"I told you that we were going the wrong way!" Dylan said, exasperated. Alasdair shot him a look that would normally scare anyone, but Dylan was immune.
"Shut it, I'm tryna read tha map!" Alasdair hissed back, and Dylan rolled his eyes.
"You've been trying to read the map for three hours now, Ali. Just admit it, we're lost." Dylan said. He narrowly dodged the stick thrown at his head, and contemplated beaning Alasdair with a pinecone. That probably wouldn't end well.
The pair continued walking, bickering amongst themselves. The squirrels considered shoving leaves into their ears so they didn't have to hear the fighting. Honestly, what a mood squirrels.
"Ali."
"...what?"
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
Dylan really needed to pee. So he voiced his need.
"Alasdair, I need to pee."
Alasdair looked back at him with an expression somewhere between disgust and annoyance. "Why tha hell do I need tae ken? Go piss in a bush!"
Dylan gave his brother a shit-eating grin.
It had been five hours since they left the meet-up spot. Originally, they were going to go rafting on some 'totally wild river' as America called it. Dylan still didn't know what to think of the loud blonde nation, but Alasdair already decided he was attached to the lad in a sort of weird uncle way.
Dylan snickered to himself at the thought of Alasdair being a weird uncle, because it was totally true.
"Aliiii, my feet hurt." Dylan complained. In reality, his feet were only a little sore, benefit of spending his childhood barefoot all the time.
Alasdair scoffed, running a hand through his red hair.
"I'll cut off yer feet if ya don't stop whinin' like a pansy!"
Goal accomplished. Annoy the shit out of Alasdair badge obtained.
There was no fucking way a forest could possibly be this big. Except there was, because this forest is that big.
At least they found a creek to rest by.
Dylan draped himself dramatically over a large rock, placing the back of his hand on his forehead and sighing. "Alasdairrr, we're never going to make it back to civilisation. If we aren't back in the next 12 hours I'm resorting to cannibalism."
Alasdair choked, laughing so hard he fell into the little creek. "Dylly, yer about as shrimpy as Artie, if anythin', I'd probably be tha one tae eat ya."
With a fake offended gasp, Dylan sat up and rolled his jacket sleeves up as far as they could go, flexing while posing dramatically.
"These guns bring every human alive to my yard!"
Alasdair forgot how to breathe.
They were officially 100% lost and now it was getting dark. Luckily, there weren't supposed to be any bears or moose, or really anything dangerous here.
The only real issues were Dylan and Alasdair's black hole stomachs not being appeased. Currently, the brothers were fighting over the single pack of graham crackers Dylan brought. They were desperately trying to please their Tumbly Rumbly Gods.
Dylan held the pack of crackers out of Alasdair's reach, while the redhead held Dylan down on the grass and reached for the crackers.
"Give it!"
"No! They're my crackers! I bought them!"
"I'm hungry, now give them!"
"I'm hungry too! Hell no!"
They continued rolling around and cursing, before Alasdair came up victorious with the crackers. He sat on Dylan's back while the smaller of the two squirmed and yelled at Alasdair in Welsh.
Just as Alasdair went to eat one, Dylan suddenly rolled violently, knocking Alasdair over. The crackers flew out of his grip, and both brothers watched in utter horror as they landed with a soft plop into the creek.
Brothers do everything together, even live through the stages of grief together as a pack of graham crackers grows soggy and fish nibble at it.
They sat pathetically on the bank, watching the fishes with jealousy, as they split a sopping wet graham cracker between themselves.
Night had officially fallen, both brothers laying on the grass under a tree.
Dylan subtly grabbed a stick and began lightly brushing Alasdair's neck with it while he slept.
Little did Dylan know, Alasdair wasn't sleeping. He suddenly shot a glare that was so intense it could be felt even in the darkness.
"I'll break yer fuckin' hand, Dylan." He growled, and though Dylan knew he would never, he huffed and tossed the stick away.
Dylan dreamt of talking graham crackers that – strangely enough – had thick Scottish accents and kept insulting him.
Alasdair didn't dream.
Dylan slowly woke up to the earliest light of morning. Apparently, sometime during the night, it rained just a bit so there were little water drops all over the leaves and grass.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning, dreading looking in a mirror. His hair was probably so messy, and it was also uncomfortably damp.
And there was Alasdair, texting on his phone and snorting an amused laugh.
"You have service, and you didn't fucking use it to help us get out of here?" Dylan asked in a low tone. Alasdair raised an eyebrow at him.
"Hey, I only just found out I have service, I've already called Artie and told 'im tha situation."
Dylan exhaled deeply. "And what are you doing now, if I may ask?"
"Talking to my friend on Discord?"
Dylan was going to throttle his brother someday.
By the time their rescue team got there, Dylan was so hungry he was shaking. Which was a little bizarre, but oh well. Somehow, North Italy always carried delicious pasta with him, and South Italy always had churros he stole from Spain.
Spain never minded, of course.
Dylan put a rubber snake in Alasdair's bedding that night and listened with a grin as the redhead let out a shriek at 2 am.