Title: Divided We're Falling
Author: sithmarauder
Pairing(s): Switzerland/Austria, France/England, and America/Canada; mentioned past Austria/Hungary and Spain/Austria.
Disclaimer: Not mine, mes amis.
Beta: AWOL. I apologize for anything I might have missed.
Mind Prompt: Brooding. Rated M because I'm paranoid, and because some content may be of a disturbing nature.
What started out as something small erupted into something much bigger, and for that I apologize. This was originally just a one-shot, but before I knew it I had over five-thousand words, and I just decided it would be easier to break it off into two or three chapters. I will also be writing a small spin-off later on, from Canada's POV. Or as close to that as I can get while writing in third person.
Now, my school has started up (how fun), so I will be slower to update because high school is a BITCH and you get homework on the first day in my school.
This is a purely AU-world. Third World War-esque. New alliances. OOC-ness in the face of, well, the USA.
Also, this wasn't at all what I had originally planned. For one, I hadn't meant for it to be this long, nor had I originally intended the… twisted America/Canada you'll see later on. I really do think that America has a lurking dark side to him. Still, I hope you all enjoy it well enough (:
1/?
-x-
It hadn't been a romantic proposal, nor had it been long in coming, or planed out. In fact, the act itself had been rather impromptu, its reason spawned by the ever-growing threat of an oncoming US invasion.
When he looked back at it, it made him cringe. He had just seemed so… harmless. Yet they had all known what lurked behind that boyish, naïve exterior. The fact that he had acted so quickly, however, was something none of them had been prepared for.
But that didn't change the fact that Alfred F. Jones, more commonly known and referred to as America or the USA, had surprised them all by joining forces with Russia, created a deadly alliance that had only been crushing in its victory over the unprepared European (and non-European) countries.
God, he still remembered the looks on everyone's faces when they realized what had been happening… what had happened…
Canada had been the first to fall prey to an attack. America's neighboring country and brother, the nation famed for its peacekeeping and maple syrup had been overwhelmed by an onslaught of American and Russian soldiers. He had only survived because France, acting quicker than any had thought possible, had rushed his own soldiers overseas in an effort to defend his former colony. He had quickly been joined by England, as Canada was still officially part of the Commonwealth of Nations, and together they had managed to fend off America long enough for Canada to rally his own defenses.
But in their haste, they had forgotten Russia. And as the large country had proven once again, forgetting him was a mistake that resulted in tragedy. Using his own armies and that of Lithuania, Latvia, and India, he had invaded and defeated China in a quick and bloody battle, similar to the Battle of Abraham. Soon after, Japan had fallen, followed by Finland and Sweden, who had surrendered in order to protect his "wife."
Overseas, Mexico had surrendered without fight, strengthening Alfred's forces as he continued to struggle with Canada for domination over North America—a battle the world's second largest country was slowly loosing to the American.
Because of this, France and England's forces were being stretched thin, as Russia turned his attention to what remained of the Allies, along with Germany and Austria.
In late 2010, the world's nuclear weapons had been disabled due to increasing unrest among the civilians, and concerns from geologists, environmentalists, and other scientists worldwide. Because of this, they had all reverted to the brutal warfare last seen over sixty years ago, and every day the nations returned to their meeting room even more battered than they had been before. But they were loosing. Slowly but surely, they were loosing.
Which was why he was here now.
It was hardly surprising when formerly-neutral Switzerland had invited him to Zurich, his country's new unofficial capital, and asked if he would marry him, "purely for political reasons, of course."
Not even batting an eyelash, Austria had replied with a cool "yes." After all, Switzerland was rumoured to have one of the largest and strongest armies, much to the surprise of the world, and Russia would be after him soon enough. It was a choice between the large nation, and the temporary help Austria and the others could offer. Neutrality was not an option. Not even a week after that, he had found himself walking to a large stone church, strangely hidden in the Swiss Alps, with Germany on his right and Hungary on his left.
His former wife was looking tired—bags, not unlike his own, could be seen under her eyes, which were dull, not the vibrant green he had been in love with so long ago. Still, she gave him a comforting smile when she saw him glance over at her, and she placed a small hand on his forearm.
"It'll be fine," she whispered, turning her head to look straight. But he still caught the look of brief pain that flickered across her face, and the way she stumbled more and more over the rocky terrain.
Pulling his jacket firmly around his shoulders, Austria closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, not opening them until he heard Germany's low voice murmur to someone on the other side of the large, intimidating-looking wooden double-door that marked the entrance to the ancient chapel.
"Ah, yes, we're… we're all waiting inside." The soft hush of falling snow wasn't enough to drown out Canada's voice as the doors creaked open, which Hungary used as an unofficial cue to shove Austria inside and drag Germany after them.
Canada looked awful. He wore his aviator's outfit, but it looked nearly as worn as its owner, and was not enough to obscure the scrapes and bruises covering the northern nation's face. Austria knew that, however bad that was, what the outfit was covering was a thousand times worse.
Canada gave them all a hesitant smile, light lavender eyes flickering back and forth. Austria felt Hungary softly take his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Finally the Canadian nodded his head, as if satisfied with something, and he quietly pointed to another wooden door ahead of him, which opened when Germany gave it a slight push.
"Germany!" North Italy called from inside the chapel itself, but even he was sounding tired, his usual enthusiasm gone as he rushed over to hug the blue-eyed nation. "Come sit, Germany! Ve~ Romano and I decorated the whole place!"
Romano was here, too? Austria exhaled then, forcing himself not to close his eyes. He hadn't even heard South Italy insult Germany yet. It was both a relief and another worry to add to the pile.
The violet-eyed nation turned his head to look it the room, and he almost smiled. It was so… normal looking. A red carpet extended over the dank, dark stone to an altar a few steps up, with wooden benches on either side and a stand at the front, where he knew would rest a contract, which both he and Switzerland would have to sign in order to make the alliance final.
But it was the edelweiss flowers that adorned the benches that finally made the Austrian smile.
North Italy looked at him, smiling brightly, though it again lacked his usual enthusiasm. "You like it!" He crowed happily, amber eyes glistening lightly. "Switzerland liked it, too."
He wasn't surprised that Switzerland was already here. It was his country, after all. He was only surprised that the blonde man hadn't shown himself before this point.
His expression must have reflected this, for England, who had just come from a small door to the left, gave him a small frown.
"It isn't proper for the groom to see his bride before the ceremony, so I made Switzerland wait in his room."
Austria could feel the blush spreading across his cheeks. So he was the woman once again.
Austria winced lightly as Hungary gave him a gentle tug towards a door leading to the right, the long gash running from the inside of his left wrist all the way to his shoulder a constant reminder of the new threats they were facing now. It had been given to him when he and Germany had arrived to help Poland fend off both Belarus and the Ukraine. Belarus' alliance with Russia had come as no surprise, but Canada had reacted badly when he had learned that Ukraine had joined her tyrannical brother as well.
The hallway was small. After passing through the first door, Hungary had veered sharply to the left, opening another door and quietly making her way up a small set of spiral stairs. At the top was yet another doorway, which led to a small area that had been revamped into a dressing room. A vanity stood to his right in the circular chamber, and to the left was a dressing screen and a wooden wardrobe, molding with age.
"You have it on under your coat?" Hungary asked, lighting a candle and placing it on a table. Austria nodded and removed the blue winter jacket, revealing the white, blue-collared (and cuffed) suit with the gold trimming. Hungary smiled at him, some of her old vigor returning.
"I can't believe it took Russia and America to get you two together," she teased lightly, and Austria almost groaned as he saw the camera she had managed to conceal under her own white winter coat.
"Hungary…"
"Hush!" Hungary placed a finger against his lips as a new figure filled the doorway.
"Ah, L'Autriche, if I didn't already belong heart and soul to my beloved Angleterre, I'd marry you on the spot," France said as he stepped in, right before getting elbowed in the side by England, who had apparently been standing just behind him.
"Bloody stupid frog—"
"I fail to see why you are angry, Sourcils; I am yours, am I not?" France teased before dipping down to kiss the green-eyed nation's nose, earning a rather amusing squeak from said nation. England then proceeded to glare at his husband-slash-former-enemy before he turned his attention to Austria.
"Poland is almost here, and Spain arrived a few moments ago. We don't have much time. America is relentless in his quest to conquer Canada, and Matthew is feeling it badly."
"My poor Mathieu," France said softly. "He is too young to have to go through this again."
Austria was beginning to feel a tad bit crowded in the small room, but he nodded his head. Hearing Canada's name was a comforting thing: it meant that they weren't just lands for the taking, but living, breathing, and previously thriving beings. They had identities as well.
Francis Bonnefoy. Arthur Kirkland. Elizabeta Héderváry. Feliciano Vargas. Lovino (Romano) Vargas. Matthew Williams. Ludwig. Vash Zwingli. Roderich Edelstein. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Feliks Łukasiewicz.
They were people, too. All of them. They felt pain, and they felt sorrow. They could feel, even if other people assumed they could not. And he knew that America and Russia were feeling it as well.
"E-Excuse me? Mr. England? Mr. France? Ms. Hungary? We're ready for you downstairs," came the soft, lilting voice of Liechtenstein, who was shyly looking around England at the others in the room. She smiled when she saw Austria. "Mr. Austria," she greeted before turning and walking down the stairs, back to the main chapel.
"We shouldn't be late," England muttered as he looked at his watch. "We can't afford delays now."
France, for once, didn't say anything, instead shooting the shorter nation an unreadable look. He sighed. "All right, Angleterre; let us go. We will meet you all down there, oui?" Then the two of them were gone, and the room was once again filled with only Austria and Hungary.
"You're ready?" Hungary asked, reaching up to try and tame Mariazell, only to frown when it sprang back into place. "Even now…" he caught her saying as her hands fell back down to her side.
Austria caught her wrist. "Thank you. For everything you've ever done for me."
Hungary smiled, giving him a nod. "What are friends for?" She asked. "Now we have to go. They'll all be waiting for us."
As they walked from the room, Austria felt his back stiffen as his usual mask fall into place—that of an aristocrat.
"Like, watch where you're going! You, like, totally almost knocked me over!" An indignant voice proclaimed, and Austria suppressed a smile as Poland shook the offending snow from his jacket. "Like, seriously," the man grumbled before looking up. "… You're getting married in that? You're totally the woman—why aren't you wearing a dress?"
Austria gaped at him before sputtering something inarticulate, finally falling silent as his face heated up. Poland gave him a critical look before shrugging and flouncing passed them into the chapel.
Hungary turned to follow, but Austria remained still.
"Please, wait a moment," he said before turning to the large doors for the church. Pushing them open, the Austrian stepped into the snow, which whirled around him like a spirit. Then, looking up to the sky, the Austrian smiled, lightly extending one hand to catch a snowflake. It was cliché, but he didn't care; at that moment, he felt freer than he had in a long time, like he could spread wings and fly away from the war that plagued the world they lived in. Closing his eyes, he felt snowflakes settle on his face like gentle, fleeting kisses as they weaved their magic on the mountains of the alps, turning gray into the brightest of white.
He knew what white meant: chastity, purity, and innocence; when worn by a woman, it used to mean that they were unspoiled—clean.
Austria knew he was no more innocent than France. Spain, Hungary… Switzerland… Vash… Austria lowered his arms. His childhood friend, whom had taken care of him when he could not; who had picked him up when he had fallen (numerous times), brought him back… How could he not summon some affection, even a form of love, for the man? Even when they had grown apart, and conversations turned awkward, he had never forgotten, and never truly summoned the hostility he otherwise would have.
Turning around, as he had began to shiver lightly, Austria moved back to the still-open doorway, where Hungary stood watching. But for a moment, he swore he could have seen a flash of green from just behind her, and a shifting of the second set of doors.
"You're finished?"
"Yes," Austria said, shivering lightly as Hungary tsked and brushed the snow off his white overcoat.
"What would we have done if you had ruined your outfit?" She chided, but he could see she was secretly amused by the little snow escapade. "Now come on—I doubt it's much warmer in here than it is out there, and everyone's waiting for you."
Austria nodded, letting the cold reform the aloof façade as the female nation lightly pushed the second set of large doors open.
There was no music. How could there be? Anything of value was gone—taken to a safer place. And yet, it felt… right. Music was too normal, and too out of place for what was happening here. It wouldn't have made him feel comfortable: it would have filled the room with a sense of wrongness, making everyone shift in their seats as they struggled hard to pretend that this was customary. And then when they returned to the outside world to realize that the war was still ongoing—that they were all weakening by the second—it would be like a cold bucket of water being dumped on their heads, waking everyone up to reality.
And none of them wanted that.
Austria looked into the faces of the gathered nations. He saw Germany, stiff and formal, his head giving a minute nod as he caught Austria's eye; he saw North Italy, sitting next to Germany, his amber eyes sparkling again, but free of their usual haze; South Italy, a tired Spain resting on his shoulders, giving him a grudging nod of his own as Spain gave him that smile; Poland, muttering about his choice in outfit; Canada, looking even more beaten than before, summoning a look of encouragement over the permanent wrinkle of pain that had formed; France, grinning as he put his arm around England, who was grumbling under his breath; Hungary, walking beside him with a serene expression on her face, happy for her friend… and her camera; Switzerland, standing at the altar, his hands clasped stiffly behind his back, Liechtenstein politely at his side. The Swiss nation, dressed in the green outfit he had been wearing when they had run into each other in the supermarket, all those years ago, refused to meet Austria's eyes, choosing to direct them at the contract that lay before them on the wooden stand instead.
Germany stood then, making his way towards them, acting as a type of priest, for old time's sake. His words flew right over Austria's head as he reached down to sign his country's name in an elegant script, right next to Switzerland's signature. As soon as he put the pen down, he felt Switzerland grab his hand, sliding a simple gold band onto his finger. Austria then returned the favour, Switzerland still not looking at him as they finished the mechanical exchange.
More words were said—words which neither nation listened to, before he could feel Germany looking at them closely. "You may now kiss the bride."
Austria, who had turned to look down the room at the doors, suddenly felt hands at his chin, gently turning his head, where surprised violet met determined emerald.
"Switzerland—"
"You have snowflakes on your eyelashes," came the other's distracted and gruff reply, and before the Austrian could formulate a proper response, Switzerland's lips were upon his, demanding and patient and gentle all at once as he waited for the stunned nation to respond, which he did after a few seconds, letting his eyes flutter shut. He could feel surprisingly tender fingertips brushing the supposed flakes from his lashes, making his breath hitch.
Drawing away, Austria gave Switzerland a slightly dazed and confused look. Switzerland merely gave him a level stare, but there was a spark in his eyes, revealing promises and expectations, rewards and challenges.
The seated nations stood, clapping their hands as both Switzerland and Austria turned to look at them, Switzerland frowning lightly, as if he was wondering why they were here, and Austria trying to suppress another light blush.
Liechtenstein, however, was the most puzzling of all. She crossed the altar, her eyes serious, before looking up at Austria. "Thank you," she merely said before descending the stairs to join the other guests, where she proceeded help Canada, who was swaying lightly on his feet, eyes squeezed shut behind his glasses.
It wasn't until Canada gave a sudden exclamation of pain and all but fell into Liechtenstein, however, that the others ceased their clapping and glanced towards the door, which had been thrown open to allow a cold gust of wind in.
Standing in the entry arc was a young man in a torn bomber jacket, sandy hair and glasses, beside a threateningly tall male with a long tan coat and scarf around his neck.
"Nice of you to invite us," America said, looking up, his blue eyes flashing lightly. Beside him, Russia gave them all a cold smile, which caused France to cringe and grip England's arm tightly as the supporting country glared back with untold amounts of anger and betrayal swimming in his eyes.
"Leave, America; this does not concern the likes of you!" Switzerland shouted. Now the same height as Austria, he had wrapped a possessive arm around his new husband's waist.
"That is so mean," America whined, blue eyes sparking. "I thought we were friends, Switzerland."
"Da, friends," came Russia's laced voice, slightly muffled by the scarf. "You did not invite such good friends to your wedding?"
America just laughed, turning his attention away from the other countries and focusing it entirely upon Canada, whose breathing had quickened. Liechtenstein stood at the northern country's side, holding him up, even as America reached out and jerked the Canadian's chin up, possessing none of the gentleness that Switzerland had used on Austria less than five minutes previous.
"You're weakening, Mattie," the American murmured. "And soon not even dear Francis or Arthur will be able to save you." He then crushed their lips together, relishing in the pained mewl that erupted from Canada's throat as he bit down on the other's lip.
A sudden series of two gunshots made America stagger back quickly, turning to where England held a smoking pistol, along with Switzerland. Austria had narrowed his eyes, and the other guests were beginning to react, making Russia laughed sadistically and America grin.
"I'll be the hero, Mattie, just wait and see," was the last thing the once-Ally said before both he and Russia vanished into the snow, not even seeing Canada as he slumped to the ground, only to be quickly surrounded by France and England as Switzerland jerked and pulled Austria off the altar, out of the church and into the snow, calling for Liechtenstein and leaving the others behind as he did so.