One of the first stories I wrote using my UK brothers head-canons. Designed by a Northern Irish person who just wanted representation. It turns out it's hard to not create the rest of them as you go. Hopefully I'll get better at using them! England ends up stuck in France of all places during his summer holidays. OC Nations included: Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland and perhaps the provinces of France if I continue. Hope you guys enjoy! I don;pt own Hetalia, I'm just a big lover of the UK! Rated for some very vile language and some horrible written accents.
Summer Holiday.
England tapped his foot impatiently, that bastard France. Leaving them here at the stupid airport after saying he'd give them a lift. He looked back at his brothers glaring at them inside his mind. 'Let's go on holiday together this year!' Northern Ireland had insisted, probably given the idea by Wales, Scotland had insisted on France, because he was a traitor and an ass-hole and because France was usually not too hot for him, The redhead was currently applying sun cream to his face, offering it to Northern Ireland, who didn't look interested, Wales went about applying it for him. England decided he hated this already. There was a reason people had brothers it was so you could ignore them.
"When did France say he was getting here?" England snapped, Wales looked up from Northern Ireland's now sun protected face and checked his watch.
"We arrived early England." He said. Shrugging his shoulders softly, "Just relax and enjoy the beautiful weather…" Wales said, smiling tentatively, wandering over and offering the tube of high factor sun lotion to his little brother, who snatched it harder than he intended. "I can't wait to see the sites. I haven't been to France in such a long time."
"I've never been to France. Ever." Northern Ireland said, he sounded excited, taking the same tone America had taken at that age when he was looking forward to something. Usually backstabbing. "I hear the food is really good here!"
"French dining is the best in the world…." Wales explained, smiling thankfully as England pushed the sun lotion back into his hands, he went to work applying it to his shoulders.
"I beg your pardon, English food is far superior." Wales shrugged leaning down to rub the sun lotion into his legs.
"Of course." Wales sounded like he was just trying to settle things easily, and England chose not to pick a fight. "It was nice of him to loan us an apartment, don't you think?"
"I thought you hated France?"
"I do hate France, but even I have to admit his country is very nice….if only to visit." That meant Wales had been going soft and was letting old rivalries drift out of his mind, figured. "You'll enjoy it here North, the beaches are actually warm."
"….Beaches can be warm?" Wales chuckled, then went to work sorting through their plane tickets, asking England to check them over for him, England had to rearrange things before sliding them back into the racing green travel folder. He missed Britain already. France was a hot confusing place where women didn't shave and all queuing standards slipped terribly.
"How much longer?"
"Half an hour." Scotland answered, he lifted their travel bags, one each and not too big, because British men never brought very much on holiday unless they were married, and none of them were, even if England often felt like he were married to Wales. He groaned at the idea. England decided to plop himself down on a bench, his belongings set beside him to avoid any close contact from anyone. His brothers seemed not too interested in him, at least until Northern Ireland discovered he had a bottle of apple juice in his bag and offered it out to him.
"No, thank you." England said, verging on polite. Going over the layout of the holiday in his mind, a few days at the apartment France had loaned them, then they were moving on to the French countryside, where they'd be staying in a little cottage, there was a lake and everything, where they could avoid each ether to their hearts content. He would rather go straight there. Just go fishing or hiking or read a book in the sun. He lamented his situation.
Scotland plopped down at the edge of the bench, maintaining as much distance as possible. They'd barely spoken a word to each other the entire trip and England wasn't starting a conversation now.
"Maybe we should give France a call, let him know we're here." Wales suggested, always the voice of disjointed reason.
"We can wait." Scotland mumbled, curling one leg over the other, England almost scoffed once more at his tartan shorts and hairy tree trunk legs. Scotland had scoffed at his beige ones and they'd called it a day. Northern Ireland chose to sit in the sun on the curb leaning backwards to look at England and Scotland, his eyes obscured by sunglasses he'd borrowed from America. They were aviators and they looked ridiculous.
"We're staying in Paris, right?"
"Right." Wales nodded, he'd always wanted to see Paris, had only been there briefly during the war…it hadn't been a leisurely visit then. "It's the capital you know."
"I'm not an idiot…everyone knows that." Northern Ireland snipped back. Wales adjusted the strap of his sports vest in a pointed effort to show he was ignoring his little brother. "…Is it nicer than my capital?"
"…Belfast?" England asked, his mouth curling in amusement. "Anywhere is nicer than Belfast, even this accursed frogs territory."
"Shut up, Belfast is awesome. Nicer than Cardiff or Edinburgh."
"Don't push yer luk Laddeh." Scotland warned. Who went on to grumble something derogatory about London, and England almost opened his mouth to protest but he was interrupted by a smooth voice. All four sets of eyes would flit to it.
"I em glad you all got 'ere so safely." France lowered his designer sunglasses and smiled as pleasantly as he could muster. "But…sil vous plais….refrain from murduring each ozer while you are 'ere." England puffed up.
"Can we just go, please? We've been waiting here long enough." He was already on his feet bag in hand and France bit back laughter at his attire, white T-shirt with a thin green sweater vest, beige shorts and some trainers with white socks. Northern Ireland joined him, a cheerful smile coating his face as he shoved the aviators up and perched them on his head, France took a careful step backwards.
"My….You're certainly gotten bigger…'aven't you?" He mused, he hadn't seen Northern Ireland in a few years, and he'd only been a pre-teen then, now he seemed to be at his full adult height, a good few inches off England or Wales, but his adult teeth had finally grown in where there had been gaps before, much more handsome than he had been as a youngster.
"I was hoping to be a lot bigger but…." Northern Ireland fidgeted where he stood, in his torn up denim quarter lengths and white T-shirt, a cute little shamrock with a cute smiley face was emblazoned there. "England says I'm stunted."
"Ignore 'im, 'e is just jealous."
"Thank you again for having us, France." Wales said, sounding awkward, he took a hold of England's shoulder to skilfully stop the Englishman diving forward and making a big fight out of nothing. England frowned, The Welshmen had chosen to wear a simple turquoise sports vest and some black shorts, a pair of trainers (Sans socks) and some simple sunglasses that he had looped around his neck on a cord. France cocked a brow, he approved. "Apologies for the inconvenience."
"Not a problem..Em only glad you can all be 'ere to….experience the tru delights of my country!"
"He means he wants to show off." England translated snidely, and Northern Ireland chuckled into his hand.
"Where the fook is yer car, Lad?" Scotlands voice interrupted, he looked irritated by the mindless banter. "I wanna load meh crap in and get going to yer pansy arse capital." France looked hurt for a second, then seemed to lightly brush the insult off.
"Of course, Ecosse." France said, beckoning them to follow. Wales cocked a brow and leaned in to mumble to England.
"Is France wearing white trousers and a pink T-shirt? Or is it just me?"
"I see it too, ignore him."
"…You'd think his legs would get awfully hot in there." Wales said, lifting his bag and struggling to get it over his arm, blinking as Scotland d took it off him and carried it along. He trotted pausing at the car-park as France pulled his keys from a pocket and his car unlocked, a fancy looking white family saloon, England noted in horror that the interior was pure leather.
"Is nice, non?" France cooed, turning with an artistic swoosh, the four Britons looked only vaguely impressed. "It's Japanese you know."
"….We know." Northern Ireland said. France turned to see Scotland was already dumping their bags nonchalantly into the boot. Slamming it shut much too hard and causing France to waggle his arms in a cease and desist motion.
"I'd much rather take a taxi…." Wales admitted, England shook his head at the idea.
"Doesn't the white get dirty really fast?" Northern Ireland asked, his fingers slid down the paint work it let out a harsh SQUEEEAK. France scowled at him.
"Oui, et is very sensitive to mooky finghers!"
"Then it's nay likely to last long around us." Scotland said. "Oor fingers ten' at be ver' mooky." France let out a humourless laugh.
"Just get in ze car." Wales frowned sliding in after his younger brother, England instantly rolled the window down. And leaned there when the car started to move. Scotland, who had sat in the front due to his bigger size simply folded his arms and ignored them. After a long period of awkward silence, in which France had asked each brother a question and received very blunt answers he finally flicked the radio on. Nothing was said until.
"French radio is lame." Northern Ireland spoke up. He'd rolled his window down too and now his aviators covered his face, auburn curls flicking in the wind.
"You mait 'ear it better if you closed ze windows."
"We can't." France scowled. British people were so…awkward. He decided not to make a fuss about it, it was hot, he assumed the British melted when they got hot. More silence awaited France, not that he didn't enjoy the simple act of driving, being at one with your country as it passed you by, not knowing the adventures you might face along the way.
"Excuse me….Boyo." France was snapped from his romantic thoughts by Wales's voice, which sounded less bouncy and sing song than usual. "Can we pull over?"
"Why would you want to pull ovar?" France asked. Wales didn't respond, and England cut in.
"Wales gets very travel sick." He said, simply, France paused for thought. "Vomits pretty much any time we go anywhere. Probably explains why he's such a bad driver."
"Fuck you, Boyo!" Wales said, then instantly clamped his hands over his mouth.
"I have a bag he could barf in." Northern Ireland said, pulling it from his pocket, offering it to Wales who accepted it and held his mouth to it.
"Nawt in my CAR 'e isn't!"
England patted his little brother on the back comfortingly, wincing at the painful wrenching sounds the Welshmen was making. France looked over the back of his car, glad at least that it had not been defiled…unlike his countryside.
"He vomited on the plane too, I dunno how he does it…he didn't even eat anything this morning."
"Merci, I really wanted to know that." France grumbled. Canada had once vomited in his car, but that had been because he had the flu, and he felt more forgiving towards his beloved Canadian. He heard England and Wales start to talk again, then the vomiting started all over. This was really the nation who had thwarted his war efforts on no less than two occasions? throwing up at the side of the road because he couldn't handle a car journey?
France hunkered down on the ground, this was just marvellous.
"Don't be too mad at 'im Laddeh." Scotland said, he was puffing idly at a cigarette, France admired the Scotsman for a second before glancing away again. "Welshmen don't handle change very well."
"I fuckin' heard that, Boy-" Wales was cut short by his own stomach, though he seemed to just be retching now. England began to scold him tiredly, eventually walking back to the others with a dim weary expression.
"Is 'e nearly done?" Behind him, Wales collapsed.
"Yep, I think he's done."
"The heat must have made him even worse." England mused, stepping over to the brunette, his long ponytail and bangs were clinging to his forehead, his face was flushed and he was sweating profusely.
"…Is he dead?"
"…No." Soon Scotland had managed to unceremoniously dump Wales back into the car, he showed no signs of waking up, and France was glad, now Northern Ireland sat in the middle, so his older brother could be sick out the window if it was required.
"Hey France." Northern Ireland leaned forward slightly. "You guys eat snails and stuff, right?"
"Oui."
"Cool." England tugged N.I back into a sitting position. "Can we eat snails too England? It sounds gross."
"Why would you want to do something so disgusting?"
"I happen to be very open minded." Northern Ireland put on a holier than thou expression and folded his arms. "…..Also gross things are awesome."
"Yes….quite."
"Snails taste fine, Laddeh." Scotland chimed in, not bothering to look at either of his brothers.
"How do you know Scotland?" Northern Ireland asked curiously. There was no answer, and the teen turned to England and raised his brows questionably. England said nothing. "…Oh..I forgot…you must have been helping France during the war!" Northern Ireland nodded, while his troops had gone out he had stayed home on England's orders, to defend Britain and so England could ensure his little brothers safety…not that the little nation had really listened to him…but.
"Aye, that's it." France glanced to the Scot, cheeks reddening gently, choosing to keep his eyes focused. Sadly for him, Northern Ireland was younger and more sharp eyed than he'd expected.
"What's with you two?" He asked as he crinkled his face up and poked at Wales, who didn't react, Northern Ireland considered mentioning this to England, but he was too busy staring out the window. "If nobody is gonna tell me, that's fine…." He huffed, slumping back in his seat. Reminding England of himself when he'd been younger and less inclined to be a gentleman.
"Don't ask rude questions, Oliver." England scolded, Northern Ireland winced at his real name.
"Olivier?" France snorted. "That's is so j'dorable!" Beside him Wales mumbled something that sounded like 'Listen to your father, Oliver' and Northern Ireland was compelled to hit him, nothing happened. "Olivier…I like zat."
"He doesn't."
"I wonder why."
"Shut it Seamus."
"You shut it Art-er."
"Ladies, no bickering sil vou plais…Or I will make you disembark my skylark."
"You call your car the Skylark?" England said, expression one of amusement. "That's so stupid I can't even describe it."
"You call your car Betsy….Skylark is way cooler."
"Who's side are you even on Oliver?"
"Betsy is a dumb name, especially for an old Rolls Royce!"
"I thought 'e sold the old Roller…" Scotland said, leaning on his seat to look back at his brothers. "I liked that old thing."
"The racing green one with the red interior?" Scotland nodded. "He kept it…sold the silver one."
"Ohh." Scotland thought this over. "Wasn't that a Bentley?"
"No, It was a Rolls…you don't know anything." Northern Ireland responded, England nodded.
"He's right, it was a Roller. I sold it and the Beemer."
"I hate BMW's, too…GERMAN." Scotland said, making a strange motion with his hand that didn't really mean anything. He swatted at his short red hair, closing his ice blue eyes for a few secounds in thought.
"I dunno, they are pretty classy." Northern Ireland shrugged.
"I just got tired of looking at them, we all have stuff lying around in our garage we don't want anymore."
"Most people don't have classic cars." France smiled as the conversation went on, apparently the Britain brothers were fond of cars, he'd have to remember that!
"….When can I get a car?" Northern Ireland asked, his thick little eyebrows rising curiously.
"When you can afford one." England said, Northern Ireland rolled his eyes, biting his tongue about how America had been given one when he was old enough, and that dude had freaking REBELLED. "Besides you'd just set fire to it or crash it.."
"…I wouldn't…" Scotland looked to France, noticing the cheerful smirk on the blondes face, he allowed himself to ignore it. "What do you think Scotland?"
"Wales has no need for a car, how many times did he fail that fookin' test?"
"Fifteen."
"Holy jesos…"
"I swear I'll kill you all, boyo's" Wales' voice trickled out dimly, eyes fluttering briefly, before he curled himself up and fell back to sleep.
"….Idiot." England shook his head, he suddenly felt a little better about this holiday despite himself. "I suppose Wales never uses his…we'll talk about it when we get home. If you can behave." Northern Ireland grinned cheerfully at the older nation and made a 'cross my heart' symbol over his chest. England allowed himself a smile at this, he often forgot how young Northern Ireland was. But just like America, he'd grown up a little too quickly for the Englishmens liking. "Are we almost there?"
"Not even close." France said, tapping a rhythm out on the steering wheel. Suddenly Scotland perked up, reached into the back seat and forcefully smacked his two conscious brothers on the arm.
"Yelley car, nay returns."