Hi, I'm back again with another chapter!

First of all, Crossfire and Coffeeandart, thanks for the reviews! Oh, I could never kill Ireland off... I like him too much myself!
And, well, I can only say that things will be a bit brighter again from here on. The darkest part of Trouble is now over (though the last few chapters still won't be fluffy humour)

Also, Crossfire, those last words really mean a lot to me. Thank you so much! And yes, I already have the next part of my Historical Hetalia series in mind, thought it will still need a bit of planning. All I can say now is that it will be two stories again, with the titles 'Cross your Heart' and 'Hope to Die', or the first part will simply be 'The Cross', and then I'll need to think of a second title.

But I'm getting all kinds of plans for that one as the end of Trouble draws nearer, so the gap between the two probably won't be long.

Well now, on to Trouble chapter 38, then, right?

Right the next morning, from the very moment visiting hours began, the entire United Kingdom was in the hospital, getting instructions and information from one of the doctors working on Ireland before they were even allowed near him. "He's still rather weak," the human explained to them. "Yesterday, he couldn't even eat, and slept again within hours from waking up." Well, Wales thought with a sigh, that does explain why Coineach and I couldn't come visit him yesterday. "Today he managed to eat a little with breakfast, though nothing solid yet. We've examined him, and we can conclude that he does not remember anything about the incident or the days prior to it. Though, with the head-injury he had, that's no surprise. He's trying to hide his loss of memory from us, however, so we have no way of telling just how much he remembers of the past months." The brothers nodded, deciding it was a good thing he didn't seem to remember any of it. The past year had been horrible for him: the less he knew, the better. "And lastly, I think it would be best if only two of you actually visit for now. He wouldn't be able to handle all four at the same time. Unless he requests for the other two to come as well, two will be more than enough. And please keep it calm." The four nodded, promised they would, and made their way over to his chamber.
"Well," Wales said with a smile to his brothers, "I think it is clear who the first two visitors should be, don't you?" England nodded, looking up at Scotland beside him with shining eyes. The Scot seemed to be in the clouds, soaring higher with every step he got closer to his brother. He'd been waiting for this way too long. Northern Ireland was practically bouncing through the hallways, looking more like a child than he had in years. His appearance seemed to have dropped from a fourteen-year-old to an eleven-year-old through sheer joy and relief. "We can wait, can't we, Artie?"
Again England nodded. "Yes. If anyone needs to see him as soon as possible, it's them." Then he turned to look at Wales, smiling wide. "And besides, we'll be able to look at him through a window, see him sitting there, awake, and that's enough for me, really." Then he chuckled for a moment, saying softly: "Though, I honestly can't believe how anyone can sleep for fourteen weeks and wake up exhausted. I'd love to know what he did during his coma."
"That's not uncommon, Arthur," Wales answered, laughing a bit himself. Finally they had reason for laughter again. "Coma isn't the same as sleep. And just think of how hard he fought to even breathe at first -just staying alive must've been hard." He sighed, but not even that thought could ruin his mood now. "Poor guy..."

Four hearts fluttered when the nations reached Ireland's room, saw their brother lying there, eyes open, talking to a nurse that was checking up on him. "A-are you two sure you're okay with us going in first?" Scotland asked, not taking his eyes off his older brother. Both England and Wales insisted that they were, and told them to hurry up and enter already. They tentatively opened the door and announced that they were there. Ireland looked up the moment he heard them, staring at his little brothers in surprise. "Y-you're here early," he stammered, not sounding quite as happy as Scotland and North had thought he would. But they couldn't even be bothered by that anymore. But then Ireland smiled, a tired smile, not exactly one of pure happiness, but a smile nonetheless, and for just a moment, his brothers couldn't even care less. "I'm glad you came."
"Of course we did, you idiot," Scotland choked out, unable to speak clearly in pure relief, smiling wider than he had in ages. He then walked over to Ireland's side, placing a hand on his shoulder, gripping it gently, trembling with joy. Ireland chuckled at this. "I'm not made of glass, you know," he said, spreading his arms welcomingly, waiting for his brother's embrace, which came barely a heartbeat later, so enthusiastic, it knocked the air out of him. "A-ah, l-lil' brother-" he choked out, grinning wide, practically laughing. "M-may I at l-least bre-breathe?" Immediately, Scotland's grip on his brother slackened, and he apologized. The hug lasted about a minute longer, and when the two brothers let go of each other again, Scotland heard soft sniffling behind him. He looked over his shoulder, seeing Northern Ireland practically on the verge of tears. The boy had waited so long for this moment -even longer than Scotland had, though only by a few days. He stepped aside quickly to let him through, and North slowly walked over to them, stopping beside Scotland, unsure what to do despite to perfect example he got only seconds ago. Scotland patted him on the shoulder softly. "He's back," he whispered reassuringly. "It's not a dream, laddie. He's back." Then, finally, North dared to get a little closer. All the while, Ireland had waited patiently, smiling warmly at his little brother. But Northern Ireland couldn't do much more than hold his brother's hand before bursting into tears, and not only of happiness and relief at seeing him again.

Startled by this, Ireland flinched before relazing again. "Hey, lad," he said softly, his voice just above a whisper, "come here..." He pulled North a little closer, and the boy leaned against him as he cried, but this just didn't really work yet. Ireland looked up at the nurse, who was just finishing her work, and asked softly, "It's not a problem, is it, if he lies down beside me for just a moment? We'll be careful, don't worry." The woman nodded, saying that it was perfectly alright so long as the IV in his arm wouldn't be pulled somehow. North didn't need to hear more before getting on the bed beside Ireland, hugging him tightly and crying against his shoulder. Ireland didn't seem all too comfortable like that, but he said nothing, trying his best to comfort Northern Ireland.
"I'm so sorry!" the boy sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Cearul, I-"
"Sorry for what?" Ireland interrupted him softly, sounding confused. Scotland stared at him in surprise: he honestly didn't seem to know what the boy was talking about. He kept his mouth shut, but decided to watch his older brother very carefully from here on. Something wasn't entirely right...
North sniffled, letting go of Ireland and staring at him in shock. Then he blinked away his tears and simply answered, "F-for not giving you a chance... when I should have. I decided that... well, Cearul, I-I don't think this is something we should talk about now, when you're still only just recovering. J-just know that I forgave you, and I hope you will be able to forgive me, too." Ireland nodded, saying that he did, though he still sounded a little confused, and his gaze betrayed how hard he had to try to even figure out what the boy was talking about. Scotland sighed. It seemed Ireland had forgotten more than the doctors had thought until now, though he was certain this would heal. He might not regain all of his memories, he decided, but that would probably be for the best.

Eventually, when North had calmed down and looked happy again, Ireland just gave in. Letting his shoulders hang in disappointment and looking at his little brothers apologetically, he asked, "I-I'm sorry, but... did we fight over anything? What you said just now suggested that, but... but I don't recall anything like that." But North shook his head, smiling warmly at him, reassuringly answering, "No, we didn't fight. Not too seriously, at least. Things were just a little... tense between us for a long time, and I never got the chance to apologize before you... you know." Ireland seemed to accept that answer without a problem, smiling as well now that he knew things were alright, saying that he was glad their problems were solved -adding, that since he didn't even remember most of it, of course he had forgiven North. But Scotland felt a pang of worry at this. If he didn't even recall what happened thirteen years ago... No, that probably wasn't it. Northern Ireland had made it sound like he had done something wrong, after all, while 1968 had been Ireland's fault entirely. He must've thought the boy was referring to something esle, something that had happened more recently.
"I'm sorry," the Irishman said eventually, when the two younger nations had each grabbed a chair and sat down beside him. "I know my memory isn't exactly clear right now, but I'm certain that, given some time, things will start to come back... I've also been told it would, so that makes me even more certain. U-until then... I'm sorry if I don't always get what you're talking about, like just now." He then turned to look at Scotland, looking about to say something, when he spotted Wales and England standing outside the room. He looked at them for a moment in silence, then a tiny smile played on his lips. "They can come in, too, if they want," he told Scotland, nodding in their direction. "So long as things won't get too noisy, that is." Scotland only nodded and said that he would get them, getting up then and walking out of the room.

Outside, he decided that first, he should tell both his younger brothers what he'd concluded after his minutes with Ireland. "Considering he woke up only yesterday," he said after explaining Ireland's memory was... 'fuzzy', to say the least, "it's not unnatural. In a few days, I think he should already remember more, so we shouldn't worry. I really only want to say... well, it would be best not to remind him of any bad things. If he doesn't bring them up himself, that might mean he's forgotten them. And if it's not that-"
"-then we still shouldn't forget that today is a day for celebration," Wales interrupted him. His smile hadn't faded for even a heartbeat during Scotland's explanation, and it wasn't about to, either. "I'm not worried, Allistair. As you said, this is natural, considering the injury that brought him in this state. Now let's just go in and talk to our brother again."
Ireland was waiting for them when they went in, smiling warmly, glad to have all of his younger brothers with him again. He hadn't been aware of not having talked to them for fourteen weeks, but he could only imagine what it must have been like for them, visiting him daily for over three months without every hearing a word from him. Wales greeted him with a hug like Scotland had, while England, like Northern Ireland, first needed to hear from his brother himself that it was okay before he even dared touch him. Wales then, with Ireland's consent, brushed a strand of his brother's ginger hair from his forehead, inspecting the scar that ran there, beginning little more than a centimeter above his brow. "It's thin," he told his brother, "but still very visible... of course, right now your hair is covering it, but you usually have it shorter than this." He inspected it a moment longer, thinking with pure concentration visible in his expression. "Would you rather keep it covered up? Keep it hidden? I'm sure we can think of something if you do." Ireland laughed softly, pushing his hand away again.
"Let's not worry about that yet," he told him, smiling. "First I have to get out of here again, hm?" After that, the five brothers didn't talk too much anymore, the UK just happy to hear Ireland's voice again, Ireland glad to see his brothers were so happy to see him. But as the minutes passed, his responses to what they said gradually grew softer, the words more dragged. Not even an hour had passed before he sat there with his eyes closed, hardly answering anymore whenever one of his brothers asked something, and the four just looked at each other, wordlessly agreeing that they should go home again now.
It was Scotland that gently shook Ireland, and the Irishman blinked open his eyes again, staring up at him. "Ah... sorry," he apologized immediately, biting back a yawn. "I'm just... really tired, sorry."
"We know," Scotland answered softly. "That's why we're going home now."
Ireland looked at him for a moment longer, gratitude shimmering in his eyes. "Thanks," he mumbled. "The president will be coming this afternoon, too, and I'd better be rested by then..." A tiny smirk played on his lips, and he added softly, "Maybe, if I can convince him I'm recovering quickly, I'll be allowed to come home soon!"
"And he'll force you to work again, too, if you do that" Wales added with a grimace. "Let's not do that, Cearul. Take all the time you need, alright? Don't push yourself now." Ireland shook his head and promised he wouldn't, but his brothers, knowing Ireland's stubborness was matched only by that of Wales, weren't convinced he would keep that promise. But so long as he didn't push himself too much, it should be alright. "Also, Cearul," Wales then began, "if there's anything you need from home, just tell us, and we'll take it with us next time we come, alright?"
Ireland gave a tiny, drowsy nod, his smile still on his lips. None of them could really stop smiling right now. "Thanks, but I'm alright here. H-however," he added quickly, "I suppose... some actual clothes would be nice. I think I've been stuck in this paper dress long enough now." England chuckled at this, promising they would bring some the next day, said goodbye together with the other United Kingdom members, then left again. They looked back just before Ireland's room would be out of sight, and saw Ireland already asleep again, still smiling, looking completely at ease after having spoken to his brothers.

The next day they visited again, and Ireland already seemed to be doing better than he had the first day. The day after that, he was sitting in a chair in his room instead of being in bed, and two days after that, they found him already waiting for them in the lobby. That night however, thanks to the economy, he developed a slight fever, but it was under control already the next morning. And as he had said he would, he remembered certain things more clearly with each passing day, his memory restoring almost as quickly as the rest of him was recovering. He still had no idea what had happened to get him in a coma, and neither did Northern Ireland, and the nations of Great Britain had decided it was best like that, and they would never tell them. It would be their secret until the end of time.
All tension between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland seemed to be gone now, though the Troubles raged on. The two personifications at least had forgiven each other for their earlier mistakes. And though North hadn't said a word about it anymore since Ireland had woken up, the older Irish nation recalled a few things he'd heard his brothers say while he'd been in his coma rather clearly.
I love you, papa.
He didn't say anything about it, either, convinced now that one day, North would say the same to him again, this time while he was awake and conscious. He knew he was Northern Ireland's brother, but he also knew he could also be his father whenever the boy wanted it. And that solved a lot between the two of them. "The only thing left to do now," North had said cheerfully one day, "is to find a solution to the national Troubles as well, like we did for our personal troubles." Ireland had agreed to that, and they promised they would both work hard to find one from now on.
Fifteen days after waking up, Ireland was allowed to go home again, though he still needed a regular check-up at the hospital. But he was doing just fine considering the state he'd been in only three weeks prior, and soon enough, that ended as well.

The EU meeting the family had been dreading all the weeks Ireland had been in a coma came little less than six weeks after Ireland came home again, and though they had insisted their brother should take it easy, Ireland went there anyway. When they got there, a surprise none of them had even slightly expected waited for them.
"Ireland!" Denmark exclaimed when he saw the older nation and his four brothers enter the conference hall. "Dude, we thought for sure you wouldn't come to this meeting!"
The five British-Irish nations halted, staring at the Scandinavian wide-eyed. Why would they think that? England hoped it had to do with what happened at the UN months before, but when other nations greeted his older brother as well, his heart sank. They knew. Each and every one of them knew what had happened. But how? "Well," Spain said approvingly, patting Ireland on the shoulder, "we can now honestly say that getting old won't make you weaker at all. On the contrary!" Italy Romano smirked, adding, "We've kinda come to call you 'Europe's grandpa' for a few years already. You're the oldest among us... No offense." Then he smacked Spain on the back of his head and scolded him for being so rude, the Spaniard protesting that Romano was as rude as him, if not worse. Austria sighed in annoyance at the two, then went to congratulate Ireland as well. "You really pulled through," he said with a smile. "Good job."
"Veh~, we should celebrate after the meeting!"
"Nein, Italy," West Germany protested to his friend. "Ve don't have zhe time for zhat. Maybe on zhe last day, however..."

Ireland just stared at all of the European nations welcoming him back, congratulating him on his recovery, agreeing with Italy Veneziano that there should be a celebration -adding, to avoid West's anger, that they should wait until they had time, however. Then he turned to his brothers, wanting to ask them who had told anyone, because someone had broken their promise that all this would stay secret. But all four of them seemed as baffled as him, not at all comprehending what was going on and how the entire EU knew about this. Then they heard a familiar laugh from their left, and all five brothers turned around at the same time. France was sitting there, staring at their confused expressions with a warm smile. "Zhis would be my fault," he said with a wink. "Zhough, zhe one zhat's really to blame is mon cher Mathieu. But zhe poor boy just needed someone to talk to... 'e was really distraught at zhe zhought you might die, Cearul. Ah, well, you know me. Once I 'ear some juicy gossip, I spread it."
"Juicy gossip?" England echoed angrily. "How dare you call something as horrible as what happened juicy goss-"
"I didn't mean it like zhat, cher!" France protested immediately. "Don't always take everyzhing I say zhe wrong way. But I might 'ave told Spain and the Italies, and zhey might 'ave told Austria, West Germany and Belgium, who in turn... well, you know what I mean."
"Let's not forget I was aware already," Netherlands added from not too far away. "Also through Matt. But my information needs to be bought, so I didn't participate in the gossiping." Then he turned to look over his shoulder at Ireland. "Well, good job at recovering so quickly, Ierland. That's quite an achievement, from what I heard."
"T-thanks," Ireland stammered, still not really getting it. This was because of Canada? If anyone would tell others despite the promise they made, he'd thought it would be America, or else Australia. But he just pushed those thoughts away for now, took a deep breath, and thanked the other nations, loud enough for all of them to hear. But then he requested they'd all shut up about it now, and just get on with the meeting. And when finally the last nations came as well, each of them giving Ireland a pat on the shoulder or a quick thumbs up before taking place behind their desks, the meeting began.

"Well," Scotland mumbled somewhere halfway through the meeting, "this isn't quite what we expected would happen, huh?" England huffed, and Wales nodded. "I honestly thought they would think of you as weak, an easy target, because of what happened," the Scot went on, looking at Ireland. The older nation only shrugged.
"Well, he is the first nation -in Europe at least- to have been in a coma for over three months and pull through like this," England mumbled in response. "So it's not all that strange... Though I didn't see this coming, either." Ireland shook his head, adding that he also hadn't. But he seemed happy about it, so the others didn't have the heart to complain. Scotland just stared at him every now and then during the meeting, beyond happy to see his brother like this. He'd missed that sparkle in his eyes whenever something good happened. He'd missed him.
Never again, he vowed that day. Never again am I going to let anything bad happen to my brothers.

"Well, the only thing that happened while you were gone was the Glasdrumman ambush on July 17," Northern Ireland told his older brother, handing him some files on the matter. "By the PIRA. They've really calmed down since a few years, haven't they? 'Long War', they called it, right?" Ireland nodded. He vaguely recalled something like that. Now that he was discussing the Troubles with North and both their leaders, he wished he had more memories of his time within the IRA, but some things just seemed to have disappeared for good. "I should have made more notes," he sighed eventually. "Then at least, I wouldn't have lost this much."
"And what if you had, and they'd found those notes?" North then asked, staring at his brother. "What do you think they would have done, then? You're lucky that they think you're dead now. And besides, you would have had to leave soon, anyway: you've been a member for years, and without aging... it would've gotten suspicious sooner or later."
"I know, I know," Ireland sighed in response, still a little disappointed in his lack of information. He knew he had more, before the accident, but now... "I just wish I could be of more help."

"They may have calmed down," North's leader said, muttering, "but that doesn't solve the problem. They're waiting to strike again, maybe with another Bloody Sunday or Bloody Friday -something as horrible as that." North flinched at the idea. He could practically feel the scar that ran over his heart sting again as he remembered the many bombs of that day. He shook his head, though it was more that he hoped such a thing would never happen again than that he was convinced it wouldn't. Ireland gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, and North nodded. It wouldn't be that bad anymore, they both knew it: it wouldn't last long enough anymore to be that bad again. Their two leaders stared at them, clearly wondering what had happened between the two. Everyone had also noticed some changes in Ireland since he'd woken up from his coma. For one, he seemed a little less confident, and was definitely more prone to over-apologizing if he did something wrong. He seemed to think his brothers were bothered by his slight amnesia more than they really were, and thought that was his fault, like he should simply work harder to remember everything. But that would never work, and that was what they kept telling him. And whenever they did that, he would only apologize again for being so stupid. All in all, he seemed to have become more... timid somehow. But, horrible as it was to think that, the United Kingdom could only think of how this change could be used to their advantage -and Ireland's own as well- as he would probably be more willing to accept their terms in peace negotiations, if only to please them. The nations' leaders could see this, too, and while the UK was happy about it, Ireland's president was less so. He would definitely not be as willing to accept every term the UK threw their way as Ireland would be.

And that's probably for the best, Northern Ireland thought as he stared at Ireland. He needs to gain some confidence in his own decisions and rights as a nation again. It was still a strange sensation, the feeling that he was taking care of Ireland, and not the other way around. It's just until he's fully recovered again, he told himself. And I'm happy to do it.
The meeting lasted a little longer, and near the end of it, Northern Ireland had a hard time containing his anger. Ireland's president had scolded the older nation for forgetting certain things more than once that day, and Ireland had guilt and shame written all over his face by the end of the meeting. He can't help it! North wanted to yell. Blame the person that nearly killed him instead! But then he took a deep breath and calmed himself, trying to look at the situation as the human would do, and then his anger and frustration were completely justified. Who would be able to stay calm, when they were trying to find a solution to the most difficult conflict in ages, and their nation just stared at them with a look that clearly said he had no idea what they were talking about? In that position, he thought, I'd have gotten angry even sooner. But it didn't help Ireland's confidence, only served to weaken it. After the meeting, the boy immediately went to his own leader to ask if he could stay and talk to Ireland a bit longer before leaving, and he could.

He found the older nation sitting in a chair, staring into space. Cautiously he walked over to him, first checking his eyes to see if he could figure out any emotion in them to see how he was doing, then sitting down beside him when he decided it was alright. He placed his hand lightly on Ireland's arm, and at this simple notion, the Irishman sighed and looked away. "It's okay, Cearul, really," North said encouragingly, but Ireland shook his head.
"It's not, Coineach," he mumbled. "It's really not. I should know all these things, but-"
"It's not like you shot yourself," North protested, staring at his older brother intently. "You can't help what happened, Cearul, and you can't help that your memory is just a little fuzzy sometimes. It'll be better soon, you'll see."
But again Ireland shook his head, sighing again. And just then he looked as lost as North had ever seen him only after the accident. "It's been a while, lad," he mumbled. "It's been a while and I don't remember everything yet. I'm beginning to doubt I'll ever remember everything again." Then he turned to look at Northern Ireland, and the young teen felt a stab of pity at seeing his lost, sad gaze. "It's... it's worse than I wanted any of you to think. Do you recall how I didn't call any of you by your names, the first day you came to visit me in the hospital? That's because, no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't figure out what your human names were. All I really remembered was that we never called each other by our nation names, so I didn't. Oh, it's not like I didn't remember who you were," he added quickly upon seeing the shock and sadness in North's eyes. "Of course I did, and I was really happy to see you again. But... but it took me until later in the afternoon to remember your names." He forced a tiny smile onto his face, and gently ruffled Northern Ireland's hair a bit. "I'm sorry, Coineach," he said softly. "Perhaps I... shouldn't have told you this."
"No, it's okay," North lied quickly, shaking his head. In all honesty, he was devastated at hearing just how much his brother had lost. But then he tried to remind himself of the many memories he'd gotten back over the weeks, to cheer himself up again. "This, too, isn't your fault. The only one to blame is the person who did this to you. And the two humans are dead." He fell silent for a moment, finally feeling a tiny spark of joy in his heart as he added in a whisper, "Which reminds me... Samuel must have really gotten away, then, if there were only two when you and Allistair came. I still hate him, but... well, I'm happy for him, anyway."

When he looked up at Ireland again, he saw the older nation was staring at him, his pale blue eyes shimmering with emotion. When he asked what was wrong, Ireland only smiled. "You're such an amazing person, Coineach. You know that?"
"Why?"
"Because of how much you care about others."
And then the boy smiled, feeling his heart fluttering with joy, and he swung his arms around his older brother. "You told me the exact same thing once before," he whispered. "Do you remember?" It was silent for a moment, but eventually Ireland nodded and hugged him back. "I do," he answered, holding his little brother tightly. "And I still mean every word of it."

Haaah... it's refreshing to write sweet scenes like these again XD I'm going to try and keep this up.

Oh, I can also tell that about Part 3 of Historical Hetalia: I will try to play around with humour and maybe even a little romance in that one, more than in Rising and Trouble. Though you can't expect a non-serious story from me XD especially not when I try to keep it historically accurate.

Well, I hope you liked it, and thanks for reading!