Unbeta'd and yes, there was some attempt at Spanish and French here. It was minimal, don't worry. Also, I know France actually won lots of things but let's ignore that, shall we?
Spain awoke to the sound of seagulls and the ocean's ebb and flow. France, somewhere to the right of him, groaned softly and shifted.
The sun, Spain shielded his watering eyes, the sun burned so badly. Painfully, he pushed himself up and opened his eyes, the heat searing and predominant.
"¿Qué pasa?" he covered his eyes, finding himself and France to be on what seemed to be one of many islands, all clustered together.
His crew was nowhere to be seen. Spain staggered to his feet, kicked at France to wake him and stumbled down to the water's edge, plopping down in water up to his shoulders. A second later, curses greeted him as France joined him.
"What happened?" France asked, squinting in the bright light. "A couple bad bottles of liquor?" Spain suggested, shrugging his shoulders.
For the moment, he was less interested in finding out what had happened and more interested in finding out how to make his headache go away. "Is that England?" France asked, effectively destroying any hope Spain had at making his head stop pounding.
He looked up and sure enough, there she was, floating aimlessly in the water, as unconscious as they had been. They sat and watched her limp form. Perhaps she'd drown in some freak state of vulnerability. Spain sighed, one could only hope.
"Not quite as gentlemanly as I'd hoped." The woman said from the island. Spain and France shot up and stared at her. Where had she come from? She stood calmly on the land, looking at them with a small smile. She didn't actually look like they'd disappointed her, Spain had a feeling she'd expected immediate violence. So in a way, they'd quite impressed her. "There lays a damsel in distress, and yet, neither of you spring to her aid." She observed, long black hair twisting from under her hood to dance with the breeze. "That will change by the end."
France regained his breath first, "She is hardly what one would call a damsel and she puts us in far more distress than she ever seems to be in." The woman laughed, "I guessed you would say as much. Regardless, I believe now would be a good time for Alice to wake." Spain noticed sourly that she never disputed France's words. There were few people in this world who could honestly say they believed England to be seriously troubled by other Nations. Not anymore. She's made it very clear that she's done with that part of her life.
A groan sounded from England's limp form, and the woman called out to her, "Alice, you need to breath. Breath in."
England, of course, immediately responded. When you are in a particularly odd situation with no idea of how you got there or what to do, you tend to listen to the first person you hear from and so England inhaled as much as she could.
Since she was face down in the ocean, she received a lung full of water. France and Spain watched from afar as England obviously took in a great deal of salt water and waited for the inevitably coughing. It never came. The male nations watched as England sat up, wet hair shining, and tried to steady herself. Then they watched the water in her lungs stream harmlessly out newly formed slits on her neck.
"What devilment is this?" breathed France. England had acquired gills.
She moaned and looked around with unfocused green orbs. "Yamalla?" she called hesitantly, voice rough. She shielded her eyes from the burning sun, squinting into the distance. "Alice dear," the woman responded, "I hope you feel well."
Why were they on a first name basis? Nations did not like to be referred to by their human name and yet, this dark woman was perfectly comfortable calling England Alice. Even odder, England had yet to correct her. Spain felt his expression harden, there were rumors of England dabbling in witchcraft but he'd never seen it before with his own eyes.
This woman was clearly a devil worshipper and England was—she was on friendly terms with her. It was terrifying for so many reasons, was this why she was rising so quickly? "Where am I? Did we go sailing again?" England looked confused but relaxed, at home with this savage woman, until she set sights on France and Spain. "What the hell is this?" She asked in the same low tone Spain would rather die than admit frightened and aroused him.
Spain couldn't deny that power had always been attractive to him, even power artificially inflated from a tremendous ego.
The woman—Yamalla, smiled, "Oh honey, calm down. I am helping you, you will see." She said, shaking a finger at England. "Your help never seems to actually help me." England replied sharply, "What are these two doing here?"
France couldn't help but notice how well England was taking the enormous headache she must have woken up with, if Spain's and his own were anything to go by. She must be used to waking up in strange places with a pounding head and no recollection of getting there. How dainty and ladylike of her.
"The same as you, dear." Yamalla answered. The savage looked serene and mischievous, a seemingly impossible combination. She getting a perverse pleasure from this, laughing at them inside her mind, and was completely peaceful.
She continued, "I think you'll find that very soon you will depend on each other."
She held up a hand at England narrowed eyes and set mouth, "Look inside yourselves," she urged, teeth blindingly white in the hot sun, "you will feel something. You will."
"I doubt offhand attraction is what you're looking for, and yet, it's all I'm finding." England sneered, trying to stand in the fluorescent water.
Spain felt his mouth drop open. France felt faint, translucent surprise. He knew something of sexual tension and, unfortunately for Nations, it was usually worked out through war instead of through a dance between sheets as it should have been.
England had always been gusty; she'd never exactly confirmed to the socially acceptable for a manand she hadn't ever confirmed to the role of a proper lady.
She was too rough, too proud, too eager to cut and tear at others. France thought she was beautiful.
Spain thought she was insane. If he looked deeper, he found in the depths of his soul a desperate need for the attention of England. He wanted her. He thought he wanted her to kill her but he'd never know until he had his hands on her.
Not, of course, that he wanted to find out. He would have continued upon that train of thought had England stood up and charged Yamalla as she intended…but she didn't.
A fin cannot support a human the way legs can.
England toppled back into the water, a flash of iridescent green showing itself. England sat up again, eyes wide and frantic, "Yamalla, what did you do to me?" she yelled, trying to stand again.
Again she fell. "What the hell did you do to me?" she screamed. "I'm helping you." Yamalla answered.
England lifted a fin out of the water.
Spain and France stared at her. This must be a dream. England looked at the fin, hesitantly reaching for it. She was slowly shaking her head in denial. Slender fingers with the power to end worlds touched cool scales. She screamed.
"What did you do to her?" France shouted, half starting towards England. He stopped short, face betraying just how scared he was. At this point, he couldn't even say if it was for her and because of her. But if he had to guess, he would say it was because of her.
Usually when fear and England were combined, it was him being afraid of her. "I'm helping her. I'm helping all of you." Yamalla repeated. Spain stayed where he was, unsure which direction would be safest to run screaming.
England looked like she was losing her mind. Spain felt like he could relate. Perhaps this was how Yamalla was helping? She was helping them relate by ruining their brains all at the same time?
Suddenly it was quiet. England had stopped screaming, France had stopped yelling, and Spain was pretty sure he had stopped breathing.
It was the strangest scene he'd ever been in. There was a beautiful island, cerulean water, a joyful sun. All poisoned by black magic and fear. A nightmare in paradise.
"Why," England started, voice broken and wavering, soft like he'd never heard it, "why would you turn me into a bloody fish?" Yamalla looked almost sad at this point. "Alice. I am helping you."
"How are you helping me?" she asked angrily, "By ruining my nation's future? Because that's all I see you doing! How can I help my country when I am a goddamn mermaid?" she roared, lips parting and showing the ferocious fangs all mermaids hid in their pretty mouths.
This is when France should run away. If he was smart, he'd turn tail and go back to Spain right this instant, he told himself, almost paralyzed with fear. Instead, he unlocked his knees as best he could, and started towards England again.
This must be why he never seemed to win anything, he mused to himself. England, seeing movement out of the corner of her eye, turned to France.
He froze when she looked at him, pretty face curled into a snarl. Now would also be a good time to turn around, his fear told him.
He moved forward again. It's really not that bad, he lied to himself, she's not that terrifying. She looks the same, simply with fangs. And a tail. And man eating tendencies. Not that different at all.
France swallowed thickly. "Frog." England looked testy, "What are you doing?" He was near enough to touch her and did so carefully, crouching down and laying his fingertips hesitantly on her shoulder.
England wasn't quite sure how to feel about this. He…he definitely was beautiful. For a Frenchman. Then again, in certain circles, that simply made it even more of a compliment. She stared into blue eyes.
"I'm comforting you." He told her, feeling his blood turn to rusted metal. "You're insane too!" Spain yelled at him. Yamalla laughed at the tanned nation, "You will stop fighting one another. You should be glad the Fates saw it fit to grant you a wish at the same time."
"A wish?" Spain asked incredulously, "What wish am I being granted?" "You want power. Francis wants Alice hindered. Alice wants the ocean. I am giving it to you all." Silence again, and again, it was broken by England.
"You want me hindered?" she growled at France. He laughed nervously, "Ma chérie, I cannot believe it has taken this long for you to figure that out." "I'll kill you!" She roared, lunging for him with the deadly speed of an underwater creature.
"You made her worse!" France yelled, falling on his ass and barely missing England's claws through a stroke of luck, "This is not hindering her! This is giving her strength!" Just like that, France's brave and comforting mood was gone. "England now holds your loyalty, and you must help her find her humanity to be released." Yamalla spoke over them.
"If I have to rely on them to be human," England hissed, rising out of the ocean, tail whipping in anger, "I'm as good as stuck! Why are you doing this?"
"And why does England have so much power?" Spain asked, fire in his eyes. "She is corrupt and will doubtlessly abuse us." France added hurriedly, heart rate tripling.
"Work together and you will be given help along the way." Yamalla called over them, "Work against and you will be thrown back. It is your choice how long the journey lasts."
And she disappeared, leaving a furious mermaid, a soaked Frenchman, and a bewildered Spaniard in her wake.