Yeah, I don't know where this chapter came from.
I need a more regular sleeping schedule, I think…
Thanks, guys, for sticking with me!
FILE #6: MEIN SAUSAGES
Germany skewered a bratwurst on a thin stick and propped it against a large rock near the embers of the dying fire. The heat from the smoldering wood would roast it up nice and crispy. That done, he leaned back against a tree trunk and closed his eyes. This island really wasn't such a bad place after all. He had a ration of beer, plenty of sausages, and a fire that he'd worked for hours to build (he'd forgotten his tinderbox). He should be able to smell his bratwurst sizzling by now…why couldn't he smell the bratwurst? He cracked open an eye to see that his lovely little fire had been smothered by a giant metal pot that Italy had plunked down. "Vat are you doing, Italy?" He yelled.
"Ve?" Italy responded. "Making pasta, of course!" He produced a can of salt and poured some of it in the warming water, then stirred it with a wooden spoon.
"Vat? Vere did you get that salt and spoon from? That vasn't in our provisions." Italy shrugged. Germany shook his head and gestured to the fire. "You can't make pasta on the fire like this. You're going to put it out. That pot is too big."
The Italian looked at the pot. "No, I think it's fine." He stoked the fire and made it flame up a little more.
"No, it's not fine. Vere am I supposed to put my sausage?"
"Oh." Italy scooched his pot over an inch. "Do you have room now?"
Germany repositioned the sausage-laden stick over the hottest part of the fire. The sausage got back to cooking and he calmed down. "Japan, do you need the fire also?"
Japan shook his head. "I caught some fish and will eat it raw," he reminded his friend. "with rice." He proffered Germany the bowl to show him its contents. Indeed, mounded in the tiny bowl was rice topped with slices of raw fish.
"Vat? Vere did you get that rice? That vasn't in our provisions, either!" Germany asked, exasperated. Japan shrugged. Germany huffed and checked his sausage to find that it was perfectly browned. He slid it off the stick and onto a plate, then put the plate down on the ground and reached for some beer. Grabbing his beer, he turned back around and screeched in a very un-manly way. "Hey, vere's my sausage? Who took my sausage?" He glared at his two allies and pointed to the empty plate. They looked up from their meals and shrugged. Germany growled in the back of his throat and speared another sausage on the stick he used earlier. He tapped his fingers impatiently as he watched the sausage cook. Finally, the sausage was done and he slid it onto the plate, making sure to brush all remaining sand off. Some grease dripped off and fell onto his uniform. He swore and gestured to Italy. "Hand me a napkin, vill you?" Italy acquiesced happily. Germany wiped the grease off his pants, picked up the plate, and yelled again. "VERE'S MY SAUSAGE?"
Japan and Italy stared at their red-faced companion. "Germany-san, you are making a scene. Please refrain from doing such things," Japan said
Germany shut his mouth against his anger and skewered one more sausage. A vein twitched in his forehead as he leaned it over the fire. He pulled it away from the flames when it was a little burnt and stuck it straight into his mouth to take a bite. It burned his mouth and he gasped, then took a gulp of his beer. After his mouth had cooled, he brought the delicious sausage back up to his mouth to take another bite, but found he could not do so because the stick was empty. Germany made a deep guttural noise and stood up, kicking over Italy's pot in his anger. Italy burst into tears as his second round of pasta fell onto the sand. "Germanyyyy why did you do such a horrible thing? I thought we were friends!"
"I'M NOT FRIENDS VITH ANYVUN UNTIL I FIND MY SAUSAGE!"
Japan held up his hands. "Germany-san! We have not touched your food! Please calm yourself."
Germany continued to rage, Italy continued to cry, and Japan wished that he'd never left his room.
oOoOoOoOo
Meanwhile, not too far away, the Allies were searching through the underbrush for their lost comrade. "How did this happen? I told all of you not to bring alcohol on this mission, aru!" China wailed quietly. "I brought so many snacks it was unnecessary, aru."
"Hey, we don't have that much," America whispered. "I just wanted to bring a little rum, that's all. Something to put in the piña coladas, you know, dude?"
"Pssh," France snickered. "Amerique brought a whole fifth in his bag. Given the size of everything else in America's house, I guess that is a little rum to him."
America waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Yeah, you know everything's bigger in America. But you know what's bigger than my fifth of rum? Your giant bottle of St. Tropezian wine. Yeah, I saw that."
"Guys," Canada said under his breath. "You should be quieter…we tracked the Axis' movements and they will be around here somewhere…"
France waited for Canada to catch up to him, then snaked an arm around his waist, hooking him in closer. "Is mon Matthieu frightened? Shall we cuddle in the midst of this dark and imposing grove of palm trees? I'll keep you warm, hon hon ho-" he was cut off by an elbow in the gut from America.
"Dude. Quit mackin' on my little brother."
Canada sighed. "We're the same age, America…" But, of course, no one heard him.
"I found England!" Russia called in a hushed tone. The Allies rushed over to see him kneeling on a short overhang, pointing below. A merry glow emanated from a fire pit in the sand below the overhang. Three figures were gathered around the pit. One was stomping around, one was rolling about on the sand, and one was just sitting.
China hissed. "Those aren't England, snowbrains, those are the Axis powers, aru!"
Slowly Russia turned to look at the ancient country, a sick smile spread across his face. "England is in the bushes behind the Axis, but talk like that makes me want you to become one with me even more, da! We would have so much fun, the three of us."
A scared China quavered, "E-eh…three of us, aru?"
"Yes. You, me, and my pipe! Kol kol kol kol…" He brandished the section of lead pipe and chuckled.
America, who was nearest Russia, scuttled away as quickly as he dared. "Y'all have fun with that. I'm gonna go grab England." He made his way down the embankment, staying as low as possible so as to avoid being seen by the Axis, who seemed to be calming down. England was spotted lying on his stomach behind a particularly large palm tree. He was shaking and America, afraid that he was hurt or sick, made haste to shimmy up beside him. "England, dude, are you okay?"
As it turned out, England was shaking with laughter. "What? Oh, bloody hell, it's you. Sod off; can't you see I'm having a jolly old time?"
"Man, we've been looking for you for like two hours! We were worried sick! I've got to get you back to base before you do something totally dumb and blow my perfectly-planned mission."
Not bothered in the slightest, England waved America off. "Bugger your mission. I've found something better to do."
"Uh huh…what are you doing?"
"This," England whispered, barely containing his giggles. He grabbed a stick from beside him and showed it to America. Three fat sausages were skewered on the stick. "Every time that git Germany cooked a sausage, I nicked it, I did! He went mental! Made Italy cry and all! I haven't had this much fun since you took down your bedroom curtains for the wash!"
America laughed. "Dude, that's awesome. Let's see if we can…hang on, what are you talking about my curtains? Are you spying on me again?"
England froze. "Ehh…wot?" He pulled out a hip flask and took a swig. "Don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled defensively.
"Give me that," America made a grab for the flask. "You're too drunk already!"
"Am not! You watch what you say, you!" He held it out of America's reach, but rolled over in his intoxication. "I'm the United Kingdom and you are nothing but a wasteland!"
"You're a senile old man who has hallucinations and likes to represent the counter-culture!"
"You can't speak to me like that! I am your elder!" In reality, England's body was only four years older than America's, England's being 23 and America's 19. Even so, the island nation was determined to use his advantages where he had them. As this entire quarrel was located mere feet from the Axis' campsite, it had to be conducted in whispers and hisses. As they couldn't very well stand up and fight, he tussle for the flask resulted in America crawling on top of England so he could reach for it properly. This, of course, enraged (and delighted) the intoxicated England, who couldn't decide whether or not he actually wanted America to get off of him.
oOoOo
Germany rolled his eyes. Italy was curled in his lap, tear streaks down his cheeks. "See, now, I didn't mean to kick over your vater pot. I vas just upset over my sausages."
Italy sniffed. "Ve…Germany can be so scary!"
"…sorry." The burly blonde man looked up towards the stars. Ye gods, why him?
Japan interrupted them. "Ah…Germany-san…I feel that you ought to know…America-san and England-san are in the bushes." His face turned red. "They appear to be having some sort of…tryst."
"England and America? Vhere did you say they vere?" Looking in the direction of Japan's pointing finger, he realized that the two Allies were right behind the tree where he had been sitting before. Maybe they knew what happened to his sausages! Wait a minute… Germany stood up suddenly, dumping Italy unceremoniously off his lap.
oOoOo
Both countries had a hold on the flask and were trying to wrench it away from each other. America had the upper hand over England, being sober, until England flipped them over and knocked the wind out of him momentarily. Still, the Brit was very drunk and America soon gained sole control over the container of alcohol. England whined softly. "Oooh, you big bully, you hand that over to me this instant. That's my property!"
America raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? You want it that badly? What would you do to get it back?"
Cold chills ran down England's back. "W-what do you mean?"
"I mean, what would you do to make me give back your flask?"
"Speak plainly, you tosser," England huffed.
America grinned. "What I'm trying to say is this: if you want your booze back, you're gonna have to smooch it from me."
Silence. England had to keep from shrieking. "WHAT?" he whispered fiercely.
"That's right. Anytime you're ready," America replied. "Just one kiss."
"You bloody…bleeding…rotten…piece of rubbish…damned…" England floundered, still straddling the younger country. "I ought to really punch you right in the nose for even suggesting such a…vile thing." America just waggled his eyebrows. England groused for a second more, made all the more upset by America's putting of his arms behind his head so as to lay more comfortably. "You…I…fine. I'll do what I must."
America gave a start. "You what? Really?" He must like me! Why else would he risk his dignity over something as silly as alcohol?
Blushing furiously, England nodded, looking anywhere but at America. "Yes, all right, one bloody kiss, but that's all!" America had gone quite serious and was now just watching him, waiting. Heart thumping, palms sweating, and growing redder by the minute, England lowered himself to America's face. He felt the other man's breath on his cheeks and made the mistake of looking down into his eyes. Even in the dimness, lit only by clear moonlight and the Axis' fire through the brush, he could see America's bright blue eyes looking up at him with shock. An echo of the trembling fear England felt was reflected in the eyes below him. Slowly, England grew nearer to America. Their eyes closed in anticipation and their lips ghosted over each other, each savoring the delicious moment of tension before the kiss…
"ENGLAND! AMERICA! YOU TOOK MY SAUSAGES! I'M GONNA BEAT THEM OUT OF YOU!" Germany roared on the other side of the brush.
Immediately the two Allies sprang up and took off running as fast as they could, Germany in pursuit behind them. "DAMMIT! WHY THEN?" America yelled, deflating from the excitement of almost kissing England and filling with indignation instead. "CAN'T I GET A BREAK ALREADY?"
Germany chased them halfway back to their campsite before he stopped, tired from lack of food (his sausages had all been stolen.) The other two kept running until they were safely back with the rest of the Allies. After they caught their breath, they explained what had happened, omitting, of course, the part about the near-kiss. Both became mysteriously mute at that part and refused to say anything more.
France, naturally, guessed that there was more to their tale, but said nothing. England, drunk and dizzy from his run, crashed in his tent. The other Allies sat around their own fire, looking at the stars. "I checked my bottle of rum," America broke in suddenly. "and there wasn't any missing."
"Neither was there any missing from my wine," France added. "How did Angleterre get so drunk anyway?"
"Oh, I let him have some of my vodka," Russia replied happily, suddenly holding a gargantuan bottle of vodka that put America's and France's alcohol to shame. Even Russia had to hold it with two hands. "I thought it would be fun, da."
The Allies stared. "Dude. Where'd you pull that freaking monster vodka bottle from?" America asked.
"The same place I keep my chainsaw," Russia replied cheerfully.
Silence.
"Right. I think I'll go to bed now," China said hurriedly, rushing off to the tent he shared with France, who followed close behind him.
America also ran off to he and England's tent. Canada, who was forced into tenting with Russia, just decided that maybe, if he sat still on his rock long enough, Russia wouldn't notice him. It worked and Russia soon left, kol kol koling to himself.
Canada nearly fell of the rock with relief. Maybe I'll just go join the Axis…he thought. After all, he did like sausage. With maple syrup, of course.
oOoOo
This might be the last chapter unless something awesome smacks my mind. What do YOU think England might do when drunk?
