If you thought I was planning to let the endless potential for mayhem presented by Halloween go to waste, I'm sorry to say that you were mistaken. ^_^ And isn't it just a wonderfully spooky coincidence that my Halloween one-shot happens to be chapter thirteen?

So here, at the request of the ever-awesome Jenica, is a British Isles Halloween special. Let me know what you think!

"I'm still not sure if it's okay to wear this," said England, frowning down at his costume. "It's not very scary, is it?"

"The invitation said ye didnae have ter be scary." Scotland held it up to reread the near-unintelligible scrawl across the black and orange paper. "I dinnae think America's Halloween is that similar ter ours. But ye'll be fine, everyone loves Peter Pan."

"I'm not Peter Pan! I'm Robin Hood! You should know him, he's a famous character in English folklore! At least I've put more effort into my costume than you."

"I put loads of effort into this!"

"You splashed blue paint on yourself. That doesn't count as effort. Who are you supposed to be, anyway?"

"I'm William Wallace from Braveheart. He's a famous Scottish character, ye ken, and he was actually real."

"Robin Hood was real! I met him! He-"

England was interrupted by Wales, who skipped through into the front room wearing a brown jacket and bow tie and turned to face the door with his arms folded in exasperation. "Ireland, stop hiding! You look fine!"

"Wales, it's a fancy dress party," explained Scotland. "Ye're supposed ter wear a costume, not a suit."

"This is a costume!" he said indignantly. "I'm Doctor Who, can't you tell? And who are you supposed to be? A smurf?"

"I'm William Wallace! This is warpaint!"

Wales shrugged leant through the door, grabbing something just out of sight and trying to haul it past the doorframe. "Come... on! Trust me... they look... stupider... than you!"

Whatever Northern Ireland was holding onto, he seemed to lose his grip on it and stumbled reluctantly through the doorway. England and Scotland immediately tried their best to focus on images of the most sad and serious things they could come up with on such short notice; Ireland glared around at them, daring them to laugh. He was, unmistakably, a leprechaun. Scotland had no idea how Wales had managed to force him into that costume, but it had all been worth it just for that one glimpse of his younger brother in a lurid green waistcoat and top hat. Still, he wasn't about to risk laughing. He might be bigger than Ireland, but that expression promised a lifetime of pain and misery regardless of size to anyone who dared make fun of him.

Somehow, with much persuading, cajoling and bribing, they managed to get Northern Ireland out of the front door and into the car. They also got him to start speaking to them again by compromising and letting him leave his pot of gold behind. Nevertheless, it was a pure miracle that they managed to get him to leave the car and approach America's front door with them. By that point, they realised, he'd probably lost all hope of maintaining his dignity throughout the night and had just given up trying.

Music was already thumping inside the house as England rang the bell; the door was answered by America, who was wearing the most incomprehensible costume yet. He looked, to England's untrained eye, like a Texan with a fishbowl on his head.

"Hey guys! You made it! Come in, the party's already started!"

"What are ye supposed ter be?" asked Scotland, all pleasantries ignored.

"I'm a space cowboy!" said America proudly. "I couldn't decide whether I wanted to be a spaceman or a cowboy, so I just thought 'screw it, I'll be both'! Awesome, right?"

He seemed to take their speechlessness for agreement and ushered them inside, shutting the door behind them. The house was already crowded; they could make out virtually every country they knew somewhere around, all dressed up in a wild variety of costumes. Someone dressed entirely in black with two katanas strapped to their back looked suspiciously like Japan. Liechtenstein was a fairy and whatever Switzerland was, he looked like he could seriously injure anyone who tried to beat up on innocent fairies. Poland had come as Cinderella and had somehow managed to convince Lithuania to be Prince Charming. All in all, it was a strange sight.

"America! There you are! I've been looking all over for you!"

A girl pushed her way through the crowd and linked her arm though America's, smiling up at him in such a wide, charming way that it took them all a moment to notice that this particular girl was the Republic of Ireland.

There was a long, shocked pause, then Northern Ireland raised a finger to point at her costume, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. "You... what is... that's... THAT IS NOT WHAT A LEPRECHAUN LOOKS LIKE!"

She glanced down at her costume with an innocent look of confusion on her face. "What do you mean?"

"You should know better! You've seen them! I can't believe you'd be so factually inaccurate!"

Scotland gave him a sideways look. "Seriously? That's the only problem ye have with it?"

"Aren't you cold?" asked Wales.

"No, not particula- I mean yes. Yes, I am a bit chilly, actually." She looked up expectantly at America, who looked back blankly. "I am cold," she said again, her voice layered with meaning, and he finally got it.

"Oh! Right! Would you like my jacket, Ireland?"

"Thank you, America! You're so thoughtful."

"If you were going to come out in public like... like that," said England through gritted teeth, "you should've brought your own jacket. You live in the British Isles, for God's sake! You should know that!"

"It's the Northwest European Archipelago, thank you very much," she said. "And I will not hear that from a guy wearing tights."

"They're leggings!"

Apparently oblivious to his outrage, she leant against America as though her four brothers were not right in front of them and looked back up at him, her eyelashes fluttering so rapidly they must've been imparing her vision. "This is boring. I feel like dancing."

"Yeah, me too," said America. He was smiling at her in an unsure sort of way that looked as though he considered what was going on an extremely surprising yet deeply thrilling situation that he didn't want to get too used to in case it turned out to be some kind of trick.

Another pause, in which the next song began to thump through the speakers. "Ooh, I love this song!" said South, then smiled expectantly at him.

"Me too!"

South sighed. "America, I feel like dancing."

And then, once again, the realisation dawned on him. "Ireland, would you like to dance with me?"

"Oh!" Her eyes widened in fake surprise. "Wow! Yes, I'd love to!"

The United Kingdom watched as he led her away towards the dancefloor in various states of outrage. Northern Ireland looked like he was about to go into shock and might need a defibrillator, or at the very least a cup of tea, to revive him. England was watching them go in disbelief, as though trying to work out how someone related to him could be so shamelessly immodest. Scotland was caught between wanting to congratulate her for her nerve or punch every guy in the room for looking at her. Wales was too preoccupied with keeping Northern Ireland upright to worry much about his older sister.

All in all, it was not their favourite Halloween ever. The British are not famous for their dancing talent or relaxed, outgoing personalities and, true to form, the four of them ended up spending most of the evening hanging around by the refreshments table, which was stocked with piles of brightly coloured and completely unappetising cakes and biscuits. Despite claiming loudly that she wanted to get away from them, South seemed to be wherever they were, always dragging America behind her. She would laugh too loudly at whatever he said, even if it wasn't supposed to be funny, hang off him like she could barely stand on her own and throw hidden glances towards her brothers every now and then just to make sure they were watching. If they weren't, she would just tow America over to a place more obviously within their line of sight and begin anew.

It was worse than Northern Ireland had imagined. He hadn't been keen on the idea of a party in the first place, and that was when he hadn't known it would involve watching his twin sister behave like this in public. England was even grumpier now than he had been at the start - Italy had complimented him on his excellent Peter Pan costume and been treated to another rant about how Robin Hood was a famous English folklore character and had nothing to do with fairies, Indians or magical faraway lands. Scotland had not punched anyone yet, although plenty of people had asked how he managed to get blue paint all over himself. Wales was quite pleased with himself for being the only one with an unquestioned costume, but Ireland privately thought that that was probably because no-one but he would recognise a jacket and bow-tie as the official attire of a Time Lord and probably all just thought he'd mistaken the dress code.

After Denmark had sidled past and made a rather impolite remark about the relative attractiveness of their sister to themselves, they decided to write off Halloween this year as a disaster and forget about it as soon as possible. Excusing themselves and making their way quietly towards the front door - their host had started dancing with their sister again and was therefore unavailable for thanking - they slipped out onto the driveway and breathed collective sighs of relief.

"I say we just make a Jack o' Lantern next year and be done with it," muttered England darkly, to general agreement.

When they were safely driving down the road away from America's house, Northern Ireland at the wheel (he was the most likely to pass a breath test if they were pulled over), true feelings began to spill over, and none of them were pretty.

"I can't believe her," hissed England, his knuckles white as he gripped the dashboard. "She's giving the British Isles a bad name, prancing around like that! I thought she hated America! She did it just to annoy us, I know she did!"

"Of course she did," said Scotland, as though this was a given. "Though I think it was mainly ter annoy ye, actually."

England's next rant was interrupted by Northern Ireland's ringtone. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he jammed it into the hands-free and pressed the button to pick up. "Hello?"

South's frantic voice came out of the phone. "Thuaidh, dhíth orm do chabhair, tá mé i bhfostú-"

Ireland gritted his teeth. "Speak English."

"Fine. North, I need your help, I'm stuck in America's bathroom and he won't go away! Could you come and rescue me somehow? Distract him while I sneak out? Oh, and for the love of God, please don't tell England."

"Too late; you're on speaker."

A string of Irish curses burst from the phone. Only Northern Ireland understood them, but his wincing told them all they needed to know.

"Evening, Republic of Ireland," said England, suddenly a lot more cheerful.

There was a long silence as South attempted to control herself, broken only by a sound remarkably like the snapping of a toothbrush. "Evening, England," she said, her pleasantries strained. She was clearly prepared to be polite if it meant getting out of that bathroom, but it wasn't going to be easy for her.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" asked Northern Ireland. "You were all over him before. It was sickening."

"You know I was only doing that to annoy you!" she hissed. "But he's too thick to see that and now he's waiting for me to come out!"

A voice, distant and muffled but still clearly American, drifted softly from the phone, making them all strain to her it. "Ireland, are you okay? You've been in there a while."

"Um... yeah, I'm fine!" South's voice was muffled now too - she was holding the phone away from her face to shout back. "I just... er... I just have explosive diarrhoeia!"

"You're so funny, Ireland!" laughed America. "Don't be long, we're playing Seven Minutes in Heaven next!"

Then her voice was clear again, speaking fast and urgently. "Okay, I'm sorry. I was wrong. I was working against my own interests for petty revenge. And I wanted to see that look you get when you're angry, England, because it's hilarious. No, wait!" She spoke up, interrupting his protests. "I'm sorry. Just please, please get me out of here! I'll do anything you want!"

Everyone looked at each other, then at England. He was the decision-maker here and always had been. The fact that he was highly biased and motivated as much by revenge as South had been made no difference; he organised them, he planned and set plans into motion, and no-one was going anywhere without him. He considered the phone for a few seconds, then sat back in his seat, letting a wide smile creep lazily across his face. "Grovel."

"What?"

"Grovel. You said you'd do anything I want, and I want you to grovel."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm perfectly serious. Do you want me to help you or not?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then grovel. Go on, I'm waiting."

Another toothbrush snapped, barely audible above South's heavy breathing. Then she spoke, forcing the words out past her dignity and better judgement. "Please come and get me."

"You'll have to do better than that."

"Please. Please. I will be eternally grateful. Well, maybe not eternally, but-"

"You're not very good at this, are you?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She was quiet for a moment; they could almost hear her swallowing her pride. "Okay, fine. Please help me, oh dear sweet brother, and I will be forever in your debt."

"And?"

"And you are a great nation and a wonderful person and I should consider myself lucky to have one as wonderful as you to come to my aid."

"Okay, that's good enough," said England, still smiling all over his face in triumph. Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland were all staring slack-jawed at him; none of them had ever heard South say anything even vaguely resembling words like that and they'd never thought they ever would, especially not to England. They didn't change anything, of course - she was saying them through gritted teeth and obviously hating herself for it - but it was still a memorable phenomenon. "We could turn around and get you, but I have a better way."

"What's that?"

"If you go to the window by the shower-"

"I tried that one, it's locked."

"I know, but there's a hole in the base of the frame. If you stick your finger through it and push it slightly to the right, you can shift the latch out of place and get the window open."

There was a scuffling noise, then, "I think I've found it, but the latch won't move!"

"You might need to blow some dust out of there."

Static came through the speakers as South blew as hard as she could, then there was another moment of quiet as she worked on the latch. "Yes! It's open! Thank you so much!"

"Don't mention it. Just make sure you close it behind you or the bathroom gets moths in it. And you're two storeys up, remember, so be careful."

"I will. Thank you, tha- wait, how do you know all this?"

One by one, each of the other nations in the car realised what a good question this was and slowly turned to face their brother. England sighed. "I'll tell you which of the drainpipes is best for climbing down if you never ask me that question again."

Even after leaving a room full of national personifications dressed as a wild assortment of characters from fairytales, history and national folklore, Northern Ireland still considered that phone conversation the strangest thing he'd experienced all night. England and South working together just like the old days. Like they still considered each other family, after all they'd been through. Because despite everything, when you got rid of the empires and the rebellions and the years of feuding and really started thinking about it, they weren't that different after all. If England had been in South's situation, Ireland knew he'd do something similar to what she had. As much as they tried to deny it, they were related by history, geography and blood, and that had to count for something, even if that thing was nothing more than helping the other out of America's bathroom window to escape a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven.

There were some things you couldn't leave even your worst enemy to face by herself. Especially not your sister.

Oh, USUK... Even if I don't particularly ship it, it still raises its head in the most unlikely situations. Also, the Republic of Ireland is made of epic win. Just had to say that. ^_^

A note to the people desperately awaiting each new With Brothers Like These installment (yes, all one of you): NaNoWriMo is starting tomorrow and I won't have a whole lot of time to write side-projects. Never fear, I'm far from abandoning this, but if the new one-shots don't come as regularly as they usually do then that's why. I'll try and get as many written as possible and everything should return to normal come December.