Ehm, sorry that this one is so short compared to the others. I just couldn't fit any more into this chapter that would make sense.
Crossfire and Karano, as always, thanks a lot for the amazing reviews!
I hope you'll like this chapter, and, well, y'know... I don't own Hetalia.
The year ended and the new one came just like that. For the four brothers, it was hard to believe another year had flown by, a year in which one war ended and another one started, a year in which their relationships with eachother had changed drastically, and they all seemed to be fighting eachother and themselves. 1919 had been a strange year in several ways, and 1920 didn't seem to become any better. This year, they hadn't decided to make a 'fresh start' like they had tried the years before. So far, this entire century had been a mess in so many ways. But amongst that mess lay also the good moments, specks of light in a sea of darkness. And right now was one of those moments. Though, given, it depended a bit on whose perspective you took...
"C'mon now, laddie!" Scotland tried again to persuade his younger brother to come with him, but England looked more than just a little reluctant. "We promised eachother we'd do this three years ago!" England sighed and averted his gaze nervously. "I know," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably. "But still, I-I'd rather not... It's gone wrong twice already, and I'd really rather not risk-"
"But that's why we're here!" Scotland interrupted him, getting a little fed up with his little brother's complaints. It's not like he'd kill him, on the contrary, he was here to make sure he wouldn't die or anything like it. "To make sure it won't happen a third time!" Again, England nodded, and remained silent for a little while until he came up with another 'great' idea why they should wait a while longer before trying this. "But isn't it also a little too cold still?" He flinched when Scotland let out an annoyed sigh and told him, "This isn't Loch Ness, dammit! And it's spring, it's warm enough already. The lake isn't that deep so the water won't be too cold, either. Ye won't freeze, ye won't drown. Now get yer arse in that water, lad!" England pressed his lips shut tight, a whole list of reasons why he shouldn't learn to swim at all on the tip of his tongue, but he refused to say any of them, mostly because they all came down to one thing: I'm just scared, all right? I'm terrified, please just don't make me get into that water. I'm scared and I really, really, REALLY don't want to, damn you! There was no way he'd ever admit to being as terrified as he was. But looking at the massive body of water in front of him, a shiver went down his spine, anyway, and he was pretty sure the fear was obvious in his expression.
When he looked to his side at Scotland, he saw his brother already taking off his coat and shoes, confidently walking towards the lake. Taking a deep breath and telling his heart to beat at a normal pace over and over again, he followed the Scot's example reluctantly. But before even setting foot in this shallow part of the lake, where the water would bearly reach his knees, anyway, he looked at his brother again and mumbled, "I'm sorry for complaining so much, I know you mean well, it's just... I drowned once and nearly did a second time. I hope you understand it's just terrifying to even think about getting in a lake or a river." Scotland nodded, looking over the dark water for a moment before answering, "Being in France during the war has left some scars on me, so I know what ye mean. Any loud sound even resembling an explosion or a gunshot startles me, I didn't even dare use a stove for some time even after regaining my sight. The scent of gas and knowing yer usin' it? Hell, I even get twitchy when I smell mustard after havin' heard what that particular gas did, so ye really dun'have to tell me how trauma works. But all fears are to be conquered one day, especially one like this. Knowing at least the basics of swimming is essential, even more so for us, bein' an island an' all." He then turned and grabbed England by the wrist, gently pulling him along into the lake.
Well, damn! England almost exclaimed when his bare feet touched the water, but he remained silent. 'Not that cold' my arse, this water is freezing! He slowly got used to the low temperature, though, making him a tad more comfortable being in the water. "Most important is that ye remain calm," Scotland was telling him as he slowly led his brother to a deeper point. "And keep breathing. Unless, o'course, ye go under, but that's obvious. Now, when ye reach a point that's too deep to stand, just move yer limbs in... circles, I guess. Legs up and down, also a tad sidewards, arms just go sidewards. I'll go find a place deep enough to show ye, an' ye just follow my example, 's that all right, laddie?" No. No, it absolutely isn't. Let's just turn around and call it a day, I'm done here. Instead of saying that, England just nodded, mumbling 'fine'. Scotland then slid headfirst into the water, swimming over to a spot a few meters ahead, then resurfacing again and doing... whatever the hell he was doing to not go under. England just stared at him for a moment, then asked, "I do hope you don't expect me to do that?" Scotland only laughed and gestured to him to get closer, walking. When he was at a point where the water reached his chin, the younger nation stopped, however, stating, "And this is about as far as I'll go, thank you very much." Scotland swam toward him, grabbing him by the shoulders. "No, it's not, laddie!" After having said that, he swam backwards to where he'd just been, pulling England along, who let out a startled yelp as the ground under his feet vanished abruptly. He struggled to free himself from Scotland's grasp, then flailed his legs underwater in an attempt to get back to where he had been a moment ago. It took him only a few seconds to get there, turn around and glare at his older brother. "Allistair, for fuck's sake!" he yelled at him. "Don't ever do that again!"
Scotland was only smirking at him, and after a moment, he asked, "Al... What's wrong?" The Scot just shrugged and pointed at him, saying, "Take a good look at where ye are an' where I am, lad." Confused, England did. It was a distance of about five meters, and he then looked at his brother again, sending him a look that clearly asked what the matter about it was. Scotland smirked even wider, answering, "Ye just swam that distance, Artie, if ye hadn't noticed yet." And no, he hadn't. Startled by this, he jumped back, slipping and falling backwards into the water with a loud splash. Flailing his arms in panic again, he managed to get back on his feet, then stumbled back again until the water was down to his chest and he felt relatively safe once more. "D-dammit, Allistair!" he spluttered, glaring at his older brother. "You just have fun splashing around in the water, I'm getting out of here right now." He'd barely turned around before he heard some splashing behind him and saw Scotland swimming over to him until he could reach the ground again as well, grabbing his little brother by the wrist to prevent him from leaving. "Okay, laddie, I'm sorry," he said hastily. "That wasn't exactly a great idea, I know. Yer real issue is fully bein' under, right? How'bout we try that here, where ye can get up any moment ye like." England nibbled his lip a bit, averting his gaze, clearly not up to the task, but Scotland insisted. "Ye have to try one day. I told ye 'bout some o'my fears, right? Yeah, I get startled by those things, but does that prevent me from goin' outside where there's loud noise everywhere? Does it stop me from cooking? An' as fer mustard, well, I've never really been a fan o'that, but..." He went to stand in front of England now, looking at him with a reassuring smile. "Ye cannae let fear control ye, wee brother. So right here, right now, we're gettin' underwater -just sitting down on the lake floor here- an' yer goin' to stay under 'til ye have to get up fer air, aye?" After a long moment of silent hesitation, England nodded, and Scotland smiled wider at this, proud of his little brother. "Well done, lad. Now, just take a deep breath an' hold that, hm?"
Both nations went underwater simultaneously, Scotland holding England by the shoulders, loose enough not to hold him down, but firm enough to be reassuring. England had his lips pressed tightly onto eachother, not wanting to let even a drop of water through as he held his eyes shut tight. He tried to imagine being on land, but the sensation of water being all around him was too strong for that, and his heartbeat picked up in fear and sheer panic. He lasted just about ten seconds until he got to his feet again, followed more slowly and calmly by his older brother. "T-t-that's it for today," he stammered, shaking from head to toes. "I'm n-not doing that a-again, really, no matter how much you insist, I'm not-" Scotland held him by the shoulders again, shushing him. "Hey, Artie, it's okay. Just breathe, laddie, ye can breathe again now. Slowly, aye? Easy now, that was great." England just followed his instructions, forcing his rapid breathing to slow back down to a regular pace. Despite Scotland's praise for even doing this, he didn't think it was that great at all. It was pathetic that something as simple as water could terrify him to the point of hyperventilation like this. "This one really goes deep, dunnit?" Scotland asked once England seemed to control his breathing once more. The younger brother just nodded, and answered, "There's only one thing that scares me more than water, and that's losing any of you. This is really... my second-worst fear..." Scotland patted him on the back as the two headed for shore again, again telling him, "Ye did very well there, Arthur, really. Overcoming fear is one o'the hardest things one can do, after all, an' yer doin' a great job already. But for now, let's just go home an' get changed, aye? Really, laddie, that was very good for a first time." But England wasn't even listening anymore. He was only glad to be out of the water and beside his brother, whose presence was doing him more good than he'd ever admit.
Wales was leaning back on Scotland's couch with a good book in his hands, relaxing and not thinking about anything but the story, when he heard the frontdoor open and his older and younger brother enter the Scot's home. The three of them had been staying here for five days, and in two more days, Wales and England would return home again. "Hey!" he called to them, not looking up from the page he had almost finished reading. When both his brothers walked into the livingroom, not exactly dripping but still wet, he asked with a smirk, "So? How did it go?"
"Never going to do that again," was England's immediate answer as he flopped down onto the couch beside Wales, earning a rather desperate stare from Scotland, who said in a whiny voice, "Artie, come on. I told ye not ta sit down on that couch while yer still wet!" England shrugged and mumbled it would dry soon enough, anyway, and Scotland huffed. "An' were going again before ye go home! Ye cannae give up now, laddie." His words sounded a little harsh, but his voice was the complete opposite. England only hummed, definitely not happy. Wales put his book down, having finished the chapter he'd been reading, and put an arm around his younger brother's shoulder, smiling. "You even went under, I see?" he asked, noticing England's damn hair, and the Englishman looked away angrily. "Oh, Artie, come on!" Wales laughed, ruffling his little brother's hair only to tease him further. "Everyone has their obstacles, nothing's wrong with that! And do you have any idea just how many people around the world share this one?"
"Name me one nation that's this pathetic when it comes to water, of all things," was the only thing England mumbled, and Wales just didn't know how to answer that. Scotland, who had gone off to get a towel, came back and mentioned quickly, "Oh, by the way, Prussia an' Germany will be comin' over t'morrow... Shoulda told ye." This earned him a stare from both his younger brothers, and he just shrugged. "They'll stay for four days. Look, that ye dun'like 'em, doesn't mean I dun', either. I had a pretty nice time with the both o'em back in '14, strange as it may sound, an'... Well, if ye dun'like it, yer free to leave. I'll visit both o'ye soon, anyway." A moment of silence passed between the three until Wales shook his head. "Well, they deserve their chance as well. But where will they stay?"
"Wee hotel downtown," Scotland answered, looking at the book Wales had been reading, squinting to read the summary on the back. "They'll come here after two days when the two o'ye have gone home again, but obviously, my home isn't exactly big enough for the five of us."
"You're a bloody wanker."
"I love ye too, Artie."
Ireland was looking at his new rifle doubtfully. He hated weapons. But he shouldn't doubt his decision anymore now. This was it, from here on, he'd fight for his independence. But first, he had to let go of anything holding him back. In a small forest, he'd nailed the Union Flag to a tree, and he'd been looking at it for a while now, motionlessly wondering whether he should do this or not. Now he had decided that he should. Lifting his rifle, he pointed the barrel at the flag, finger on the trigger. Taking a deep breath, he slowly pulled his finger back, and a bullet exploded from the barrel of the gun, tearing a hole in the Union Flag as it went through at great speed, the gunshot echoing through the forest. The second bullet he shot tore not only the flag, but also at his heart as the symbolism of what he was doing overwhelmed him. But he clenched his jaws, mumbling a soft, "As saoráil." He shot again, tearing yet another hole in the flag, having to reload his weapon after that. The next two times he shot went without hesitation, and he yelled afterwards, "Is é seo an Réabhlóid, deartháireacha!" Another bullet through the symbol of the United Kingdom, and he felt his heartbeat pick up its pace. "Ní bheidh mé a chailleadh." A few more shots, and he reloaded again, getting the hang of this now. "Ach beidh tú." The Union Flag lay in tatters now, rips and holes all over, and he tore it from the tree trunk, throwing it on the forest floor instead, which was muddy because of the rain that had fallen earlier that day. He then took one of the matches he'd taken with him, lighting it, then dropping it onto the remains of the flag without hesitation or doubt. It caught flame immediately, embers dancing in the air. "As saoráil," he spoke again. "Dóibh i bPoblacht na hÉireann." He then closed his eyes, and as the scent of the smoke crept into his nose and the warmth of the flames seemed to burn through his skin, he silently prayed that he would win this war no matter the cost. Even if worst came to worst and he'd have to destroy their lands like they did his, he would continue to fight. It was what he'd decided to do. For his people, for himself.
And the chains holding him back were broken and burning at his feet.
So the next chapter will feature the German brothers as well! And from there on, I can promise you, the pace will pick up again very quickly. I have quite some plans for the last chapters of Rising... *smirk*
As for the Irish(-that's-not-correct-Irish blameGoogleTranslate)
As saoráil. - For freedom.
Is é seo an Réabhlóid, deartháireacha - This is a revolution, brothers.
Ní bheidh mé a chailleadh, ach beidh tú - I will not lose, but you will.
Dóibh i bPoblacht na hÉireann- For the Republic of Ireland.
I hope you liked the chapter, and please leave a review! (and again, sorry for the lack of length)