was a man, disheveled and still dead. "That rougarou - werewolf," she clarified, in response to America's puzzled look, "probably sold his soul through the witch as well and did her bidding. Possibly why he attacked you two." Here she smiled grimly at America and Canada. "Our souls are tempting prizes for their kind."
America frowned, recalling England's 'friends'. Though America never liked to admit that he believed England, he could see them on nights like tonight, and he knew they were as real as all he'd encountered today. "But... what about England's faeries?" he asked. "They aren't like that."
"He's never told you about the other side of the coin, has he?" Louisiana asked. "There are good spirits here, too. Just as he's home to bad ones. Ask Norway." She began to poke around in her backpack again, her brows furrowed.
The Nordic nation shrugged when America looked questioningly at him. "The fey world is made up of good and bad," he said. "Just like humans. We just have to make sure the bad stays in check."
The wind was starting to pick up, invading the clearing that a moment before had been completely devoid of the storm, and droplets of rain were hitting them. It got harder and harder by the moment, and Louisiana swore, looking up at the dark sky. "Her charms must be wearin' off now that she's dead," the state said. "We'd best be gettin' back fast. Here..." She tossed a roll of bandages to America and a tiny bottle of antiseptic wash to Canada. "Get your injury covered. It'll be a while before it heals."
America caught the roll as his eyes widened. "Hold on!" he said, as Canada made to help him. "That witch or whatever mentioned a r-rouga-something curse. And if that thing was a werewolf," he continued, in growing horror, "and it bit me, am I gonna turn into a werewolf?" That would suck!
Louisiana laughed. "Don't worry," she said. "You haven't recovered yet because your body's fightin' it off. Those kind of curses can't affect our kind, though they hurt like hell. You'll be fine soon - actually, pretty fast now that the thing is dead. A good sleep, and you'll be like new. Hurry up!"
With Canada's help, America managed to clean and tightly bandage his side as best he could under a flashlight and firelight and while being rained on. It made him feel slightly better - at least, less like his guts were ready to come spilling out - but his mind was still burning with questions. He looked up to find Louisiana and Norway making a sweep of the area, hunting down something or the other. "Hey!" he said, needing to know. "How did you kill her anyway?"
"Me n' Matthew were the distraction," Louisiana called back, crouching down and digging at something in the dirt, "while Lukas sneaked into her cabin. I figured that if she was lingerin' near it, her body must've been in there. All you gotta do is burn the body, and that gets rid of their connection to this world. 'Kay, Lukas, I think that's the last one." She poured a few small objects into Norway's hand, and he hurried over to the cabin, throwing them into the flames that still burned inside it, sheltered from the rain. The flames turned a pale blue color for a moment before returning to their normal orange.
"What was that?" America asked curiously.
"Bon Dieu, stop asking questions!" Louisiana said. "The witch's voodoo charms, that protected this area. Just in case. Now, we really need to go. You ready?"
America nodded. "I can definitely walk," he said, and his words had the rug pulled out from under them when he took one step forward and stumbled, his head spinning. "Oh, shit, never mind," he groaned. His body still felt like it was fighting off a particularly malevolent form of the flu, which he supposed was the rougarou curse.
"Idiot," Canada muttered, coming up to his right side and supporting one half of him in much the same way he'd practically carried America into the swamp. "I've got you."
"We'll just go slow," Louisiana said, and America could feel his face burning. Dammit, he hated being so weak.
Louisiana looked to Norway. "You got the thing?" Norway stepped to the side and retrieved an honest-to-God machete from where he'd probably stashed it. He handed it to Louisiana, and the two of them went first into the swamp, followed by Canada and America.
America was getting so tired, but it was tempered by relief. His brother was helping him along, following the two ahead of them as Louisiana hacked a much easier path through the swamp, somehow leading them through the driest parts even as they got steadily soaked by the rain.
"Hey, Mattie," America said. "Thanks."
Canada frowned. "For what?"
"For protecting me. Sorry I couldn't be more of a hero." America's face was warm. Damn, that was embarrassing. He hated feeling so useless.
Canada scowled. "I left you alone," he said. "If those two hadn't showed up, we'd be in a much worse situation right now. Because I was stupid enough to follow damn swamp light!"
"At least you did something!" America wanted to ask what exactly the light had been, but the moody look on Canada's face made him hesitate. Best not to bring that up when his brother was beating himself up over it. "Look, Matt, it doesn't matter. I'm the one who got us lost in the first place. I told you to go. My fault to begin with. And you handled the situation great, you really did. Honestly, I woulda been too scared to do anything."
"Shut up, Al," Canada said, turning away and using the darkness to hide his face. America obliged, hearing some thick emotion in his brother's voice. Best not to provoke him and get yelled at again.
She saw him only for a few moments and sensed him more than anything. He was unnaturally tall and thin and had abnormally long appendages that blended perfectly with the trees around him. In fact, the only reason he stood out was because he did not wave as they did in the wind. No, he was still - as if he wanted her to see him.
Louisiana's eyes narrowed, but she gave no hint to the others. She kept on going, not wanting to alert them; no need for them to worry. But her mind was focused upon him, defiant. Don't you dare tread on my land, she told him, in challenge and threat. You may be gaining power, but you aren't yet strong enough to challenge my rule on this land. These are mine.
After a moment, he gave her the mockery of a bow, and if she hadn't known any better, she would have said he was simply a tree bending in the wind.
Then he disappeared.
It wouldn't be the last of him, she reflected grimly, as she glanced back to reassure herself that Norway was still beside her and America and Canada were right behind her. It wouldn't be the last of anything. Belief was a strange thing. It governed the existence of her kind and the existence of all creatures that defied the world's natural laws. She hadn't mentioned this to the others - though Norway already knew - but the old ways were dying - the old stories and the creatures that accompanied them and the old magic. The things they'd faced tonight, even on this Halloween night, a boon for spirits, were not as powerful as they'd once been. As belief in them faded, so did they. But new stories were coming, as they always did, even through the most unusual and unlikely of means. And where the old would lose, they would gain.
However, she was not going to worry about that tonight. She had one objective as of right now, and that was the family she had to protect. Before anything else, she needed to get them out of this place.
Upon emerging at last from the swamp onto the old back road, they discovered an unfortunate thing.
"MY TRUCK!" Louisiana raged, her eyes flashing in anger. She ran forward, bending down to inspect the tires - which were slashed. "Goddammit! My truck! You little fuckers!" This was shouted back at the swamp, and America glanced back nervously, as if expecting to see more spirits or creatures.
As Louisiana spit out a stream of words in her Cajun French (which was, judging by Canada's expression, not at all nice), America looked hopelessly to Norway for explanation. The Nordic nation shrugged once more, shaking his head. "There are some creatures who are just mischievous," he said. "Their idea of a Halloween joke," he added, rather sourly.
"Someone's coming," Canada said suddenly, gazing down the road, and sure enough, headlights were approaching through the mist and drizzle. Louisiana paused in her bilingual swearing only a moment as another truck parked itself near them, and the driver's door opened.
"That's right, people," said a tall, broad-shouldered figure as he stepped out and flourished his arms. He was practically singing. "Texas, comin' to save the motherfuckin' day!"
"That's my song, kid," America said with a grin.
Texas returned the grin. "Yeah, well, it don't exactly fit you right now, seeing as that it looks like you just got your ass saved."
America frowned at this, glaring at Texas, as Mississippi got out from the passenger's seat, shooting Texas a similar glare as he approached. "If it hadn't been for me and a map," Mississippi told them, scowling, "he would have driven us into a bayou. What happened to Maggie's truck?"
"Apparently, something thought it would be funny to mess with her," Canada responded, as Texas approached Louisiana warily. The female state was still pissed beyond belief and looked in the mood for murder as she inspected her truck. "I really don't want to know what that something is."
Texas raised his hands. "Easy now," he said to Louisiana. "We'll get a tow truck out in the mornin'. Your rims will be fine, and if not, we'll just get you some new ones, 'kay? Been a while since you gave 'er a makeover, anyway, hasn't it?"
Louisiana calmed down sulkily. "Fine," she muttered and shot a dark look towards the swamp. A moment later, she stalked to the edge once more. "If that truck is in any way worse when I come back for it," she shouted threateningly, "there will be some nasty hell to pay, you hear me, you little coo-yons?" With a huff, she turned back to the others. "Mais, let's get back! It's wet out here!"
Canada helped America into the backseat of Texas's truck as the states and Norway began to move things from the SUV and Louisiana's truck into the newcomer vehicle. As soon as America was comfortably seated, nearly passed out in the seat, Canada made to help, but Louisiana pushed him firmly towards America. "I haven't forgotten that you nearly drowned," she said. "You're not doin' a thing."
Despite Canada's protests, Louisiana made him sit back in the truck beside America and handed him two blankets. And Canada had to admit, he really didn't feel like exerting any effort right now. He leaned tiredly back in the seat, and America's eyes opened groggily for a moment, snatching one of the blankets from him. "Hey, Mattie," he said sleepily, draping the blanket over himself, and then his head slid down, onto Canada's shoulder. A moment later, he was snoring.
Canada smiled, feeling his own eyes growing rather heavy. It was so much warmer inside the truck, and though he was still damp all over, it was rather comfortable. And it was nice not to have to worry. He wrapped himself in the second blanket, settling down. They were safe... finally...
When everything was finally moved and Louisiana opened the door once more, her eyes widened, then softened. "Aww," she said, then shot a glare at the very loud Texas. "Shut up!" she hissed. "They're sleeping!"
Canada's head had fallen as well, right onto America's, and they made quite the adorable picture, fast asleep. And nothing, it seemed, could disturb them. Even as Texas took the driver's seat, Norway slid into the passenger's, and Louisiana and Mississippi squished together into what was left of the backseat, the North American nations did not stir. America didn't even move when Louisiana took a moment to carefully inspect the bandaged wound in his side.
"There's no room," Mississippi complained and was shushed furiously by Louisiana.
"Deal with it!" she said.
Shaking his head as a whisper-argument started, Texas started the truck and skillfully turned it around on the narrow road. "You see what I have to deal with?" he said conversationally to Norway, as he peeled out of there.
The Nordic nation glanced at the backseat, built only for three people yet housing four. Canada and America were still fast asleep against each other, even through the bickering over space that Louisiana and Mississippi were getting into. Norway smiled a small smile. "It's a nice family," he said quietly.
Texas got a thoughtful look on his face. "Yeah," he said after a moment, smiling back. "It really is."
They got America settled onto the couch in the living room, because he was too freaked out to stay in a dark bedroom. He greedily clutched at the remote as soon as he got his hands on it and was delighted to find that the TV got cable. As soon as he found a nicely loud and colorful channel, he sighed in comfortable relief, sinking into the blankets and pillows he'd be given and giving Louisiana's dog, Rouge, a friendly pat; the state had ordered Rouge to keep America company, which he was grateful for. "You know," he said, smiling, "being useless may suck, but I love getting attention."
Louisiana threw her own pillow at him as she came into the room, drying off her hair with a towel in her other hand. America squeaked in indignation as it hit him in the face. "Just for that," she said, "you and your map-deficient brain are helpin' me put new rims on my truck. How's your side?"
America tossed the pillow back at her. "Better. Whatever you used really works."
"Time-honored Cajun remedies," Louisiana said with a satisfied nod. "You'll be fine when the sun comes up."
"Awesome," America said. "Got any beer?"
"The only way you're gettin' alcohol is to pour it all over your little scratch," Louisiana told him, scowling. "It's three in the mornin'!"
As America pouted, Louisiana glanced back and yelled for Texas, who emerged from the hallway a few seconds later, scowling and lugging something along. "Don't shout at me, I got it," he said and threw several sleeping bags out in the middle of the living room.
America looked at them in surprise, then comprehension. "You're gonna sleep in here?" he asked happily.
"'Course," Texas said. "Think we'd leave ya alone? We'd wake up with you cowering in one of our beds!"
"Maggie, he's being mean!"
"I'm not your damn mom! Hit him, then!"
As America threw another pillow at Texas, Norway entered the room, skillfully ducking what was threatening to become a pillow fight. "You people do yell a lot," he observed, commandeering the other couch before anyone else could.
Canada and Mississippi came in a moment later, each grabbing sleeping bags off the floor and settling in the best spots. With cries of outrage at being cheated so, Texas and Louisiana lunged for the next best, and after a bit of scuffling, Louisiana won, triumphantly leaving Texas with the old and worn sleeping bag to seek a comfortable place at the edge of the warm rug. He shook his head sadly as he did so, muttering about greedy family members.
"If you don't mind," Mississippi said after a moment, looking up pointedly at America, "I'd like to sleep."
America frowned, then his eyes widened. "Oh!" he said, reaching for the remote. "Sorry!" With so many people in the room, it felt safe, and he turned the TV off with confidence. Canada got the lights.
"Now, ya'll don't let the cauchemar get ya tonight," Louisiana said mischievously as they all settled down to get some much needed sleep.
Immediately, America sat up, wincing as he did so and clutching at Rouge; the dog lifted his head and looked irritated. "The what?" he asked. "What're you talking about? Something else?"
Louisiana merely rolled over, curling more deeply into her blankets, and didn't answer.
"Seriously, what are you talking about? What's gonna get us? Maggie!"
Louisiana could hear Canada and Norway quietly chuckle, and she smiled to herself, shaking her head. "Nothing," she said sleepily. "Nothin' you have to worry about. This camp is practically soaked in Holy Water, don't worry."
This answer did not satisfy America in the slightest, but he settled back down with some grumbling, and Rouge did the same. Louisiana laughed to herself and closed her eyes, finally able to relax in the knowledge that, for tonight, her family and friends were safe. She listened to the threat of the wind outside, but she smiled. You can't touch us, she thought drowsily.
Outside, the storm raged on, bringing with it winter's inescapable chill. And though many things may have lurked outside that little camp, even scraped across its windows in a vain effort to get in, nothing could disturb the protected, guarded warmth of that place.
Outside, the shadows waited. But not even on that darkest of nights were they getting in.
Notes:
1. Maggie (Magnolia) = Louisiana. Lukas = Norway. It's a name Himaruya has been considering for Norge, and I like it.
2. Yes, there's an Internet meme in there. Yes, I have a good reason beyond morbid fascination.
3. In the past few weeks, several representatives of Norwegian businesses have been in South Louisiana; they hope for markets here, as well as possible markets for Louisiana businesses in Norway.
4. I may have embellished or fabricated certain aspects of legends in here for the purpose of storytelling. For the simple facts: the fifolet is the Cajun will o' the wisp, said to be a tricky spirit guarding buried treasure. The rougarou (or loup-garou) is the Cajun werewolf, traditionally said to go after Catholics who'd broken Lenten promises. The mentioned cauchemar (literally 'nightmare') is a nightmare witch/spirit/devil said to possess or attack people in their sleep. And most traditional Cajun legends, told among predominantly Roman Catholic people, involve the Devil's influence and invoking the holy power of God against him.
5. The burning of the body to get rid of the ghost is something I borrowed from Supernatural, though, because I'm unoriginal.
6. There is a mix of French, Cajun French, and Latin in this fic. Also, some words are Cajun slang, so don't correct me on my spelling.
lagniappe - a little something extra
bayou - basically a small river
Bon Dieu/le Bon Dieu - the Good Lord
Au nom du pere et du fils et du saint esprit. - the Sign of the Cross in French
In nomine patris, et filii, et spiritus sanctum. - the Sign of the Cross in Latin
gris-gris - magic, power, the like
mais - well
coo-yon - rascal, stupid