"…They're done… oh God they're finally done…" With that, Scotland slumped forward, and took a gulp of whiskey. "That's the table planning all done… now to enjoy my planning… ha hah… ha ha haaah…"

It had taken her four days to figure out who hated who and who had to sit next to who, and organised the data. It was very nerve-wracking, especially if she said the wrong thing and had to run away from angry countries with dangerous-looking weapons.

"I didn't mean anything about Vash and Roderich's relationship like that, he didn't have to shoot at me!" she whined. "Besides, I already knew that Roderich was going out with Gilbert… sheesh…"

She sighed and looked at her outfit for the wedding. She smiled slightly. "Now to sleep for a bit… that would be nice aye… aye… heh…" Northern Ireland and Wales peered into the office. "She's gone barmy from the stress." said Northern Ireland. Wales nodded in agreement.


The bar was crammed full of people. Surprisingly, there were lots of people who wanted to come to England's stag night rather than America's. It had surprised England, but warmed him inside too. He had thought that he would be alone… then, again, with the company, maybe that would have been better…

"I totally can't, like, believe you're, like, getting married!" squealed Poland. "Tell me, like, what your dress is like, totally, like!"

"What? I'm not wearing a dress!" shouted a flustered England. Poland frowned. "But, like, your sister said, like, that…"

"Do not believe a word that that woman says, Feliks," said England. "I will be wearing a suit."

"Ah… she looked very determined when she told us…" said Russia, a childishly thoughtful look on his face. "Yes…" put in Latvia, shivering.

"Well I'm not," said England. "And that is the end of that."


It was eleven o'clock at night. The other party was in full swing. "I'm getting married!" yelled America, raising his glass. "To the guy of my dreams! Hell yeah!" He frowned. "Man… how many people do you think'll be there? There'll be hundreds… I don't want to show me, or Iggy up… and I don't want Iggy to run out on me in front of everyone…"

Lithuania looked shocked. "Why- why would he do that?" America sighed. "I dunno, he just seems real nervous all of a sudden. You know?"

Australia slapped the back of America's head playfully. "You're getting married. If you're not nervous, there's something wrong with you. Don't get mopey on us, mate, Lith' escaped from Ivan just to come here. " America laughed as Australia turned away to answer his phone which had just started playing "Waltzing Matilda".

"Hell, what am I worried about? Tomorrow's gonna be the most awesome day of my life! Y-yeah! It will…"

Canada smiled, but his mind was far, far away. His expression turned serious. "Do you think Gwynn's been acting strange?" he asked America. America blinked at his brother.

"Gwin…?"

"You know her, eh?" America looked at him.

"…Yeah…?"

"I think she's been acting really strangely lately. At first I thought that maybe she was emotional about Arthur getting married, but-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" America yelled. "God, is somebody else after Arthur? Not another one-"

"No," said Canada, twitching, "she's my girlfriend. She's Arthur's sister. Ring any bells?"

"Are you sure you're not thinking of Connie? You know, the one that shouldn't be a country but for some reason she's still there for no reason? Iggy's only got two sisters, doesn't he?" America asked.

"No, he's got three, not including ones that aren't actually related to him. Connie, Cally and Gwynn," said Canada. How doesn't he know how many sisters his fiancé has…?

"Still not ringing any bells. Relax with me, buddy, it's my last night of freedom! Hey there, how you doin', Antonio? Hell, I'm getting married!"

America laughed. "I'm Iggy…" he said in a terrible, terrible English accent, "I'm getting hitched to the awesome Alfred F. Jones. He's sexy and cool and awesome and-"

"Stop making fun of my boyfriend." deadpanned Ireland's voice. America, alarmed, turned around wildly, trying to see his fiancé's brother.

"Paddy? Where…? Where?"

"In the phone." And indeed, a voice seemed to be trickling out of Australia's mobile phone.

"Ah, Paddy, I think he was trying to do a Pommie accent…"

"How are they anything alike?" demanded Ireland. "They're different accents!"

"Well they are a bit... Ah, well then, he failed drastically, didn't he?"

"You got that- oh hell! What the hell, Arthur? …Well, at least he's loosening up a bit with some drink in him. I'd better make sure he gets at least five more. Love you, Aussie."

"Love ya." Ireland disconnected the call.


"…Ahm gettin' married in the mornin'… Ding dong, the bells are gonna chi-i-i-i-i-me! Girls, come an' kiss me! Show me 'ow you'll miss me! But get me to the church on ti-i-i-me…" Arthur sang drunkenly, sprawled across the table.

"Yie've 'ad enough -hic- Arthur…" hiccupped Scotland on the floor. "Ya're gettin' married in th'mornin', yie dinnae want -hic- an'angover, dae yie -hic- ken?"

Arthur pouted and fell off the table. Luckily, the others were nearly all passed out drunk anyway, so nobody laughed. "Fine."

"Come play, me leprechauns!" laughed Ireland. "Ah, where's ye're lad when ye need 'im?"

"Aussie's at Alfie's do." said Scotland, waving about her glass, and showering whiskey over the nearer nations. "B't Brett's o'er there… ah think anyway… bit 'azy…" she grinned. "I'll betcha he'll be playin' wie wee Seamus before this night's over… if yie ken whit ah mean… yie catch mah drift?"

Ireland laughed. "Call yourself a big sister to those boys, woman? And I do know where Aussie is…"

Scotland chuckled. "Ah wahnt what's best fae 'em, don't ah? Seamus is legal in me in looking-age at least... isn't 'e...? What's his age...? An' it'll be good fae his attitude. Far over it'n actual years, yie ken whit ah say?"

"That I do. I still don't talk about it." Ireland frowned. "Wait… are you sayin' that Seamus needs to get laid?"

"Glad yie kenned -hic- ma way ah thinkin', Paddy. Glad -hic- ah am…"


"Oh my God… oh my God… oh my God…" moaned England the next day. "I'm getting married, and I've got a hangover… don't know what to be more concerned about at this present moment…"

"I told yie tae stay aff the drink at the party…" Scotland whimpered, clinging to her head.

"Like you're one to talk." snapped England. "Look at you. We're in the same boat here!"

"I'm not the one gettin' married in front of all that lot that are coming!"

"Don't remind me," snapped England, who winced soon afterwards. "Remind me not to shout with a hangover…"


The hall was filled with all different nations, all talking so the hall buzzed in anticipation. America and his best man, Canada, lingered about the front of the hall.

"The bride's allowed to be late, Alfred. He'll be here soon."America turned to his brother, smiling. "'Course he will."

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU MEAN?" England looked at his sister. Disbelief and anger clouded his features.

"Hey, hey, this wasn't my fault, I swear! Don't look at me like that, I feel bad enough already!"

"You lost the outfit! Yes, it is your fault!" screeched England, past the point of caring whether his voice sounded strange.

"I said I was sorry!" Scotland whimpered. God damn it. Most important detail and she'd lost it. God damn it…

Wait a minute. "Arthur," she said, seriously, "Do you want to get married?"

England looked confused at the seriousness in her voice. "Of course I do. Why the hell else would I be here?"

"I really am sorry about the mix-up, Arthur. There's no time to go back and get anything else, but," she gulped inwardly, "there's a wedding dress about your size in that cupboard over there." England gawked at her.

"A what?"

"You're going to have to wear the dress." she said, calmly. England gawked at her.

"…have I ever told you exactly how much I hate you?"

"Aye, you have," said Scotland.

"You planned this." he whispered, menacingly.

"I didnae plan this, Arthur." defended Scotland.

"Yes you did," deadpanned England.

"No, I didnae."

"Yes, you did. How could you even have known there was a dress if you didn't plan it?"

"Aye, so I looked around a bit, is that a crime?"

"Arthur! Cally!" An exasperated Wales flew through the door. "Everyone's wondering where you are! It's going to start soon, and everyone's here!"

"What, everyone? There were no cancellations?" A strange thing for a wedding of this size. Then again, it was the "Superpower Wedding", as it had been dubbed.

"No, none." England looked towards the floor, eyebrows furrowed, and a sad, distant look in his eyes. "Sorry," he said, "I…"


"Where is he, Matt? Tell me!"

"Stop worrying. Gwynn said that he's nearly ready."

"Gwynn? Oh, your imaginary friend. Great source, Matt." Canada looked quite put out by this. "She's not imaginary. She's my girlfriend."

His rant was put off by a commotion at the back of the hall. "Oh my God." said America. "Oh my God. I'm getting- I'm getting…"

Canada hit him, quite forcefully, on his shoulder. "Oh, so now you get the butterflies?"

"I… I'm going to see Arthur, 'kay? Cover for me!"

"E-Eh?" America was already sprinting up the aisle, spreading chatter as he passed the rows.

"Where is he going?" "What is he doing?"

"What on earth?"


Several minutes later, Scotland spoke slowly into the pay-phone in the hall. "You're. Kidding. Me On."

"No, I am not kidding you on," said England on the other end, tersely. "I am currently driving to Heathrow with America to board a flight."

"YOU'RE KIDDING ME! No… what the hell? Didn't you think at all? What the hell am I going to say to everyone! They took time out of-"

"Cally… you have always said that I should stop following people's expectations of me. As you put it, "live a little"."

"Arthur, I didn't mean like-"

"Alba, listen to me." Her old name struck a chord in Scotland. She calmed down slightly. "Although I could maybe have swallowed my pride and gone in there in a dress… Alfred couldn't do it in front of everyone. He told me so in very blunt terms."

"Just because he had butterflies-"

"I will not be left at the altar. I am protecting my own pride too."

A voice yelled something about "never doing something like that to you! I love you!"

A quiet giggle sounded through the phone. "Really?"

"'Course!" said America.

"Guys. Still here. What the hell… oh God, you are so dead when I get my hands on you Britannia. You as well, Alfred. I sacrificed my beauty sleep to organise this for you. Credit Crunch mean anything to you?"

"I'm out of recession." said England, primly.

"WELL, GOOD FOR YOU! I'M NOT, YOU WEE EEJIT! Don't mention it!" She winced as she looked nervously at the door separating her from the crowd. She lowered her voice. "Eejit…"

"You brought it up."

"I don't care. You are paying for this, Alfie."

There was a splutter. "I'll pay the money for it as well-"

"Oh no you won't. It was Alfie's butterflies, and you'll end up using my money in taxes to do it. Are we clear?"

"One, I don't use your money that often, and two, it was more serious than butterflies, Alba. He was going to run off, he even said so."

"D-don't say that! I-I-it was just a-" said America, reminded of the injuries overprotective sister Alba could inflict on poor unsuspecting Land of the Free.

"…since I'm in such a good mood, stay in Balmoral anyway. You're still paying for it, after all. I take it you're going to a registry office or something in Alfie?"

"Y-yes… indeed. I am still going to be married today or tomorrow at the latest. No more butterfly pull-outs, Alfred."

"Aye. If you do I'll tell Gwynn you hurt her sheep again."

"Gwynn? Again? When did I- who's-"

"It's a very serious threat Alfred. Do not underestimate my sister's love of sheep."

"Wait, so you do have a sister called Gwynn? Matt was right?"

"Matt?"

"Get married. Come back. Go to Balmoral. I'll be having a word with you two when you get back. Are. We. Clear?"

"Y-yes ma'am!"

The phone disconnected. Scotland breathed out. Then Wales peeked in. "You do know there's several hundred people waiting for Arthur and Alfred out there, don't you?"

"…Oh crap." "I'm getting out of here. There's two taxis booked for me and you. I'd advise that you went before you get lynched. That lot are easily pissed off." remarked Wales.

"Aye, count me out of this. See you when this lot blows over. I'd better get Francis out of there too… and Matt? Is he going with you?"

"Yeah… you never know when they will notice you."

"Good point. Let's move out."

Omake: The Llewelyn Incident or "When America Hurt A Sheep"

"Cally!" An excited America bounded up to Scotland. "What're you doing?"

"Cooking haggis." she said, preoccupied with the dish."Haggis! Tell me, what is that? I've had it before, but I don't know what it is!" He didn't know what he was eating? Then again, he always ate hamburgers. She sighed.

"A haggis is a three legged beastie that runs about the Highlands willy-nilly. The front leg is shorter than the other two so it can run up the hills. It's usually brown or grey, and they're quite rare nowadays- all that hunting to make them into puddings."

"Can I catch one?"

"Just don't get your hopes up, I said they're really rare."

"Cally! I got one!"Scotland dropped the dish she was scraping. She turned her head awkwardly. "W-whit? There isn't really a haggis animal, you know, don't-"

"Here!" he said, brandishing the "haggis". Scotland peered at it for a few seconds before reaching a verdict.

"Aye… lad… that's a sheep with two legs tied together."

"Cally? Is that Alfred?" A quiet voice that normally would have gone unheard floated past the door. A sudden "oh crap" expression appeared on Scotland's face.

"Untie the sheep! Now! Before she sees it! Hurry up, bampot!"

But there was no time. A small, brown-haired young woman wandered aimlessly into the kitchen. "Cally? What are you doing…?"

"Ah, n-nothing, nothing in particular, why? What would I be doing? D-did you get a haircut?"

"No…" Wales said quietly.

"Well your hair looks lovely anyway! How's the shee- eh- cows- back home? Doing well, ach that's grand, please go away, I'm in the middle of-"

"What the hell have you done to that poor sheep?" The question was light-hearted in tone, making it more terrifying, like Russia's normal tone.

"I- I did nothing! It was him, I swear! Tell her Alfie, it was you! Nothing to do with me!" By this time, she was sweating buckets.

"Who am I supposed to tell?" The question was one that should not have been said.


Wales smiled gently at the sheep in her arms. "I think I'll call you Llewelyn… you'll like it down south much more than in Cally's house…"

She wandered further and further away from the smoking ruin that used to be a house and two scarred-for-life people.

"Scary Gwynn," whimpered a female voice, "scary Gwynn…"

Extra: At The "Wedding"

"They couldn't have bailed us out too?" said Ireland, annoyed at his sisters and brother. He and his little brother were slowly getting backed against a wall by a pissed-off crowd.

"Where the hell are they? They're your brothers, aren't they?" said a European accent.

"Do you know how much paperwork I put off? Do you have any idea how it mounts up?" boomed an impressive voice over the rest of the crowd.

"Tell us, where are they?" said India, looking impassively at them.

"I don't know," whimpered Northern Ireland, "please, just leave me alone! Don't touch Rathlin Island!" he yelped as a hand accidentally brushed over his hair.

"Shay! Seamus! Over here!" somebody yelled.

"B-Brett?"

"Come on! Quickly," said New Zealand. "You too Paddy. Aussie'll be pissed off if you die - I mean, I don't want you to die, but-"

Ireland and Northern Ireland burst through the crowd at the encouragement, and continued to run out of the hall.

"What did happen anyway?" asked their saviour.

Ireland shrugged. "We'll hear about it soon enough, I guess… we should hide for a while."

"Yeah, you do that." New Zealand said. "Stay at Aussie's place. His house is massive."

Ireland smiled genially. "I hardly think I'd need too much space between Aussie and-" Ireland looked behind him and his face turned pale. "ANGRY MOB AT 6 O'CLOCK, PEOPLE!" he cried. "Go, go, go!"