Disclaimer: AilateH nwo t'nod eW!
A/N: Hey, everyone!
You almost had to wait five hours for this chapter. I worked hard just for you!
For all of you who couldn't comment on the chapter because you already had, thanks anyway.
Enjoy! Please review!
French Revolutionary Wars
1792 – 1802
Holy Roman Empire/Allies vs. France/Allies
Greenland made a face and covered her ears as Portugal's voice rose several octaves. Morocco sat beside Spain, shaking her head at the couple fighting in the front of the van. Indonesia looked increasingly worried by the argument between her parents.
"I no have devil child," Portugal shrieked, shaking Slovakia's headrest. "I no care what you say."
"Not every baby is a devil child," Slovakia argued over his shoulder. Czech sat beside him with headphones in. It was the only way for the small nation to cope with the shouting without a closet nearby.
"You louco! (crazy!)" Portugal snapped. "Child evil!"
"Indonesia turned out just fine." Slovakia passed a car, earning a honk from them. "Isn't that right, Miláčik? (Sweetheart?)" He looked at Indonesia in the rearview mirror.
"Ya, Ayah, (Dad,)" Indonesia said absently.
"Bah!" Portugal huffed and leaned back, crossing her arms. "She no mine."
"Yes she is," Slovakia snapped back. "She speaks Portuguese."
Spain sighed from his spot laying with his head in Morocco's lap.
"Are they always like this?" Morocco asked quietly.
"Sí, it's worse when they're drunk," Spain said. "That is why I spend so much time at Greenland's house."
"What if we had another daughter?" Slovakia asked Portugal. "And she turned out to be the sweetest thing on earth who worshipped you? What then?"
"Pfth," Portugal laughed. "She no your child. I no sleep with you then."
Slovakia frowned and opened his mouth to respond when his eyes flicked to Czech who was singing under her breath.
"Heaven help in all our battles," Czech sang softly to herself. "Heaven see love . . . Heaven help us."
Every nation in the van stared at Czech who didn't seem to notice the attention. Slovakia nearly turned around in his seat.
"Who gave her that song?" he demanded. "I thought I specifically said I didn't want her listening to any songs like that."
"Perhaps you should start running, Ibu, (Mother,)" Indonesia muttered to Portugal. "Ayah may chase you down."
"This is quite the family," Morocco sighed. "Are you sure you want this, Greenland?"
"Hvad?" Greenland looked back from staring in shock at Czech. "Would I want this?" She turned back to the other nations.
"¡Sí!" Spain said happily, raising his right hand. He had regained full control of his right side and was working on his left. "¡Bienvenido a mi familia loca! (Welcome to my crazy family!)"
"Portugal and Spain are both very close to their family," Morocco explained. "Though she may not seem like it, Portugal would declare war on anyone who tried invading Slovakia or Czech."
"Ay, she slapped me for asking if I could visit Slovakia," Spain said, rubbing his cheek at the memory.
"Portugal has never really held back on her feelings," Morocco laughed. "She's never been afraid to tell any of her siblings what she thinks of them." Spain looked out of the corner of his eye at Slovakia and Portugal who were still fighting.
"Ay caramba," he sighed. "How does Czech live with them?"
"Ei?" Portugal glanced over her should. "Czech live with us?"
"Áno," Slovakia said. "You just never notice because you're always scaring her into a closet."
"She quiet," Portugal protested. "She sheltered!"
"Why do you think I sheltered her?" Slovakia roared. His nostrils flared as he tried to calm down. "You wouldn't understand." Portugal scowled and sank into her seat, refusing to say another word.
"Porty," Spain said nervously. "Do you want to go running with the bulls with me this year?"
"E costurar o que sobrou de você? (And sew up what's left of you?)" Portugal snapped. She glanced at her husband before shrugging. "Sim."
"Really?" Spain blinked in surprise. "¡Estupendo! (That's great!)"
"I run with bulls." Portugal grinned. "I run mean."
"Tú eres el más rápido allí, (You're the fastest one there,)" Spain said happily.
"Nie," Slovakia said, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.
"¿Lo siento?" Spain asked in confusion.
"That's dangerous," Slovakia said tensely. "I don't want you doing it." Czech watched her big brother from the corner of her eye.
"I do what I want!" Portugal snapped. "I run with bulls."
"You could get hurt," Slovakia argued. "Die, even." Czech removed a headphone, listening to the argument intently.
"Assim? (So?)" Portugal scoffed. "I go."
"Nie," Slovakia said in such a way it seemed that was the end of the conversation.
"Can I come?"
Every head turned to Czech. Spain's mouth hung open and Morocco quirked an eyebrow. Greenland had cocked her head in confusion at the words.
"Não," Portugal said absentmindedly before leaning forward to whisper loudly in Slovakia's ear. "I want run with bulls, I run with bulls. What you do?" Slovakia growled, his eyes flicking between his wife and sister.
"But I want to go," Czech pouted. "Hawaii took me cliff diving."
"SHE DID WHAT?" Slovakia roared, causing several nations to jump in surprise. Spain would have rolled off the seat if it hadn't been for Morocco's quick reaction.
"And I ran the . . . Metal Guy with the Carolinas," Czech continued. Slovakia looked at his sister as though he had never met her before.
"What is the 'Metal Guy'?" Spain asked Morocco.
"I believe she means the Iron Man," Morocco corrected. "It is a very difficult race America holds every year."
"I made it all the way," Czech said proudly.
"Hang on." Slovakia's voice was strained as he spoke. "How long have you been doing dangerous things like this?" Czech had to think before she answered her brother's question.
"Two years," she said.
"Two years," Slovakia repeated. "And what exactly have you been doing?"
"Um . . . cliff and sky diving." Czech ticked off her fingers. "The Iron Man, wrestling crocs with Australia, swimming the English channel with Ireland, and . . . I forget what else. But it was." She smiled innocently at Slovakia.
"She no mine," Portugal announced. "She yours."
"I get that." Slovakia looked to his sister. "Why were you hiding this from me?"
"I thought you wouldn't want me jumping out of planes," Czech admitted.
"You couldn't be more right," Slovakia muttered. He twitched the steering wheel to keep the car in the middle of the lane. "Is it all an act, then?"
"What?" Czech cocked her head in confusion.
"Hiding in the closet when you're scared. "Slovakia slowed down for a stoplight before continuing on.
"Ne." Czech pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. "I don't like all the shouting. It scares me. The closet makes me feel safer."
"Parar. (Stop.)" Portugal snapped, grabbing Slovakia's headrest.
Slovakia slammed on the brakes at the shout. "What now?" Portugal didn't answer as she opened the door and stepped out of the van, leaning against it.
"Is she alright?" Greenland leaned forward, quickly pulling back when she heard the sound of Portugal being sick.
Slovakia opened and closed his mouth several times before he met Spain's dark eyes.
"Sakra."
o)O(o
Mesopotamia finished braiding England's hair. Nudging the female nation aside gently, she pulled Scotland's head into her lap and began stroking his hair. It had become a habit of hers for the last several days. Scotland, Wales, England, and Mesopotamia were worn down from their imprisoners. The shackles binding their wrists and ankles managed to block any possible use of magic.
"A love ye, Maw," Scotland said tiredly through his gas mask. "But don't ye dare braid ma hair too."
"It is not long enough." Mesopotamia smiled. "Perhaps if we are here for another few months then I will be able to braid your hair."
"How long is your hair?" England asked her brother. Scotland only grunted and made a rude hand gesture at her. Wales snickered into his own hand.
"Now stop that." Mesopotamia patted Scotland on the head. "That is not a very nice thing to do to your sister."
"She started it," Scotland grumbled.
"Scotland," Wales said, fluttering his wings. "Why do you wear your hair so long?"
Scotland opened on eye and sighed. "Ma brothers wore theirs long," he explained. "A was raised by them before Britannia came along."
"So it's a tribute to Wessex, East Anglia, Northumbria, and Merica?" England asked.
"Aye." Scotland nodded. "A grow it long every year and braid it when A can. Then A cut it off."
"That seems like a waste of time," Wales commented. He squealed when Scotland swung an arm at him.
"Shut yer geggy," Scotland snapped.
"Maybe we should try shaving it," Mesopotamia teased. "Then you would look very brave."
"Naw!" Scotland shook his head. "That would make it harder ta grow out."
"But just think how brave you would look," Mesopotamia giggled. "Or maybe we could go with an older hairstyle. Ancient Egyptian, perhaps?"
"Or maybe," England suggested. "You could plait it."
"Will ya shut yer geggies?" Scotland demanded. "A grow it out and cut it every year. A'll keep it that way."
"I think we will do something fun with your hair this year," Mesopotamia decided.
"Naw," Scotland all but whined. "It's a tradition."
"Just like bagpipes and kilts," England muttered.
"He doesn't wear anything under the kilt," Wales whispered loudly to England. They both squealed and laughed when Scotland tried to lung at them.
"Stop that, both of you," Mesopotamia scolded. "You have probably had just as embarrassing clothing before." Wales and England looked at each other.
"I don't know," Wales admitted. "Everything I wear is normal."
"Did ye forget the month ye refused ta wear clothes?" Scotland asked with a smirk.
"I told you not to talk about that!" Wales exclaimed. "You promised not to talk about that!"
"You didn't wear clothes?" Mesopotamia clapped a hand over her mouth as England sniggered. "My, that must have been quite the sight."
"Git," Wales hissed at Scotland who just smirked and situated himself as comfortably as he could. His black wings were pulled taut against his back.
"Wales went through a phase," Scotland said, his smirk growing. "It was the thirteenth century, when he was a bairn."
"I was not a baby!" Wales argued. Scotland ignored him.
"Wales suddenly decided he didn't want ta wear clothes," Scotland continued. "His boss refused ta let him leave the house the whole month."
"You would have let the git wander around the village," England retorted.
"I remember when Sumer refused to wear anything." Mesopotamia grinned. "Babylonia and Akkad were right behind him."
"That's a completely different age!" England threw her hands into the air.
"Ye tried ta grow yer hair long," Scotland pointed out. "Ye looked like one of them porky-pines."
"A porcupine?" England asked. When he nodded, she screeched and jumped at him. "Say that again! I dare you!"
"Ye looked like a porky-pine," Scotland repeated, ducking out of the way.
"Oh, you two." Mesopotamia shook her head in disbelief. "Are you going to join in?" she asked Wales.
"The fight?" Wales asked.
"Yes." Mesopotamia grinned. "After all, what are sibling fights without the last brother?"
"I'm just going it wait for Ireland to join the fight." Wales leaned against a wall, lacing his fingers over his stomach. "And then North will get dragged in and I can just sit back and enjoy the entertainment."
"I am guess you start most of the fights?" Mesopotamia quirked an eyebrow.
Wales shrugged. "It's revenge."
"Revenge for what?" Mesopotamia asked, not sure if she actually wanted to know the answer.
"For ignoring me," Wales said simply. "Didn't you ever notice I'm hardly mentioned when the history books talk about Great Britain? It's always Scotland and England."
"And so you start fights," Mesopotamia summarized.
"Aye." Wales settled down, ruffling his wings, to watch England beat Scotland over the head.
o)O(o
Denmark gritted his teeth and tried to hold back another coughing fit. He had managed to recover from the Bubonic Plague. Now he was stuck suffering constant asthma attacks as his body tried to finish healing. Sverige had been no help in healing the Nordic nation. Instead, he had administered antibiotics and had waited for Denmark to get better.
The near silence of the room was interrupted by the clattering of a window as the glass slid up in its pane. Denmark froze, his eyes wide.
'Lort,' he swore to himself. 'Is Sverige teasing me now?'
"Denmark?" a voice asked in shock. Germany's head appeared over the Nordic nation. Denmark nearly shouted in surprise but he managed to keep quiet, instead losing control and descending into a fit of harsh coughing.
"Easy." Germany cut Denmark loose from the table and helped him sit up. "China told me about your asthma." He dug in a pouch at his belt.
"China?" Denmark wheezed. "Ya've seen China?"
"Ja, he's fine," Germany said as he finally found an inhaler. "He doesn't want to talk with anyone, though." Denmark opened his mouth to respond but only managed to wheeze for breath. Germany shook the inhaler in his hand hard.
"I want you to hold your breath," Germany explained the process. "When I tell you to, breathe in. Then hold your breath for ten seconds." Denmark nodded weakly as he attempted to control his breathing.
"Hold your breath," Germany commanded. "Empty your lungs." Struggling to hold back his coughing, Denmark breathed out as he held his breath to the best of his abilities. Germany held the inhaler an inch from his mouth. "And inhale." When the Nordic nation obeyed, Germany pressed down on the inhaler, releasing the medicine, "Hold your breath for ten seconds." Denmark made a face and his chest convulsed as he tried not to cough. Eventually, he relaxed enough to fall limp on the table.
"Feeling better?" Germany asked as he pocketed the inhaler.
"Ja." Denmark rubbed his chest. "I thought I'd never get rid of that cough."
"Does Italy know about this?" Germany asked in a grave voice.
"Nej," Denmark admitted. "I haven't gotten around to it yet. I just don't want ta worry her."
"Just so you know," Germany said. "You've been worrying her ever since the factory accident. Italy isn't nearly as dense as some think."
"So." Denmark's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Do ya think she knows, then?"
"She knows something is wrong." Germany shrugged. "Probably not the details. She came to me one day asking for help, but I couldn't give her any advice without knowing the finer details first."
"Don't tell me ya investigated?" Denmark groaned. "The last thing I need is my boss telling me a bunch of nations have been poking their noses in my affairs."
"It was a rainy day," Germany admitted. "I got bored."
"Ya got bored so ya investigated a fertilizer accident?" Denmark quirked an eyebrow. "Do ya really have nothing better ta do?"
"Ja, Id o." Germany glanced at the door with sharp eyes. "But I was worried about you. I knew you had been in the accident. After I finished my investigation, I told Italy it was nothing and to leave you alone. I figured you would tell her at some point."
"Ya sound like Norge," Denmark grumbled. "I get into an accident and the first thing she does is come ta yell at me."
"I would have too," Germany pointed out. "If I hadn't been dragged into so many meetings with Poland and my boss."
"Poland?" Denmark's eyebrow quirked once more. "Are yer bosses still freaking out?"
"Ja," Germany sighed. "They don't think it would be a good thing for us to get married. Israel's boss keeps telling them everything will be fine." A small trill emitted from his pocket and he grabbed his cellphone to check the message. "The others are in position outside the warehouse."
"Position?" Denmark hopped off the table. "Do ya mean ta tell me yer going ta attack?"
"If we can," Germany said. "Our first goal is to rescue anyone captured. Do you know who else is here?"
"Italy and Ireland," Denmark grumbled. "Sverige wants ta vivisect all of us."
"Vivisezieren?" Germany repeated. "That's disgusting!"
"Tell me about it." Denmark stretched high above him. He heard his spine and shoulders pop from lack of use.
"Do you know where Italy and Ireland might be?" Germany asked.
"Probably somewhere down the hall." Denmark shrugged. "I've been locked up here the entire time."
"Why hasn't Sverige vivisected you yet?" Germany tapped keys on his cellphone as he prepared a message to send to the team.
"Because someone decided ta get me sick," Denmark grumbled. "Stupid bastard."
"Was?" Germany spared Denmark a glance. "Who did that? Every nation has been accounted for as either captured or being a rescuer."
"And now we have a new one," Denmark growled. "Ya'll never guess who's back."
"Who?" Germany asked, not looking up from the phone this time.
"Ottoman," Denmark said simply. Germany's finger slipped on the phone and his head snapped up.
"Was?"
"Ottoman's back." Denmark shrugged. "And he got me sick."
"That's impossible," Germany argued. "Ottoman died on Globe with Teutonic and the rest of the realms."
"Don't tell me what's possible and what's not," Denmark snapped. "All I know is that Ottoman's back."
"What did he infect you with?" Germany asked.
"The Bubonic Plague." Denmark cringed just saying the name. "As if I didn't face that enough in the Dark Ages."
Germany mouthed the words before he found his voice again. "Is he in league with the Wars?"
"I don't think so," Denmark admitted. "He said he was tying ta save me."
"By infecting you with a deadly disease?" Germany growled. "He must crazy."
"Tell me about it," Denmark agreed. "Now then, when are we leaving?"
"As soon as France returns my message," Germany said, checking his cellphone. "I need to warn them about Ottoman too."
"And who is Ott'man?" a voice asked behind the two nations.
Denmark froze, all color draining from his face. "Lort." Germany turned around slowly. The phone was slipped into his back pocket.
Sverige looked between the two nations with dark eyes. "Who is Ott'man?" he repeated.
o)O(o
Luxemburg crossed his arms and leaned back, a grin plastered on his face. Taiwan had waited a few days before beginning to pester her sister for information concerning her 'husband'. Vietnam leaned against a wall with her eyes closed as Taiwan rambled.
"Is he cute?" Taiwan asked eagerly. "I bet he's hot! Is he? No . . . you might go with the dark men. Who could that be?" She ran through a mental list of all the male nations. "Well, it could be Netherlands, but he's married to Mexico." Vietnam didn't respond to the words.
"Or what about a state?" Taiwan wondered aloud. "I don't think so, though. Only America's children would be old enough. And you two don't get along."
"Please stop talking," Vietnam finally sighed. "You can as all you want, but I'm not going to tell you."
"Maybe she married Russia," Luxemburg teased. "Or Romano."
"They're both married." Taiwan waved a hand at Luxemburg. "Qǐng, Dàjiě? (Please, Big Sister?)"
"Không," Vietnam said firmly.
"What about Bosnia?" Luxemburg offered. "He's dark. Or even Slovakia."
"I would never date Bosnia," Vietnam said. "He's too girly. And Slovakia is married to Portugal."
"Cuba's single," Taiwan said hopefully.
"And a communist." Vietnam shot down her sister's hope. Taiwan's lower lip jutted out before she perked up with realization.
"You're communist," she pointed out to her sister.
"Don't remind me," Vietnam growled.
"How about . . ." Luxemburg thought for a moment before continuing. "Transylvania."
"Không, he's creepy," Vietnam said. She stretched her arms and stood to get the kinks out of her legs.
"Hey, where did you get that jacket from?" Taiwan asked curiously. Vietnam glared at her over her shoulder. "From your husband?"
"I think I've seen that jacket before." Luxemburg leaned forward to examine the piece of clothing.
"It's nothing," Vietnam snapped, pulling the jacket tighter around herself.
"Isn't that . . ." Taiwan's eyes widened as she recognized the double-headed eagle. "Albania's Jacket?"
"So what if it is?" Vietnam demanded, rounding on Taiwan. "That doesn't mean anything!"
"Albania," Luxemburg choked. "You're married to Albania?"
"Không. Vâng." Vietnam groaned and massaged her temples. "It's complicated."
"You married Albania?" Taiwan repeated. "But he's a thief. He probably sold you out for the War."
"He's sold me out plenty of times," Luxemburg agreed. "I don't think anyone would ever want to marry Albania."
"He's not as bad as you think," Vietnam snapped. "You don't know anything about him."
"What do you mean?" Taiwan asked eagerly.
"Albania told me his history," Vietnam admitted in a cold voice. "And I don't think either of you could even begin to understand why he is the way he is."
"Albania has a history?" Luxemburg scoffed. "I doubt it. He's done nothing but sell us out from the day he was formed."
Vietnam's eyes took on a dark look that made Taiwan scoot away from her. The female nation moved in a dangerous manner to stand before Luxemburg. She leaned down so she was almost nose to nose with him.
"Do you know what I did to people like you ding the American War?" she asked coldly. Taiwan flinched at the tone, knowing what was coming.
"Not really." Luxemburg shrank away from Vietnam, fear filling his stomach.
Vietnam leaned forward and whispered in Luxemburg's ear. Taiwan shifted nervously. She'd heard Vietnam's speech enough times to know what she was saying. And sure enough, Luxemburg paled with every word he heard.
Vietnam drew back and straightened up. "So next time," she said. "Don't insult my husband."
"Yes, ma'am," Luxemburg squeaked.
Vietnam turned away, muttering darkly in Vietnamese. Taiwan sent Luxemburg a nervous glance. This was going to be a long imprisonment.
o)O(o
Prussia glanced around at the trees surrounding him and America. South had disappeared several hours ago on the pretense she needed some alone time. She had the same aura around her Brandenburg got when he decided to be picky with his food.
America groaned in discomfort. His injuries ached with every movement he made, even just breathing.
"Just relax." Prussia patted America on the head, the only part of the nation he felt comfortable touching. "South's just gone to get help. America grumbled something Prussia couldn't understand and the ex-nation sighed. "England always did say you were hard to take care of when you were sick," Prussia commented. He chuckled at America's glare. "Was? She said it, not me."
"Try South," America croaked. His injured throat, the larynx having been nearly crushed, was slowly healing, along with the rest of his body. Crushed ribs, broken legs, a pounding head. The list went on.
"Ja, I know what that's like," Prussia sighed. "She's trouble when she gets sick. She stayed in bed for two weeks when she caught a cold." America muttered to himself again, glaring at Prussia from the ground. "What do you want me to do?" Prussia demanded. "You're too injured to move; and if I did move you, I could hurt you more."
"Un-awesome," America retorted hoarsely.
"Hey!" Prussia jumped to his feet. "Don't you dare call me un-awesome! I'm as awesome as they come!" America smirked slightly before wincing.
"Really?" a light feminine voice asked. "You are 'as awesome as they come'?"
"Of course." Prussia turned around, prepared to give a long speech, and froze. "Scheiße!"
"Hm?" America tilted his head back to look and groaned. "Dammit."
Liech, Ísland, and Aotearoa (New Zealand) stood in a triangle around the two nations. Liech smirked as she nimbly leapt off a fallen log.
"Is it awesome to be caught?" Liech asked teasingly. "Or did you just become very un-aweomse?"
"Nein." Prussia crossed his arms and stood his ground. "You're un-awesome for sneaking up on us like that."
"Are we?" Liech pondered her own question. "Or are you? You managed to let us sneak up on you after all."
"That was part of my awesome plan." Prussia waved a hand dismissively. "Now that you're out in the open, I can kick your butts." America groaned and banged his head against the ground.
"Three of us against one of you." Liech rolled her eyes and Aotearoa chuckled. "It definitely looks like you're going to win."
"You three barely have any war experience," Prussia pointed out. "Whereas I have over a hundred years."
"And we're three Wars versus one nation," Liech countered. "Face it, you've lost already."
"Nein," Prussia cackled. "I never lose. Even against death."
"Would you like to test that theory?" Liech asked mockingly. "Or would you like to just surrender now?"
"It shouldn't' be too hard." Aotearoa cracked his knuckles. "Even if we aren't very strong, it would take at least three of you to take one of us down."
"Are you ready?" Liech bent her knees as if to pounce. Prussia opened his mouth to respond when a strange noise made him stop. He frowned when the strange yowling scream was suddenly cut off.
"Whatever." Prussia turned back to Liech. "I was born-." The sound picked up, closer this time. America dug his fingers into the ground shut his eyes tight.
"What is that?" Liech turned toward the noise with a frown. Ísland barely looked interested with the interrupting, paying close attention to Prussia instead.
"It sounds like a screaming cat," Aotearoa commented. He shook his head when the noise died down again. "Must be something native here."
"Well, America?" Prussia looked out the corner of his eye. He frowned at the sight of America sheet-white with terror and clutching at the ground. "America?"
The sound of a screaming mountain lion erupted from the trees barely yards away from the group. Four young men suddenly burst from the brush, screaming their war cry.
"What the-?" Aotearoa stumbled back as two dark-skinned men jumped him, their rifles raised. Liech shrieked and ducked under one of the men. Ísland managed to grab an arm and sank his teeth into it.
"Partner," a deep voice said above the War. "That would hurt more if that was a real arm." Ísland found himself grabbed by the scruff and lifted easily into the air. "Howdy, I'm Texas." Ísland frowned and squirmed in Texas' grasp. He nearly shrieked in surprise when South suddenly appeared before him.
"Howdy!" South grinned. "I brought Dixieland!"
"Awesome!" Prussia cackled. Whipping a knife from his boot, he chased after Aotearoa who had escaped Tennessee and Arkansas.
"Who are you?" Liech snapped as she ducked under Tennessee's swing. "Wild animals of some sort?"
"Honey," Tennessee said in a strong twang. "The name's Tennessee. I'm the sixteenth of the United States of America, a Confederate, and a Yankee."
"Was?" Liech paused in confusion, mouthing the strange words.
"During the War of Southern Secession I was a Rebel," Tennessee said he circled Liech. "But after that, the Europeans called me a Yankee. Specifically the British people. All because I was an America."
"A Rebel and a Yankee." Liech shrugged. "It makes no difference to me."
"You didn't fight in the War." Tennessee suddenly whipped his rife around quicker than Liech could react and opened fire on her.
"Eek!" Liech ducked under the rain of bullets.
Texas threw Ísland across the field. "These Wars are weak," he shouted to his brothers. "If a couple of us states can take them on."
"Did you just call us weak?" Liech shrieked, whirling around to face Texas. "We are not weak"!
"If an ex-nation can kill one of you," Arkansas said. "Then y'all are weak." He nodded at Prussia who was cleaning his knife on his shirt. Alabama cocked his gun in a threatening manner.
Liech turned bright red in the face. Ducking under a bullet, she appeared at Alabama's side. She grabbed his arm and managed to toss the state halfway across the field.
"I am not weak!"
Alabama rolled across the ground, coughing hard when he finally came to a stop.
"You're weak." Texas drew both his pistols. "Get over it, Partner."
"And un-awesome," Prussia added, eyeing Ísland dangerously. Ísland rose slowly, watching Prussia the entire time as he circled the group to rejoin Liech.
"Do you think a single bullet could kill them?" Arkansas asked his brothers.
"Maybe if it was made of adamantium," Texas joked and Alabama rolled his eyes.
"You can't kill us," Liech hissed. "We're Wars, you're nothing!"
"Honey, never say that again," Arkansas said darkly as all four brother raised their weapons at the Wars. "We're states, and proud of it." And they opened fire.
A/N: What did you think?
French Revolutionary War – (1792 – 1802) Holy Roman Empire/Allies vs. France/Allies
Casualties: Unknown (don't have time to check!)
Results: French Republican victory and French territory expansion.
Sorry for the short Author's Note. I have to get to work!