Ireland groaned as he rolled over, his skin prickling constantly by now as the harvest failed for yet another year. He tried to bat away the hand that was now laid on his forehead,
"I wouldnae be daein' that ye wee bampot." Scotland sighed as he pulled his hand away again. Ireland looked at him blearily,
"An' why the hell not?" he murmured tiredly. Scotland snorted,
"'Cause ye've still got a fever, ye eejit." He replied in a somewhat amused tone. Ireland smiled weakly at him,
"Not like you've been faring any better." He replied, breaking into a hacking cough. Scotland waited for the fit to pass before sighing and helping his brother sit up,
"Aye, but at least I'm farin' better than you are." He pointed out, "How many times have the crops failed noo?" he asked quietly. Ireland sighed,
"Lost count." He muttered, "Too many t'be honest." Scotland nodded as his brother shivered and lay back down, too tired to keep the conversation going. The oldest of the two sighed as he tucked the duvet around the younger as he drifted off again. Satisfied that Ireland was comfortable, Scotland got up, took the basin and left the room.
...
"I've already told you, the crops in Ireland are not my responsibility!"
"Aye, but ye've got a responsibility tae the people livin' there. Or do they no' coont as citizens o' the United Kingdom?" England scowled as Scotland glowered at him from across the table. Australia and Canada looked at each other nervously while the others tried their best to ignore the argument. England snorted as he leaned back in his chair,
"Look, we're trying to have dinner, can we at least have this argument later?" he waved around the table with his fork, almost poking Canada in the arm with it. Scotland continued to glower at his younger brother,
"I dinnae think so," he growled dangerously, "Ye canna keep runnin' awa' from yer responsibilities like this." England narrowed his eyes again,
"I have already pointed out to you Scotland that I have no control over whether or not crops thrive or fail."
"But ye can control whether or no' tae support the people affected by it." England sighed; he'd had enough,
"We will continue this discussion after dinner." He said with an air of finality. Scotland put his cutlery down, outright glared at his brother and left the table. England frowned after him, "And just where do you think you're going?" he asked. Scotland turned around as he reached the door,
"I've had enough tae eat, an' I cannae stand tae sit at the table while ma wee brither starves tae death because you cannae be arsed tae help him." He retorted, leaving the kitchen and slamming the door behind him. Everyone looked to England, who cleared his throat,
"And what are you all staring at?" he demanded, "Come on; finish your food before it gets cold." Little Northern Ireland looked up at England, his eyes wide,
"E...England," he whispered, "Ireland's not going to die is he?" he asked quietly, his lower lip quivering already. England blinked, put his fork down, sighed and picked his little brother up,
"Don't be silly Connor, Scotland was exaggerating." He assured the little nation. Northern Ireland sniffled,
"P... promise?" he asked. England smiled at him,
"I promise." He replied gently, "Now finish your dinner, there's a lad." The little nation nodded and toddled back to his own seat. Canada sent his guardian a dubious look, but was quickly cowed into lowering his eyes as England glared at him. Satisfied that all disruption was now quelled, England turned his attention back to his now stone cold dinner.
...
Scotland sighed heavily as he sat in Ireland's bedroom watching the fairies flutter around it. This was the last place he wanted to be and the very last thing he wanted to be doing. A small blue fairy landed on his hand and tugged on his sleeve,
"Everything will be alright Alba." She said in as reassuring a tone as possible. Scotland looked down at her, blinking as he focused on what she had been saying. He snorted,
"The last time I got my hopes up, they got dashed." He replied bitterly, "I dinnae doubt this is gonnae turn oot the same way." Breda whined a little as she tried to calm her charge down, several more fairies fluttering around the Scotsman. Scotland didn't bother batting them away, they were only trying to help after all, and he would much rather wallow in self pity right about now. It wasn't going to help anything, but what could he really do? He had little to no power left himself and England was adamant that everything was fine, despite all evidence to the contrary. He glanced over to see Ireland still sleeping,
"Kinda makes ye wish Ma were still aboot, she'd probably slap the wee eejit intae next century." He chuckled weakly, breaking off with a sigh, "Still, doesae help us oot though." He smiled faintly as one of Ireland's fairies landed on his hand and sent him a reassuring smile,
"Eire will be fine Alba." She said, adjusting her dress, "He always pulls through." Scotland nodded, that was true enough; Ireland had, after all, managed to survive much worse than a famine. Feeling a little better, Scotland allowed himself the liberty of a small, more genuine, smile. Noting this, the two fairies that had landed on him flew back to the others to maintain their vigil over the red haired nation. Ireland snorted as he rolled over, still sleeping away as Scotland patted the bed and got up out of his seat,
"I might as well go an' find somethin' tae dae." He said to no one in particular. The eldest of the brothers looked to the fairies, "Let me ken if anythin' changes, aye?" The fairies nodded, Breda following the Scotsman out. He eyed the little creature curiously. Breda giggled as she flitted out of the room and twirled around above his head,
"There's no point in me staying there." She said, "I want tae see Mata anyway." Scotland blinked then nodded,
"I suppose there's not, Seamus' ain fairies can keep an eye on him fer us." He agreed, "Come on then, we might as well go find someone tae bother." As he walked off, Scotland glanced back at his brother's bedroom door with worry, but shook his head. Ireland was fine... for now at least.