A/N: Hey, all!

This chapter was actually supposed to be tooootally different than it is. In fact, I had already gotten six pages into it (I didn't delete those six pages; they've been set aside for later use) when Ame Mika'Zuki, who is apparently brilliant at coming up with ideas for me, made some suggestions that were just too awesome for me to pass up. Buuuut, some of them would only work if I implemented them immediately, so I had to stop and write this instead.

Sooo… I had to use Wales again. Not only did I have to use Wales again, but I also had to introduce ANOTHER not-quite-cannon character. And, they have much larger roles than Wales did last chapter. I hope it doesn't bother anyone; Everyone was received Wales very well last chapter, so I got a little more brave with the concept of not-quite-cannon characters. Don't worry; I don't intend to make a habit of this, and I will certainly not be implementing any actual OC nations; Just these two (hopefully) who HAVE been mentioned in the series, just never been really introduced or filled out.
I gave both these characters human names as well, because I don't use the country names when I'm writing really unless one nation is addressing another, and it'd be awkward to break that, so. Both the names are common names used in their respective countries.



Alfred mumbled incoherently in his sleep, nuzzling into the mop of soft blonde hair that his cheek was pressed against. He shifted as best he could in the tangle of sheets to pull the warm body sharing the space with his own closer, willing himself to stay unconscious. His internal clock was very clearly telling him that he hadn't gotten his full eight hours yet, but some other part of his mind was nudging at him, advising that there was something going on that ought to be sending up red flags.

There was a thin beam of sunlight infiltrating the room from the not-fully-drawn curtains, but that wasn't the problem; He could sleep well into the afternoon on occasion when he was at home, and had never cared much for closing his drapes before bed. It wasn't the other person in bed with him, either. After all, he hadn't been drinking the night prior, and could easily tell they were both fully dressed (well, as fully dressed as one could comfortably be for bed). At any rate, the vague smell of oceanic spray and sage that clung permanently to the other body would have been a dead giveaway that it was Arthur, even if Alfred had been drunk, so there was no cause for worry there. He didn't feel like he needed to use the bathroom, nor was his stomach complaining of hunger… If it wasn't any of those things trying to get him up, then what was?

Ah. There was the issue.

A muffled snicker and insistent shushing sounded from nearby, no more than a few feet away. Still only marginally awake, brain groggy and slow from sleep, Alfred disentangled his upper body from his bedmate to prop himself up on an elbow and look around, eliciting a garbled complaint and some shuffling from Arthur. Blearily, Alfred took stock of the room.

There were two figured huddled around a phone together at the end of the bed. One was of average height, with waved red-mahogany hair that touched his shoulders and pale green irises- 'Wales', Alfred's mind supplied for him. The other was several inches taller, with short-cut, dark ginger hair, sideburns, and a pair of thick, unruly-looking brows above grey-blue eyes. They both put an index finger to their lips with a commanding 'Shhhh!, signaling to Alfred not to blow their cover. Alfred blinked at them owlishly for a moment, trying to decide whether or not he should be demanding answers for why exactly they were hovering at the foot of a bed in a room they shouldn't have been able to get into, but switched his gaze over to Arthur when he slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Wh' bloody time is't?" Arthur asked, voice rough from sleep, before he pulled his hands away from his eyes and jumped a bit in surprise at the two extra men in the room.

Slowly, Arthur's expression of surprise slid into one of bafflement, to realization, to annoyance, and finally, landed home at sheer malevolence.

"What the sodding fuck?!"

The two men broke into boisterous guffaws, hitting a button on the phone before clicking it shut.

"Sorry, little brother," The blonde managed after he settled himself down, "We didn't realize we were interrupting the honeymoon."

"Good job, though! Didn't think you'd ever get to settle down, with a face like that!"

"I am going to annex and partition the hell out of both of you! What in the name of the queen are you arseholes even doing in here?!"

"Marc called me last night and said you showed up here with the youngin', so I thought I'd drop by and help ruin your day!" Said the taller man.

"We thought we'd do some nice brotherly bondin', but it looks like you're getting' plenty of that." Wales grinned in a decidedly France-like manner.

"Uh, s'cuse me, but," Alfred interjected, pointing to taller of the two, "Who're you?"

"Ah! S'right, neither of us has ever been properly introduced to ya', on account of lil' England's bein' a bad brother." Wales started, "I'm Marc Cadwalder."

"Angus Macrae, or Scotland. We're Arthur's elder brothers, of course."

"You're hardly my brothers. Absolute tossers, the both of you." Arthur scoffed.

"Er, nice to meet you, I guess? But, if you guys and Artie don't get along-"

"Artie!" The two repeated joyously before they broke into a small fit of laughter.

"-Then, why would you want to come hang out with us?"

"Angus already said: We're here to ruin England's day!"

"It's rather a habit of theirs." Arthur sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off his oncoming headache.

"Yep! Been that way since he was jus' a tiny bugger!" Angus confirmed.

"Oh. So, uh… How'd you guys even get in here?" Alfred asked.

"The Brownie.(1)" All three of the UK nations answered in a tone that suggested they thought this to be something so obvious that a two-year-old would know it.

"…Oh god, not you guys too!" Alfred cried, a little distressed at the prospect of dealing with three people who had imaginary friends.

"Oh." Angus said, as if he'd just been given the answer to a question he'd wondered on for a very long time, "This is the pie eater (2) that can't see The Wee Folk, then?"

"The very one." Arthur confirmed. "Can't see much of anything he ought to. Had to use a video camera in the dungeons so he could see the inhabitants down there."

The three Europeans shared a laugh, and Alfred had a hard time deciding if he should be concerned that he was in a room full of loonies, or if he should feel like the loser that had missed out on seeing the latest box-office hit and couldn't understand the jokes people were making about it.

"Anyway," Arthur said when they'd gotten over their amusement, "Terribly sorry to burst your bubbles, but America and I are heading back to London today, so we'll have no time for your bollocks."

"Not anymore!" Marc said, prideful, "We've taken the liberty of extending your reservation here another night, so you have plenty of time."

"…I loathe you both. Have I told you that lately? I wish you'd get hit by wayward freight trains." Arthur told them.

The older boys cackled, sounding very pleased with themselves indeed.

~*~


(1) A helpful type of fairy.

(2) Scottish slang, for a person with stinted intellect. Because it's slang and not really a different language, and because I'm not going to go through this whole thing trying to type in Scottish dialect (which is prettymuch really odd skewered English and can be understood if you say it aloud to yourself; kinda like typing out an accent), which would be confusing for all of us, I'll this make annotations for the scot-specific words and phrases, 'kay? Kay.


~*~

It had taken some effort, but eventually Arthur had coerced his brothers to evacuate the room on the condition that they all meet at a small restaurant in town to have breakfast together. The blondes relented to the terms after nearly half an hour, and were left alone to change into some proper day-time attire. As soon as they were dressed, they went to the parking lot, climbed into Arthur's car, and made their way towards the restaurant Marc had specified.

When they arrived, after a drive of around fifteen minutes, the other two nations were waiting for them in the quaint establishment at a table for four. Alfred and Arthur seated themselves on one side of the table, across from the elder brothers. The room was fairly spacious, but not too large, with hard-wood floors, beige paint on the walls, and large windows. A few scarce pictures and paintings of landscapes served to decorate the place, and the whole lay-out was simple, but attractive in an uncluttered and clean way. All of the tables were set with stark white tablecloths, but nothing else, and there were very few other customers; At this time of day, nearly everyone was at work or school. A young, slender waitress came by shortly and took their orders (Arthur (1) and Marc had to help the other two nations with both picking out their food and ordering, as everything was in Welsh), returning a few minutes later with their food and drinks.

Part way through the meal, Alfred realized something spectacular: Arthur's brothers could very well be a phenomenal help in his plot to bring out Arthur's non-gentlemanly behavior- In fact, they were already doing a pretty bang-up job of it. It seemed like it was nearly their life goals to rile Arthur up. Every other word that came out of either of their mouths made Arthur absolutely livid. Not even twenty minutes into their meal, Arthur'd attempted to chuck a drinking glass at Angus' head, missed, and smashed a vase of flowers the next table over- And he hadn't even been sorry! He told the waitress that he was 'horribly sorry he missed that wanker's face' and to 'Just add it to the bill, love- and keep the broom handy; He suspected he'd be taking another shot shortly'. It was amazing!

He also realized that, though he'd known Arthur had brothers, he'd never thought of him as being the younger sibling. But here he was, with his older brothers picking on him like anyone's older brothers would, taking every chance to make a jab at Arthur, or to slug him in the shoulder, or ruffle his hair, calling him things like 'youngling', and 'little England', and any number of other, more offensive things.

And for course, Arthur, with his temper, didn't take this lying down; He hollered, he swore up a storm, he hit back- But Marc and Angus just kept pouring it on with ease. Eventually, Arthur flipped.

-The table, that is.

What was left of their breakfast was introduced to the older brothers' clothes, and the dishes met their untimely demise on the floor. Before Alfred had even fully registered what had happened, Arthur launched himself over the toppled table and slammed into Marc and Angus, sending the three of them sprawling in a pile on the ground, and the fists started flying.

An all-out war was underway in less than ten seconds. At first, Arthur was holding his own against the both of them, but when he dodged a punch Marc had aimed for him, the fist ended up catching Angus in the jaw instead, and the Scotsman immediately retaliated, successfully destroying their alliance.

It took no time at all for their three-way match to move across the floor as they sent one another flying into the vacant tables around them, obliterating innocent chairs in their wake. They occasionally became entangled in the tablecloths, but it didn't slow any of them down for even an instant; They kept right on lashing out at their opponents, regardless of what happened to be unfortunate enough to get in their way. A woman somewhere in the room was screaming, but it could hardly be heard over the harsh battle-cries anyway. Knees were rammed into stomachs, noses were nearly broken, lips were split open, clothes were torn… The whole thing left the distinct impression of a bar fight between three guys who'd found out they'd all been sleeping with each other's wives. They didn't seem to be holding back in the slightest, all aiming to do as much damage to the others as possible, each one of them obviously refusing to take a defensive position as they took the hits with grunts or short wails of pain and kept right on swinging.

When Angus tackled his brothers into the far wall, causing a large picture frame to jump from its nail and shatter over their heads in a cascade of glass, Alfred finally regained his senses. He bolted into action instantly, shooting across the room to the other nations. As soon as they were within his reach, he grabbed the larger two by the collars of their shirts, and with a mighty heave, sent them careening through the air several feet before they collided with the floor. Just as soon as the other two were off of him, Arthur made to lunge again, but Alfred caught him around the waist and held the thrashing Englishman back.

"Alfred, what the fuck?! Let me-"

"Arthur fucking Kirkland!"Alfred screamed in much the way a parent would when they discovered their pre-teen smashing out all the windshield of their car with a baseball bat.

This not only gave Arthur pause, but the two other Europeans sprawled on the floor seen fit to give their attention as well, not accustomed to anyone taking that sort of tone with 'Little England'.

When Alfred was sure that no one would go on the attack again, he continued, "Would you guys look at what you just did?! This room looks like it got ran through by a heard stampeding wildebeests on steroids! What the hell?!"

They did indeed look. They had managed to completely demolish nearly half the room's contents, and the few other customers that had been there when they came had vacated the premises sometime during the fight. You couldn't even see the floor for all the debris. Every single member of the restaurant staff was crowded near the kitchen, wearing expressions of varied levels of shock and fear.

All this, and the combat had lasted for no more than seven minutes.

There was a long silence during which they took note of all the damage. Then, the three siblings looked at each other, took in their own and their brothers' levels of physical devastation…

And, much to Alfred's incredulity, burst into absolutely riotous laughter.

The American stared at them, dumbstruck and baffled.

"Ah, Gods above," Angus managed between cackled, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, "It's been a might long time since we've destroyed a room this well!"

"The room?" Marc asked incredulously, "Look at us! People will think we got hit by a bus!"

"We certainly did make a right mess of ourselves." Arthur laughed, rubbing blood off his chin with his shirt sleeve.

"…What is wrong with you guys?" Alfred asked in disbelief.

It was then that one of the staff members, a hulk of a man with thick dark hair and a well-trimmed beard, roused himself from his previously thunderstruck state and stomped his way over, a vicious glower on his face, and started screaming at them in welsh with a deep voice.

Alfred kept close to Arthur and rested a hand on his shoulder, a little protectively, feeling weary of a man of that stature hollering and gesturing wildly such as he was. Marc and Arthur spoke to him calmly, if a small bit sheepishly, and Angus, deciding that he would be of no help there, wandered out of the restaurant and down the road to a small drug store in order to procure some first-aid supplies.

There was a very lengthy conversation, and the huge man insisted on yelling the whole time. Sadly, neither Marc nor Arthur had very long fuses themselves, and raised their own voices several times, Making Alfred fret (because, even though he knew he could take the colossal dude, he didn't want to have to- Which he certainly would, if the guy made any move to cause [further] harm to Arthur's person). After some time, though, they managed to placate what turned out to be the owner of the establishment with a very hefty check, and were free to leave without so much as a call to the police, to Alfred's great relief.

This vacation wasn't turning out to be very relaxing at all. "But on the bright side," Alfred thought to himself, "That right there was a pretty decent look at some of that repressed… whatever-it-is Arthur has."

When they finally got back out to the street, Angus was waiting for them with two plastic bags full of various medical supplies. They found a small gas station nearby, and Marc and Angus secured a key to the bathroom to clean up in there. Alfred parked Arthur on a strip of grass adjacent to the building and kneeled in front of him with one of the bags. He took Arthur's chin in his hand gingerly and very carefully started to clear away the blood on his face with a peroxide-soaked cotton ball.

"Christ on a bike, Art. What the hell were you thinking, starting a fight like that right in the middle of a diner?"

"I didn't start it." Arthur told him matter-of-factly, hissing a bit in discomfort when Alfred moved to clean a gash above his right brow.

"Well, alright, they were asking for it with that comment about that whole… Netherlands Incident (2), but you were the one that threw the table over and jumped on them."

"They deserved it."

"Yeah, okay, but still. Lift your shirt."

Arthur did as he was asked, and Alfred prodded gently over his already-bruising abdomen. "It doesn't really matter anyway," Arthur told him, "We'd have gotten into a brawl eventually anyway. We always do. May as well get it out of the way early on."

"You don't think you'll get into another one?" Alfred asked hopefully, crawling around behind Arthur to check his back after cleaning up the minor scrapes and scratches on his chest and belly, "Seems like they get on your nerves pretty much all the time."

"They do. We usually only get into one big scuffle like that, though; Once we've worked one another over relatively well, we're a lot less likely to go at it again. If we're already sore we don't much care to further damage ourselves, and when we can look at each other and think, 'Well now, that was a bloody brilliant punch I landed to give you that black eye', it takes the edge off just a tad."

"That makes sense, I guess. Close your eyes and shake your head."

Arthur dropped his shirt and followed the instructions, sending little bits of glass flying out of his hair. When he stopped, Alfred cautiously went through the blonde locks with his fingers, plucking out any of the shards that had stubbornly remained. He then went through a second time, checking for any cuts on his scalp, before moving back around to Arthur's front side. He rolled up Arthur's sleeves to check his arms, and, finding them mostly unharmed, went on to tend his torn and battered knuckles.

"I gotta say though, England," Alfred started after a short silence, "I'm kinda impressed; I didn't think you had fights like that in ya' anymore. You were pretty bad-ass." He grinned.

Arthur scoffed, but a pleased smile made its way to his face anyway, re-opening the tear in his lower lip that had been clotting well until then. "Don't be absurd. I've not broken anything, so you and I have gotten into worse fights than that."

"Yeah, but there's two of them."

Arthur rolled his eyes bemusedly, "And they were fighting each other as well as myself."

"Not when you first got them down, and you were holding up perfectly fine then. You probably couldn't have kept it up for long, but it was still pretty beastly for an old guy."

"Belt up, git." He gave a playful shove to Alfred's chest.

"Still, I'll be glad if you guys don't go at it again. I was kinda worried there for a second, you know." Alfred brushed the fresh blood from Arthur's swollen lip with his thumb, "Thought they might smash your head against something- Give you a concussion. Then I'd have to swoop in all heroic, kick their asses, and take you to a hospital where no one spoke English. Then we'd be screwed."

Arthur cleared his throat a bit and averted his eyes when Alfred failed to take his thumb away again, leaving it to smooth over the gash on his mouth. "Yes, well-"

"Isn't that just precious! Cawn interrupted y cariadau!"

"Aw, The nice!(3) Maybe we ought leave them be, aye?"

Alfred jerked his hand away and Arthur whipped his head towards his brothers, instantly scowling again.

"Piss off!" Arthur demanded, his cheeks flushing just a bit, "You're spouting rubbish."

"An' then yer arse fell off." (4) Angus grinned smugly, "You aren't foolin' anyone here, Artie."

Arthur shot up from the grass, glaring. "I'm going to beat seven shades of shit out of-"

"So! Guys! Whatta you say we find mall or something and get you some new clothes, so you don't look like you got mugged!" Alfred interrupted, trying to ward off another impending melee.

It seemed to be enough of a diversion, as Arthur stopped and looked down at himself, plucking at his shirt a little. "…Yes, alright. That would probably be for the best, if we're going to be out in town. No need to put off the locals."

"There isn't a mall here," Marc informed them, "But there are a few clothes stores."

"Great! Let's get back to the cars and get goin', then." Alfred smiled broadly, as insurance that any bad vibes got banished, and seized Arthur's arm to start back in the direction they'd parked.

~*~


(1) Seeing as how Iggy represents the entire UK, my head-canon and logic dictates that he would be fluent in all the languages commonly spoken therein.

(2) Okay, so. If you want me to be honest, I don't know a whole lot about this one, but I've heard that the UK is considering taking a lot of specific things out of text books. One of these things is something about having been beaten by the Netherlands in.. something. I'm not entirely sure, but obviously they were fighting over/for something, and the Netherlands won. Now, they're thinking of taking this out of the books because it was a long time ago that it happened, and since then the Netherlands have supposedly gotten very suckish. The theory is that, since more recent generations didn't have the opportunity to live in a time when the Netherlands were still, y'know, productive and cool or whatever, that people will be confused and wonder how in the hell the UK would have lost to them. So, basically, it makes them look really bad and they want to do away with it. I just wanted a touchy subject that didn't have to do with (so far as I know) the loss of a colony.

(3) "The Nice" is Scottish slang. It's like, "how/so cute!", and used a lot along with 'aww'. So, "Aw, how cute!"

(4) "An' then yer arse fell off" is pretty much a sarcastic scot way of saying someone's bullshitting. For example: "I reeled the fish in, and I swear it was as tall as I am!" "An' then yer arse fell off."


~*~

They successfully attained new sets of clothing from a relatively small clothing store (with some decidedly terrified-looking workers) without any major setbacks, to Alfred's relief. There were of course, some arguments, but none of them hit any serious nerves, so all way well.

Though, Alfred was already feeling a little exhausted. He wasn't used to playing mediator with so many short-tempered people at once, least of all when Arthur was one of them. He was finding himself feeling a new appreciation for single parents.

He seemed to be catching a bit of a break now, though; The siblings had settled into more standard brotherly squabbling, and almost seemed to be enjoying themselves in it. Alfred himself got roped into several of the disputes, Marc and Angus declaring him their 'Little Brother That Never Was', insisting that he call them his 'Big Brothers' (which Arthur threw a bit of a fit over) and showing him no mercy with their teasing and general horseplay, which, in turn, encouraged playful banter from both Arthur and himself.

They didn't seem to have much, if any plan as to what they were doing with their day. They'd ditched the vehicles in a randomly selected parking lot and walked through the town, popping into very nearly every store or business they came across, Marc and Arthur alternatively giving small history lessons on this building or that memorial.

Alfred was actually having a great time. It was like having a big family that you hadn't seen in years. He'd been accepted into the little group readily, and Arthur was… Well, Arthur was acting more his physical age than Alfred had seen in a long time. He laughed almost as much as he yelled, and was giving smiles more freely in between his glares and scowls.

It was pretty funny, Alfred thought; Arthur swore up and down that he hated his brothers, and he'd certainly seen some strong evidence for it, but after that initial confrontation, they all seemed to settle down with each other and just picked at one another like any regular set of siblings did.

It was sometime around mid-day, and they'd found something of a small park. It was a fairly warm day, and the sky was a bit overcast, but it was nice out none the less. The park didn't have anything for children to play on, but there were benches along a winding sidewalk and a few large trees, some bushes, and a pedestrian or two playing with dogs on the lush grass. Angus gave Marc a bit of a nudge with his elbow and a look. Alfred had been just about to ask about it, when Marc gave Arthur a harsh shove and sent him into a bit of foliage, then took off running down the walkway. Arthur was up and in hot pursuit, swearing all the way, in a quarter of a second.

Alfred made to go after them, hoping to nab the Englishman before he could catch up to his brother and start another fight, but Angus held him back with a firm hand on his shoulder. Alfred looked at him questioningly, and was met with a very stern gaze.

"We need to have a talk, you and I." The Scotsman told him in a very no-nonsense voice, shoving Alfred to sit in one of the benches and looming over him.

Alfred glanced in the direction the other two had run off in, then turned his attention back to Angus. He flashed a smile. "Uh, Okay, then. What about?"

"England, of course." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Alright."

There was a pause.

"… And this special relationship you have." Angus elaborated when Alfred seemed to have failed to grasp the idea he was getting at.

"Oh! Well, that one guy from Art's place came up with that term. It was something about how we, like, share a lot of culture and historical things, and a lot of military support, and basically how we just come off as being closer than any other Major Powers. Personally-"

"Not like that! I mean to say, the…intimate relationship."

Alfred stared at him. "…I don't get it."

"Ach!" Angus slapped a palm over his face in exasperation, "The romantic relationship, between you and Arthur! I'll have you know that it will not be tolerated if-"

Alfred broke out into hysterics, doubling over and clutching his stomach in an attempt to ease the cramping, laughing so hard that he could scarcely breathe.

That is, until Angus fisted the front of his shirt and slammed him against the back of the bench, leveling him with an expression that bespoke of imminent and severe pain. "I fail to see what is so funny."

Alfred's amusement ceased immediately, and he held his hands up I surrender. "Woah, hey. It's cool, dude. Just, y'know. Artie and me aren't dating."

Unfortunately, this didn't seem to have the placating effect he was going for; Angus just looked more angry, drawing in close to Alfred's face. "So you're jerking my little brother around? Is that how you Americans do things? Lead people on and drop them when you've had your fill?"

"No!" Alfred corrected quickly, trying to scoot backwards but, of course, was held up by the wood pressed against his back, "I mean, we aren't involved like that! At all! We're just buds, man. What's Arthur call 'um- Uh… Mates! Y'know; Friends. Just…yeah."

Angus loosened his grip and leaned back to a slightly less nerve-wracking distance, staring Alfred down apprehensively. He considered the statement for a momentarily. Then- "…You're lying."

"No, seriously! Ask him!"

"He'd lie."

"Then ask anyone! Well…Maybe not anyone. Actually," Alfred paused, thinking. "A lot of people seem to come to that same conclusion. Jeez, do we really come off like that?"

"You do." Angus confirmed, releasing his hold on Alfred's shirt and stepping back to cross his arms again.

"Yeah, well. We're seriously not."

"You were in the same bed this morning."

"That was just because- Er. I mean, with all the ghosts and stuff there, I was a little…uneasy- Not scared! Uneasy, and when I was a kid, we slept together all the time if I had trouble getting to bed, so…"

"And I suppose the nestling together was necessary?" He quirked an eyebrow.

"Hey! We were unconscious, that totally doesn't count!"

"What's your excuse for stroking his mouth earlier, then?"

"What? When?!"

"After we left the restaurant."

"You mean at the gas station? His lip is split, I was just getting the blood off!"

"Really? It looked like you were about to start playing tonsil hockey."

"No!" Alfred flushed a little, "I told you! We aren't- We don't-"

"Yes, well." He cut him off, "Either way, I'm not convinced. Marc and I just wanted to warn you," He brought himself uncomfortably close again, and continued in a low, threatening voice, "If you break our Little England, we will personally break your face. And everything else of yours, for that matter."

"Oh, okay then." He seemed mostly unaffected by the threat, shrugging. "That's no problem. Involved or not- Which we're not- I wouldn't do anythin' to hurt Artie."

"You've certainly done it before."

Alfred's face dropped into one of those, 'Don't fuckin' go there' glares. "Hey, now that's-"

He cut himself short when a distressed wail sliced through the air. Alfred and Angus both turned, unsurprisingly, in the direction their two comrades had disappeared shortly beforehand. Soon enough, Marc came into view, running like his like depended on it and hollering in his native tongue. Arthur appeared behind him, brandishing what appeared to be a large tree branch. With the speed at which they were running, they reached the other two nations within forty seconds, and Marc dived behind Angus for cover. When Arthur made to follow, intent on beating his sibling's skull in, Angus clothes-lined him at the waist, extracted the branch from his grasp, and flung him into a startled American's lap. Alfred caught him deftly and held him, pinned to his chest, as Arthur struggled to continue his attack.

"Get your wife under control, America!" Marc chided, still behind the tallest brother, "He's trying to bludgeon me with severed tree limbs!"

"Wife?!" Arthur screeched indignantly, redoubling his efforts to escape.

"You don't expect me to believe you're the man of the relationship, do you?" Mark asked, and he and Angus went into cackling.

"When I catch you, you bloody twat, I'm going to ring your fucking neck!"

Alfred shot up from the bench suddenly, bringing the irate Brit with him, holding him princess style. "Let's go get ice cream, guys!" He recommended cheerfully, once again trying to implement a distraction.

And it worked to divert Arthur's irritation. Though, he really just re-directed it to himself.

"Put me down, wanker! I'm not a damn woman!" Though he was blatantly displeased, he stopped flailing; He didn't want to be dropped, after all.

Marc and Angus were infinitely amused.


A/N: H'okay. I'm gunna cut this off here, so as to avoid an infinitely longer chapter yet again. I need to do some more research and poking around anyway, before I decide exactly what way I'd like to finish this. Note, that this isn't the whole chapter; This will be part one of two. I thought you guys would rather have it that way anyhow, as it means you've got something to read sooner.

Once again, I hope the not-quite-cannon characters didn't bother y'all too much. I realize the response might be different this time, since the rolls are much larger in this chapter, but.. well, just, sorry if it bothered you.

Also, I think Alfred came off as being a lot more in-tune with atmosphere in this chapter than we're all used to. I'd like to point out, because of that, that according to the owner of this wonderful series, Alfred is not INCAPABLE of reading the atmosphere, but simply chooses to ignore it pretty much all the time. As such, I feel that if he found it to be something corresponding with his personal motives, he'd be perfectly able to intercept the mood of a situation. So, I don't consider it to actually be out-of-character for him, but if the rest of you do and think my reasoning is bollocks, then I'm sorry. xD

With just a moment of your time, you can help to make this author more productive! Please review! 3

Translations:
Wales:
Cawn interrupted y cariadau- We've interrupted the lovers.