AN: So a one shot 2P!Hetalia style. Just a small something I came up with.
Poor London Is Falling
The cold breeze was chilling, even for the heavily dressed Russian in the group. The allies, all bar China who was needed in his country, stood watching the snowfall, turned red by the reflection of the fire, the flames were burning London to the ground. Viktor Braginsky, Allen Jones, Matt Williams, Francois Bonnefoy and he stood in the war-torn heart of England.
Oliver Kirkland himself was nowhere to be seen. Normally the allies would not be concerned for the second eldest of them, Francois being the eldest, but this Blitz was worse than the first, much worse.
It had been going on for a long time now and while Francois had escaped his own war-torn country to stay with Matt, Oliver had sort no assistance nor left the destruction of his capital. They knew Oliver could take care of himself, however they could not shake the feeling that something very bad had happened during the last bout of bombings.
It was if their thoughts about the energetic male had summoned him. "What bring you here, to my abode?" Comes the slightly strained voice. Turning they see him, stood in the shadows of a decrepit building, his strawberry blond hair illuminated by the flames, giving it an orange glow. His face hidden mostly by the shadows.
Allen swallowed. "Uh, Ollie, you ok?" The American sounded nervous, understandable so, Oliver seemed a bit off. The Englishman was normally energetic and annoyingly happy to a fault. Yet here he seemed to be somber and serious. At time Oliver could display this type of behaviour, but it was never good when he did.
It usually resulted in death.
"Me, my dear Al, am not too good." Oliver states, his voice layered with thick false cheer. "Now my dearies, I sorry to say I need a little bit of time to myself. My poor, poor London is falling and I have a plan to form." Oliver smiles, it was dark and creepy, white teeth gleaming in the fire light. It is all of his face they could see, his messy hair covering his eyes with the shadows help.
"You need help?" Matt asks as he watches one of his former caretaker carefully. Francois watching Oliver with much the same expression.
"Help? Matt, my boy, you know by now that I do not wish to impose my business on anyone else." Oliver's smile stretches into a wider grin, he lifts his face until he is looking at his allies. The shock that flashes across their faces does not go unnoticed.
Oliver's blue and pink eyes are foggy, his left one completely so, his right not as bad. His blond hair is turned red in places due to blood that has crusted into the messy locks.
The blood running down the his face, from a long gash over his forehead. He looked practically murderous, the glint in his eyes hinting at his intentions for the Axis Powers. Oliver walked over to them slowly. His face held a fack mask of joy.
Francois, Matt, Allen and Viktor backed away from the Briton, he was definitely more than a little unstable at the moment, therefore may result in him seriously injuring one of them.
"I see." Matt answered levely. His voice holding no emotion, so as to not provoke the smaller nation to attack.
"Indeed, you do my poppet." His voice has lost all form of false cheer and his voice is low, almost a growl. "Then you see why you must leave~" Oliver sing songs darkly, "It's too late to offer help now." Oliver turns, his back now facing the others. His cloths are covered in blood, dirt and are torn in multiple places.
Viktor frowned, he was unsure what to do. They could be in danger simply being too near the island nation right now, or they could be completely safe, it was always a thin line with the Englishman.
"So, uh, you don' want our help, like I dunno, rebuilding London?" Allen asked, deciding he was the most likely not to be violently slaughtered if the island nation felt threatened or defensive.
Oliver turned his head, looking at the four over his shoulder, his eyes had a watery layer to them, his initial rage and anger giving way to pain and fear. Oliver was at time very much a crybaby, but he was highly dangerous if he was pushed too far. It seems that Oliver has been pushed that far, but he has nothing to take his emotions out on, not that will make him feel any better.
"I-I can... manage. Managed un-until now." Oliver muttered, sad and horse. He turns back to face away from them and he stumbles forward, making it a few steps before his legs give out under his weight.
It was Matt who got there first, shoving Allen out of his way. The Canadian knelt beside the other, wrapped his arm around the small nations shoulder. Helping him to stand up. Oliver was worn thin, the constant attacks draining on his power. He looks up at Matt, not even able to force a smile. "It's ok, we'll kill the f'ers." Matt growled, making sure not to swear as it offended the Brit.
Allen practically bounded on his heels. "We get to smash some faces in!" He yells gleefully. Francois frowns at the American, not sure how he could be so energetic and happy at a time like this. Then again Francois supposed it was because his country was being constantly attacked and invaded by Germany so he was more grumpy than normal.
Viktor seemed quite happy by the idea he lifted his shovel so it leant against his shoulder. "Can we bury them alive?" He asks much too happily.
It is only then that Oliver can smile and it turns into a grin as all sorts of different ways he could get revenge, all the ways to make the axis powers suffer. "Why, my tall frosty chum, that is an excellent idea!"