This is a sequel to my previous fic, Rising. I usually try to make it so that one can be read apart from the other, but so much happened in Rising, I strongly advise you to read that before you read Trouble. Just some advice.

And the human names I use for my two Irish OCs: Republic of Ireland - Cearul; Northern Ireland - Coineach

And of course: Wales - Dylan and Scotland - Allistair, but those are so commonly used I hardly feel I should list them.

Other than that, I do not have much to say about this story, not even on the first chapter... So yeah.

Here's my newest fanfic: Trouble

It was September 29, 1938, early in the morning. In fact, it was a time when most people in Ireland would still be asleep. But Northern Ireland wasn't 'most people', and because he was not, neither was Ireland, much to the older nation's dismay.

"So Arthur, Allistair and Dylan are in Germany by now?" Northern Ireland, a boy of seventeen years old but with the appearance of a five-year-old, asked his oldest brother as he sat beside him on his bed. Ireland grunted, burying his face in his pillow, wishing he could sleep again, if only for another hour. It was still dark out, and in September, that could only mean it was ridiculously early. He knew Northern Ireland wouldn't grow up as fast as a human, and that would mean he'd be a child at heart for a long time as well, but he had hoped the kid would at least develop a biological clock and sleep a bit longer. So far, his prayers hadn't been heard a single day yet.

"Yes," he mumbled into his pillow, not even caring if North could hear him or not. "Yes, they are. In fact, they arrived yesterday evening, most likely. But Coineach, please, I-" Northern Ireland didn't even let him finish, crawling onto his brother's back and sitting down just under his shoulders. He would keep his big brother awake no matter what, he seemed to have decided, and Ireland only sighed again. It was in the mornings that he was glad this child was raised mostly by his younger brothers in Great Britain, and in the afternoons that he missed him regularly. Now that his little brothers were going to a meeting in Munich, however, Northern Ireland was under his care for the week, and though he'd been looking forward to seeing him again, he loathed the mornings with all his heart.

"Why are they in Germany? And where in Germany are they? Do you know when they'll be back? Cearul?" The child's questions practically came streaming over his lips, and at this point, Ireland gave up the hope of being able to sleep again this morning and just answered his questions. "They are there to meet with Germany an' Prussia an' then some other nations -no, I do not know exactly which ones, but I guess France is there, too. Anyway, Germany broke some rules, an' they're going to discuss that with the lad. They'll be back by the end o'this week, I'm sure." He then realised he'd forgotten to answer one of the kid's questions, and quickly he answered it, before North would start nagging him about it again. "They're in Munich. That's in the South...East."

"South or East?"

"Both." Though he didn't quite understand, Northern Ireland was satisfied with the answer, and he layed down on his brother's back, hugging his shoulders, thanking him. Ireland only hummed, not nearly awake enough for all this. "Now you need to get out of bed," North mumbled eventually, earning another grunt from his brother. "You promised me you'd teach me how to use a bow today!" Ireland sighed, mumbling a soft, "I did, didn't I...?" Northern Ireland nodded excitedly, a huge smile on his face as he looked down at his brother. Then, Ireland turned around and to his side instead, and North slid off his back. The older Irishman then looked over his shoulder at the child, his gaze warm but hard. "Okay, I will. But Coineach, if ye want me t'be awake enough to teach ye, please, let me sleep for just another hour. One hour. And ye should rest up a bit, as well, or ye'll fall asleep again in the afternoon."

Northern Ireland pouted for a moment but didn't object. Silently, he nodded, then leaned over to Ireland and gave him a tiny kiss on the cheek before getting off the bed and leaving. Just before he left the room, though, he looked over his shoulder and said, "Maybe you shouldn't stay up all night and drink your scotch, then you'd get up earlier." There was a definite hint of a Welsh accent in his voice as the kid spoke, which made Ireland realise he was repeating something he'd heard Wales say to Scotland sometime. With a smile, the Irishman closed his eyes and heard the door to his bedroom being closed very softly. Oh, how he loved that kid...

In the afternoon that day, in Munich, the three brothers that made up Great Britain just entered the conference building. They were in a slight hurry, as the meeting was about to start and they only just arrived. And they weren't even in the conference room yet. "Ah, it'll be fine, Artie," Scotland said to his little brother, patting him on the shoulder. "They'll wait for us. An' we'll be what, two minutes late? No worries." England huffed and nodded. Scotland was right, after all. However, when they found the meeting wouldn't take place on the ground floor and they had to go up a flight of stairs, they stopped. "Well," Wales sighed after a moment of silence, grimacing a bit though also smiling as he stared at the stairs. "This is either the point where we give up hope of arriving in time, or the point where you abandon me. Your choice." Scotland shook his head, amused, while England only rolled his eyes. "Maybe we should have mentioned beforehand that we have a disabled man with us," he sighed. "Maybe they'd have been considerate enough to meet on the ground floor instead. Oh well, I guess we don't have a choice." Scotland nodded, already bending down and picking up Wales, who held on to his brother's shoulders tightly while England picked up his brother's wheelchair. Seventeen years ago, near the end of the Irish War of Independence, there had been an accident that had broken Wales' spine, and ever since then he'd been paralysed from the waist down. It had been so long since then, he was hardly bothered by it anymore, but moments like these were still a problem. Thank goodness he always had his brothers with him, and if not, he could get help from others if necessary. The rest of the world still didn't know about it, though, as the brothers hadn't spoken a word of it to another nation. Today would be the day most of Europe would find out, and because of that, the world would soon follow.

"Well, at least we have a perfect excuse to be late," Wales said as his older brother carried him up the stairs. "I mean, they can't blame us. We can blame them, even." Scotland laughed, waiting for England at the top of the stairs to place the wheelchair beside him. When he did, he placed his little brother back into it, and together, the three nations went to the conference room together. England was the first to enter, immediately apologising, "I'm sorry for the slight delay, but I'm afraid we had a bit of trouble with the staircase." He wasn't even finished speaking when Wales rolled in behind him, followed by Scotland, and the moment England was done speaking, a shocked silence fell in the large room, all eyes on Wales. The Welshman just shrugged and went to his place, reaching to grab the chair that stood there and move it aside, but North Italy, wide-eyed, had already gotten to his feet and did it for him. "Galle," he asked then as he went back to his own seat. "If it's okay to ask, how did... how did this happen? I don't think anyone else here knew about this, right...?"

Wales shook his head as his brothers sat down beside him, ready for the meeting now. "No, indeed, they didn't. I'll just explain it now for everyone to hear, and I want no questions anymore after that, alright?" Several nations nodded or mumbled an agreement to this, others remained silent and motionless as Wales began his explanation, "Seventeen years ago, during April 1921, there was an accident that broke my spine. Because there was another nation involved in it, the damage is permanent. Most likely, I'll be stuck in this for the rest of my life. Does that satisfy your curiosity?" Most of the nations now nodded and didn't say a word anymore. Only North Italy whispered in pure shock, "Diciassette anni... questo รจ orribile. I'm sorry to hear that, Galle." The mediterranean nation then got a poke in the side from his older twin, South Italy, and was silenced by him like that. Wales was glad the others had listened to his request and didn't say a word more. He didn't want to tell the whole story. He wouldn't say a word about what had happened that day, and most of all, he wouldn't say that it had been Ireland's finger on the trigger of the gun that had done this to him. In seventeen years, he hadn't doubted for a second that it had been an accident. Others, however, might not think the same way.

"Well zhen," France said, clearing his throat to get the attention of the other nations. "I take it we can start now?" From there on, the meeting was full under way. "Sudetenland is all ve vant," Germany stated. "There are many Germans living there, and they have the right to live in Germany vith their ethnic brothers and sisters. The easiest vay to do so is to annex Sudetenland."

"Like you annexed Austria?" England demanded, not pleased with the young nation's demands. "You broke the rules of the Treaty of Versailles by annexing your neighbouring country. And now you demand to annex a part of Czechoslovakia as well?" At this, Austria mentioned, "I did not mind the Anschluss at all, I must say. The nations around me cared about it more than I did, apparently. I do not think of it as a problem at all."

"Of course we cared more, idiota!" South Italy answered angrily, glaring at the Austrian. "That potato bastard can't just break the rules set in Versailles like this!" His younger twin nodded, adding, "I have nothing against Germany, but annexing you was wrong. How can you, of all people, not see that?" Austria corssed his arms and shrugged, stating calmly, "Ve have the same views and our people live vell together. I really do not see the problem."

"Views?" Scotland demanded, glaring at the Austrian just like South Italy had done. "Oh, ye mean the way yer treatin' jews, hm? I hardly think that can be called a 'view' at this point." The nations then started arguing about that, several fights almost broke loose, and England sighed as he took it all in. This would be a long, long day.

"So, did ye like it?" Ireland asked Northern Ireland as they got back home in the evening. The child was a disaster with a bow, but then again, he was just starting. Nonetheless, Ireland had been praising him all day long. It made him happy to be praised, and when North was happy, so was Ireland. North jumped up and down in excitement for a moment. "It was great, it was so great! Thank you, Cearul!" He then jumped one last time, hugging his brother afterwards, wrapping his arms around Ireland's waist. The older Irishman smiled and picked the boy up, hugging him back. "I'm glad y'enjoyed it." He then sat down on the couch, North on his lap, still hugging his brother. "Ye know I love ye, right, lad?" Ireland asked him eventually, and the kid nodded, hugging him again. Ireland patted him on the head and mumbled, "Good. That's good. Because yer the most important person in the entire world to me, lil' brother."

There it was again. Northern Ireland blinked as he wondered for the thousandth time how and why it sounded different when Ireland called him 'little brother' than when any of the others did. It had sounded different all his life, but only since last year did he begin to notice it. There was something in Ireland's voice that made it sound a little off, a bit weird. Forced, he remembered suddenly. England had explained to him a few months ago that sometimes, when people spoke, it could sound 'forced', which meant they were saying something they actually didn't want to say deep down inside. Usually it was a lie they were telling, according to England. And England knew many, many things. But why would it be a lie to call me little brother? he wondered in silence. Or maybe this isn't 'forced lie' but 'forced don't-want-to-say'... But why? He sighed and pushed those questions away. It was ridiculous. Ireland was his big brother, and an amazing big brother at that. He loved him very much, and knew he was loved back.

And as they sat there like that, Ireland was completely calm inside. Holding Northern Ireland like this warmed his heart and soothed his soul every single time. No matter how annoying the child could be sometimes, no matter how much of a bother, in the end, Ireland didn't mind at all. He loved this child with all his heart, and he loved being with him. He truly cherished every second he spent with North. After all, most of the time he was on this island alone, none of his brothers here, and North would be in Great Britain as well. But even so, Northern Ireland was the world to him. He was, after all, his son.

Well, I know it was a short first chapter, but it's just an introduction to the first, shall we say, 'arc' in this story.

If you haven't read Rising and are now perhaps a little confused... please just take my earlier advice.

Well, anyway, thank you very much for reading this and please leave a review on your way out!