Fire

by An Imaginative Spoon

An accident leads to some brotherly arguing, concern and… bonding? Only these brothers… (UK Bros fluff. They're what got me into Hetalia so why not, as a herald of my return. Rated T for language. The OC is Northern Ireland 'cause no one really knows what he's like. Human names used. Many headcanons. Phonetic accent for Scotland but not eland, sorry. Also texting. Okay bye.)

A/N: Here have this. *throws story at you* Knock yourself out.

Scotland – Bold

England – Italics

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England sipped his tea from his desk in the basement. He'd been there all morning, perfecting some old spells of his and deciphering some of the older pages in his magic book. Now, it was past lunch and he was relaxing with a cup of Yorkshire tea with an infusion of lavender. Not usually his type but he was feeling the need for some relaxation today, the last world conference still fresh in his mind. He shuddered; he hoped Hungary wouldn't press charges or blame him for what America did. It was bad enough he had to buy her a new frying pan…

He was interrupted from his musing by a muffled sound coming from his desk. England turned his head to find his phone vibrating like it was possessed, as a constant flow of texts ran through. He frowned; usually he turned his phone off or put it on silent but he left it on today in case he got a call from his boss about the last world conference. However, his boss wouldn't text him if it was important and if it wasn't important then he wouldn't contact his nation at all. England tried to ignore his phone but after a few more vibrations he couldn't take the noise anymore and picked it up to answer it, if only to shut it up.

England groaned when he saw who was texting him and answered with no small degree of reluctance.

Sunday 14 June 2016

1:06 - Oi

1:06 - Arthur

1:07 - Lad

1:07 - Laddie

1:08 - Oi

1:08 - England

1:09 - Lad

1:09 - Oi

1:10 - Oi

1:10 - Ye there?

1:11 - What the fuck do you want?

1:13 - I'm waiting with bated breath for an answer as to why you interrupted my magic session

1:15 - Okay so hypothetically, if someone were tae, hypothetically mind ye, accidentally forget the oven was on and, hypothetically, accidentally burned down said oven and hypothetically again, currently has to deal with a, hypothetically, burning kitchen without letting their, hypothetical, little brother know because it's his hypothetical kitchen, what should the hypothetical oldest brother do, without getting the culprit in trouble...?

1:16 - Hypothetically

1:17 - Alistair what the fuck have you done?

1:18 - Nae nae I have done nothing mind ye ok!

1:18 - Jesus Christ

1:19 - It was nae me, I tell ye, it was nae me this time!

1:20 - You've done a lot of stupid shit but this really takes the fucking biscuit

1:21 - It wasnae me!

1:21 - This time

1:22 - I swear lad, it wasnae me this time

1:23 - Oh really so which of you was it then?

1:24 - Northern Ireland?

1:24 - Wales?

1:25 - I'm just trying to be the good older brother and not let the culprit get in trouble

1:26 - You better tell me who it was

1:27 - Or all of you will be sleeping outside tonight

1:28 - With no blankets or clothes

1:29 - It's going to rain tonight as well

1:29 - Have fun

1:30 - I'm nae sayin! Just ken it wasnae me, I'm just trying tae protect me younger brother

England paused. He quickly went through the list of siblings that 1. lived in his house and 2. was younger than Scotland, which led to only one conclusion. He grinned in satisfaction and turned his attention back to his phone.

1:30 - Shit

1:31 - I just told ye, ahhh shite fook shite

1:32 - It was Northern Ireland wasn't it?

1:32 - Nae...

1:33 - And wasnae what? Heh, that hypothetical situation had nothin tae do with current events and which Northern younger bro might be involved in it...

1:34 - Heh heh

England shook his head. Scotland really was awful at subtle probing. He could lie through his teeth and bluff so well that he managed to beat America at his own game but ask him to probe and he falls apart under the pressure. Standing up, the Englishman made his decision.

1:36 - I'm going to check the kitchen

1:37 - Nae nae nae nae!

Ignoring his brother's pleas, England walked up the stairs to the basement door, magically unlocking it with a quick gesture. Upon opening the door, England had to cover the lower part of his face as the smell of smoke washed over him, choking the breath straight out of his lungs. Coughing slightly, England made his way to the doorway of the kitchen and let his arm drop from his face in shock at the scene before him. He stared for a moment before a vibrate in his pocket alerted him to his brother's continued pleas.

1:40 - Ye 'ave nae reason to

1:41 - Fucking hell

1:41 - What

1:42 - Jesus

1:42 - What have you done?

1:43 - Just git back tae ye magic nothin tae see in the kitchen I promise ye heh

1:44 - I'm outside the kitchen you idiot

1:44 - Shit

1:45 - Hang on me too I'll come down

1:46 - I swear to god

1:47 - The person who is responsible

1:48 - I'm going murder them

Suddenly Arthur sensed a presence behind him, making him jump and whip around. Alistair stood there, grinning sheepishly and rubbing his neck, "Ye cannae murder a brother, right lad?"

"I fucking well can," England replied, turning back to look at the carnage. "Look at it!" The kitchen was a mess to say the least. What was once the oven was now a molten heap of metal with the surrounding cabinets burnt to ashes; the other appliances were burned or scorched in varying degrees of severity; the curtain from the windows were missing not that you could tell very clearly as the scorch marks covered up most of the light from them; the lamps on the ceiling no longer worked and what wasn't burned, scorched or melted was in general disrepair from what seemed to be water damage. I was clear that someone had tried to get the fire under control, at the sacrifice of the remaining unharmed objects.

"Then make sure it isnae me, 'cause I didnae do it," was the Scotsman's reply. "I promise ye. It wasnae me this time."

"Then who was it?"

"Nae sayin but I'm pretty sure ye can guess…"

England paused for a moment, "North."

"Guessed in one," Scotland snorted.

"Excuse me while I go kill him…" England turned to walk off in search of Northern Ireland but found his path blocked by Scotland's chest.

"I cannae let ye do that, lad."

"Why not?!" England exclaimed, temper flaring quickly under such stress. "He nearly burned the bloody house down!"

Scot sighed, "'Cause I just been up there treatin his burns for the last half hour!"

"Oh." Oh. England nearly smacked himself in the forehead for his blindness. Of course North would have been caught in the fire, his recklessness and wild nature putting him in danger. "…Sorry."

Scotland shook his head and looked back at the kitchen, exhaling slowly at extent of the damage.

"Fucking hell…" England mumbled, also assessing the damage. "He's an absolute idiot."

"Aye. The mudlin was unbelievably stoopid."

"Well," Arthur rolled up his sleeves a little. "What are we going to do with this mess?"

"I dinnae ken," Scotland shrugged. "Git a moop and broom and try?"

"Like that's going to work!"

"Weel I'm sorry but I am takin suggestions 'ere!" said Alistair, indignantly, crossing his arms.

England raised his eyebrow, "Magic?"

His brother froze for a moment, "…That cood work…"

Grinning, Arthur took his wand from his specially enlarged pocket of his trousers as Scotland fiddled with the rings on both his middle fingers. He raised a thick eyebrow, "Ye steel usin that? Bit basic fer yer skill level, lad?" He didn't say it nastily, more in closeted surprise with an enlaced tease about his brother's magic prowess.

"Sarcio," was England's response, repairing and mending the majority of the appliances in the room and generally putting it back into order. He smirked at his older brother, who was still fiddling with his rings, "And yet, I'm still better at magic than you."

Scotland grimaced a little, before turning his attention back to the room. He thrust out one hand while the other settled next to his face, palm in, "Air ais, till don agad seann coltas." Alistair's eyes and rings glowed amber and took away the last remnants of the fire, the scorch marks on the floor and ceiling and the smell of smoke in the air, "Perhaps…"

"…Show off." The Englishman huffed.

"But it's the little touches that make the difference, lad!" He ruffled Arthur's hair, his eyes and rings still glowing slightly.

"Gerroff!"

"Hahaha!" Alistair chuckled before turning to gaze up the stairs. He sobered and hummed at the sound of muffled shuffling.

"You okay?" England snapped his fingers in front of his brother's eyes, making him blink back into reality.

"Hm? Oh aye. I'm fine." Scot became sombre with a frown. "But I should really check on North..."

"Just how bad were the burns?"

Heading upstairs, Alistair motioned to England to follow him, "Ye dinnae ken the 'alf of it..."

Arthur followed his brother up the narrow stairs with a trepidation he hadn't felt for a while. It only mounted as he caught the mutters streaming from Scot's mouth, "Stoopid boy. Stoopid, stoopid boy..." among other expletives in Scots Gaelic.

The two Brits opened the door with the Northern Irish flag pinned to the door (along with a few shamrocks and pictures of leprechauns) to find the owner sitting on his bed, covered in sloppy bandages. He looked up guiltily when they walked in and sat beside him, tugging the bandages into more secure positions only to have them fall back down again.

"Did ye try tae bandage yerself lad?" asked Alistair, kindly.

North nodded and winced a little, "They hurt. I didn't want to wait."

"'Ow is it that the best at healin magic is the worst at basic first aid...?" Scotland shook his head then knelt down to unwrap the sloppy bandages, starting with the one on his left hand. Liam hissed a little and stifled a tiny sob with his other hand, not wanting to show how badly it really hurt. England's heart broke a little in sympathy and he gripped North's knee for comfort before kneeling down next to Scot to help him.

"You're a complete idiot, North…" England mumbled, shaking his head.

Northern Ireland nodded again, keeping silent to focus on suppressing the pain.

"S' okay laddie. I ken it hurts..." Scotland continued, carefully unwrapping until all the bandages were gone. Once gone, all the burns were visible in all their horrific glory. The first-degree burns stretched all the way up both of Northern Ireland's arms and up to the beginning of his shoulders. There were second-degree burns on his face and his right eye didn't quite look correct. "Fook, North."

"Sorry…" The Northern Irishman whispered, guilt written heavily on his face.

"It's quite alright," England smiled in reassurance. "The kitchen is fixed so you don't have to worry."

Alistair meanwhile snorted, "Ye are such a spavie. Why ye thought that ye hands cood put the fire out I'll never ken." England raised his eyebrows and glanced between his two brothers, searching for the lie. His eyebrows rose further when Liam stared down at his feet, confirming his own lapse in sense.

"Oi," Scot shook North's knee, trying to get him to look at him. "S'okay. I dinnae think Arthur is too mad at ye." He stared pointedly at England, as if the power of his will alone would make England say the right comforting words.

"I'm not mad," Arthur replied, frowning. "I'm more worried about you, Liam."

Alistair nodded in agreement and slight approval, "Aye. The most important thin is that ye rest and fully heal, lad." Then, as if sensing that things were getting too mushy for his tastes, he added, "Then we'll beat the crap out of ye fer bein a fookin mudlin."

Liam grinned, "I'll look forward to it."

"I wouldnae 'ave it any other way," Scot smiled before wrapping North in bandages again, fresh ones that were secure this time. "Yer depth perception will be off 'cause of yer eye fer a while but that should heal in time."

"Yay fun!" North responded, the sarcasm practically leaking from his words. He lay back on his bed and closed his eyes, wincing as he tried to get comfortable.

"Heh yeah. Partial blindness is always a party, I can teel ye. Ah memories."

"That was my fault, wasn't it?" England mused, sitting back on the bed neatly.

"Yeah… In hindsight I did deserve it though." Scotland thumped down on the bed, leaning against the head board and poking the Englishman with a socketed foot.

"Then again, I suppose I did start it," the foot was batted away like an incessant fly, then ignored until the Scotsman lost interest.

"Was that the same battle that I paralysed ye fer a while?" Scotland settled for laying his foot on the duvet and tracing the Celtic patterns with his toe.

"That's the one."

"I ken, I remember gettin almost run over by a blonde midget in a wheelchair, fer callin 'im a blonde midget." He chuckled at the amusing memory, "Heh, good times..."

Arthur nodded in agreement, a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth.

The chuckle trailed off and died, "Ye ken, out of context, we fight a lot."

"We do, don't we…" England replied, fidgeting with the corner of his shirt, awkwardly.

"Meanwhile, Liam was born into war…" Alistair frowned, brushing his gaze over his littlest brother, who'd fallen into an uneasy sleep moments before. "Quite literally."

Arthur merely smiled, sadly, "Well we are countries." He carefully got off of the bed and walked to the door, "It's just what happens."

"Mmmmm..." Scotland hummed, standing up and quickly padding after the Englishman, closing the door after them with a quiet click. He breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of movement from inside then turned to his brother – only to dart out in order to catch him before England fell as his knees buckled. "Arthur!"

"Sorry," he pulled himself together quickly, brushing off his brother's hands and concern as if they were insignificant. "I'm fine. Really, I'm fine."

Alistair remained unconvinced and kept a hand hovering behind Arthur's back in case he decided to faint on him. They sat down at the dining room table, which had remained unharmed through all the drama and England put his head in his hands. They were trembling very slightly, so little that Scot almost missed it. Of course, he hadn't lived this long without being incredibly (almost magically) perceptive.

"Ye okay, lad?" Scotland asked, repeating himself when he got no answer.

England let out a shaky breath and dropped his hands to the table. He glanced at the Scotsman and twitched his lips in a half smile of reassurance, "I'm fine. Just… had to take a moment, you know?" He rubbed his eyes and snorted, "I'm being stupid."

"Nae, yer not," Scotland comforted, placing his hand on the Englishman's shoulder and shaking it a little.

"I am," his words were firm. "All this worry over a few burns. He'll heal. All countries d-"

"Dinnae make it any moore worryin though, does it?" Alistair interrupted, cottoning on to what got his brother so tied up in a knot about.

"No…"

"Exactly. We may be nations, but we're steel humans. Nice tae ken ye care 'boat us though, laddie!" Scot grinned, ruffling England's hair and making him huff in annoyance. But he smiled back none the less.

After all, they were humans really. They had the same anatomy, the same thought process, the same reflexes built into their DNA. The only difference was mortality. And despite all the wars and battles and history between them, they were still brothers through it all. And they cared. Deep down they all cared about the other. Threaten harm on any one of them as a country, you'd probably only have to deal with one of them. Threaten harm on any one of them personally – well, then you're going to have a problem. You better hope you can run fast, buddy. They're brothers. Despite everything, they're still brothers. And they always shall be.

Don't forget that.

End.

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Ken – Know (Scottish)

Ye – You (Scottish, phonetic)

Tae – To (Scottish, phonetic)

Aye – Yes (Scottish)

Nae – No (Scottish, phonetic)

Wasnae – Wasn't (Scottish, phonetic)

Cannae – Can't, cannot (Scottish, phonetic)

Isnae – Isn't (Scottish, phonetic)

Didnae – Didn't (Scottish, phonetic)

Dinnae – Don't (Scottish, phonetic)

Wouldnae – Wouldn't (Scottish, phonetic)

Fook – Fuck (Scottish, phonetic)

Mudlin – General Scottish insult, a useless person

Spavie – General Scottish insult, an unpleasant person

Air ais, till don agad seann coltas – Restore, return to your former appearance (Scots Gaelic)

Sarcio – Repair (Latin)

Note: Kirkland siblings, oldest to youngest - Wales (Oldest) Scotland, Ireland/South Ireland, England, North Ireland.

Note: Human Names – Arthur (England), Alistair (Scotland), Liam (N. Ireland)

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A/N: Okay real authors note now.

Hey everyone! Spoon here! Did ya miss me? Nah, I doubt you did but I'm back none the less. School and exams left me pressed for time and I'm sorry to say I had to go on hiatus. But exams are (mostly) over now so I should have enough free time to get out some content for you guys. I'll try to anyway! Thanks to all those who have reviewed and favourited and followed so far, you guys rock! I always welcome feedback and constructive criticism so lay it on me!

Well, that's it from me guys. If you liked this story please hit that review button and tell me why, it really helps! If you think I can improve, hit that review button and tell me how! Follow me for more! Have a nice day everyone and I'll see ya later!

Eat on!

- Spoon