At your door in tears

Arthur rushed across town, tears brimming at his eyes and blurring his vision. He completely forgot that he had a car. He didn't know where he was running to. He had no care for all the odd and concerned stares he was receiving from random people in the streets. He just kept running aimlessly until his feet couldn't carry him anymore.

The blonde collapsed on a street corner that was oddly familiar. Blinking the tears away, Arthur slowly felt his vision return as he recognised the place. He recognised the pub. He recognised the bartender as he walked in, who in turn recognised him. Though the old human man lifted a questioning eyebrow at seeing his old acquaintance so … disturbed, he spoke nothing and only guided Arthur to the basement. The Nation nodded as he walked through the doors and was faced with an underground bar withholding everything good kids should stay away from. From prostitution, drugs and indecent displays to wages, deadly fights and drunken challenges. Arthur smirked.

The tears still fell. They had just turned red.

Scott often imposes on England's house, just like Wales, Northern Ireland, and even Ireland. But unlike the other three idiots, Scotland doesn't get kicked out. No, that's not right … He cannot get kicked out! The privileges of being his Union Partner! Wales can and has a few times been thrown out of Arthur's house upon a sudden act of anger from said Arthur (Arty was really pissed those few times). North had gotten sent back to her home as a scolding and mild punishment (though Scotland and Wales had been in on that one with England). And Ireland had plainly been banned for many years after he left the United Kingdom and it took ages for Arty to authorise him back in.

But Scotland never got to experience this.

Why?

… Good question. Shouldn't he be first on the list of those to get kicked out? Considering that he's the one that always gets Arthur all riled up and they fight almost on a daily basis. Strange. Thinking about it, Scott wondered why he never got kicked out. Or even threatened of being kicked out? Not that England could kick him out anyway. But he had never even tried! Funny.

"Scott … what are you daydreaming about now?!" Connor hissed in irritation at his older Scottish brother. The Scot blinked and realised that he was supposed to examine Gibraltar's situation concerning her involvement in some fucked up plan to make Spain date England … really, could he not just get a whisky instead?

"Aye, aye, can't we get over this? Victoria, don't do it again!" He pointed a not very convincing finger at her before darting his emerald eyes at his fuming brother. Funny how Wales can sometimes look like a dragon. "She apologised and won't do it again! Oh and Portugal!"

Portugal looked up at the red hair when his name was called.

"Si?"

"Until Arthur says otherwise, Gibraltar is under your responsibility. Make sure she gets home safely."

"Scott …!" Connor seemed about to argue but his brother shot him an irritated and tired glare.

"I'm sick of all this! Until Arty asks for me, I'm going home. I've had enough and frankly …"

A tensed silence followed the Scot's words. He walked out the door and only once he was out of earshot did he finish his sentence.

"Frankly, I don't want to be the cause of his tears again." His emeralds darkened as he remembered that night he had listened to his baby brother silently cry in despair. He couldn't continue his punishing mission if it caused harm and pain to the very person he was protecting. So he'd wait. He wouldn't protect the lad anymore.

He'll wait.

If protection doesn't work, he'll settle for revenge. But only upon demand of his brother.

Three nights later, Scott heard a furious thumping and banging on his front door. Glancing at his alarm clock he growled at the arrows pointing 2am. The banging was becoming insisting and forced the crimson haired man to drag himself out of bed and shuffle his feet towards the door.

"If it's another drunk bastard, I swear, I am moving to Edinburgh!" He muttered, not really meaning his words since he always loved living in Glasgow better. Hey, often, he's the drunken one anyway! Besides, not living in his capital is much less irritating and he doesn't have to deal with his politicians all the time or idiotic nations coming to tour his castles.

Upon opening the door, the man froze, his emerald eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out of it. Thinking briefly, Scott closed his mouth and moved aside to let his guest in.

Arthur Kirkland bashed up, his clothes either missing or crinkled and dirty. His shirt had actually been torn to limbs and Scott is actually impressed to see he at least still had his trousers on although with stains or red on them. And not tomato juice. He was bruised and looked like he had come out from getting a good beating but the stains on his knuckles told Scotland that his little brother had probably been the one to do most of the beating. His face was cold and emotionless, his green eyes blank and empty, silent tears streaming down his face and mixing with the traces of blood that remained. Not his own blood. His hair was even more a mess than usual, and he overall reeked of sweat, blood, alcohol and cheap perfume. Yeah, he probably had a full time of tension release.

I'm going to bet his date with the Spaniard did not go well. Especially if it took him 3 bloody days to come here.

"I'll make you tea." The man spoke before leaving Arthur alone to settle down in his living room. When he walked back in, his wee blonde brother was crawled up into a ball and staring at the remains of an earlier fire in the chimney. The red ashes seemed to glow but not warm up the coldness in his eyes. This is going to be one fucking long night!

"Here. Drink."

Arthur ignored him. Typical.

"Brat. Drink. Now." Scott deepened his voice as he repeated his order and this time Arthur shot him a blank stare before obeying. Sitting down next to his brother, Scott waited until the younger nation spoke. It's always like that:

Arthur shows up at his door unexpectedly, usually in tears or in a fucked up shape (currently both). He makes the lad some tea. Arthur then spills the beans and Scott goes on a rampage to take revenge on the fucker who tormented his wee brother. Such a scene only happened … three times. This is the fourth. Well, England usually never breaks down that much, so it must have been fucking painful shit for him to be like that!

"I'm scared." The boy mumbled.

"Aye? Of what? Fairies?"

"No. Myself."

"Aye, I'm scared of you too! Moving on?"

Arthur stared at his brother briefly, unsure of why he was speaking to him.

In fact, since when had Scotland returned to his house? And more to the point, why had he travelled all the way up to Glasgow to see him when he hadn't known if the Scot would be home or not? Why was he in such an awkward situation? The last thing he remembers was trashing people, fucking with prostitutes, more trashing, lots of drinking, bit of weed, and getting into trouble with the police, going to jail, breaking out of jail, going on a wild rampage until he blacked out, and doing it all over again once he woke up. Next thing he knows, his feet had guided him all the way North to the very familiar door of his older Brother. Weird. Why does he always come here when he snaps? Because Arthur is certain that back there, he had snapped. Definitely. Hopefully he hadn't killed anyone. Maybe. Possibly. He hopes not.

"Why the fuck am I here?" He asked in a raspy whisper.

"Because you're fucked up, got into trouble, snapped, and had nowhere else to go! Oh and because you love to wake me up at 2am in the morning to ask me pointless questions!" Scott yawned before chuckling gently as he wrapped a large and comforting arm around his brother's shoulders.

Arthur nodded, accepting the answer.

"Probably."

"So, lad, what has made you cry?"

"I don't remember."

"Did the Spaniard do something?"

"Spain …?" Arthur blinked blankly at the word, taking a few minutes to remember that he had seen Spain recently … when was it? He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything and was too fucked up to give a damn anyway.

"No … maybe … don't remember."

"Then why are your hands red and your eyes lost?"

"… I really didn't mind. I didn't … mind." Arthur repeated the word, frowning, almost as if he was trying to understand his own words.

Scotland listened patiently as his brother went on a dark muttering rant of incoherent words and not even speaking English anymore but a mix of the many ancient languages they used to speak. Long ago. So long ago.

"Albion." The scarlet haired man whispered, effectively silencing the ranting younger nation.

"Alba."

"Aye … I want you to answer me with either yes or no. Can you do that, lad?"

"… Yes."

"Good. Do you want to sleep?"

"No."

"Are you warm enough?"

"Yes."

"Do you want more tea?"

"No."

"Are you angry?"

"No."

"Are you sad?"

"… No."

"Are you confused?"

"Yes."

"Do you hate Spain?"

"No."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No."

"Did someone else hurt you?"

"No."

"Did you hurt someone?"

"Yes." Arthur hiccupped on that last word, his eyes widening in realisation as he spoke. He had hurt someone. He had hurt many. And he was still hurting them … what kind of monster is he?
Scott watched this sudden change of reaction with a sigh. It wasn't unusual for England to become so weak and confused after he recovers from a heavy break-down. But what Scotland wants to know is WHY he got a break-down. And HOW to avoid his brother from getting another one.

"Do you feel guilty?"

"… No."

"Do you want to kill someone?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

Arthur paused and shot a questioning gaze at his brother. This was not a yes or no answer. Scott smiled and ruffled the blonde's hair.

"If you can still follow the rules, you're not in that much of a bad shape. I was expecting worse. Do you want me to take you home?"

"No."

"Do you want to stay?"

"Yes."

"Do you want me to solve this?"

Arthur paused, unsure of what he wanted. Was there something needing to be solved? Did he want it solved? Did he want, of all people, Scotland to solve it? Eventually all those questions in his fuzzy confused mind became too much and he nodded tiredly.

"Yes."

"Alright. Now answer one last question."

Arthur was dozing off to sleep, his head leaning against his brother's shoulder and his eyes fluttering closed. He could smell the familiar scent of his brother, a mix of mountain flowers, rain and his cologne.

"Arthur, oi, don't fall asleep yet, brat."

"Hm …"

"Do you want a lover?"

"I don't … need one." Arthur yawned defensively and fell into a peaceful and dreamless sleep.

Scott stayed still, waiting until he was certain his brother would not wake up, before picking him up gently and carrying him to his room. Just like Arthur keeps a room for each of his siblings at his house, Scotland does the same. So does Wales, North and Ireland. After tucking his baby brother to bed and smiling softly at his sleeping face, the Scotsman left the house, ignoring the thumping of the rain. He walked aimlessly, thinking over his brother's words.

He had been asked to solve this.

Arthur was in such a state that he would need to ask Scotland for help.

Unforgivable.

The red-haired hissed between clenched teeth. This competition … was dangerous. It was destroying Arthur's mental and health. It forced him to break down and the last time Arthur broke down like that, it took all of Scotland's power to prevent Jack the Ripper from feasting in blood eternally. Arthur himself hated the horrors he had caused to those poor girls. He'd be horrified if tomorrow he discovered that he had killed someone again. Unconsciously Scott had dialled the private number he held for Scotland Yard. He needed to know what his brother had done. Clean the mess. Then make sure it doesn't happen again.

"If this keeps up … The monster will wake up. Those bloody nations have no idea what devil they are tempting here … I can't believe I'm actually saving their arses with this." Scott chuckled at the irony.

He was doing this to help England by preventing his brother from losing control and turning into the heartless killing machine he is when he snaps. Ironically, by doing so he was also preventing the premature murder of half of the world's nations. He started laughing. An empty mocking laughter that drowned under the thunderous noise of the rain crashing down on him in buckets.

"I must be as mad as you, lad." He grinned happily though he felt all but happy.

Arthur wants this solved.

He wants to kill someone.

And he doesn't need a lover.

"All for your tears …" Scotland smiled as he lifted his head up to face the crying sky. He never realised that he himself was crying too.

Solve.

Kill.

Love.

"Can't believe I'm doing this when it's your fault for seducing those bastards in the first place. What a troublesome little brother I've got!"

AN: For those who thought it unclear: The last time Arthur snaps he became a serial killer commonly known as Jack the Ripper. Yep, the reason Arthur was never "caught" was because Scotty intervened in time to drag him back to sanity. I'm not going to go into details but let's just say that out of the British Isles he's the deadliest, but good thing is that he doesn't snap often. England's expert in self control!

Keep calm and carry on!