COUNTRYHUMANS ONESHOTS (COMPLETED)

ohshoot

791 words

9/14/2019

WARNING WARNING WARNING

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS HEAVY GORE! DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T LIKE THAT CRAP!

idk why I wrote this. i just kinda felt like it. ALSO THIS WAS KIND OF INSPIRED BY F0RK_LORD ON DA AVIARY AU CHECK IT OUT

"Sir, where am I going?" a small child ran to keep up with the long, confident strides of Britan.

"Just be quiet," Britan said. He was getting tired of questions.

"Hold on, my glasses are falling down," Germany adjusted his circular glasses. Britan glared at him before keeping on walking. Germany slightly fluttered his brown wings, trying to keep up with the brisk pace of the much taller Britan.

"Hurry up," Britan barked, turning angrily towards Germany. He whimpered in response, his wings curling around him almost protectively. That might be a problem, Britan said to himself.

The farther they walked down the hallway, the more abandoned it seemed. The expensive paint began to give way to white drywall. The mahogany flooring became mustier and molded. An enormous rat darted in between holes, making Germany shriek.

Eventually, the two came to a door. It was in good repair except for the rusted hinges, which groaned loudly when Britan opened the door. Germany hesitantly stepped inside. His blood instantly froze.

Display cases full of wings. Some were large, small, colorful, monochrome- but that didn't matter. They were wings, something that was part of Germany. The small country shuddered.

"These belonged to Turkey," Germany flinched at the sound of Britan's voice. Britan gestured to speckled brown wings. "These were Estonia's." Black wings with white secondaries and primaries. "Oh, and these were your fathers. Weimar, right?" Germany felt tears prick the corners of his eyes as Britan forced him to look at larger versions of his own wings.

"I don't want to die," Germany muttered, tears streaming down his face.

Britan chuckled. "You're not going to die. Most are fine." Germany only began to cry harder, quietly sobbing into his hands.

Britan grabbed Germany's hand and began to drag him through the exhibits. It would be faster to go in a line, but Britan liked seeing the fear on his face. In a zig-zag like fashion, Britan walked Germany through the wings, explaining who each one belonged to. Germany cried throughout the entire process.

The two finally reached a white door. It was metal with no windows. Germany felt like crying again. The hinges creaked as Britan opened the door and roughly shoved Germany inside.

The first thing Germany saw was a large black device in the middle of the room. It had a circle cut into the back of it and straps in places where arms and legs might go. There wasn't really anything much in the room, except for the table in front of the device with a black artist case on top of it.

"Take off your shirt," Britan said, locking the door. Shaking, Germany pulled the white formal shirt off his head and over his wings, letting it fall to the floor. Britan led him to the machine, strapping him in and roughly pulling his wings through the holes. Germany winced, making the Brit smile wider. 

Britan opened the artist case, revealing pointed blades ranging from small scalpels to a large and very threatening knife. Germany began to cry.

"Let's get started, shall we?"

Britan grabbed a sharp scalpel and touched his finger with the point. It produced a small bead of dark blood. Britan seemed satisfied before turning towards a thrashing Germany. Britan held his small body with one hand, keeping him still, while another traced the scalpel around the base of his wings. Germany whimpered.

"No screaming? You're no fun," Britan said, moving his scalpel to the other wing. Germany continued to whimper, letting out sharp yells when Britan pushed the scalpel in too deep or when it touched a sensitive mussel. Britan reached for a small, black sack. He opened it up and rubbed some of the salt into Germany's cuts.

Germany screamed in pain, his cuts burning. His wings thrashed around violently, which only pushed the salt deeper into the cuts.

Britan's cold hand returned to Germany's side, holding him still as he put a knife to his back. He pushed it in. Germany's entire body spasmed as he screamed out again. Britan began to roughly drag it in the shape the scalpel drew. He turned the knife to saw through the bone.

At this point, Germany's eyes had gone dull. He stopped focusing. His throat hurt from screaming. He had no tears left to cry as Britan forcefully ripped the wing out of its socket before continuing to work on the other wing. Germany looked at his wing. The bone was covered in red mussel and flesh, part of his skin was covering where his wings had feathers. Soon enough another wing joined its brother.

Germany was unstrapped and he weakly fell to the floor. Britan let him lay on the floor as he cleaned up Germany's wing, removing the bloody flesh and sawing off the rest of the bone.

Germany finally fell unconscious.