Warning: violence, gore, England's potty mouth

I own NOTHING.

The desert seemed to stretch on forever. America gulped up the remains from his water flask as his eyes scanned over his surroundings. It had to be a dream. That was it. A crazy dream. How else would he end up in this strange alien world with nothing but miles and miles of sand? He hadn't even a clue of whose house he was at. England's? No, definitely not. Who was it that lived in that giant wasteland again...? Russia. That was it. But was Russia the place with the snow, or...?

England was right. He really needed to brush up on his geography.

America adjusted his hat and patted the ostrich beneath him. Yes. Ostrich. His dream could have conjured up a horse for him to ride like a normal cowboy, but instead it decided an ostrich would be more interesting. And not a normal ostrich either, but one with red eyes. A demon hybrid, no doubt. America had named him Voldemort, finding the name to be quiet fitting, especially with the evil aura that the creature gave off.

He shook his now empty water flask and looked down to the bird with a heavy sigh.

"Nothing to do now, dude. We can only press on."

Volxemort clearly didn't like that idea. He let out a piercing shriek and America found himself thrown all over the saddle as his substitute horse tried to buck him off.

"Woah, woah, steady boy!"

He gripped onto the reigns as tightly as he could, but to no avail. Volfemort just became more frantic and only moments later America was thrown straight off, landing face-first into the sand. The fall winded him. All he could do was lie there and try to get his breath back as the sounds of Voldemint's demonic squawking grew fainter and fainter.

With a groan, America turned over onto his back to look up at the blue sky. Now he was really screwed.

Only a mile off, however, another nation was busy at work. Ludwig Beilschmidt wiped sweat off his forehead as he brought the hammer down on the last of the sign posts. He wasn't sure why, but he'd woken up that morning with an overwhelming urge to put signposts up all over his ranch, signposts that would keep out any trespassers. Not that he got any, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

He brought the hammer down one last time, then stepped back to admire his work.

"Whoooo weeee!" With this exclamation, he adjusted the hem of his jeans over his portly belly. "What a day of hard work. Now I'm so hungry I could eat a horse at the beeffen waffle. YEEEHAAWWW!" He took out the pistols he always kept in his belt before shooting them up in the air, jumping up and down in delight. It took the breath out of him, so he stopped, clutching the forming stitch. That was when he saw it. The ostrich emitted a very hellish sounding screech as it ran past. Germany straightened up again, his eyes lighting with interest. A grin broke out across his face that showed his movie star smile with beautiful rotting teeth.

"Well butter mah rump an' call me toast! What's this?" The ostrich ran past from the other direction, screeching again. Music to his ears. "Hmm... looks like meat's back on the menu tonight! YEEHAAAWWW!"

He ran to the stables as fast as his fat little legs could carry him and jumped on his prize winner, Bullseye. The horse whinnied at once, standing up on its hind legs in fright. It was a struggle for Ludwig not to fall off. He tightened his grip on the horses mane as he shouted for it to run like the wind. Bullseye needed no further instruction. He bolted off at once and Germany found himself clutching at his cowboy hat to stop it from flying away.

Unfortunately Bullseye didn't even make it to the gate. Ludwig had a sexy, voluptuous, morbidly obese body that made him the envy of many nations. Sure, he liked to look sexy and get all the girls, but it meant he could no longer ride his horses. None of them could take his weight and their legs often buckled underneath them from the strain of it: the exact thing that had happened to Bullseye just then. He gave a snort and, as Germany rolled off onto the sand, he didn't miss the tone of exasperation.

"Well, how about that!" He murmured, straightening up his hat. "You ain't good for nuffin!"

He puffed and panted as he struggled up to his feet again. For some reason that damned bird seemed intent on repeatedly circling his house, but like hell was he complaining. It just made his job a lot easier. Since he'd been crawling around the ranch in diapers (he still was but that wasn't the point), Germany had been very fascinated by the concept of shooting things. Be it glass bottles, livestock or trespassers on his land he was completely game.

A smile crept across his unwashed face as he got one of his pistols ready. When the ostrich ran past again he would be ready. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ate a proper meal. Not counting the steaks he'd had for lunch that day, the Mc D's, the pizzas he'd ordered, the Chinese takeaway, the triple cheese burgers or his fried breakfast, of course. An ostrich would be something different, but that didn't matter to him. He could see those bones had plenty of meat on them and he had to eat something else. He'd waste away otherwise and end up looking hideous like his brother, Prussia.

Germany sneered in disgust at the though of said nation. It was painful every time something reminded him that they were related. Gilbert was the textbook definition of "bloodtraitor". Not only did he mix with undesirables, but he also... washed. A shudder ran through Ludwig's body at the thought of this.

The screeching returned and the blonde nation indeed was ready. He took a shot and the ostrich fell straight to the ground, never to shriek demonically again.

"YEEEHAAWWW!" Germany shouted, jumping up and down again. His belly jiggled as he shot his guns up in the air. Quickly growing out of breath, however, he stopped, doubling over from the effort of moving. That was when a shadow fell over him.

"Dude," said a familiar voice, velvety and very seductive, "what did you do?"

"Oh howdy there partner," Germany gave a friendly smile, "I just shot that ostrich over there that I'm gonna have for dinner tonight - and I don't know why in tarnation that phrase is underlined."

America couldn't contain his rage any longer. "MY OSTRICH!" He felt his face heat up.

Germany folded his arms. "Well hold on a minute, partner. I shot the ostrich so that lil critter belongs to me!"

"Well," America narrowed his eyes into a glare, "partner, he was mine first. My pet! And YOU just shot him!"

"Well that's just too bad. I'm as hungry as a chicken at feedin' time and I'm gonna eat 'im!"

On hearing these words, Americas whole demeanour suddenly changed. Fury was replaced with a slyness and his top lip curled up into a sneer.

"Oh, you can do that, GermAny, but in doing so you're agreeing to go to war with me."

"Hmm..." The morbidly obese nation stroked his greasy, lice-ridden beard as he pondered. "Go to war, not have dinner... Go to war not, not have dinner..."A look of determination suddenly fell upon his face and he looked America straight in the eye. "It's on, partner."

The two leaned forward, sending each other death glares, as they shook their unwashed hands. America did an impersonation of Germany's southern drawl.

"Like mud on a pig."