Scotland - Alistair
N. Ireland - Patrick
Wales - Rhys
And before you begin, it should be noted that this story is set in the United States. The Kirkland family moved there from the land of the British when they were younger and ended up sticking around. I couldn't find a good place to mention this in the story, and while it's a small detail, it's kinda important.
Anyway, enjoy their shenanigans.
Patrick could remember his younger days when he and his brother were rowdy children always fighting or getting into shenanigans that would send their mother up the wall. He remembered the little adventures they'd have, the comradery that came with it, and the thrill of doing things they weren't supposed to.
Now, at age twenty six, Patrick and his brothers were definitely doing things they weren't supposed to, but he didn't feel the same excitement he did as a boy.
"Please, we can't be doing this," he begged them. "This is trespassing. We can be arrested for this."
"Ya talk too much, Pat," Alistair groused, the oldest and probably drunkest of the four of them. Or maybe the drunkest was Arthur who'd always been a lightweight. To be honest, they'd all had a bit to drink while bar hopping. That didn't mean Patrick's sense of rationality had deserted him.
Arthur, stumbling alongside them through the grass, seemed to agree for once with the eldest. "It's all white noise. Blah, blah, blah . . ."
"He's quaking like a girl, is all. Go home Pat, if yer too scared."
"And leave you dunces to get arrested by yourselves?" Patrick asked, laughing bitterly. As much as he wanted to run away from this late night escapade of criminal activity, he couldn't bring himself to be left behind.
Their last brother Rhys, who had been fairly quiet since leaving the last bar, spoke in a low ominous voice, "Live together, die together."
"Now that's the spirit!" Alistair shouted, to which Patrick frantically shushed him.
"They'll hear you," he hissed.
Alistair scoffed, "I don't see anybody out here. It's just gonna be us and some animals."
"You sure this is a farm?" Arthur asked. There wasn't much in the way of light out here on the countryside. He along with the rest of them wielded their phones like flashlights. They'd stopped momentarily at an old wooden fence surrounding the perimeter of the property.
"I'm not stupid," Alistair snapped. Expectedly, Arthur riled up right back at him.
"I didn't say that, but yeah, you are, ugly bastard."
"Ankle-biting idgit."
"Ugly bastard."
"Ya already said that!"
"Doesn't make it less true!"
"Cut it out!" Patrick ordered. Why, oh why did he always have to play the referee position? And why couldn't his brothers not be idiots and just go home after a night out drinking like normal people. Leave it to Alistair and Arthur to egg each other on until they came up with stupid challenges to prove their bravery.
Patrick's attempts to intercede might as well have been aimed at a brick wall for how unmoved the quarreling brothers were. They were practically chest to chest, and they would have resorted to a brawl if it hadn't been for Rhys literally stepping in between the two. His intentions weren't to break up the impending fight though.
Pushing through them, Rhys reached the fence and ungracefully hoisted himself up on it, all the while muttering at them. "You promised there'd be sheep. I want my sheep."
Alistair and Arthur refocused back on their mission. They continued to ignore Patrick's comments of the illegality of what they were doing and proceeded to hop over the fence. And by hop over, it was really more like they were falling over it. They really were too drunk for this.
The four of them walked through a pasture. Patrick scanned the area. The stars and half-moon gave just enough light to allow him to see the sloping land of the pasture, the pond situated down a hill a ways from them, and the two story house in the distance. All the lights were off in the house but that didn't make Patrick feel any less exposed. He crossed his fingers and prayed that the owners just happened to be gone for the night.
"What's that? Is that a horse?" Arthur asked. Alistair slapped the back of his head.
"It's a cow, ya fucking reprobate."
Arthur kicked at the back of his leg. "Fuck off! It's dark out here."
Patrick peered at where they were talking about. It appeared they had found a herd of cows. Most of them were lying on the ground asleep, but some were standing. The closer the brothers approached, the more cows raised their heads at them.
"We shouldn't get close," Patrick warned. "There might be a bull. It could charge."
"We'll be matadors," Alistair laughed. "Hey Rhys, brother mine. Won't you go pet one?"
"Is it a sheep?"
"It's a cow. So it's like a sheep. Just bigger."
Rhys sat on the ground in disappointment. "When will the lies end?"
"Oi, c'mon. What are you doing?" Arthur asked. He went back to pull at Rhys's arm, trying to get him to stand. Rhys merely fell over into the grass.
"I can't go on," Rhys bemoaned.
"To hell with him, we'll do this ourselves," Alistair announced. "Arthur, you first."
"Me first? Why do I have to go first?"
"Because I'm the oldest and I say so."
"You're full of shit is what you are. I'm not doing it."
"I shouldn't have expected any different from you." Alistair shook his head and turned back towards the herd, as if he were about to leave them. "Ya always were a coward."
"The hell I'm not!"
"Always used to cry under yer blanket at night holding yer wittle stuffed bunny."
"I didn't!"
"Did too. Go home and cry if ya want. Yer not a man. Yer just a baby."
From the ground, Rhys imitated the sound of a baby in distress. Patrick couldn't see too well, but he bet Arthur's face was a fiery red.
"Alright, you bastard! I'll show you! I'll do it!" Arthur marched towards the herd with a purpose. He didn't get too far off before he stumbled to a stop and turned around to look at them. "Wait, what am I even supposed to do?"
"Don't listen to him, Arthur," Patrick called. "You don't have to do anything. Let's just go home."
"No Arthur, do listen to me. I want you to go tip one of them."
"Alistair! Don't tell him that!"
"I'll tell 'em what I want. Listen to me Arthur. Ya go tip one of those beasts and I'll take back calling ya a baby."
Arthur's anger had fled him. Now he stood there, hands pressed against his stomach in anxiousness as he glanced at the cows. "I don't want to tip a cow, Alistair. That's animal abuse."
"No, it's funny."
"Stop it," Patrick said, his patience slipping away. He yanked on Alistair's arm. This was getting out of hand and he would drag his older brother out of here if he had to. Hopefully the others would follow. "You could seriously hurt them. Just leave it be."
From this close up, Patrick could see Alistair's blue eyes roll. "Fine, ya pansies. Ya don't have to tip the cow."
"Then what do I have to do?" Arthur asked dumbly.
"Ride it like a horse," Rhys suggested, still on the ground.
"No," Patrick said firmly. "For crying out loud, you could scare or hurt the poor thing."
Rhys curled up in the grass apathetically. "Don't care. It's not a sheep."
"Go on then!" Alistair told Arthur. "Find a noble steed and sit upon it."
As much as Patrick hoped Arthur would find the whole notion ridiculous, Arthur was far too gone to remember common sense. He spun towards the herd and strode unsteadily with drunken determination. He chose one that was already standing up. The cow ambled away from Arthur, unsure of him, but Arthur crept up towards its side and they could hear him mumbling something, probably talking to the cow. Beside Patrick, Alistair watched in silent amusement to see if their brother would actually follow through with it.
The cow made a deep grunting noise as Arthur planted his hands on its back and hefted himself up. It tried to walk away, but Arthur was already laying sideways on it.
"Ya can do it, Artie boy!" Alistair cheered.
"It won't stop moving!" Arthur yelled back in a way that could be either frightened or frustrated. Maybe both.
"Get up on it!"
"I'm trying! I'd like to see your fat arse climb on one—fuck!"
Arthur nearly fell off but righted himself. Despite the cow's movements, Arthur amazingly managed to sling his leg over and get himself in an awkward riding position. He hunched over the cow, sounding like he was grinning as he declared, "I did it! I did it!"
"Oi, Arthur, yer backwards!" Alistair called.
"I'm what?"
"Yer sat backwards, ya damn stupid—"
"Hey! Who's out here!" a voice called from afar. All of them glanced towards the direction of the house to see a spot of light rushing towards them. It took them a second too long to realize that it was one of the owners running with a flashlight.
"I'm out!" Alistair said and sprinted off down the hill towards the fence. He knocked Patrick down in his haste and didn't even stop in his hurry to escape.
"Hey!" Arthur shouted, falling off the cow. If it hurt, he didn't pay any mind as he sprung up. He ran by and stopped a moment for Rhys at least. "C'mon Rhys!" Rhys muttered something about not going anywhere with liars. "C'mon! Alistair, Rhys won't move!"
"Leave 'im!" Alistair yelled back, still booking it. Patrick caught a glimpse of Alistair jumping over the fence.
Arthur panicked at the approaching person still yelling at them. He ran off as well, leaving Patrick to pick himself up. Patrick scrambled to get Rhys up, but he was being awfully uncooperative. He would have attempted to carry Rhys out of there, but the owner was already too close and Patrick refused to leave his little brother behind.
"Stop right there!" the person commanded. It turned out to be a small, dark-haired woman swathed in a house robe. She wouldn't be that intimidating if it wasn't for the shotgun she had pointed right at them. She gripped it in a way so that she could still hold her flashlight at them, illuminating them and their crime.
Patrick immediately held his hands up. "Woah, woah, I'm sorry. We swear we didn't mean to cause trouble."
"Then what did you mean to cause?" she demanded. "What the fuck were you doing to my cows?"
"Arthur rode it like a horse," Rhys supplied. He had even sat up to look at the woman, though he didn't seem intimidated by the fact that she was armed.
"Rhys, shut up," Patrick whispered harshly at him.
"Do you have any sheep here?" the unconcerned man asked.
"Do you realize the position you're in right now?" the woman asked. "You're trespassing on my property and disturbing my animals. I would be well within my rights to shoot you right now. Do you realize that?"
Rhys shrugged. "I have no fear."
She cocked the shotgun.
"I have one fear."
"Don't think for a second that I won't fire," she warned. "I already called the cops. You might as well give up."
The breath swept out of Patrick's lungs in a heavy sigh. He figured it would come to this. No point trying to talk his way out of it either. And when the cops showed up, you could bet that he'd give up his deserting brothers' names as well.
Live together, die together indeed.
The United States has lax gun laws, so that's why this isn't set in Britain. Just because I wanted the shotgun in there. Worth it.
Also, before you ask, the shotgun lady is a nameless OC.
I wasn't planning on posting this, since I haven't been updating my other stories and I've been in a funk lately, but a lot of people seemed to like my other Kirkland bros drabble, "When life gives you a baby," so here you go. Maybe I should write more adventures with them? Maybe, maybe.
This story was inspired by a USUK one-shot, "Cow Tipping," by molossiamerica on ao3. It featured Arthur as a disgruntled farmer and Alfred as the drunk guy who trespassed on his farm to try cow tipping, and I thought it'd be funny if it were the Kirkland bros trespassing instead. Just thought I'd give credit for the inspiration, if you guys want to check that story out.