Hello! I'm so glad you guys are liking the story so far, it warms my heart :D This chapter is gonna be a wee bit serious, so please mind the warnings. I don't think it's explicit, but please let me know if I need to change the warning tags. In a more positive light, we're going to see new characters in this one!
Enjoy!
Warnings: swearing (+ the word whore), attempt assault, slap to the face, sight of blood from nightmare
Chapter 4
This Isn't What I Ordered
It turned out, pretending to be a stranger to his brother was easier than he thought.
Surprisingly easy.
By making a mental list of the differences between the two Scotland, Northern Ireland could easily identify his brother from the present, Modern Scotland as he decided to call him, from the current one, nicknamed Past Scotland.
Aside from his younger features, the lack of the silver earrings, the not so as prominent beard and the total lack of recognition of him, Past Scotland acted similarly to the Modern one. There were instances where the two would merge, and North would make a double check to be sure he wasn't seeing Alistair instead of Allen.
The number of times he had to stop himself from gaping at the man like an idiot was embarrassing, but he managed to control his reactions most of the time.
There was also the fact he barely saw his brother over the past week, but you got the idea.
No, the real challenge for him was, of all things, how to pretend to be a human.
It was embarrassing if he was honest. He lived amongst them and hell, he represented his people as their Nation, and yet, he struggled to act like one.
Don't get him wrong, he wasn't the hermit his brothers claimed he was. He had talked to humans before, introverted as he was and acted like them and stuff, but he never realized how demanding and stressful it was to be one.
Nations were, in a way, more durable than humans. Semi-immortality and heightened senses aside, they were stronger and less prone to fall ill or contract diseases. They also required less sustenance to keep their body going since they were tied to their Land. In simple terms, as long as there was life in their Land and people to represent, they will live.
A healthy grown adult Nation can go days without eating and not feel any hunger because the Land gave them strength. Which made sense, because if a semi-immortal being were to eat three meals a day for centuries, the grocery bills would become ridiculously expensive.
The same went for sleeping; a day-long rest and they can stay awake for the next few days with no problem. Even taking a nap was good enough to get going for another day. However, some Nations like to keep a resemblance of a normal life and adopted their people's routine. Either by eating less so they can eat regularly or taking a short nap every day, they found ways to blend into the environment.
North himself did that too. He ate a snack every day or got himself a hearty meal every few days. He also tried to sleep every night, but his mind had a bad habit to jump around without tiring itself out.
Nevertheless, he didn't have trouble following a human's routine before because he was in the comfort of his own home, surrounded by his brothers who were like him. But that wasn't the case anymore.
He wasn't just walking among humans to head for the store to buy a bag of Taytos only to return home fifteen minutes later, he was living among them now. He was interacting with them on a daily basis. He couldn't be left alone anymore.
And it was hard.
Because how could he, a Nation, explain to a human he couldn't eat three full meals a day without making himself ill. Or how he was dying of boredom from staring at the ceiling of his room during the night because he felt no tiredness whatsoever. Even more so with the fact he didn't have access to a telly or his Gameboy to pass the time.
The first day he could explain, he could explain why he was tired and hungry when he first got here. Even for him, such a stressful experience was bound to tire him out. And the piece of bread the clan gave him during the two days of riding barely fed him.
But now that he was rested, it proved to be a challenge to act like a human who ate and slept like everybody else.
Come to think of it, he had only seen Scotland during dinner time and his plate wasn't always full. Not that he wasn't ogling at him from his seat or anything, but for a man as tall as a freaking mountain, the little food on his plate would raise a few eyebrows if you knew where to look.
And North had seen Modern Scotland eat, could eat for a whole damn army if he wanted, so the act was deliberate and calculated. He felt a wee bit envious of his brother. He wished he could skip meals so he can save himself from regurgitating the beef stew from last night. It was a good stew, but way too much for him.
Overall, he looked like a right eejit pretending to be a normal human boy so far. It was a wonder Scotland didn't notice or anybody else, but somehow, he managed it. Emphasis on the somehow.
Because another thing that threw him for a loop was adapting to the current technology. It was one thing to silently lament the lack of light switches around the castle or any electrical device, but the simple request of taking a shower earned him such a baffling confused look from Mrs. Gibson he thought he'd spoken in French.
He didn't even speak French.
It took him an embarrassingly amount of time to explain what he wanted until the poor woman understood him. It got worse when she brought him to what he assumed to be the back of a storage room where a wooden tub stood near a fireplace with buckets beside it.
A part of North's soul left when he realized what was happening.
But the discomfort of feeling dirty won over the absolute misery he was feeling and so he thanked Mrs. Gibson and waited for her to leave before he slapped a hand to his forehead, cursing to himself.
To say it was the most awkward and quickest bath he ever had was an understatement. It was bad enough he felt exposed being a big room with crates and barrels, but the little block that was the soap barely lathered.
At least he smelled like wildflowers instead of a wet dog abandoned in the sewers.
Nevertheless, North survived the week at Kaerndal Castle without drawing too much attention to himself. He managed to keep to himself, either in his room or down in the kitchen with Mrs. Gibson and that was about it.
Sometimes Hamish or another member of the clan would check on him, in a totally not subtle way might he add, as if they thought he was planning to take a horse and run away.
Well, they weren't wrong per se, but they weren't right either on the matter.
He also met the doctor Scotland mentioned the other day, having finally returned from his travels.
Doctor Fergus Graham was a well-accomplished man from Edinburgh with decades of experience. After graduating with a medical degree, instead of joining the order of respected physicians in the city or opening his own clinic, Dr. Graham decided to hit the road in the noble hopes to help the less fortunate he came across.
He would travel from village to village, offering his services in exchange for a warm meal and somewhere to rest. The Highlands was a harsh place to live, whether be the weather or the lack of resources. And so, the doctor made a name for himself and was well sought after amongst the people here.
At least, that was what Mrs. Gibson told him when he asked her about him after seeing the doctor talking with the Laird one morning. He was maybe in his mid-fifties with dark brown hair in a low ponytail and black wired-frame glasses, wearing a brown frock and black slacks.
North actually wanted to talk to him, curious about the technology they use, especially the instruments and equipment, but he wasn't good at starting conversations and the man had looked quite busy that day.
And so, a week had passed and North managed to keep to himself and not stumble into trouble. He succeeded at pretending to be Seán Killough for a week. Well, almost a week.
North poked at the last remaining of his dinner, contemplating if he should shove the food in a napkin and declare he ate it all. It was a broth with chicken and leeks. He wasn't a fan of leeks, but the soup was good enough.
But again, too much food for him.
Most of the people already left the Great Hall, Scotland included, with a few staying to keep chatting. A few of the clansmen, Ian and Malcolm, were here as well, laughing from their table like lunatics over a story Hamish was telling. There was another person with them as well, a young man in his late teens or early twenties with boyish features, tousled brown hair and green eyes. He was laughing too, although more awkward and reserved.
From what North gathered, the young man was the newest member of the clan. If he remembered correctly, his name was Andrew and the nephew of the silent clansman with the scar over his right eye.
"Are you done with your plate, Mr. Killough?"
The boy startled at the voice and looked away from the laughing clansmen. One of the scullery maids, Aileen, was holding a pile of dirty dishes, looking at him expectantly.
"Oh, um, yeah. I'm done, thanks." North quickly piled his dirty dishes and gave them to her. He still wasn't used to be called by his fake name, even less a 'Mister'. No wonder his brothers said they made them feel old.
The young woman took his plate with ease, walking over the rest of the grand table to take the rest. With nothing better to do, he stood up and quietly started helping her.
Just like the other times since he first asked if he could help wash the dishes, Aileen seemed taken back by his help but didn't stop him. He couldn't fathom why she or the other maids reacted that way. It wasn't as if it was hard to pile up dishes and take them to the kitchen to wash them.
Mrs. Gibson almost balked at the idea of him helping in the kitchen, saying he was a guest of the Laird and that boys like him should be outside playing. The comment rubbed him the wrong way, but he held his tongue as he calmly said that he was more than happy to help, that it was a way to thank her for giving him clothes and keep him comfortable. She reluctantly agreed after that but not before insisting to call her 'Mrs. Gibs'.
"I heard you'd be leaving tomorrow," Aileen said as she picked up the cups and piled them on the table below. She sent him a teasing grin. "A shame, it was nice to take a break from washing dirty dishes."
"Um, yeah," North grabbed the utensils and put them in a cup. "Mr. Campbell told me I could leave with the merchant tomorrow morning. He said he frequently travels to Edinburgh."
"Aye, Mr. Milligan is the main trader in these parts. He brings supplies we can't normally find here." The young woman rounded the table, picking up the tall pile of plates. "You can take those back to the kitchen, there's not much else here."
"Alright." North nodded, lifting the pile of trays and holding it steady as he stepped down the dais.
"Thank you, you're a dear."
The boy left the Great Hall, ignoring the boisterous laugh of the clansmen and headed for the kitchen. He carefully descended the stairs and entered the kitchen.
As always, the place was a mess from the aftermath of cooking a meal for dozens of people. A few of the scullery maids were still present, cleaning and tidying the tables. There was no sign of Mrs. Gibson, but it was probably for the best lest she tried to take the dishes and shoo him away.
Balancing the pile of dishes, North slinked between the tables and walked towards the door leading to a smaller room. In there was Lily, another scullery maid with blond hair, who was in the process of arranging the pile of dirty dishes. Two buckets laid near the sink by her feet, washcloths hanging from the rim.
"Um, Miss Lily?" He cleared his throat.
The young woman turned from her task, smiling at recognizing him. "Oh, hi! You can leave it here, lad. I'll take it from here."
He set down the pile of trays in the corner of the table and shifted under his feet, not sure what else to do. It was much too early to head to bed and he rather work than staring at the ceiling in boredom. Aye, he was that desperate to do something.
How did people entertain themselves in this period?
North adjusted his vest awkwardly, realizing he was just standing there like an idiot and looked around for something to talk about until he saw the sink, noticing the lack of water. "Would uh… would you like some help?"
Lily paused in her work, the beginning of a refusal forming on her lips before she sighed, a smile on her face. She arranged the apron around her waist and gestured the two buckets. "If you wouldn't mind fetching water from the well, please." She eyed him as he picked up the two buckets, shaking her head with a small laugh as she went back to arranging the pile of dirty dishes.
North stopped at the doorway leading outside, cocking his head to the side. "Yes?"
She waved him off with a grin. "Nothing. It's just strange to see a guest of Laird Campbell helping a maid. You're quite unusual, Mr. Killough."
North held back a grimace at the formality, plastering a sheepish smile. "Force of habit, I'm afraid. I'm usually the one cleaning up after meals back home, but I'm happy to help."
"And chivalrous too!"
Blushing red, North ducked out of the room, the laugh of Lily fading as he walked down the small path. He shivered at the cool breeze in the air, pulling his sleeves down with one hand.
"What's so weird about helping in the kitchen?" He huffed to himself, though a part of him already knew. The world's view was different here than the one he was used to. Where women's sole purpose was to procreate and take care of the house whereas the man was to provide and protect. It was still present back home, but it was more balanced.
Though he can't say that from experience. Growing up with four brothers, the line between a man's work and a woman's work was a wee bit blurry. But one thing was for sure, Wales would always be the mother hen of the family, followed closely by England.
North rounded the corner but paused when he heard a clatter. He looked at the well down the path, then at the direction of the sound. Another clatter was heard followed by muffled voices.
His curiosity got the better of him as he quietly made his way to the path leading to a shed. Keeping the buckets from knocking against each other, North approached the noise until he spotted a cart. Quickly hiding behind it, he poked his head between two crates.
The sun had long set, but the few torches scattered around the grounds helped give a little bit of visibility.
A man was standing by the shed, towering over something as he growled who knew what. He raised a hand and tried to reach out, but a pale hand blocked him. It was then that North realized with a sinking feeling the man was leaning over a girl and he was drunk. Really drunk.
"-you say, eh? Ye won't regret it." The man chuckled, reaching his other hand to touch her hair, but it was blocked by a basket.
"Let me go." The girl said, her voice wavering ever so slightly as she tried to push the drunk man away. She was clutching the man's hand away from her, brown eyes wide with fear.
"I promise it will be good." The man said darkly, leaning over to sniff her hair and the girl stiffened.
North felt his blood run cold, looking around for everyone for help, but he was alone and so they were. He looked back at the cart, trying to find something to throw at the man but was interrupted by another man's voice.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
North slid behind the cart as someone stomped past him, heading straight for the drunk man. He was older, around the age of Hamish, with dark brown hair and a scowl on his bearded face.
The drunk man looked over his shoulder, still not letting go of the girl and laughed. "Oi, Kendrick, found her wandering where she wasn't supposed to."
Kendrick scoffed, pulling the girl off the man without care, ignoring the pained gasped from her and rolled his eyes. "Piss off, will ya?"
The drunk man only laughed harshly, stumbling away before leaving Kendrick with the girl. North peeked back between the crates, relieved to find her unharmed. The relief turned into shock when the man turned to look at the girl and with a swift hand, slapped her across the face.
The smack against skin echoed into the night, drowning the yelp of the girl.
"You foolish whore," Kendrick snarled, grabbing the young girl roughly by the arm, "what did I tell you about coming here?"
The young girl held her cheek with her eyes downcast, her other hand clutching the basket close to her as if it was a shield.
"If it weren't for yer mother, I would have left him have you! Well, answer me. Why are ye here?" The man spat with a faint slur, not entirely sober himself. The girl said nothing, her whole body trembling. That seemed to anger him more because he raised his hand once more.
North reacted before thinking. He slammed the buckets together to create a ruckus and stumbled into view. Immediately, heated dark eyes locked onto his, the man's scowl deepening even further. The boy straightened under the stare, opening his mouth but the man beat him to it.
"The fuck are ye doin' here?"
North's words died in his throat as he sputtered for a second, before forcing his mouth to work.
"Where's the well?"
The man looked as baffled as he was as they stared at each other for a moment until Kendrick scoffed. "Get lost, boy. Mind yer own-"
"I need water from the well." North interrupted, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm helping in the kitchen, you see and um… no one gave me a tour of the place so…"
The man narrowed his eyes, eyeing him up and down before glowering. "You're the stray the Laird picked up?"
Holding back a scowl, North held his chin up. "Actually, it was Mr. Hamish who rescued me. Laird Campbell was kind enough to let me stay." He glanced at the girl still within the man's grasp. She peeked through the curtain of brown curly hair in front of her eyes, but when she caught his eyes, she looked at the ground again.
Looking back at Kendrick, the boy made a show of picking up the buckets. "I'll be leaving tomorrow with Mr. Milligan. So as thanks, I'm helping where I can."
"Good riddance. Now go away."
Ignoring the comment, North cocked his head and waited, rocking on the balls of his feet. The man's eyebrow twitched as he spat, "What?"
"Where's the well?" North asked again, holding back a grin at the visible vein pulsing on the man's temple.
A set of footsteps came around the corner as the evening patrol made their way through this part of the castle. Kendrick immediately let go of the girl, scowl still present but not as murderous. He looked back at North, clicking his tongue in irritation.
"Take the left path when leaving the kitchen, the well will be to yer right."
"Thank you, sir, have a good evening." North looked at the girl with a nod. "You as well, Miss."
Scowl deepening, Kendrick said nothing before nudging the girl to start walking. They left the premises, walking past the two guards.
The boy waited a moment before exhaling loudly, slumping his shoulders. He looked down at his hands, noticing they were shaking and he griped the buckets' handle harder.
"That's a disaster avoided." He mumbled, his racing heartbeat slowing down. Before the two guards saw him, he turned and headed for the well.
He hoped the girl was safe. That Kendrick guy seemed like a total arsehole, but at least he managed to help her out.
Northern Ireland looked around the vegetation around him, leaves crunching underneath his black Converses. He shoved his hands into his purple-blue windbreaker's pockets, jumping over a fallen log. He paused, looking to the right then to the left before taking a right, not caring where it led him.
After all, he was just dreaming.
If it wasn't for the random tv fused into a tree playing the movie Home Alone or the vending machine hidden between bushes, it was the sight of Modern Scotland nursing a beer beside him. At least the clothes were from Modern Scotland. It was a bright neon green shirt with little yellow blue patterns that would make your eyes water. His face was younger though, his beard was missing and somehow his sword was sheathed by one of the loops of his jeans with no sign of tearing.
A sight North didn't believe he wanted to see but here he was.
They've been walking for who knew how long and North was starting to get impatient. His brother hadn't said anything yet, only drinking his can of beer that appeared to be bottomless. The boy pushed away a branch, sidestepping around a telephone booth with fish swimming inside of it.
"Are you going to say something?" He asked with a sigh.
Scotland barely glanced at him, looking at the nature surrounding them with disinterest. He absently patted his back pocket before fishing out a zippy lighter. With practiced ease, he started twirling the metallic object between his fingers.
"You tell me, lad. It's yer dream."
North rolled his eyes, kicking a small rock with a huff. He looked around the forest, not minding the oversized snow globes floating near his head. "Where are the others?"
Dream Scotland pointed over his shoulder. "Getting ice cream."
The boy looked back and wasn't surprised to see the forest gone, instead, they were in a park. In the distance, he could see an ice cream stand with a group of people gathered around. He couldn't make out his brothers from here, but he knew they were there. Wales would never pass on the chance to get ice cream.
"So, when are you going back?"
North turned back to face Dream Scotland, eyebrow raised. "What do you mean?"
His brother twirled the lighter, the little flame dancing along as he took another sip of his beer. "You're not here, are you?"
"Um…" North looked back to the ice cream stand with a frown, trying to see his brothers' faces but they were too far. He hoped England would remember to pick his favourite. "I don't know. I know I'm leaving though."
Dream Scotland hummed, flicking the lighter close before pocketing it. He crossed his arms over his chest, pointing at him with his beer can. "You shouldn't."
The boy frowned, unsettled by the younger face of his brother staring at him like that. "Why not?"
A snap of a branch made North looked away as he glanced to his right. The ice cream stand was gone, so was the park. They were once again in the middle of the forest but this time snow started to fall instead of the sunny summer day. He looked back to his brother, only to see him gone too.
Thunder rolled across the sky, the clouds above turning dark and the wind starting to pick up.
"You need to hurry, North."
North turned around, finding his brother leaning against a tree, arms crossed and a cigarette hanging off his lips. He was now wearing the familiar blue-green kilt, brown knee-high boots and grey jacket. A smirk curled on the man's lips, half-lidded grey eyes watching him lazily.
"Hurry for what?" The boy asked with a scowl, not liking the vagueness of it all, but then again it was a dream.
Only a dream.
The smirk turned into a shit-eating grin as Dream Scotland winked at him just as a clap of thunder rattled the ground, like a bullet whipping the air. The boy was startled by the sound, eyes snapping towards the dark sky. His ears rang from the intensity, his heart pounding loudly.
"You'll know, lad, you'll know. Remember, it's time to tend your wounds."
A chill ran down his back at the words as North looked back to his brother only to gasp in horror. He slapped a hand to his mouth to keep the bile from coming up and stumbled back. His brother was staring at him with blank eyes, blood pouring out of his mouth like a stream. His hands were drenched in crimson as blood blossomed from his stomach, staining his shirt beyond recognition.
"Hurry up, Seán," His brother's voice gurgled, choking on each word, "before it's too late."
Another clap of thunder burst through the sky, the falling snow turning into a blizzard. Lightning flashed on Dream Scotland's ashen face, lifeless grey eyes staring at him.
North woke up with a scream, eyes snapping open as he clutched the sheets. He breathed heavily, his heart pounding wildly and sweat running down his back. He looked wildly around the unfamiliar room, body shaking.
A flash of lightning lit up the room through the crack of the curtains, the pitter-patter of rain tapping the window. It took him a minute to reorienting himself, taking gulp after gulp of air.
It felt so real. The dream felt so real.
He patted himself with shaking hands, reaching for the necklace underneath his shirt and clutched it for dear life until it hurt his palm. Shaking his head, he looked around, finally recognizing where he was.
He was in the guest room. The one they gave him when he got here. He was in Castle Kaerndal. Allen Campbell was the Laird of this place. He was also his brother Scotland and he-
The boy took a shaky breath, fiddling the necklace as a distraction. He flinched when thunder rumbled outside, muffled by the window. It was the storm, he convinced himself, it was because of the storm. He looked back at the window, pushing the covers off him. It was still night.
"A… a nightmare. I-It was a nightmare," he whispered, swinging his feet to the floor. The floor was cold as he pushed himself to stand. He was wobbly for a moment, hand clutching the nightstand.
Taking another breath, the boy padded over the window. He pushed the curtain open, watching as rain poured down relentlessly. He rested his forehead against the window, relishing on the cool glass as he waited for the terror inside him to dim.
"A dream… it was just a dream. It's not real," He said, staring blankly at the droplets sliding down the window. "A fecking terrifying nightmare, but it wasn't real. It wasn't real."
He had a wild imagination, he knew that. He was used to having those kinds of nightmares when tensions were high back home. He even got nightmares about the Blitz every now and then and it had been decades. And yet… it was just as terrifying, but it was never like that.
Hurry up, Seán, before it's too late.
North shut his eyes tight, pressing his necklace to his chest, taking deep breaths. "It wasn't real. He's fine. Alistair is alive. He's probably snoring like a monster truck somewhere in the castle."
After what felt an eternity, his heart finally seemed to calm down. A shiver swept through him, the sweat sticking to his shirt now grown cold. Hugging himself, North glanced to the bed. The blankets were twisted as if they went into a mixer, a few pillows scattered on the floor.
There was no way in hell he was going back to sleep.
Grabbing a blanket from the floor, he turned the armchair by the window so it was facing it and sat down. He pulled the blanket around him, lifted his legs to his chest and put his arms on his knees. Resting his forehead on his arm, he breathed deeply and let it out slowly.
It was just a dream.
He stayed awake for the rest of the night as the storm raged on, running his finger over and over the pattern of lines engraved into the stone of the necklace.
"I've packed you some cheese and pastries. I've seen how you gob them right up." Mrs. Gibson said with a grin, wrapping the food with a cloth.
North blushed slightly, shifting under his feet as he scratched the back of his neck. "They're really good."
"It's a family secret." The woman's eyes crinkled in mirth, not pausing as she wrapped a loaf of bread in another cloth. "Just for ye, there's a few extras for the road."
"Thank you kindly, Mrs. Gibs." North smiled sheepishly, eyeing the ever-growing basket the woman was currently filling.
It was the morning, around 7 o'clock according to the last chiming of the grandfather clock. As expected, North hadn't fallen back asleep last night. He had waited by the window until the first rays of sunrise to change out of his nightclothes and went downstairs for breakfast.
If he was more sluggish than usual, Hamish didn't comment on it when he spotted him at the Great Hall. Instead, the man had just huffed saying something along the line 'saves me the trouble to fetch you' and went back to the table the rest of the clan was eating.
North paid him no mind, just went to his usual seat on the raised platform and sat down. He picked a piece of bread, his body going on automatic as he poured himself a glass of water. He wasn't really present this morning, to be honest.
His mind kept replaying the nightmare like a broken record, the gargled words of Dream Scotland ringing in his ears. He would have hoped the dream would fade as the hours went on, but alas, the disturbing images were seared to his mind.
Remember, it's time to heal your wounds.
North shivered at the words, not sure what they meant and afraid to find out. Most of his nightmares made no sense. But it was still disturbing.
Curse his wild imagination.
So deep in thought, he hadn't seen the Laird approach the table and sit on the chair beside him, almost causing North to launch the bread he was holding across the room. After an embarrassing moment of him trying to greet him and keep from ogling the man's chest for any sign of blood, the boy went back to his plate, face flushed to the tip of his ears.
He felt Scotland's gaze on him for a bit before the man turned to talk to Callum who just arrived at the table. North can't say he remembered most of his breakfast after that because he spent most of the time trying to keep from looking at his brother's face in case lifeless eyes would stare back.
So it was with great relief that North finished his food first and left the table with a polite nod before he all but skedaddled out of the room. He was practically sprinting by the time he reached the kitchen and may have greeted Mrs. Gibson with more hysteria he wanted to admit.
Luckily, Mrs. Gibson didn't notice his frazzled arrival and greeted him back with a warm smile. She was already alerted about his departure with the merchant, so as a gift, she had prepared him a basket filled with food.
Touched by the gesture and more than happy for a distraction, North thanked the kind woman and helped her prepare the farewell basket.
Hence, the extra pack of berry-filled pastries. He may not be an avid eater of pastries like Wales, but he had a soft spot for a few ones. Especially apple pies.
"Do you know when Mr. Milligan will get here?" The woman asked, organizing the bundles of food like a complex puzzle.
"Hamish mentioned he had already arrived. He's currently at the village doing restock." He said, watching both worriedly and in amusement as the matronly cook added another bundle of bread as if he was going on an expedition to Alaska.
He didn't know if a week-long trip required that much food, but he was glad he had variety in there. Though, a part of him felt bad that most of the food would probably go to waste. He won't be able to eat all of it, it was way too much for him.
"There, all done." She said with a satisfied nod, covering the full basket with a small cloth. She hefted it off the table and North could've sworn the basket creaked from the weight. "Here."
"Thank you very much, Mrs. Gibs." He smiled, mismatched eyes widening when he had to use more force than expected to lift it. One would think she put rocks in there.
"Not a problem, lad, I want to be sure yer going to be fine during the trip." She waved a hand before snapping her fingers. "Oh, I almost forgot! My granddaughter sent me this earlier this morning. It will go well with the bread."
The woman went to one of the tables and picked something up. She turned around and presented a small jar to him with a smile. "Wildberries jam. Her mother finished the new batch yesterday. She saved a bit for you."
"Oh…" North blinked, feeling his face warm up. He smiled shyly, accepting the jar. "Send her my thanks as well. I'm sure it's going to be good."
"She makes a lot of them, mostly for the Laird," the woman said and leaned closer as if sharing a secret, "he has a penchant for sugary treats, you see."
North fought back a snort, knowing beforehand his brother had a sweet tooth. He and Wales could easily clear out a bakery if they wanted to. It was no surprise then that this Scotland would hoard jam jars for himself.
"Now, ye should gather your coat and go to the front yard. Mr. Milligan should be there soon." She said, shooing him out of the kitchen.
With another thank you for the food basket, North left the kitchen and headed for the room he stayed in all week. Closing the door behind him, he set the basket on the dresser and sat on the armchair by the window. He leaned on the edge of the window and sighed, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in his chest.
Although he was glad he was leaving this place, he was starting to doubt it was a good idea. When he first got here, his first instinct was to leave, to stay away from Scotland to keep the timeline safe or whatever he was doing.
But now…
North rested his head on top of his arms, brows furrowing.
He didn't know what to do now. If he was to leave, what the hell was he going to do once he reached Edinburgh? As he thought before, he doubted there would be a train patiently waiting for him to take him back home.
But if he were to stay, then he would risk exposing himself to Scotland which would then lead to mess up the timeline that would later alter history itself in the future. He could leave and try to find England for help but not only he had no idea where he could be, but he would inevitably put the timeline in danger too by interacting with him.
It was already a huge risk of forcing himself to eat three meals a day and pretending to be a human. Thank God he didn't accidentally speak in Nation in front of Scotland. That would have opened a can of worms no one would be ready to deal with.
"How do you know Nation?" Scotland would ask with narrowed eyes and probably with a sword pointed at him. Again.
"Oh you know," North would say with a laugh, and clearly not pissing himself in this hypothetical scenario, "I picked it up by reading a book. They're easy to come by as a matter of fact!"
Aye, that would go soundly.
However, if he were to think logically. The better choice would be to leave all together and make no contact with people he knew from the present but that would be almost impossible to do because he had no idea how this world work. He can take care of himself just fine, but in a world where lightbulbs weren't even invented yet, that posed to be a problem. From the vague history lessons he remembered, the period he was stuck in wasn't all sunshine and rainbows.
In other words, he was screwed no matter what choice he picked.
To stay here with the semblance of having a brother and ultimately messing the timeline or face the unknown by leaving only to meet his demise at the hands of the harsh lifestyle of the 18th century?
The Northern Irish nation groaned, running his hands through his hair.
God, the impossible dilemma!
He leaned back to the chair, staring at the ceiling. He reached for the necklace under his shirt, his thumb gently running over the little grooves.
In the end, leaving was the best solution as much as he didn't like it. To keep everything and everyone safe. If he were to avoid breaking the rules of time travel, it was the right thing to do.
Besides, Scotland already prepared a ride for him. He doubted the man would suddenly decide to keep him here. From what he gathered, his brother was more than happy to kick him out.
The dream from last night flashed to his mind and North closed his eyes.
Aye, getting out of here was the priority. He was already a risk just been near his brother.
With a renewed resolve, he stood up and grabbed his coat by the bed. A dark brown woollen coat with two big pockets on the front. Mrs. Gibson gave it to him a few days ago, once again telling him it was her grandson's. He felt bad taking some kid's belongings, but she had insisted they don't fit him anymore.
North put it on, taking care of brushing off any lint and adjusted the sleeves. He was saddened he couldn't wear his original clothes but apparently, Mrs. Gibson hadn't had the time to clean them. He didn't have anything in his windbreaker's pockets that could tip him off he was from the future anyway.
Let's just hope the aesthetic and zipper of his windbreaker wouldn't break the time and space continuum. God forbid they managed to read the faded-out wee label of his shirt that revealed it was made in China.
The boy grabbed the basket off the dresser and looked back to his room for the last time. As much it was too fancy for him, it was nice and cozy.
With that thought, North left the room and headed downstairs, the fluttering in his stomach growing with each step. He reached the threshold and stepped outside of Kaerndal Castle. Squinting at the sunny day, he looked around the front entrance. If it wasn't for the damp ground, one wouldn't think there was a huge storm last night.
A few people were lingering by the stables, Hamish being one of them as he showed the newest member of the clan, Andrew, the ropes of tending a horse.
Hamish spotted him by the door, said something to Andrew before walking towards him. The bandage around his shoulder was long gone, but he still kept from making sudden movements with his arm.
"Ready to leave?" Hamish said with a grunt, nodding to the basket he was holding. North nodded, switching hands to keep them from cramping. Mrs. Gibson packed too much food for him.
The man crossed his arms over his chest, looking out at the archway for any sign for the merchant. "If the weather goes well, ye should arrive at the city in a week or so. Yer brother should be there by then."
For a second, North thought he was referring to his brother Scotland, but then he remembered his made-up brother and forced a smile to his face. Yup, can't wait to see Luke again.
Whoever that was.
A second thought came to him and this time, he got a little shy. He never expressed it out loud, but he was grateful for Hamish for rescuing him. Sure, he was grumpy and most of the time complained about fetching North for dinner, but he did save him from that creepy captain.
He should probably say something before he left, it was the least he could do. But how?
Without thinking, the boy thrust his hand out for a handshake but realize a second too late it was the one that was holding the basket.
The man glanced at him in confusion because for everyone, it looked like he was offering a food basket to the man.
So of course, North did the best next thing. He bobbed the basket up and down as if he was shaking its hand instead as he sputtered out, "Thank you for saving me the other day."
To say Hamish looked baffled was an understatement of the century but North went with it, even if his face burned like a furnace. After what seemed to be forever, Hamish snapped out of his shock and scoffed.
"Yer by far the strangest lad I've ever met."
A 'you're welcome' would be appreciated, North thought with a scowl but kept his mouth shut. He didn't trust it to say anything back.
Hamish eyed him up and down before looking away with a roll of eyes. He went back staring at the archway, saying nothing.
As for North, he tried to save the bit of dignity he had left by lowering the basket because he was still holding it out like an idiot. He glared at his boots, waiting for his face to cool down. This moment would forever haunt him, that's for sure.
The clip-clops of a horse caught the boy's attention as he looked up. A cart filled with crates passed through the archway, a man sitting on the front as he greeted one of the guards. He was old, maybe in his late sixties, with a dark grey coat and black trousers. A brown hat sat on long dark grey hair, a puff of beard covering his face.
The horse pulled the cart until it reached the stable and stopped. The man jumped off the cart and patted the horse's neck. He greeted the stablemen present with a wave before heading to the castle's entrance.
"Hamish, long time no see!" The man said with a grin, voice raspy yet warm. "How have ye been?"
"Same as always, Samuel, making everyone's life hell." Hamish said with a smirk, causing the older man to laugh out loud.
"Tha' me boy!" Samuel patted the clansman's shoulder, his browns eyes crinkling in mirth.
"Travels been good? How's business?"
"It's good. Made a good trade with the Mackenzie's. I also brought a fresh crate of parchment for the doctor." Samuel gestured the cart with his thumb. "Reckon he was asking around."
"Aye, he's on a trip at the moment, went to lend a hand to the neighbouring village," Hamish said with a shrug, "he should be back on the next few days."
"Send him my regards for me then, that ointment of his helped my back pains. These old bones need more oil to keep them going nowadays." The old man chuckled, making his point when he cracked his back.
The two men shared another laugh until Samuel caught sight of North. The boy felt himself straightening up, clutching the basket a little tighter. Hamish seemed to realize he was still there because he did a doubletake before rolling his eyes.
"Ach, that's the lad I talked to you about. The one going to the city." Hamish nudged North with his elbow. "This is Samuel Milligan, the main merchant of Inverness and its outskirts."
"Ah yes, Ian told me about him," the older man nodded and looked at North with a smile. "What's yer name, lad?"
This time, North presented the hand that wasn't holding the basket and nodded back, "Seán Killough, sir. It's nice meeting you."
The man cocked an eyebrow at the accent but shook his hand nonetheless. "Irish, aye? Ye wish to go to Edinburgh?"
"Yes, sir. My family lives there, just outside the city. I got separated from my brother after an encounter with bandits." North explained, internally cringing at the cliché story he made up. He gestured to Hamish, "he's the one who found me in the forest. Laird Campbell was generous enough to let me stay until now."
The merchant nodded, his brown eyes sympathetic at the story. "Aye, it can be quite dangerous to wander these parts. Especially now that those presumptuous bastards prance around like they own everything."
Hamish scoffed, crossing his arms as he said, "met a few of them when we found the boy. We took the longer route to get back here so they didn't follow us."
Oh, North realized with a blink, they were referring to the British soldiers he met when he woke up. Yeah, if his history lessons were correct, the relationship between Scottish and English people wasn't at its finest at the moment.
Well… more tense than usual anyway. He can't remember a time they were truly at peace. His brothers were always fighting or arguing over something like some old married couple.
"I'll be more than happy to take ye back to your family then," Samuel said with a kind smile, "I'm going to make a few stops along the way, but we should arrive at Edinburgh in about two weeks. Until then, ye could help me out with the merchandise, how that sounds?"
"I'm more than happy to help, Mr. Milligan. Thank you very much for letting me tag along." North forced a smile, not sure whether to scream at the sky for a two weeks long trip or accept his fate of leaving here for good.
"Ye got everything you need?"
The boy gestured the basket with a nod. "I'm ready whenever you are, sir."
Mr. Milligan patted his shoulder, "Good. I need to do a bit of business here and then we can leave. It's been a while since I've had a passenger with me during my travels. But first, I need to pick up the-"
A set of footsteps approached them as Mrs. Gibson came out from the side entrance of the castle, holding a basket in one hand and a bundle in the other. Her eyes crinkled at the sight of them.
"Mr. Milligan, I caught ye just in time!"
"Ah, Mrs. Gibson, just the woman I wanted to see." The merchant greeted as he took off his hat as nodded politely at her. "How have ye been?"
"All is well, young Jimmy is supposed to arrive with the newest batch of food next month." Mrs. Gibson said as she stopped beside them. She lifted the basket she was holding. "I brought you this too. For the road."
Mr. Milligan sighed almost dreamily, grinning at the cook. "A woman who knows how to win a man's heart, aye? Thank ye kindly."
Mrs. Gibson laughed, forcing a scowl to her face as she waved him off but the mirth in her eyes and the blush on her cheeks said it all. The merchant accepted the hefty basket, giving her his thanks once more. Mrs. Gibson then turned to North, presenting him the bundle.
"To keep you warm on the road, lad." She said with a soft smile. "It gets quite chilly during the night."
North blushed at the kind gesture, taking the thick blanket with him. "Thank you, Mrs. Gibs. Truly. This is more than I need."
A little more and she was going to turn into Ireland. His brother always got worried about the weather and would complain like the old man he was about the cold. The times North was forced to wear like a million layers just to go outside when it was only 10°C degrees was ridiculous.
The middle-aged woman reassured him it was a fine and wished him a safe trip. He all but stiffened when she gave him a bone-crushing hug before letting him go. Mr. Milligan gestured the cart with a hand. "You can put yer belonging at the front. I won't be long."
North nodded, still a little flustered about the hug and quickly headed for the cart. The two stablemen present paid him no mind as he went around the horse who was currently drinking from the trough.
As he set down the basket and blanket on the front seat, the reality of what he was about to do came crashing down onto him. He felt anxiety stir in his stomach as he looked up towards Kaerndal Castle.
This was it, then. He would leave this place and face the unknown for the sake of keeping the timeline safe. He didn't have a plan once he arrived in Edinburgh but he'll cross that bridge when he got there.
A pang of sadness filled his chest as another thought came in. He didn't get to say goodbye to Scotland. Sure, he wasn't the brother he knew but at least it was a familiar face. The least he could do was give his thanks to the Laird for helping him out.
No matter, North took a deep breath, it was better that way. Keep his distance. Less chance to say something he would regret.
"Boy."
North snapped out of his thought as he looked and immediately soured at the sight of Callum. What did he want? From the dark looks and glares he got all week, he was the least likely person he wanted to see. North didn't know what was the man's problem and his hostility towards him. From the first day, there was a constant scowl on the old man's face just like he was doing now.
Callum approached him, nodding in greeting at Mr. Milligan before stopping in front of North. With a terse voice, he said, "The Laird wants to speak with ye."
"Whatever for?" North frowned, though a part of him was happy he would get to see his brother from the past one last time.
"That's an order, no questions asked," Callum said before he turned his back and walked away.
Glaring at the man's back, North sighed and rubbed his face. That didn't sound ominous at all. He looked for the merchant and once he spotted him, quickly made his way towards him. "Um… Mr. Milligan, when are you going to leave? Laird Campbell wants to talk to me."
"That's alright, lad, take yer time," the man smiled, gesturing the cart over his shoulder, "I have a few things to move around. Go on, dinnae keep the Laird waiting."
Thanking the merchant, North begrudgingly followed Callum inside the castle. He grew nervous when the man led him to a staircase by the kitchen going down, wondering what Scotland wanted to say there instead of his office.
They went through a bunch of corridors and North could only describe the place as a basement or even a dungeon with the dark and damp atmosphere. A knot formed in his stomach. Don't tell him they were taking him in a cell filled with torture instruments.
They stopped in front of a dark metal door at the end of the hall. Inserting a key, the man pushed the door open, the groan of the old metal resonating all over.
North looked back at the man and warily stepped inside. He waited for his eyes to adjust with the poor lighten room and found he was in some sort of a kitchen. The place was large with small windows on top of the left side and shelves on the right with two large tables in the middle. A fireplace was at the far end with an armchair chair sitting in the corner. He spotted a cot tucked in the corner by the fireplace.
"This is the doctor's surgery as he calls it. He goes on many trips across the land," Callum said, "Laird Campbell offered this room as his permanent quarters as thanks for his service."
Curiosity piqued by the information, North wandered around the room, now noticing it wasn't, in fact, a kitchen but a laboratory of some sort. From beakers to test tube racks, the room had a pungent smell from the batch of herbs hanging from the ceiling.
A twinge of longing stirred inside him. This place looked like the medieval version of his lab back home. There was even a similar yet outdated distillation display on one of the tables.
"Dr. Graham is a busy man around here. Goes out for days visiting the neighbouring villages." Callum explained, watching the boy skimming through a book with watchful eyes. "Because of that, he rarely uses his workplace but does come here from time to time."
You could tell by the layer of dust gathered on the equipment, North thought with a frown. He always made sure to keep his equipment clean and seeing the poor state the place was ruffled his feather the wrong way. He couldn't even tell what was inside the jars stored on the shelf.
"That's interesting, thanks for showing me, I guess," North said, forcing himself to look away from the rows of flasks on a bookshelf. Any other moment, he would have found this place amazing to explore, curious about the kind of technology they use despite its untidiness but right now, he had other pressing matters. "I really must be going, Mr. Milligan is about to leave."
"He could use some help. You mentioned you have some knowledge for this."
North froze mid-step, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach at the implication. "But I'm leaving."
"No, you're staying," Callum said, and it was then the boy realized the man purposely put himself between him and the door.
"Why can't I leave, Scotland said I could go-" North stumbled back when the older man was suddenly in front of him, staring at him with cold blue eyes.
"You are forbidden to address the Laird in such manner, boy, you call him Sir or Laird Campbell, is that understood?" Callum sneered, eyes narrowing, "And my reason is simple, I dinnea believe a word ye say."
Snapping out of his shock, North glared back as he straightened his shoulders. "Why? Do you believe I'm a spy for the English? Is that why you kept glaring holes to my skull the second I got here?"
What kind of stupid conclusion was that? Of all the things the old man could think was-
"Yer staying, boy."
Like a bucket of ice poured on his back, North stiffened at the voice coming from the door. He looked over Callum's shoulder, finding Scotland's imposing form standing there. For a flash second, horror speared through North's heart because he was staring at lifeless grey eyes.
But then, Scotland stepped inside the room, the sunlight revealing a very much alive expression and no sign of blood on his person. His eyes were cold but alive.
The words finally seemed to register as North snapped out of his shock. "What?"
"Yer staying here."
Everything came crashing down on him when he realized what was going on and North felt his heart racing like crazy. No, this could not be happening. He needed to leave! He can't stay here and risk messing up the timeline. Why the hell would Scotland would-
The boy froze as his eyes widened, gaping at the man. "You think I'm a spy too."
"No, I believe you have secrets," Scotland said as he stopped in front of him, staring him down with dark eyes. "Secrets that could put this Land, this castle and these people in danger but until I know for sure, you will remain here… as my guest."
Without letting him say anything back, the nation turned around and headed for the door with Callum just a step behind.
Snapping out of his shock, the boy clenched his fists and gritted out, "By that you mean your prisoner."
Scotland stopped at the doorway, looking over his shoulder with a smirk on his face. "Only if you try to leave."
With that, the door clanged shut, the click of the lock leaving the message loud and clear. North rushed for the door, knowing it was futile to try the handle as he banged against the metal door.
"Let me go! You can't keep me here!"
Fading footsteps was his only answer and the Laird and his right-hand man left him alone in the basement. North let out a curse and kicked the door in frustration. He looked back at the room, heart pounding as the gravity of the situation finally dawned on him.
He won't be leaving for Edinburgh. He won't be leaving at all.
The boy slid down to the floor with his back against the cold metal door, heart pounding in his chest and hands shaking.
He can't go home anymore.
He was imprisoned by his own brother.
Cardiff, September 9, 1997
Wales was getting worried.
More worried than usual anyway. There was always something to be worried about with him.
Did he turn off the oven before he went to work? Did he bring a second umbrella with him in case the first one got blown away or stolen? Did he refill his toilet paper holder stand? Did he need to pass by Tesco to buy a carton of milk? Did he take out the garbage on the right day?
Such trivial things for others, but very disconcerting for him. His brothers teased him constantly about it, calling him ridiculous or as Scotland dubbed him 'an unhinged overthinker'. They were clearly wrong. He wasn't that. He just liked to be organized, made things easier for his routine.
However, this time he wasn't worried about keeping things in order and he had good reasons. Good logical reasons his brothers were too stubborn to consider.
He swore he was the sanest person in the family.
Wales turned off the tap and grabbed a tea towel to dry his hands, the sink clean of dirty dishes. He went to his fridge, looking at the dragon-themed calendar hanged by little fruit magnets. He read the dates with a frown, tracing a finger over the little notes scribbled down.
The winds were right. It was too long.
It had been three days since he got back from the two weeks-long meeting abroad with England. Surprisingly, it wasn't as catastrophic as he thought it would. He had heard stories from both Ireland and England about how World meetings proceeded, and he was horrified. It was basically World War three.
It was a good thing this meeting was with the Commonwealth members only; he wouldn't have survived the chaotic energy of the whole world.
Although there had been some shenanigans during the meeting such as Australia, despite being the host, decided to let a herd of emus in the conference room, almost recreating the Emu war. Or the heated argument between Seychelles and Barbados on who had the better beaches, almost catapulting chairs across the room if it wasn't for England intervening. Canada actually had to restrain a usually calm New Zealand back from tackling South Africa when he insulted The Hobbit.
Wales had felt offended too, almost gasping out loud when South Africa said it, but he restrained himself by clutching his chair. Because who would dare insult the greatest book ever written in human history.
But overall, it went well as far as a meeting between nations could get.
It was a nice change of scenery, an opportunity to take a breath of fresh air. The tensions were slowly growing between his brothers, so palpable he could cut it through with a butter knife. And he knew better than try to diffuse said tension.
Plus, it felt good meeting his brother's former colonies and catch up with them, not to mention the relief of being recognized and not being asked "Wales? Where is that? Are there whales or something?"
He admired Canada's tolerance at being easily forgotten.
It was on the first few days of the trip when Wales was resting in the hotel room he was sharing with England after an exhausting meeting that he got a call from Scotland. He immediately grew worried when Scotland told him their little brother crashed over his house and refused to get out of his room for two whole days.
Wales had asked questions about his wellbeing, wondering the reason for North's sudden appearance. He hadn't like it when Scotland half-reassured that it was under control and hung up before Wales could say anything else. England tried to call back, but his older brother apparently decided to throw his phone out of the window for he never answered. That worried Wales even more.
It wasn't that he didn't trust Scotland's word, it was just that his older brother lacked… tact shall we say when facing delicate situations. He wasn't the most graceful with words and had a habit of saying the opposite of comforting. And dealing with North was like walking on thin ice.
North had always been a curious child, asking questions whenever he could. He would wonder about an object and test it for himself to see how it worked, something that made his brothers' life impossible. They had to practically hide any screwdriver or tool to keep him from dismantling the radio when he was younger. It got worse when North found his passion for chemistry.
Wales always checked his shampoo bottle to make sure it was shampoo and not hair dye ever since England came out of the bathroom screeching like a banshee when he saw himself in the mirror with bright blue hair.
But nowadays, it was a gamble to guess the mood of his little brother. He was still bright and sharp-tongued, albeit shy when around strangers, but there were times where his temper got the better of him. Bout of anger and bitterness popping out of nowhere. The fact he shared the same stubbornness as the rest of the family didn't help his case.
Wales wished he could help his little brother, but with a delicate matter such as this, where common ground couldn't be found amidst the anger and pain, it was hard. So the best he could do was to offer comfort when needed.
He knew North could take care of himself, but as much as he was a Nation, he was still a child. A fourteen years old boy who seemed to attract trouble the second he stepped into a room.
Nonetheless, Scotland had said North will call him when the boy returned home — a habit they forced North to adopt ever since he forgot to tell them he went on a two days trip for a science conference on his own. He had them looking for him like madmen before he called them to ask how much it was to pay for a hotel room.
But the call never came.
For the rest of the trip in Australia, neither Wales nor England got a call from the lad, not even when they returned home three days ago. Wales had tried to call him several times, but the boy never answered.
It grew even more worrisome when he noticed the winds were acting up, trying to tell him something was off. And he knew better than shrug off a warning from them. As cryptic as they were, the winds knew more than anyone.
The Welsh nation grabbed the phone on the wall and dialled a number, putting the device against his ear as he scribbled down a note on the calendar to remind himself to buy a new lightbulb for his lamp in the living room. He accidentally short-circuited it the other day when he got startled by the mailman knocking at his door.
Wales waited patiently as the rings followed, knowing his brother always picked up in the last second just to spite the caller.
"Aye?"
"Yr Alban." Wales greeted coolly.
"What is it, now?" Scotland sighed in annoyance, picking up on his tone. "Did ye misplaced yer sheep plushie or something?"
He ignored the jab and went on, "Is North still over to your house?"
"That lil' shit..." Scotland muttered irritably over the crackle of the line before saying, "No, I sent him home a week ago. He dinnea called, did he?"
"No, I've been calling him over the last few days, and he… he hasn't answered. I'm getting worried." Wales frowned, pacing up and down the hallway. "Lloegr tried, but it went straight to voicemail. Are you sure he took the train?"
"Of course, he did!" Scotland said a bit too quickly.
"Did you see him board the train?"
There was a silence and Wales knew he hit the nail when the Scottish nation admitted meekly, "I may have dropped him off two hours before the departure."
"Scotland!"
"Wot? Don't blame me, I had a meeting with my leader in the morning. The lad can look after himself. It isn't his first time taking the train!" Scotland argued defensively. "He's just sulking like always. Ye know how he gets after a fight. He becomes a hermit even worse than ye."
The Welshman bit his lip. It was true that North tended to disappear for a few days after an argument or was just tired of their presence. With the situation going on, it was bound to happen more than once. He understood how exhausting and stubborn their brothers can be, Wales himself liked to keep a solitary life though he did try to reach out to them every once in a while.
But North would have eventually answered his call, brooding or not. He knew Wales only wanted to check upon him. And according to Scotland, the fight was a big one. Big enough for North to leave his own house to crash over at Scotland's.
He wondered what the fight was about. He had a few guesses, but a part of him knew it wasn't the usual argument. Something else happened between Northern Ireland and Ireland.
"I'll call Iwerddon, maybe he can have a look," Wales said after a pause. He would find his answers on his own.
A laugh came from the other side of the line. "Good luck with that, Dyl. The reason the twig got here in the first place was because of him."
"I'll manage," Wales muttered before bidding goodbye to his brother. He wished he could check on North himself, but the Commonwealth meeting had him accumulate a pile of paperwork that was due soon.
He looked down at his phone, pressing his lips tight. It would indeed be a hassle to talk Ireland through, especially for what he was about to ask.
Everyone thought England was the stubborn one of the family, but they were completely wrong. Ireland was the epitome of stubbornness. It took a lot to convince him, even more, to change his mind.
Wales dialled Ireland's number and waited for his brother to pick up, the side of his mouth curling up.
Good thing Wales was how his brothers fondly dubbed him: The 'Black Sheep Mailer'.
A few hours later, Belfast, September 9, 1997
"How Wales managed to get his hands on that tape, I will never know, but he bet I'll be whooping his arse soon enough," Ireland grumbled as he parked his car on the driveway. He got out and slammed the door closed with a bit too much force than necessary. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and glared at the two-story light blue house.
This was grand. Really.
Not only he got a fresh new pile of paperwork from his boss about an over-complicated agreement, but now, he was forced to do a three-hours-long drive all the way up to Belfast to check on his pain-in-the-arse little brother. He was already in a sour mood because he was in the middle of reading a 253 pages long bill that was due tomorrow.
Northern Ireland had to decide to be a moody hermit again.
He nodded to a passing family, plastering a smile when they waved at him in greeting. The smile fell right off when they turned around the corner, a scowl on his face at the thought of his morning.
"Why does it have to be me? I have better things to do," Ireland had said over the phone tersely, putting down the toast he was eating for breakfast. "I have a meeting in an hour!"
"You're the closest, Ciarán. You can go after." Wales reasoned over the phone, with a ridiculous amount of worry that made Ireland crinkle his nose in irritation. "It's just a quick look, that's all I ask."
"Oh aye, just a wee look. What if I say no, eh? Will you bore me with a poem or somethin'?" The Irishman rolled his eyes before scowling. "I don't keep track of his every move, Jaysus! In case you weren't aware yet, I'm no longer part of the UK. That's your job, not mine."
There was a silence on the other side of the line, and for a moment Ireland thought the other man hung up but then Wales took a long breath. "The day of Beltane 1983," he said lightly, "there once was a drunk man who danced under the stars and said to himself 'Could I ride the horse statue while wearing a pink stripped-"
"Where did you hear that?!" Ireland choked out in mortification as his face got bright red.
"That's for me to know and you to find out," was all Wales said, the sneaky little bastard. "If you want the tape, all you need to do-"
"You can barely make out the telly," the older brother sputtered in disbelief. "How the hell did you figured out videotapes?"
"- is to check on North. Do we have a deal?"
"You're by far the evilest of evil villains I've ever known. How are you even my brother?"
"I have my ways, Iwerddon," Ireland's eyebrow twitched at the obvious smirk in his brother's voice. "So, will you see-"
"Ceart go leor, ceart go leor, I'll go check on him after my meeting." Ireland sighed irritably, pinching the bridge of his nose and wondering since when Wales decided to act like the eldest brother.
That was his job.
"Pleasure to do business with you, Ireland," Wales said brightly before hanging up.
And that was the beginning of his shitty day. To think the world believed Wales was a gentle-hearted person. Humpf, more like the devil in disguise.
Ireland walked up the porch and rang the bell, tapping his foot impatiently. He swore if North came out of this door right this instant, he'll throttle him for making him waste three hours of his life. He didn't have time for childish tantrums.
The last thing he wanted was to step back inside to the place of their latest fight.
His mood turned even sourer at the thought of it and he huffed angrily as he rang again. He got no answer. Guess he'll go for option two: pound the door until North answered. No need to be polite when you were blackmailed to come here in the first place.
"Oi, Seán, open the feckin' door!" Ireland called out, using his human name in case someone nearby heard him. "Time to come out of your hermit cave. I don't have all day!"
Ireland looked to the sky with an exasperated sigh when he was met by silence and peeked in the front window where the living room was. Either the lad wasn't home, or he was sleeping like a log upstairs, though the latter was unlikely since North was a light sleeper. Unless he pretended to be asleep just to spite him.
"I'm warning you, lad, open up or I'll kick down the door," he warned, giving a few more knocks. "Don't think I'll hesitate!"
Nothing.
"God, you're insufferable," he huffed as he walked over to the window. He felt under the windowsill for the spare key, quickly finding the little magnet that kept the key from falling. He took the key and walked back to the door, grumbling to himself, "I would already be at home by now, having a pint with the lads but noooo, I'm up here forced by my evil wee brother to check on the squirt who won't answer the bloody door. No respect for the eldest, really."
He inserted the key and with a click, Ireland pushed the door open. He was met with the darkened hallway.
"North, are you here? Shout if you're alive!" Ireland called out, closing the door behind him. He looked at the shoe rack, noticing the pair of black converse North always wore were missing. He wasn't home, then. Maybe on errands or hanging at the park though he did spot the lad's bicycle by the porch.
The Irishman checked the living room first and then the kitchen, turning on the lights as he walked by. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, a frown on his face.
He hadn't stayed long after North dramatically stormed out of the house. He left on the same day actually, he too, angry and fuming after their fight. So, after grabbing his stuff and making sure to lock the house, he drove back to Dublin.
Now, he knew North tended to be a messy person, as every young teenager was bound to do, but the fact he still hadn't washed the pile of dirty dishes by the sink was crossing the line.
Didn't he know the number of flies and ants he would attract with that?
With a huff, Ireland opened the window by the sink to let fresh air in and washed the pile of dirty dishes. Once it was done, he left the kitchen to head upstairs. He walked down the hall and with no sense of decorum, he barged in North's bedroom, not caring to knock if the boy was there or not.
Only to find it empty as well.
He looked around the light turquoise walled room, wrinkling his nose at the poor state. North seemed to have a passion for making a conjunction of styles that didn't even match. On one side was the bed with several corny science puns posters taped on the wall. A periodic table was on the adjacent wall, hanged by stickers of molecule structure. Beside the bed was the desk which was piled with who knew what.
On the other side of the room was what he could call the 'rustic' section, with vintage objects such as old hourglasses and WW2 binoculars. There was a bookcase where North kept half his snow globe collection (the other half was on top of the fireplace in the living room) and other weird knick-knacks. There was another desk, a bigger one that was dubbed the 'Amazing Science Desk' according to the little post-it stuck on the desk lamp. A bunch of science equipment took over the surface of the desk, scribbled notes scattered around. From the weak grasp of North's writing, it was something to do with a storm glass.
Ireland felt a flash of irritation run through him. He couldn't believe his old house got turned into a science experiment playground.
He walked out of the room and glanced at the door across the hallway.
God forbid he stepped in where his office used to be which was now transformed into 'North's Evil Lair' as Scotland called it ever since he became the unfortunate victim of a smelly gooey shower. No one dared to comment about his half-shaved hairstyle later that day after a trip with the hairdresser.
For at least five minutes, until Ireland pointed out he looked like he stumbled over a treadmill made of scissors. The bruise on his shoulder for that comment was expected but it was worth it.
Ireland looked at the hooks screwed to the door, spotting a lab coat and a pair of protective goggles. Above the hooks was a note that said: 'Don't be an eejit, ya eejit!'
At least the boy had a minimum of self-preservation, he thought dryly.
He checked the guest room, finding the same way he left it before checking the bathroom. He was met with the same result.
Ireland went back to the living room, ignoring the unpleasant memory of the last time he was here. He spotted the blinking red light flashing of the landline phone on the lamp table and clicked his tongue in annoyance. Don't tell him North purposely ignored that blasted machine? He pressed play and listened to the monotone voice of the machine.
"Eleven new messages. First new message…Hey, Norn, how are you? Just calling in to check on you. You didn't call when you got back from Scotland's and-"
"Stop being a child, North. When one of you calls you, you must answer them. Why haven't you answered Wales or me? I doubt your so-called argument with-"
He skipped the next five, being from both Wales and England, and stopped when a new voice came through the machine.
"Good morning, this is Glasgow's Buchanan Bus Station, and we are calling to inform you we found a backpack under the name of Seán Aindréas Kirkland. If you know any information about the owner or wish to reclaim the belongings, please contact us by the following number 0141 333 3708. All lost items are contained for the next 14 days following this call. Have a good day."
The message ended with a beep as another one started, but Ireland wasn't paying attention anymore as he stood frozen. His mind went racing with questions, not liking where this was going.
He checked the date of the message and cursed out loud at finding it dated back to September 3rd. That was a week ago.
Pushing the knot of worry away, Ireland headed back to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and found there was little to no food left, other than the leftover pizza they had on that evening and two jars of unknown substances labelled 'Test one' and 'Test 24' which made the Celtic nation question the boy's concept of food poisoning.
He closed the fridge and looked around, now the unease feeling turning into alarm. Come to think of it, he noticed the kitchen showed no sign of recent activity, hell the whole house. There were no added dirty dishes to the pile when he washed them, they were the same as before.
He checked the pantries and even the trash bin for clues. Ireland knew for a fact that North always kept his pantry full, either with crisps or sugary cereal but there were always full. Being a growing boy, his stomach was practically a bottomless pit despite eating every few days. But alas, nothing had been moved.
An idea popped up as Ireland rushed to the front door, hoping he was wrong. He opened the door and checked the mailbox.
His heart spiked in anxiety at the sight of the pile of mail. He pulled them out, looking at each of them with more trepidation as realization dawned onto him.
The lad hadn't come back home. He never left the train station.
Ireland looked back at the cold, empty house, heart sinking with dread.
Northern Ireland hadn't stepped a foot in here in the past week.
We finally see the brothers from the present! What do you guys think about the portrayal of Wales and Ireland? Just like in the show, there's gonna be a bit of back and forth between Past and Present, but it's mostly going to be focused on North's adventure.
Welsh:
"Yr Alban" = Scotland
"Lloegr" = England
"Iwerddon" = Ireland
Irish:
"Ceart go leor, ceart go leor" = Alright, alright
Have a great day/night!
Winter