I'm so sorry for doing this to Ireland! All my reasons will be explained in due time.
And I'm writing these new chapters rather fast because... summer.

Crossfire, thanks for the review~

And well... here's the next chapter:

"What the hell do you mean, 'this has not happened before'?" England exclaimed the next day in the hospital, when he requested information about Ireland's condition and chance of recovery. Eventually, he got told, like the Irish president the evening before, that nothing like this had ever happened, so they had no way of knowing how it would turn out. "Plenty of nations have been in a coma before! This century, even, so there are plenty of records about it- what about West Germany after the attacks on Berlin? Japan right after Hiroshima and Nagasaki? Myself and France after the Battle of the Somme in '16! Given, those lasted mere days, but Japan's coma lasted weeks! How can you say it's not happened before?"
"It has not happened in this manner before, sir," was the nervous response of a nurse -England was being quite intimidating in his distress and panic, it seemed. "Those cases were all because of battles in a war, because of what happened to landmass or people. This case has nothing to do with either of those -it is completely unrelated to him being a nation. But since he is, we cannot know for sure how his body will react to this situation. That's why." She paused for a moment, inspecting England as his gaze grew more distressed with the second. "I'm very sorry, sir. But you may sit with him now -you all may. He has improved since yesterday, though not very much yet. He's stable now." England kept his jaws tightly clenched then, as he didn't think any sound that would come over his lips now would even resemble words, and no matter the situation, he didn't wish to make a fool of himself publicly like that.
"All of us," echoed Wales, who was a lot calmer than the day before, having given the situation hard thought the previous night, and accepting it as it was now -however, that didn't mean it was any easier on him now than the day before. "Does that mean it would be okay to take Coi- Northern Ireland to him as well? Yesterday, telling him would have been a mistake, but now..."
"He is well enough," the human answered. "But please inform him of the situation well before you take him here, and if he doesn't seem ready to see Ireland yet, don't." The brothers nodded, and first went to their youngest brother, who had just had breakfast -and had eaten well according to another nurse. That was a good sign, they had decided. He was recovering.

He was sitting up in his bed when they entered the room, talking to the old lady in front of him, and his eyes lit up when he saw England. "Arthur!" he exclaimed. "They told me you would come! I'm glad you could make it." England could only smile, his eyes not reflecting any of that joy however, and he gave his little brother a tight, warm hug. "I'm glad to see you're doing so well, Coineach," he said to him. Letting go, he added, "and that you apparently enjoyed your breakfast so much. That's good."
"I was so hungry!" North complained then. "In those three days, I had only eaten once, and-" He fell silent then and bit his lip, unwilling to say any more on the matter. He wanted to forget those three days as soon as possible. That morning, he'd been told the doctors had already assigned him a good therapist that was specialized in trauma like this, and in a weird way, he was looking forward to his therapy, knowing it would help him. Then he shook his head and looked at his older brothers again -seeing that one was missing. "And what about Cearul?" he asked them, grinning a little for a moment as he added, "is he still asleep? Sleeping in like this isn't like him." He saw the other three exchange a glance of worry and unhidden despair then, and his heart sank. "Coineach, laddie," Scotland, who looked absolutely exhausted, sighed. "We have to tell you something, and you won't like it." No, he could tell that from their grim expressions and the haunted look in their eyes, especially Scotland's: his eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with grey-blue, as if he hadn't slept in ages. He held his breath as Scotland and Wales took place on either side of him, England sitting down on the other end of the bed, in front of him. Wales pulled him close with a trembling arm, and Scotland grabbed his hand. England's emerald eyes were fixed on his little brother's face, but didn't seem to be looking at him: instead, he seemed off in his own little world just then, and it was a dark place full of misery.

"Coineach," Wales then began carefully, "you're right: Cearul is still asleep. And he won't be waking up for a long time, little brother. In fact, it might be that he will never wake up again." Northern Ireland stopped breathing for a moment, and he stared at each of his brothers in turn, hoping one would soon grin at him and tell him it was a joke, and then Ireland would be standing in the doorway, smiling warmly. But that grin didn't come, even less so the declaration that this was a joke. "Something terrible happened, Coineach, and Cearul is currently in a coma." North then pulled himself free from his brother's embrace, taking his hand out of Scotland's, and shoved out of their way as much as he could on the crowded hospital bed.
"You're lying!" he exclaimed. "You're lying -he's alright! He's just asleep, you stupid-!"
"Coineach!" England then interrupted him, and the boy silenced himself. He then looked at Scotland, who sat with his eyes closed and biting his lip, his expression vacant of any emotion. "That's quite enough, Coineach." Then he saw Wales' eyes shimmer with tears, and he knew he was speaking the truth. Ireland was in a coma.
"It is uncertain yet whether he'll wake up, and even less so how he will be if he does. But we were just told he improved since yesterday." Wales paused for a moment, running the back of his hand over his eyes to wipe away the tears rapidly welling up in them. "H-he shouldn't... if t-they..." He broke off in a whimper then, and he clenched his jaws, trying desperately to stop himself from crying, but making no effort of stopping the fresh tears that were already running down his cheeks again.
"If they keep him on the machines now," England finished for his older brother, grabbing Wales' hand comfortingly and giving it a soft squeeze, "he should survive at least. He won't die."
"Unless his president wishes it so," Scotland muttered, his voice devoid of the emotions that were written all over his face. He didn't seem to have the energy to express them anymore. "Coineach, you should know this, too: Hillery was here yesterday, and has decided that, if Cearul won't wake up in time -'in time' being within three months- they will... they will pull the plug on him. They will take him off the machines keeping him alive, and will let him die."

"No!" the boy wailed desperately. "No, they can't! T-they can't do that! He has to survive this, he has to pull through!" His voice sounded as choked up as he felt, but the stream of words over his lips continued nonetheless. "He can't die, he can't die!" Wales then whimpered again as he stifled a sob, hand clasped over his mouth to stop himself from making any noise, and England pulled him into a hug, seemingly on the verge of tears himself. Just seeing his brothers in this state confirmed it all in his mind -Ireland was in a coma. Ireland could be dying. Ireland...
But Scotland, though choked up, remained strangely silent. He grabbed North's hand and, when the boy started crying, hugged him, whispering words of comfort. But as he sat there, crying in his big brother's arms, he realised somehow that Scotland, for all his apparent indifference over this now, was actually taking it hardest of all -his grief so intense, it disabled him from expressing it openly. And right then he wanted to switch the roles and comfort his brother so bad, but he couldn't. He felt he needed comfort himself now before he could help Scotland, and he hoped that Wales and England would be able to help the Scot sooner than he could, because that was a while away yet.

They sat like that for a little while, Wales and North slowly silencing themselves again, England letting a few silent tears slip as he tried to comfort Wales and patted Scotland on the shoulder, too. "C-can I see him...?" North choked out then, still in Scotland's arms, and England nodded, adding that they would all go -he himself had yet to see Ireland, too. As they all got up and ready to leave, the old lady just softly wished them good luck, her eyes shimmering with pity for the family. They thanked her, and went off. And as they walked, Northern Ireland noticed how much Scotland resembled a zombie as they went from hallway to hallway until they reached Ireland's room. His eyes looked as dead as he feared his brother would be soon, his feet dragging over the floor with each step. He'd never seen him so tired before.
Then when they reached Ireland's room, the first thing he did was look through the window they passed before entering. That pale, motionless figure didn't look anything like the Ireland he knew. But then his eyes fell on something else: there was another person in the room, sitting beside Ireland on the bed, looking at him intently. The way her thin fingers ran through his hair softly reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite figure out what. It was as though he'd seen it before, but he couldn't remember when. When he looked at her face, he recognized Brittania, and he couldn't move for just a moment. But then he relaxed as he realized what she was doing there, beside his oldest brother. You're keeping him safe, then? he asked her in silence. She faded away once he entered the room with his brothers, and he figured he was the only one to have seen her, as they didn't react to her presence. Thank you.

His moment of peace faded when he saw Ireland, heard the steady beep of the heart monitor and the soft hum of the other machines. England stiffened when he saw Ireland like that, while Wales and Scotland, having seen him like this before now, remained a lot calmer. They each grabbed a chair and sat down beside his bed, motioning for their younger brothers to do the same. After a moment of hesitation, North grabbed a chair as well and sat on the other side of Ireland, at his feet. Somehow he didn't want to be near his head now, and being there would also mean sitting very close to the heart monitor, and he loathed the mere thought of it. But England didn't join them. He was staring at Ireland in complete horror, his eyes wide, standing as motionlessly as his brother lay. "Artie?" Scotland asked him softly. "Laddie, what's the matter?"
But England still didn't respond for a little while. North wondered if he saw Brittania now, too, even though he couldn't see her himself anymore. She must still be here. But that wasn't it, he found when the older nation finally spoke. "I-I'm so sorry..." he choked out, voice barely audible. "Cearul... I'm so sorry..." Northern Ireland blinked at him, surprised, and Wales shot his younger brother a look of pity then. Scotland didn't react, his gaze fixed on Ireland again. Trembling, England closed his eyes, face downcast. "I-I thought I would be fine with it if you... if you died," he whispered to his sleeping brother. "I thought I wouldn't mind... But I can't lose you... None of us can." He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, taking a step closer to Ireland. "I know now that I was wrong," he whispered, "and I'm sorry. Please, please stay with us. Don't you dare give up now." He then went to stand beside Ireland, tentatively reaching for him, but the moment his fingers brushed against his brother's skin, his scared hesitation disappeared, and he carefully laid his hand on Ireland's cheek. "You'll stay with us, won't you? I know you, Cearul, you're a stubborn asshole like that. You'll make it." He then cracked a smile, just a tiny one, but it seemed genuine. "You bloody wanker, worrying us like this. As if we haven't enough to endure yet. At least in a few weeks you'll be back, hm?"

Northern Ireland couldn't breathe for a moment after England was done speaking and sat down, the older nation trying to control his trembling hands. A silence then passed in the room, Wales gently stroking Ireland's cheek and forehead, whispering softly to him in Welsh. Scotland still only stared, though he was now holding his older brother's hand. England sat with his eyes closed, focusing on his breathing. Northern Ireland didn't dare touch Ireland quite yet, afraid that he would be cold, dreading the fact that he wouldn't respond to the touch. Scared that he would fade away at the slightest touch of the boy's fingers.
But eventually he found the words he wanted -needed- to say, and found his voice minutes later. "Cearul," he whispered softly, leaning in just a little closer to the older nation. "Cearul, I'm sorry for all the fights we've had. They were all because of my uncertainty... because of my fears. And it wasn't fair towards you. I know that I'm not the one who made the first mistake, but I know many of the mistakes that came later were my fault. And they ruined us, they ruined our relationship as brothers, and they ruined our lives." He bit his lip for a moment. "I-I've thought about this so many times, but I never actually did it... I should've given you a chance." He grabbed Ireland's hand now, holding it in both his own. "I should have, but I haven't. Not even once. Cearul, my brothers will forever be my brothers, nothing is ever going to change that. But..." He trailed off for a moment, blinking the tears from his eyes. Then he got up, took a step closer to Ireland, and leaned forward just a little. "But, if you still want to," he whispered, leaning down to kiss the sleeping nation on the cheek before whispering in his ear, "you may be my father sometimes, Cearul, if that is still what you want." He pressed his cheek against Ireland's, careful with his bandaged head, the older nation's ginger hair tickling his nose as he breathed in his scent, still warm and familiar. "I love you, papa..."

That evening, the four brothers were in North's home, England having shut himself in a room, no doubt writing, Scotland pacing through the house restlessly and Wales having decided to give their overseas family a call. "Matthew," North heard him say, "it's me, Dylan. L-listen, I've got some bad news. Do you think you could be here sometime soon, together with Alfred? You see, Ireland..." North could hear Canada's shocked exclamation even from this distance, and Wales sighed. "I-I'm just gathering the family so they can visit him at least once. Y-you just never know, after all. I'd prefer not to think about it, but it might be the last time any of you get the chance. Well, of course you're family! Blood doesn't have anything to do with that. No, no, I'll call Alfred myself, don't worry. Okay... I'll see you then." North watched him get tense as he spoke, and the same process was repeated when he called America next. Then he dialed Australia's number, but before he could actually call him, North suggested that maybe he should take a break and try to relax again first. "No," was the flat, tired answer. "No, Coineach, I'd better do this all at once. Otherwise I'll have an even harder time later." The he called, and Australia answered soon after. Northern Ireland heard his cheerful voice on the other end of the line even from where he sat, and he winced. "H-hi, Michael," Wales greeted him softly. "Listen, about that visit you mentioned a few years ago, we still haven't had the time, huh? I know you're still busy, and so are we, but I really think it's best if you and Liam come soon. To visit Ireland. Mikey, I'm sorry, but he... he's in a coma." There was a pause. "So I really think it is best if the two of you come over soon, to... well, to say a precautionary goodbye." And then, for once, he sighed and nodded. "Y-yes, I would appreciate it if you told him. I'll call him later myself, but now... Thank you, Michael." Then he put down the phone, sighed, and sat down beside Northern Ireland, who grabbed his hand comfortingly. "Well, that's one dreaded task down," Wales sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and taking some time to relax again and calm down.

The two sat there for a little while, Scotland walking past them once as he paced on and on, disappearing again soon after that. Then they heard a crash in the hallway, and they both jumped up, startled. Wales was the first to reach the hallway, and North heard his shocked yell a second before he reached him again. "Allistair!" Scotland was on the floor, leaning against a wall for support, trembling as he tried to get back to his feet. "'M fine..." he mumbled, his voice slurred with exhaustion. "'M fine... jus' fell... 'm fine..." Wales slid his arm behind his brother's back, the other pulling the Scot's arm around his neck to support his brother. North quickly did the same on his other side, and together they pulled him up again. The boy was shocked, but not surprised, at seeing his dead gaze. He looked numb with exhaustion. "When was the last time you've slept, Al?" he asked the older nation gently. The Scot hesitated for a moment, digging deep in his memory for the answer. "A-a day b'fore Cearul an' I came to get you home..." he mumbled eventually, and Wales sighed, carefully dragging his brother into the livingroom then. "Off to bed with you, then," he said. "Or rather, couch. I'm not dragging you up the stairs."
But much to their surprise, Scotland actually protested. "No, no, 'm not going to sleep. 'M not..."
"Allistair, you can't even walk anymore!" North insisted, feeling the heavy weight of his brother pressing down on his shoulders as he helped Wales bring him to the couch. They were practically carrying him instead of supporting. "You haven't slept in three days -and three tiring days at that!" But Scotland shook his head and mumbled incoherent protests. When they laid him down on the couch, his eyes were already closed, but his lips still moved nearly soundlessly. "Give me one good reason why you wouldn't sleep," Wales said to him. "Just one."
The one answer he gave came in the form of a whimper, and it was a heartbreaking one. "I want to be there when he wakes up..."
Northern Ireland looked away quickly, biting his lip, and Wales sighed in pity for his older brother. "You will be," he promised him. "You will be. But surely you want to be at your best when Cearul sees us again?" Scotland nodded sleepily, and North wondered for a moment if he wasn't already asleep. "Then rest now, Al," Wales told him. "You deserve to rest." The Scot probably didn't even hear the end of it, he was asleep within heartbeats.

The day passed by slowly, and Northern Ireland was trying to escape by reading when England came back downstairs. "This entire situation is so messed up," he muttered, sighing, but he halted when he saw Scotland asleep on the couch, silent. Slowly, a smile began to form on his lips, and he quietly walked over to his brother, knelt down in front of him and took off the Scot's glasses, which were threatening to fall by now. "Finally resting, I see?" he whispered warmly. "Good. That should do you good, brother dear." Then he got up and looked at Wales, who was leaning back in a chair with his eyes closed. His smile grew a little wider, and he turned his gaze to North next. "How long have they been like this?"
"I'm not asleep," was Wales' immediate, quiet answer. "Just... thinking. Al's been asleep for... three hours, I guess? And lo and behold, he's not snoring for once."
"I suppose snoring takes too much energy," England snickered softly, and then he shook his head. "Dylan, you're right: it all feels much better once you've come to terms with... all this." Wales blinked open his eyes and stared at his younger brother in surprise. "You have?" England only nodded then, sitting down beside North at the table. But he was as restless as Scotland had been before exhaustion had knocked him out, and after some minutes of fidgeting and chattering, he got up again. "Shall I just make us some dinner, then?" he suggested. "I mean, I know we're all not in the eating mood, but we'll have to eat something. I can just make us some grilled cheese or something simple like that." Wales nodded, agreeing, though saying quickly that they should let Scotland sleep: he'd sleep through the night if they were lucky. But Northern Ireland had stiffened, and was staring wide-eyed at England. The older nation winced at the panic and terror in his little brother's eyes. "Coineach?" he asked tentatively. "Coineach, what's the matter?"

The boy seemed woken from a trance then, and with shaky voice he answered, "I-I'd rather make my own dinner, if you don't mind." His stomach twisted at the thought of somebody preparing anything he was to eat or drink -what if it was poisoned again? Fool, he scolded himself then. These are my brothers! You weren't scared of the food they gave you in the hospital. But he still felt sick at the mere thought. Holding his breath, he stared up at England as he waited for an answer. His older brother inspected him for a moment, then sighed. "Of course, no problem. But, Coineach, tell us if something's wrong, alright? You need to talk it off, or this will never be over. Trust me, I know." North nodded, but didn't talk quite yet. Maybe tomorrow, he thought, when the some more of the shock about Ireland had faded. Maybe then... When England exited the room, he turned to Wales instead, trying to distract the both of them with a different topic. "When will Alfred and Matt be here?" he asked softly. "And... and do you know how long they'll be staying?" He knew Australia and New Zealand hadn't given a definitive date yet, though they would hear one this evening from either one of the two.
"They'll be here Thursday," Wales answered, not looking at North. "So the day after tomorrow. And Sunday evening, they'll be heading back. As for Liam and Mikey-" The phone then rang, interrupting him, and he smiled -a genuine smile, much to North's relief. "-speak of the devil." He sprang to his feet, clearly looking forward to just talking to someone other than his brothers now. North watched him in silent joy as his brother picked up the phone and said a quick greeting. He needed to see them happy like this -or happier than they had been at least. It gave him the sense that things were still normal, and he needed that more than anything. As if nothing had ever happened, either to him or to Ireland.

"Two weeks?" Wales said in surprise, a little too loudly -Scotland mumbled something in his sleep and turned around- and he quickly spoke softer again. "Two whole weeks? Yes, of course, no problem! If there's not enough space, that doesn't matter -there's a perfect little B&B not too far from us, and they're cheap, so... I'm really looking forward to it. I mean, ideally the circumstances would have been different, but we haven't seen each other in so long. I'm sure the others will like it, too. Well, see you then!" Then he hung up, and sighed with a smile. That phonecall seemed to have given him a moment of actual bliss, and seeing that eased the still-present ache in Northern Ireland's heart as well. "They'll be here the Wednesday after Al and Matt leave, and will stay for two weeks. I'm really looking forward to seeing them again... aren't you?" North just nodded, cracking a smile as well, and tried to get back into his book then. It would be a struggle, but he knew that, no matter what happened, they would somehow be able to find happiness inbetween it all.

North woke up screaming that night. They had held him to the floor, putting a saw to his ribs to cut out a hole big enough to wrench his heart out -he wouldn't survive without it, they figured. And it had hurt more than anything before ever had. Now he was free, and all that was left to do was get away, get out of here, go home, to his brothers, where it was safe and-
He felt two hands touch him, holding him by the shoulders, pushing him back down. He screamed and kicked, but didn't hit the person holding him down. One hand then moved to his chest, which was still aching after what they had done, the other to his forehead. He punched then but still hit nobody, and he got scared. Was this some kind of monster? Why couldn't he hit it? Were its limbs really that long? Then he heard a soft breath of air close to him, hushing him gently. "It's okay," the voice, familiar and beloved to him, whispered. "It's okay. You're safe. This was merely a nightmare -you're home now." Then he realised he had been aiming wrong all this time -the figure sat crouched on the floor beside his bed. It was too dark to see him, but he knew it was one of his brothers. Allistair? No, the hands were too slim to be Scotland's. Dylan, then, he decided, closing his eyes again, peaceful and calm now. Or Arthur... When he lay there with his eyes closed and his breathing rythmic and deep, sleep engulfed him again in a matter of seconds. He would've slept deeply within a minute, if the door to his room didn't open then and light flooded in from the hallway. "Coineach?" came another voice, definitely England's now, weary with sleep but at the same time alert with worry. "Is anything the matter?"
Northern Ireland, half-asleep, shook his head with a sigh. "Just a nightmare... Dylan was here just now, I'm okay now... thank you." England inspected him a moment longer, he could tell from the light still falling on his closed eyelids. Then he heard a soft sigh, and a confused whisper, and the light faded before he fell asleep once more. And as he did, he suddenly understood what England had whispered before leaving -"But Dylan's asleep downstairs...?"

He dreamt again then, a much brighter, warmer dream that filled him with bliss. It was only a memory of long ago, he knew, but that didn't take away his joy at experiencing it again.
"And what does it say here?" asked his big brother, pointing at a single word amongst the many he'd written down for the toddler to read -for Northern Ireland was four years old by body at this point in time, eleven or twelve in actual age. He was just learning to read, and Ireland combined that with his Gaelic lessons. The boy stared at it long and hard, spelling it out loud. "D...E...A...R... urgh..."
Ireland just smiled patiently. "No, that's right! It starts with dear. And what does the rest say?"
"T-H-A-I...R?" North tried hopefully. "Dearthair?" He felt almost as if he broke his tongue over the pronunciation, and was sure he hadn't done that part right. "What's with the line over the 'i'? Isn't that supposed to be a dot?" he asked then, staring questioningly up at his brother. Ireland's smiled didn't waver. "Not always," he answered. "But that's too difficult yet. And you nearly got the pronunciation right." No he hadn't, he could tell that from the way Ireland exaggerated 'nearly' like that. He always did that if he wanted to praise the child for at least trying. "Do you know what it means?" North turned back to the page and stared at it. The word did seem familiar. He'd seen it several times, before he started learning how to read. Back then he'd just pointed at it and asked what it meant. Now he recognized some of the letters, the overall shape of the word. And after he'd dug deep into his memory... "Brother?"
"Exactly!" Ireland praised him, not so much with that one word as with the brightest smile North had seen on his face that entire day. And he'd smiled a lot. "Since you have so many older brothers, I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea if you know how to spell that word in Gaelic. I'll help you with the pronunciation some other time," he added. "You've studied enough for now, I think. Want to take a break?" North nodded and hopped off his chair immediately, running to the couch and grabbing his favourite book. He and Ireland were nearly done reading in it. He held it out to his big brother as he walked over to North, with big, pleading eyes. Ireland just laughed. "You want to go from reading lessons to actual reading as a break? Well, alright then."

"I just don't get why I need to learn to read!" Northern Ireland mumbled as Ireland had just finished the chapter, and he leaned back against his brother's chest, seated on his lap. "You read to me all the time -why do I need to learn it then?" The older nation chuckled.
"Because I won't always have the time to read to you," he explained. "The government's going easy on me when you're here, but that won't always be the case. When you get older and you're with me, you'll be able to take care of yourself more and entertain yourself. Right now I'm practically in a single parent-role, and they know that."
North grimaced at the thought, then grinned, eyes shining with joy. "Parent? Ewww! You're my big brother!" Then he turned around on Ireland's lap and stared up at him. "And how can anyone be a single parent, anyway? Don't people only get children when they're married?"
"Usually, yes," Ireland answered, staring down at the boy, wondering where this conversation was going. But he was used to it: North couldn't generally stick to one topic for longer than five minutes. "But sometimes people divorce -get un-married, so to say- and then one parent has to look after the children. And sometimes they get children without getting married... but that's all complicated and not important. And by the way," he added then. "I never said anything about being your parent, I only said I'm taking on that role for now! I'm raising you, after all, together with our other brothers." North nodded: he'd understood that part, and had actually made it clear he was only joking, what with his grin and the way he'd said that -jokingly. But then again, Ireland couldn't always understand him. He did most of the time though, and North was happy about that. England didn't always get him: but England was sometimes so busy he couldn't really take the time to try and understand him well.

"But can you now please continue reading?" the boy then asked his big brother, smiling wide. "I want to hear what happens next! And tomorrow I'll go to Dylan... so this is the last chance!"
"You could always take the book to Dylan, you know," Ireland suggested, though he opened said item again on the page where they'd stopped. "He'd love to read it to you, for sure."
"No," North answered flatly. "I read other things with him: this is my book with you." Ireland chuckled and patted him on the head, ruffling his hair, then continued reading.

When Northern Ireland awoke from this dream, much to his relief, he wasn't left with the empty feeling, the grief that thinking of his memories now did when he was awake. Consciously thinking about Ireland now, he only felt fear and sadness and loneliness at the thought of him dying, him being in a coma like he was. But in his dreams, it was as though Ireland was really there right next to him. And that was exactly the feeling he needed right now, the feeling he'd longed for ever since he'd been taken by the IRA.
His big brother. His father. Whatever he was. It didn't matter anymore: he loved him just the same.

And at least North is coming to terms with not knowing what he is to Ireland, eh? Slowly... he's getting there.
And England is getting there...
And someday... they might all be...

We'll see. Well, anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you liked this chapter! Please leave a little review!