Acknowledgements: Thank you to The-Macer-of-Dale, Blackdevil Nightheart, Mely-Val, IrishMaid, B-The-Geek, Pedro-IS-Madi12, Percabeth is Awsome, cullinane, Go LilixIcy, Missmanda, Einsam-Schatten,, Becky 999, Kate Marley, Typewriting Fangirl, fishstick1999, Envie Rouge, Laughinthefaceofdanger, Missflutterpie, abbydobbie, saraholly, Draskar, julyza, Deefangirl, Pandoala, Hintori-time, Senor Tree, Wandering Authoress for the reviews, PMs, faves and alerts and of course all my other readers. (If I've missed anyone please tell me.)

White Wedding

Chapter 14

"Uncle Switzy! Uncle Switzy! We have to go!"

Switzerland, who hated being called 'Uncle Switzy' at the best of times, growled. He was sat in his room taking apart, cleaning a rifle and putting it back together over and over again. His failure at killing the cockerel has finally taken his mind.

He looked up at the speaker. It was the Pope.

"I'm not going anywhere until that cockerel is dead," he said cheerlessly.

Italy (for it was he in the Pope costume) picked up a ping pong ball and threw it out of the window, killing the bird in one go.

The hotel staff are amazed to see the Pope killing their hotel cockerel with flying sportswear accessories.

"There! Now you can come to the wedding, Mr Switzerland!" Italy said, very pleased with himself.

Switzerland growled again, flung some more prozac into his mouth and followed the small Italian out of the room. "Okay, but no stripping."

"Okay Signor! I promise…"

"And no trying to get pocket money out of me!"

"Okay I promise!"

"And why are you dressed as the Pope?"

"It was my brother's fault, I wanted to dress as a pirate like him but he and Spain got the last costumes and I nearly dressed as a genie but Signora Latvia took that, but I suppose that would be…"

"No, forget it. I don't want to know."

Meanwhile downstairs in the hotel lobby…

"A genie? Really? I mean Poland…" Hungary said, a smirk on her lips.

"Don't you bloody oppress me, lady," Poland said, his hands on his hips. He then swaggered as only he could into the bar to find Toris with his head on the bar, a large vodka in his hand.

"Oh hun…" he said, gently putting his arms around Toris and resting his head on Toris' shoulder.

"I know… I'm stupid…" Toris slurred. He then looked up and said, "Why are you dressed like that?"

"It was Latty-kins. Someone had to wear it, Liet."

Toris shook his head.

In the hotel lobby…

"Horse and carriage for the bride!" Yorkshire called out from atop the 'carriage'. It was actually a farm wagon.

"That's not exactly…" Ukraine began to say.

"Oh sestra…" Belarus put her hands to her face when she saw the cart. The horses were farmhorses from the local farm.

"I know…" Ukraine tried to think of an excuse and waited for the explosion of rage as they stared at the cart which was mud-splattered and had a consignment of potatoes in the back.

"It's so rustic!" Belarus finished and hugged her sister.

Ukraine just gawped as Belarus opened the carriage door, a tonne of potatoes fell out and her sister got in. "Arthur thought of everything! Remember our first potato farm sestra?" Belarus called ecstatically.

Ukraine shook her head, she must be going mad. Either she was or her sister was. Or someone had put hallucinatory drugs in the tea.

"Come and get in here, Katya!" Belarus called, adjusting her 'tiara'.

Katya tentatively climbed in. She called out to the other bridesmaids. "Liz! Latty-sweetie, Belgium…"

Hungary stuck her head out of the door and called, "We'll get a taxi!"

"I wonder where big brother is? Isn't he supposed to be here?" Belarus asked, she twitched and then said, "I mean we are getting married! I mean to Arthur… not Ivan.. Not Ivan… I'm not marrying Ivan…" she said hurriedly, her left eye twitching.

Katya shoved her sister across and sat down with a rustle of frills. "I don't know where they are…"

Russia was facing a mutiny.

"I'm not going anywhere still dressed in this bloody costume!" Austria insisted.

"Flugwump," England gurgled and then sunk back down.

"My fans needs me," Scotland said, pointing at the truck drivers who were still conga-ing around the lorry park in the bowels of the ferry.

"We are all too conspicuous to the police," Germany said. "We can't possibly risk stealing another vehicle and we can't take him out like that." Germany pointed at Austria.

"Danke!" Austria said.

The postman had finally caught up with them and stood shivering in his boxers and vest. "He took my suit," he said, pointing at Russia.

Russia spun round at each of them. "Right!" he said and stomped off in his huge army boots. He stopped and turned round, grabbed Germany by the lapels and said, "What does conspicuous mean?"

"It means… er… stands out…"

"Noticeable," the postman added.

"Stands out like a sore thumb," Scotland said, putting the pink beret (previously belonging to Mrs Worthington-Smythe) on his red curly locks.

Russia humphed and hurried out. He called back to Scotland, "When you have stopped congering, you should come with me and help me take clothes off some men."

There were some stares at this. But Russia was oblivious, as well as being conspicuous, as he stomped up the decks looking for 'men'. He told a ferry employee this as he passed him, "I'm looking for men," he said.

The employee just shook his head and hurried away.

The driving lesson from hell was continuing for 'Paul' or 'Carl' as Denmark had chosen to call him.

"Come on, step on it!" Prussia yelled, popping open another beer.

"But… where are we going?" Paul asked, shaking. "And where's my driving instructor? I'm supposed to be going for my driving test."

"We're going to the wedding," Prussia said.

"Yes! Come on, keep up," Denmark chipped in.

"What wedding?"

"What wedding he says! Ha!" Denmark yelled. "Yeah… who is it again? Is it Arthur and Francis?"

"Nein! It's Arthur and Princess Fucking Crazy!" Prussia answered.

"Oh ja! Princess Crazy…" Denmark shuddered. "Do we have to go, dude?"

"We could go to a pub," Prussia said.

"We could!" Denmark's eyes lit up.

"But then Swe and Fin would kick your arse," Prussia exclaimed.

"They ain't in charge of me!"

"Well actually they kinda are."

"I need to go home," Paul said.

"Shaddap, Mark…"

"My name's Paul."

"Yeah sure…"

"Perhaps we should go to the wedding…" Denmark said after a minute's thought.

"Yer big girl, you really want to see Arthur and Princess Crazy get married!" Prussia said with a sneer.

"Nein! I do not! I don't care… It's just… the weddings are usually a bloody good laugh…"

"Not really…"

"Ja, they are! Remember Austria's last wedding when we arrived with the whole Prussian cavalry and Liz chased us out?"

"Ja, those were the days…"

"Anyway, this wedding will be boring…"

"But free beer, man."

"Free beer?"

Denmark nodded, "Free beer."

"Let's hit the road. Come on, Derek. Get us to the church."

"My name's Paul."

"Not any more."

"I don't know where the church is," Paul said.

"It's where the wedding is!" Denmark said and shook his head. Honestly, the youth of today.

On the ferry, the Nations were being rounded up and just about thrown off, when Russia came to the rescue.

"I'm here! To the rescue! With clothes! I found some men and took their clothes," he told them breathlessly, holding bundles of clothes under his arm.

"Oh good…" Austria breathed a sigh of relief. "I'm finally going to get out of this ridiculous costume. I'm going to kill Prussia for telling me it was a fancy dress."

Germany tried, again, to get them off the ferry, "Come on, before we end up in Calais again!"

"I don't like you," Russia said looming over him, quite disgruntled that nobody thanked him.

"Erm… yes… right…"

"And you will smile at my sestra's wedding and look happy," Russia said.

"Ja, you said that already," Germany said, slowly backing away.

Russia nodded and threw clothes at them and stalked off. "Come on people, I have found the ideal vehicle to get us to the church!" he called.

Russia sounded quite cheery, and Germany frowned. This was never good.

It wasn't. The 'ideal vehicle' was being hauled out of the sea by a tractor. It was the Royal Mail van they had wrecked earlier.

At the hotel…

A procession of taxis had arrived to take the Nations to the wedding. Most of them were fairly excited about the coming ceremony.

"Five pounds says Britain has done a runner…"

"You're on!"

"I think he will be too scared not to turn up."

"Will there be dancing?"

And some were just bored…

"This is going to be so fricking lame…"

"Sealand, I've told you before, stop using those words!"

"It's going to be boring. Who wants to see Jerk Dad England get married? Yuck."

The Nations, with much shoving, arguing, pushing and general confusion, poured themselves into the taxis. The bridesmaids were all crammed into one. The taxi driver asked them, with an eyebrow raised, if it were a fancy dress party and whether Latvia was a 'plumber'. Nobody answered. They were too busy wondering about the lack of groom and what would be the consequences if he didn't turn up. They all hoped he had life insurance and a plane ticket to somewhere far far away.

England had none of those things. As a Nation he'd never needed life insurance and he didn't have a plane ticket to anywhere. But now, as he woke in the back of a postal van, a half naked Austrian next to him, and with all appearances as if Russia and Scotland had kidnapped him (he assumed the former was consumed with jealousy at his impending marriage with Belarus and the latter wanted him dead so he could take over as Britain), his future looked dark.

Austria was telling him the whole sorry story.

"…And that idiot Russia…" Austria whispered this bit, "…Didn't get me any clothes! Some for you, even some for Germany, who refused to wear them and quite a nice dress for Scotland… Totally wasted on him, I think."

England looked horrified. He hadn't listened to all of it. He was transfixed by Russia's blond head facing him from the driver's seat.

"Where did he get this Royal Mail van from?"

"I told you! You're like Liz."

"I don't wear dresses!"

"Neither does she, I mean she doesn't listen… He stole it. He's a kleptomaniac…"

"I don't have a thing for kleptos! It is a lie!" came a voice from the front cab.

Austria raised an eyebrow. "I broke my glasses. And they don't care," he said, indicating their captors.

"We have to get out of here," England whispered.

"I don't blame you. I think Belarus will kill you within a week," Austria said.

England wasn't listening. "At the next stop, we jump out," he whispered to Austria.

"Of course, if you ask me, I would sleep with a gun under my pillow. And I would try not to anger her. She's mentally unstable."

"I need you to stop the van!" England yelled. "I need to use the conveniences."

Russia shook his head, "We are stopping for no man, Nation or anybody."

"Ye'll meet your fate like a man, so ye will!" Scotland added.

England almost cried. Some awful fate awaited him, he knew it. "Oh my God! What are they going to do with me?" he asked, shaking Austria.

Austria shook his head, "I'm sorry, Arthur. I thought this when you two got engaged. Liz said, that poor Arthur, he must have lost his mind… and she said…"

"I feel sorry fer ye, Arthur, I really do," Scotland said gloomily.

Russia had a grim look on his face. The van skidded round corners on two wheels. "Which way, Scotland?" Russia asked.

"I think it's left and then right… Passed the Hanged Man…"

Russia raised an eyebrow.

"It's a pub," Scotland explained.

But England didn't hear this. He held his head in his hands, "I'm a cursed man. My love was sweet while it lasted…"

Austria shook his head at this drama, "Wait til you've been married fifty years," he said. But he didn't say to whom.

Meanwhile, Germany and the postman were stood at the side of a road, attempting to hitch a lift.

Thankfully, the postman was now dressed in mismatched clothes - a pair of shorts and an England football team t-shirt. Russia had stolen these from a startled football fan.

"Where are we going?" the postman asked, slurring.

"A wedding," Germany said. He clutched his briefcase close to his chest. He had debated actually getting back on the ferry back to Calais and then on a train to Germany and away from this madness. But he remembered Russia's warning. 'You will go to my sestra's wedding and you will smile'. He shuddered.

"Whose wedding?"

Germany sighed, "That man who was unconscious handcuffed to the man in the bunny costume. His."

"Oh."

There was a long pause.

"Do you think he will get there in time?" the postman asked.

Germany shrugged. "I don't care."

"Do you think we'll get there in time?"

Germany was about to say, 'I don't care' again when a car skidded past them, stopped and then reversed erratically.

Germany stepped back quickly, pulling the postman with him as the car - emblazoned with the words 'Doverham Driving School' - skidded up the kerb.

"You saved my life!" the postman said, in awe.

Germany ignored him but approached the car. He tapped on the window. "Call yourself a driving instructor? That was clearly very bad driving and I think you should have your licence and the licence of your pupil taken from you," he said. He then jumped back as the window wound down and a very pale face with very red eyes and an evil grin looked back at him.

"Bruder! Get in the car, you can come with us!"

"Oh no."

"Who is it?" the postman asked. But then leapt back when another face appeared scrunched up next to the first. The first face was shocking enough, the second one had spiky blond hair with a small hat resting on top, bleary blue eyes and a manic grin.

"Yo! Germany my main man! Get in the car!" the second man yelled ear-splittingly.

"I think we could just wait for someone to stop and…" Germany said lamely.

But Prussia leapt out of the car and crammed him in the back seat with Denmark. "Get in, bro. You can show us the way to the wedding."

"You're going to the wedding?" Germany asked.

Denmark nodded, "Free beer, man."

The postman got in with them. "I think I've lost my job," he told Denmark.

Germany, who found himself stuck between a drunken English postal worker and the Danish Nation, clutched his briefcase like a life preserver.

"Hey! We had a job today!" Denmark yelled.

"Must you shout so loudly?" Germany asked.

"Ja!"

"You two have never had a job in your lives," Germany said.

"We did. Today. Two jobs." Prussia said. "Hit it, Peter," he added to the driver.

"My name's Paul," the hapless teenager sighed and then added, "Oh what's the point?" he added as he 'hit it' and drove the car off the pavement and down the road.

"You two worked? Today?"

"Ja!" they both chorused.

"You can have my job," the postman said, utterly depressed and took one of Denmark's beers.

"Where? Who on this Earth would employ you two?" Germany asked, amazed.

"We worked in a school," Prussia said, grinning.

"As cleaners?" Germany asked, and then indicated to the youth driver where to take the next left.

"Nein. As teachers!"

"You are kidding me."

"I taught German, and Den taught… erm… what did you teach, dude Den?"

"I taught history, I think." Denmark belched.

"Well that's the end of England's future," Germany said. "We needn't have bombed them during the War, we could have just sent you two to teach in their schools."

Above them in the skies, France and America (the latter seemed to think he was in some kind of action movie) were also on their way to the church.

Russia and Scotland, both looking equally determined (frighteningly so) were also on their way.

They were all converging on one small village church of St Jude's (patron saint of lost souls), the co-ordinates of which had been predicted in a little known appendix to the Book of Revelations which stated that the start of Armageddon would begin there….