It's St. Patrick's Day and England decides to give Ireland a little visit. When he goes over to his older brother's house, however, he's met with an awful surprise.

I know I haven't updated in awhile but I've been busy, as usual. At least the next chapter's up, right? Sorry it's a little short again.

I used Google translate so don't expect the translations to be correct.

There might also be some errors in the history of what follows after the Irish War for Independence, and in the description of Dublin. Forgive me if either of these are wrong.

Enjoy everybody!

It was March 17 when England found himself on the ferry leaving Wales' dock to Ireland's. England decided he should visit Ireland even if the man didn't care for the Brit's presence. He thought that maybe Ireland would be a little more relaxed today. It was the holiday of his patron saint, St. Patrick. It was the Irishman's favourite holiday next to Halloween.

The ferry made it to Ireland's port, where England stepped off the boat and started walking to his older brother's house. Throughout Dublin were citizens clothed in green, pubs filled with adults celebrating with tall glasses of whisky, and small children joking about catching leprechauns. It brought a small smile to England's face as he remembered all the fun times he and Ireland had on St. Patrick's Day. Although, they always ended with the two going to the pub and Ireland dragging England back home.

Entering the more rural area outside of the city, England followed the road that led to Ireland's house. The fields stretched for many miles but it was the same beautiful green as it had always been.

It wasn't long before England found Ireland's house and walked up the steps. He was about to knock on the door when he heard laughing. It didn't sound like it was coming from inside the house but outside. England could hear that the laughter was coming from the back of the house, so he followed it.

The back of Ireland's house could barely be called a back yard. All that you could see for miles on end was nothing but fields Ireland farmed on. Everything from wheat to corn to even his precious potatoes grew in his fields. The only part of land that could be considered a backyard was the few yards of grass connecting to the back of the house.

Right in front of the fields, laughing as though the troubles of the world didn't exist, were France and Ireland. France, like England, wasn't wearing his military uniform. He was dressed in his usual designer clothes but with a green belt to avoid being pinched. Ireland was in his very casual clothes: a white button down shirt that was half-way undone, a green under shirt, brown pants with suspenders, dark grey newsboy hat, and black boots. Although, there was something else about Ireland that England couldn't put his finger on.

"Well, if it isn't Eyebrows!" France remarked once he realized England was there. Ireland noticed him too, his cheerful face becoming more emotionless. "What brings you here?"

"Nothing too important, bloody frog. I just thought I'd come over to visit."

"How awful for the Irish Free State to be graced with your unruly presence. Especially on St. Patrick's Day."

"Shut up!"

France chuckled at the irritated blond while Ireland continued to frown. England walked closer to the two but stopped once he was a foot away from Ireland. The last time he came in close contact with Ireland was when the Second World War started, and he asked if the Irish nation would join him with the Allies. Either it had really been that long or he hadn't looked at his brother more closely.

Ireland had dark shadows under his eyes, his white face making them seem darker than they should. His green eyes that use to be full of life appeared dull and withered. His neck was slightly thinner and his collarbone quite noticable. As a small wind blew between them, England could see that Ireland was just as thin through his shirt. He was malnourished.

Where have I seen that before? I know I've seen this somewhere before...

And then it hit England. The dream he had months ago where he saw Ireland in a horrible state...

Oh god... He really has become weak...

"I-Irish Free State... What happened to you?"

"Well, since you don't visit as often, things haven't been going well at my house."

"What do you mean?"

"My economy failed after I became independent. Why do you think I've been working extra hard the past several months?"

"I thought it was because Northern Ireland refused to help you."

"No. Speaking of which, the civil war between us has taken its toll on me. Not to mention this War going on."

The Second World War was getting to everyone. Germany seemed to be having the upper hand much to the Allies' disappointment. It was really stressing France and England out. Both nations used Ireland as a means of escape from the War. France talked to him while England dreamt of him.

"Wow..." England whispered, "I didn't know..."

"It's not your fault."

But it is my fault. If I hadn't of forced you to join, you would've never become this way.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You can't help me anymore, England. You've done enough." Ireland gave him a hated look, his eyes too lifeless to show any other emotion. England felt hurt but didn't let it show. He knows France would love nothing more than to see England upset by the only brother that use to show him love and kindness.

"Would you prefer that I leave?"

"That would be best, England."

England stepped away from his brother, the Irishman's presence becoming unbearable along with his hating glare.

"Okay. I'll leave."

England turned and walked around Ireland's house until he was in the front yard again. He couldn't believe how much Ireland had changed. Physically, he was hard to look at. He was becoming a little crueller with his words. His glares were much worse and left England feeling horrible inside.

How long has it been? How has he changed this much?

For a moment, England wonders if Ireland's war for independence changed him so badly. America wasn't like this when he gained his independence. He refused to be around England and didn't speak to him for quite a while. He didn't resent England or look at him with such hatred in his eyes.

"England!"

The British nation stopped and turned to look at the person who called his name. He was only able to make it a few feet down the road when France came running towards him. England groaned out as he saw his rival grow closer.

"What do you want, Frog?"

"Just to talk."

"About...?"

"Who else?"

England narrowed his eyes at France.

"Are you trying to upset me? It's not going to work."

"Then there's no fun in trying. You're just too stubborn."

"What do you want?"

"How does he compare?"

"What?"

"He looks different from the window, doesn't he?"

England stared at France, his eyes widened. The look on his face said exactly what England was thinking: How did he know?!

"'How did I know,' right?"

England was speechless. He was too shocked he couldn't come up with a good excuse or retort.

"I've seen you sitting in your living room, watching Ireland from your window. You pretend to be working on your embroidery or reading the newspaper, but your eyes always stray to the window."

"Have you been watching me?"

"No. I just see this every time I return from Ireland's house. A little pitiable, don't you think?"

"Your actions or mine?"

"Yours, of course. Care to tell me why you do this every day?"

Of course, England wasn't going to tell France why he watches Ireland. Deep down, England didn't really understand why he did this. It could be because he still can't accept that Ireland's no longer with him. It could also be because his love for Ireland allows him to watch the red-head without anyone judging him. It may be because he's concerned for Ireland's well-being. The man spends most of his time in his fields than he does inside.

"I don't see how it will benefit you," England replied.

"I'm not looking for any benefits. Just an answer."

"I'm a little concerned for him. Is that good enough?"

"If you were concerned, you would've found a way to help him. Not sit in your cozy little kingdom while Ireland struggles to eat."

France walks past England before uttering, "Si vous vous souciez, vous feriez quelque chose." (T: If you cared, you would do something.)

Though France was England's enemy through history, he picked up on some of the French language. He knew a few words here and there to make a sentence. He knew what France was saying without the need to ask him to repeat it.

What does he mean "do something?" What could I possibly do? Besides, it looks like Ireland doesn't want me to do anything.

This St. Patrick's Day didn't turn out as bright as England had hoped. Ireland still showed England a face that was devoid of any kindness. Even worse, Ireland established that he didn't want anything from England. Now it's Ireland refusing help from England and not just Northern Ireland refusing to help Ireland. Ireland is on his own.