This is my second Engand story! I've been meaning to get to this for some time now, but I've been really busy lately.

Read this before you continue or you won't understand this so well.

Nation: Ireland

Name: Seamus O'Conner (he use to be a Kirkland before he gained his independence)

Age: Looks like he's 25-years-old.

Description: Short orange hair (it's straight in the front but very messy in the back [no, not like emo/scene hair]), green eyes, half-rimmed glasses, bushy eyebrows, and freckles along his face.

Warning: Yaoi, maybe some OOC-ness, incest, Irish stereotypes (I don't mean to offend if I hurt anyone's feelings), and I'm too serious so this fic may be less comedic.

Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia: Axis Powers, I wouldn't be writing any of this. I'd be busy making this become an episode, which I can't do because I don't have the skills or ideas of its respective creator, Hidekaz Himaruya. Simply put.

He walked through the forest with caution and stealth. It wasn't a very thick forest but it wasn't easy to locate his enemy. The sound of guns going off and shouting disabled him from hearing the footsteps of his opponent. The dark night didn't provide much help with seeing even though it was slightly clear tonight. He thanked the Heavens above that it wasn't raining again. Rain made everything complicated during battle.

England was looking for his older brother, Ireland. For about two and a half years now, they've been fighting over the red-haired nation's independence. England, of course, was opposed to his older brother's decision to become independent. He'd already lost America over a century before this. Losing another brother of his again was not an option.

Even though England didn't mean to, he was glad that he shot Ireland in the leg. As the Irish nation ran into the forest, he had left a trail of blood behind him without meaning to. The moon was able to reflect off of the splatters of blood as England followed them.

Suddenly, the trail of blood stopped. All that England could see was a small pool forming near a wide tree. He could bearly see the pool of blood slowly getting bigger.

I found you, England thought to himself as he slowly walked toward the tree. He was starting to hear the faint pants of his older brother trying to regain his breath. There was also the sound of the Irishman's body sliding on the tree. England readied his rifle for an easy capture.

England was just getting to the tree, about to circle around it to capture his brother. Without warning, Ireland steps out from behind the tree, quickly raised his pistol, and made a random shot. Surprised, England accidentally pulled the trigger to his rifle and shot at Ireland. The British nation felt a sudden force go by his neck, bearly nicking the skin. Assuming it was Ireland's bullet, England considered himself lucky for the precise aim. However, Ireland was not too lucky.

Ireland gasped before coughing up blood onto England's boots. England stared down at the blood in shock for a second. It wasn't until Ireland looked up at him that he saw the blood leaking from his mouth. Not only that, but he saw where his bullet hit Ireland in his left side. The wound soaked his uniform in blood, turning it from a dark green into black.

Regaining his composure, England pointed his rifle at Ireland's chest just as the red-head raised his pistol to England's forehead. Their silent threat wasn't enough to make them surrender. How many wars have they been in where the enemy threatened to blow their heads off, or put a bullet through their chest?

"You want to give up now?" England asked, his voice ice cold.

Ireland stared at him before spitting up some more blood onto England's rifle. He looked at England with determination in his dark green eyes.

"Is it that bad?" England could bearly hear Ireland speak. Not understanding the question, England raised an eyebrow at him. Ireland spit out some more blood before continuing. "Is it that bad to where you have to point a gun at me, Deartháir Beag?" (T: Little Brother)

Ireland's term of endearment he used for England made the blond's eye twitch. England was the only one Ireland ever addressed as "Deartháir Beag." He called England this to express his affection towards him. Before the war had started, Ireland had gradually ceased to call England that before discontinuing it completely.

Is he trying to make me feel guilt now? England thought before answering his brother.

"It was your decision to abandon us. You'll have to face the consequences."

"There you go again, England. Making this seem more than what it is."

"Isn't it the truth?"

"No. It's not. I'm doing this because I can't stand living with you."

"I thought you loved your brothers, South."

"I do. I love all of you. But I can't continue living under your roof."

"That's very disappointing to hear, South. I was hoping you'd come to your senses by now."

"I'm afraid you'll have to give up on those hopes. I won't stop until I've gained my freedom."

Hearing this, England felt himself rip apart inside. It was painful when he heard America say he was no longer the Brit's younger brother. Hearing Ireland's determination to fight for his independence, even as he's weakening from his wounds, was nearly heart breaking.

England thrusted his gun at Ireland's chest, forcing him to back up against the tree. Ireland squeezed his eyes shut and hissed out in pain as he was forced to put pressure on his injured leg. The Irish nation was also forced to drop his pistol to the ground from the sudden action and the pain shooting through his body.

"Are you sure you don't want to surrender and come back home? I'm sure, if you cooperate, everyone will forgive you. Even North."

"But, England, my people won't go along with that. There will be more rebellions, violence to your people, and possibly another war."

"I'm sure you can pull a few strings to get them under control."

Ireland stared at England with shock written on his face. England knew this would upset Ireland but how else would things work out after this war was over?

Slowly, Ireland's face dropped into a desperate and weak expression. England looked hopeful. It was about time Ireland went along with what he was saying. Now the war will end and almost everything will go back to normal. England would have to write a few laws and policies to ensure Ireland's people don't act out again, but all of that will be figured out later. Right now England was just satisfied with Ireland's surrender.

Ireland pulled out a dagger from his coat pocket. As England looked at the weapon in the moonlight, he noticed it wasn't just any dagger.

Quickly, England moved his left hand down to his coat pockets to feel that his dagger was gone. His ceremonial dagger he used for his rituals was missing. Rather, it was in Ireland right hand.

"Missing something?" Ireland taunted, a look of apathy in his eyes now. England stared him in the eyes, anger now evident on his face.

"When did you get that?" England asked while gritting his teeth.

"Just moments ago when we were fighting. While you were busy trying to force me away, I stole your dagger without you even realizing it. I thought you would've noticed but I guess not."

"You don't expect to use that, do you?" England's voice was more mocking than worried. He was sure that Ireland wouldn't be able use that.

"What would be the point of taking it if my objective wasn't to use it for its proper purpose?"

"You need more than a dagger. You know that, right?"

"I know." Ireland loosened his tie to reveal his collar that binds him to the United Kingdom. England had given them magic collars that physically bounded his brothers to him. Each collar had a lock with no key hole. This made it impossible to remove by normal means. To permanently remove it, England would have to cut off the lock while chanting a spell. The problem wasn't taking England's dagger. The problem was knowing the spell England would have to use.

"I give permission to release this creature from its retraints and to lift the burden of my ownership off its shoulders," Ireland recited aloud before thrusting the point of the dagger into the lock. He twisted the dagger into the lock as it began to crack, a small yellow glow coming from the break in the cursed metal. "Release this creature from my grasp and let it wander away from my power." Pieces of the lock were chipping off, the crack getting bigger and the light from it increasing.

"No!" England shouted uselessly. The holder of the dagger held the power. It didn't matter if it was England or Ireland who said the spell, the object had to obey the magic being performed. England couldn't stop the process either. An interruption in any spell can be dangerous. England had no control in this ritual.

The lock was starting break off. Ireland twisted into it a final time before shouting out the last of the spell.

"I command you to lift the curse over this creature and let it be free of me!"

Ireland pulled the dagger, cutting the lock off and causing the yellow light to shine brightly between them. Ireland looked away from the blinding light while England put his hand in front of his eyes, trying to see past the brightness.

The light soon dispersed and the sudden sound of metal breaking was heard. The two nations watched as the chain that once bounded them together dangled from England's neutral green collar. Ireland's collar that was of a dark green fabric, fell to the ground between them. All around the edge of the collar were small indentions of Ireland's feeble attempts to cut it off of his neck.

A wave of different emotions swept through England at that moment. He was disappointed by Ireland's act. He was sad that Ireland forced himself out of the United Kingdom without waiting for the war to end. He was angry that Ireland knew how to free himself from England. He was also confused as to how Ireland even knew the spell.

England stomped on Ireland injured leg, hearing him whimper out his pain. At this point, England had forgotten that the nation in front of him was his older brother. All he cared about was showing how mad he was at Ireland for doing this.

"You stupid git! How in the bloody hell did you figure out the spell?!"

"I looked it up in one of our books. I honestly thought you used your own spell or something more complicated. But the Binding Curse? I thought you would've done something challenging."

The Binding Curse was a simple spell many would use to take control or ownership over a human, animal, or any other creature. England didn't think his brothers would try to break away from him until the night Ireland declared his independence. Even then, he wasn't expecting Ireland to figure out the spell he used.

"Why did you do that?! This could've been settled without you having to do that!"

"I had no other choice. We both know you would've never let me go. This was the only option."

"No it wasn't you idiot! You know it doesn't always end in someone's defeat or surrender!"

"I know. But whose to say you'd actually result to proposing a truce?"

"I do!" England lowered his rifle and extended his hand out to Ireland. The red-head stared at his younger brother's hand for a moment before looking back up at him.

"What is this, England? It's over."

"As far as I can hear, there's still a war raging on. I'm only willing to agree to a truce. This way it's official and no one will know about this. Not that anyone really needs to."

Ireland continued to stare at him until he had to spit out some more blood onto the ground. He could feel his body weakening. He wouldn't last much longer if he tried to defy England any more.

Ireland extended his shaky hand to England's and grasped it. They shook in a firm agreement before Ireland released his hand and fell to the ground.

"You're so prideful. It'll destroy you one day, you know?"

"Enjoy your independence, Republic of Ireland," England sneered, ignoring his brother's previous statement.

Ireland slowly stopped moving, his eyes closed, his head resting on his military cap, his wounds still spilling blood. England turned away and walked out of the forest. Another one of his brothers ran away from him. Both had declared their independence and fought hard to win it. They both succeeded.

"Where were you?" one of England's soldiers demanded, "We couldn't find you anywhere!"

"I was discussing things with Southern Ireland."

"And?"

"It's over. We called for a ceasefire."

"A ceasefire? So that means-"

"We agreed to end this without anyone winning or losing."

We'll see how long you can go before you come running back to us, Republic of Ireland.

The idea about the collar connecting the countries around England to him as the United Kingdom was inspired from Himaruya's Gakuen game. In the game, Seychelles goes to the same academy as the rest of the characters in Hetalia. When she gets there, England puts a collar around her neck and tells her she's now one of his colonies. This pretty much motivated me into doing this because I thought it would be kind of interesting.

Sorry if the spell doesn't sound so great.

If you haven't caught on to this, England adresses Ireland as "South" because Ireland hadn't seperated from the United Kingdom yet. Since Ireland and his twin, North (obviously, the northern part of Ireland), were not yet seperated, they were nicknamed "North" and "South."