Disclaimer: Still don't own hetalia or Scotland.
Chapter 3: Death
The sky was entirely to bright Hamish thought as he glared at the clear blue sky. Rain would fit the mood much better. Today was the day of his mother's funeral. He was only seven years old and he had four younger siblings to take care of. He was just a kid himself. He was busy glaring at the ground when he felt an insistent tugging at his hand.
"Brawd mawr, are you okay? You look like you are about to cry." He did want to cry but he was head of the family now. He couldn't be weak in front of his siblings.
"A'm braw, Dylan. Save yer worry for yerself." He flinched when he realized how cutting his words were. He was probably taking his stress and fear out on Dylan, but the little boy was back to ignoring him. Only Hamish and Dylan were at the funeral, the others being to young to come. Th' twins 'n' Arthur had not stopped crying wanting their mother, but then again the three of them were toddlers and didn't understand what was going on. Now that he thought about Dylan hadn't cried at all not even when they found their mother dead.
"Dylan urr ye okay?" The little boy glanced at him before pursing his lips in his "I'm thinking" face.
"Rwy'n iawn. If I cried, Mam would be sad. Besides, " Dylan got that sneaky little look on his face that always made Hamish worry about what he was up to, "if I cried, brawd mawr would start crying too. And then where would we be?"
Hamish loved his little brother, really he did. But there were times he did want to punch him. The scot's eyes drifted back to where his mother laid and saw they were getting ready to start the pyre. He shouldn't be feeling this way, they already had their time of mourning plus many games and feast were held for his mother so why wasn't he ready to let go? The pyre was ablaze before he knew it. He felt Dylan's hand tighten around his. He was turned to yell at the little boy that he didn't need comfort and was fine, but froze. Dylan hadn't tightened his hand to comfort Hamish, he had tightened because he wanted comfort. The proof was in the tears falling down his cheeks.
Hamish's mind flashed back to the past week, each time Dylan tried to talk to him one of the toddlers would start to cry and Hamish would have to take care of them before turning to Dylan, only to get a "Mae'n ddim," in answer. He sometimes forgot Dylan was only five, given how he acted, but of course he too would need comfort. He hugged his little brother close, stroking the burnt red hair as the little boy sobbed into his chest.
"Neist time, tell me whin yer sad. Even if yin o' th' toddlers ur greetin', ah will tak' care o' ye foremaist, especially if tis Arthur greetin'."
Dylan nodded before hiccuping. Hamish resolved himself to be more watchful of Dylan so that this wouldn't happen again. Beside the only reason he was taking care of Arthur was because he looked like their mother, if he hadn't he would have already given him to the Roman bastard. So if the Arthur had to cry for a while as Hamish made sure to take care of Dylan, then Arthur could, it wouldn't kill him.