I wouldn't say this is filler, but, not a lot of plot...kinda...sorta
I wanted a feelz chapter okay?!
Sorry T_T
They only spent a mere five minutes watching as the riots grew before their eyes. Sam and Dean had seen enough to realize this was getting out of hand …fast.
While the others were glued to the screen, various forms of emotions showing as they watched their fellow country literally collapsing from the inside, Dean moved to whisper hastily at his brother, the two of them considering their options.
According to the announcements, though the riots were becoming severe all across the country, the worst seemed centered around Slater Street in Ottawa, which seemed to be a random location until Alfred, mumbling through his palm, mentioned Matthew had an apartment there, as it was close to his Parliament buildings.
Well, that pretty much answered where the nation was.
Demons usually attracted the brunt of whatever bad they managed to stir up.
With every image of a lit Molotov or shattered pane, the surrounding nations flinched. Pained groans were released when the mounted police drew Tasers while the bodies of their equine companions blocked the road. The boys didn't fully understand the severe implications of a government upheaval to a Nation, but from the reactions of those around them and the common sense they prided themselves on, they suspected it wasn't good. They needed to finish this, soon.
After a few minutes of coaxing the nations away, they managed to come to a unanimous decision the moment Sam suggested it.
They had to get to Canada, both land and person.
France managed to pull himself together in a semblance of his normal self, ushering everyone to at least have a bit to eat, managing when they realized they would be less useful with ragged bodies. Dean managed to find the right moment to complain about expecting to try French fries, earning himself a smack on the back of his head.
"We'll start making some charms to make sure no one else is possessed." The older of the brothers dumped his plate into the sink." This thing might have phoned home for some help."
"Just do it right, bastards. I'm not helping if you fuck this up." With that, Romano left them to deal with it, not willing to fight about it further. Despite popular belief, he hadn't had a siesta today. In fact, his sleep schedule had been non-existent since the meeting. He had just been better at hiding it.
"Adorable, isn't he?" This garnered a few forced chuckled from those around him. Dean was slowly getting used to the feisty Italian, but that didn't mean he liked him.
"How long do you think it will be before you're ready to leave, boys?" Arthur looked at them with tired eyes.
The two of them seemed to do calculations in their heads. "An hour or so if we're lucky."
A nod was the only confirmation they got.
"Before we split, we'll make sure you guys can take care of yourselves so-"
"Wait? You guys aren't coming?" America jumped from his seat, a feeling of abandonment welling up.
Sam's hands went up in a pacifying gesture. "It's not like that. We would…we just-"
"I don't know if you noticed, Captain, but we aren't exactly the most law abiding of your citizens. Uncle Sam isn't exactly our best friend."
Alfred cocked his head to the side.
It was like kicking a crippled puppy, but Dean was about to just tell him that they weren't risking Federal prison for this. They had the Vatican on their side, were they really all that needed? However, he never got the chance.
"Alfred, we kinda can't go with you. I mean, it's hard enough for us to travel here. Internationally is-"
"Robbery, thief, breaking and entering, suspected murder, impersonating a Federal agent…" They stared, one confused, one impressed, into expressionless blue eyes. Around them no one even flinched as the charges were read off systematically.
"Okay. When did you find that out?" Alfred just shrugged.
A harsh cackled cracked through the air. "Z'at's all? Unawesome!" He paused to look at them haughtily. "Und du forget who du are talking to."
A side glance revealed an impishly smiling American.
Everyone managed to break off into groups, an hour given to do as they pleased.
Dean and Sam were searching through things they had and a few artifacts they found throughout the house. They needed objects of religious importance, which, they themselves didn't have enough of. Alfred however, had a closet full of memories, each of them solidified with objects dating back to pre-colonization. He let them have free reign, welcome to anything that caught their interest. The boys had found many Native articles, a few in which suited their needs just perfectly. Ludwig was with them, helping by using Sam's laptop to identify a few items since the American had long since run off.
The two Italians had found themselves a corner window to sit by. Each of them talking in hushed tones, surprising for anyone who knew them. The southern side seemed his usual angry self, but there seemed to be more to it if the clenched way he spoke was anything to go on. The northern however was relatively somber, his face a bit downturned as he nodded slightly in tune with his brother's words.
The rest of the members had found other things to occupy their time. Thus Arthur found himself sitting straight as an iron rod on the porch step with a swiped cup, filled with his favorite beverage. The drink was suspended below his mouth, still as he stared out across the yard.
He faced a North-East direction, but had angled his body intuitively toward the North. Steam billowed around his face, the incense relaxing him ever so slightly. The Brit's mind was elsewhere though.
This was the first time, since the cruelty of the situation cropped up, that he had a semblance of seclusion. His mentality took notice of this, allowing it to creep out from the bog he had been in. Here, there wasn't an ex-colony, who required a constant eye. Nor was there a French prat who demanded a strong façade. Here, he could slip away from it all and truly reflect on the situation.
It was in no short of demand from him.
In less than twenty-four usually meaningless hours, he had found one of the people he deeply cared for was suffering in ways he couldn't imagine. Worse yet, he couldn't help. Wars, famine, or plague all had a cure, it was something they were all used to, expected. Somewhere, there would have been a solution and the man of Great Britain could have found it, sparing no expense.
However, this wasn't something physical or commonplace. This was supernatural, a force he was all too familiar with. It wasn't a magic he was used to and anything he knew seemed child's play in comparison to what the others were bringing to the table. Arthur figured it was his own continual changes in religious convictions that left him in this state. The Middle Ages had been his greatest achievements in demonic arts, but even that had fallen through.
The man could only wince as he remembered many failed attempts at exorcism and the genocides that they incurred.
A shudder racked through him as burnings, drowning, and a creative use of a donkey flashed in his mind. Nation or not, his methods were not to be used on his Canada, his Matthew.
The nation would be damned before he admitted it, but he loved his sons six ways to Norway, no matter how much they acted up.
That thought went for both of them.
Alfred was the first to come to mind when anyone thought bad of the North American twins. That was a given. No one could deny the brat had his way of pissing everyone off so well it could have been an Olympic sport. However, the larger of the nations had a way of getting under your skin so well it was an art form.
Snide remarks in a voice so low you almost had to question if they were made. Often, Arthur would return to his office only to be humbled as he realized that innocent quip was a sarcastic witticism that struck deep.
The boy knew what he was doing. Arthur had caught him once and that was all it took for him to realize this. Britain was one to avoid that side of his son if possible. Words, if used right, could cut a man apart, straight to his very foundation.
But Matthew wasn't one to do that.
Sure he was ornery little twat sometimes, but…well.
Matthew was a passive aggressive little shit that he would do anything for.
Arthur sighed heavily through his nose.
He was now left with a mind full of unneeded thoughts and cold tea.
The creak of the door behind him caused his head to snap.
He didn't expect to see this person out so soon.
How long had he been lost in thought?
"Here." Sam stuck his hand out, in it a necklace with a small leather pouch attached.
Setting his tea down before standing, the nation took it wordlessly, nodding his thanks.
Sam turned to go back in, but paused, twisting himself back out, allowing the door to fall closed.
"We'll get him back."
Arthur's smirk was something containing centuries of sadness. "Son, I am well aware of the situation. Don't treat this old dog like he needs to be coddled."
The other grimaced, clenching his hands for a moment. "We'll do everything we can…" With that, he left the personification to his own devices once more.
"I know you will." He called to empty air.
Retrieving his discarded cup, he looked unimpressed at the liquid. It would be a sunny month in London before he wasted tea, so he bit the bullet and downed the cold brew as quick as he could before gathering his belongings.
His shoulders straightened and he forced his brows to relax, if only a little, as he reached to follow the boy in.
Stiff upper lip...
He would always tell his boys that, now it was his turn to receive the lecture. There were things to be done and he still had another past charge that he needed to keep in line.
His lips tightened at the thought.
They had been doing their best to keep their war paint from cracking, keeping each other positive, but the former empire knew signs when he saw them.
For one thing, Texas wasn't that round.
Francis had managed to rope Gilbert into helping him clean up after breakfast.
It was painfully clear neither of them would take the time to catch up on sleep, and the Prussian had already ensured his arsenal the night before.
There wasn't that large of a mess to clean as the Frenchman had been cleaning dishes as he used them. It was just boring to do without company. Besides, the albino needed to learn of domestic chores if he ever wished to settle down….especially if he chose to settle down his petit fils.
Prussia would know the correct way to scrub a non-stick pan before he agreed to that!
In other words, France was worried about the other nation being alone with his thoughts.
In fact, he was kind of afraid of being alone with his own thoughts.
"Mon ami…If you scrub like zhat, you will ruin zhe pan." The metal scrub was taken from the paler man.
"Che! Like I care. Z'is isht Amerika's anyvay!" The ex-nation grinned, his eyes and mouth telling different stories.
"Oui. But do you really want to anger your bride's shotgun crazy frère?"
Gilbert's lips twitched as he imagined himself appeasing and scraping to the crazy Amerikaner.
Not happening.
With that, he seized the steel wool once more and began scrubbing again, purposefully putting force into it now, much to the chagrin of his companion.
There was relative quiet for a good five minutes, making them both a bit uncomfortable. Earlier the silence had been welcomed. Now it created a hole in the atmosphere, filled only with the sloshing of water and the clink of china.
Even with France's best efforts and continued companionship, his friend still managed to wallow through the darker portions of his imagination. Unlike the blonde, Gilbert had a good grip on the idea of what Matthew was going through.
And what the possible options were.
This only furthered his daydreaming creativity. There were various scenarios. Each of them just as vivid as the last. The thing with the brain, however, is its continual want to fuck with you.
Got a history exam? Let me explain to you the length of a giraffes tongue in relation to the sun.
Need an excuse for why you are in the back seat with Farmer Bill's daughter? Oh…here's a case of the stutters…and lets redirect all that blood in a more southern direction, okay?
Your boyfriend has been taken over by the spawn of Satan and you need to calm your tits before you make a mistake in exorcising him? Let me show you every possible way you screw this up, emphasis on the horrific scenes of death because that's the best part. Oh! Did you see the way his body twitched!? You want some popcorn? I feel like popcorn.
Gilbert's face continually contorted into an ugly snarl, not be go unnoticed by his friend.
"Prusse?" No response.
Well that wasn't normal, coming from a man that practically demanded people kneel down and cry at the mention of his Awesomeness.
A damp gently hand was place on his body, causing a pan to clatter into the sink.
Blink
Blinkblink
Blink
"Franny…"
"Oui?"
"Pay up or lösen ihr hand from mein awesome vital regions!"
France grinned enthusiastically, receiving the same in return. They didn't need words to comfort each other. They ran out of phrases conquests ago. They didn't need pats on the back or long drawn out cries with each other anymore. Instead, they just needed to be themselves, keeping it together like they always had.
It was just one of them needed to be reminded.
After showing the Winchesters his old storage room, Alfred had retreated from the crowd. A few quick texts later and he was bounding up the stairs, taking himself to a guest room that often saw use. The door closed with a click as he laid the glasses he wore on a side table along with a second and plopped himself on the bed, done with his part for now.
Normally, he would have helped them sift through the mess in which he was most knowledgeable about. Normally, he would have been gung-ho about being the hero, stomping around until everything was ready. Normally, he wouldn't be in a dark room where the ghosts could pop out at any time.
But here he was, defying normally.
He was curled up on himself, eyes closed without resting. America had learned one thing that was for sure. Mattie was terribly far-sighted, opposite of his near-sighted Texas. This had left him with a stinging headache.
The young nation wasn't sure when or why he had switched the two. It wasn't as if he shouldn't have noticed. It was Texas he would be forgetting after all. It was just that either pair felt had seemed right. The thought made him a bit sick to his stomach. He had switched glasses with his brother before, in jest, but Alfred had usually taken them off within a few minutes as they would feel awkward on his face.
What was so different this time?
His teeth ground together, attempting to put him in early dentures when he felt a soft touch to his leg.
Sitting up post haste, the blonde found his blue eyes meeting black. Below him was his brother's pet, ordering for attention.
"What's up, little dude?" He asked, pulling the cub into his lap as he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed.
He received a wistful glace. "Who?"
"Silly. I'm Cana-" America's eyes went wide as he realized he was repeating the words he heard his brother say on one too many occasion. Hastily, he corrected himself with a little less gusto than he tried to portray. "I'm the hero!" A nervous laugh sprung up roughly as he tried to find the right words to continue with.
Chewing on his lip, the nation found himself in a position that was new territory for him.
He couldn't think of anything to say
Giving the bear a tight hug, he dropped the animal on his bed, telling it to get some sleep. There was no argument as the furry creature drifted off before the American could shove his face into his hands.
He wouldn't cry, that was the least heroic thing ever, but small shudders crept along his shoulders as he forced himself to steady his breathing, with little progress.
Through the quivering, a small sound could be heard. It wasn't a laugh nor a sob. It was something in-between that was almost unnatural to him. In all his years, he had never heard a noise like that. The shock was enough to send him upright, sniffing and panting.
Though he was unsure of the things his body decided, a certain Englishman outside his door did.
Arthur had been poised to strike his fist against the oak door when he had heard every bit of the commotion inside.
Despair. Anguish. Torment.
His free hand was covering his mouth as his green eyes long since fell closed, tightened enough to lock away suppressed feeling that threatened again.
In and out old boy.
A few steadying breaths later, he managed to complete his task, rasping on the door with enough force to seem confident.
"Alfred? We should head down to the others now."
There was a suspenseful silence before shuffling came from behind the door, eventually swinging open to show a disheveled boy with his glasses, this time his own, on crooked and a Hollywood smile that wouldn't get past auditions.
"What?"
Arthur didn't realize he had been staring.
"N-nothing."
"Whatever. Just follow the hero and everything will be A-Okay!" Alfred pushed aside his father-figure, taking the lead.
"Bloody wanker!" The Brit clicked his tongue at the boy's rude behavior, but his anger couldn't hold as a wave of pity swept over him.
He'd definitely be keeping an eye on that one.
Black eyes scanned the wreckage below, ecstatic at the sight.
Cars flipped, small fires, broken glass. All the basic signs of a riot gone right. Thankfully this body he had kept a place so close to his main target. This way, he could watch the festivities from the comforts of his own home.
"It's a nice day for a walk, don't you think?" A frown crossed his face as he received no replies. "Maybe we should go on a date? A nice stroll by the Rivière des Outaouais, some ice-cream in the park, maybe toss a few bricks through the Commons."
Still nothing. Tough crowd.
A sigh escaped him, looking at his stoic brunette companion. No matter what he tried, he just couldn't get a rise out of the man. Oh well. He should have figured from the outfit he wore. What was he? Some sort of run of the mill accountant?
And trench coats were so twentieth century.
His other little buddy wasn't very vocal either.
Wasn't as surprising though. Little bugger had finally broken down a bit. The small pin pricks he felt over his skin caused his grin to grow wider, but poor little Matthew seemed to be a bit uncomfortable with the string of violent murders. Odd.
Needless to say, he didn't expect to hear from his host again until at least, oh…..around the fifteenth showing of World War Two.
Lösen ihr[GER]| Remove/Detatch your
So I have Ethics, Morals, Ethnicity, and Japanese (three papers and a project, respectively) due before the first. A test Tuesday...and my brain imploded.
I wanted to get a chapter out that explained a little of what/why they aren't 'completely' freaking (like I would) at the situation.
I just didn't mean for it to be after the longest wait.
So yes. After four days of no word...you get...this. 3 hours, half crazed, and a bottle of strawberry Zinfandel later.
At least I gave 'some' movement/hint at the end.
