(A/N - The second part of the 6000 word chapter...)

The other countries were in an equally as bad but slightly funnier situation. As soon as Wales was out of sight, America remembered North Ireland's chat in the car. North Ireland was famous for his big mouth and ability to keep a secret for less than 5 minutes.

"Hey England!" England looked up from his half dazed state.

"Huh? What is it?"

"Who is this 'Cumberland the butcher' dude?"

The scene froze as the others slowly absorbed what America had carelessly blurted out. The first one to move was Ireland followed by North Ireland. The reason for that though was because Ireland gripped his brother by the neck and began strangling him and shaking him violently. (Like what England did in the anime.)

"YE EDJIT! Wha' is it with ye and yer big pussie!" North Ireland was rattled like a rag doll uncontrollably.

"B-b-but we…. w-were j-ju-st t…t-t-talking!" His talking was irregular with the constant strangling and shaking.

"That's yer problem! Yer always squawking!" France let go of England and miraculously, he remained standing. He actually still seemed frozen and was a very pale colour. France rushed over and tried to drag Ireland away from his younger brother before this turned into a murder scene.

"L'Irlande! Tu will kill him!"

"Shove oof Frog-face!" America was stunned by the sudden violent reaction from the Irish man.

A sudden burst of heat and light (the dragon's fire breath) from the direction that Wales left stopped the fight as everyone turned to try and see the source. The darkness was too thick to see through so the fight resumed. Ireland grabbed the auburn haired man and placed his in a lock with his hands trapped on his back and Ireland holding his neck with his arm. He tried flailing around in vain.

"Ger oof Ireland! It's hurts!" He whined like a child. North Ireland acted childish, out of his brothers, he was the most immature.

"Nar! Nae till ye learn ta get yer mooth shut!" France sighed and stepped back.

"Nord Irlande… Why couldn't tu keep your le bush shut?..." He tutted and shook his head. America was confused.

"So this dude was meant to be a secret?" Ireland tightened his grip and North Ireland gasped for air a little as he tried to escape his big brother's steel hold on him.

"Non. It'z juzt not really our story to tell…." He shot a look at North Ireland who shrugged a little before gasping for air again. Ireland looked enraged with his younger brother's loose mouth. "It'z Angleterre'z and L'Ecosse'z…" He looked at England who snapped out of his frozen state when his name was mentioned again.

"Uh!... Yeah…" He looked uncomfortable and guilty.

"So who is this dude?"

"Ummm… What did my brother tell you?" America began to list the main points of his conversation, holding up a finger for each new point.

"Well… You were close til the Roman Empire invaded you then you began to fight… Scotland had some sorta of Jack Rebellion?…"

"J-j-jacobite!" North Ireland wheezed out.

"Wheesht!"

"Right! That's it! Then he almost won but then he turned back for some reason…" The two Irish brothers huffed out in irritation at the American's poor recollection of the story. He continued oblivious to their reaction. "… You followed him and beat the crap of him… then you like caught him and gave him over to the butcher dude…" England nodded.

"That's the basic story I suppose."

"Yeah. I just wanna know who the butcher dude is and what he did to Scotland to make him hate ya so much." England sighed.

"I guess I can tell you. If I don't North Ireland will later anyway…"

"No I wo~" He was cut off by Ireland, tightening his grip again and almost wrestling the man to the ground.

A small glare from England was shot at them. France settled back into a relaxed position against Ireland's car, slightly bored looking and very anxious. Ireland would have normally shouted at him to get away from his car but he was too busy, trying to silence North Ireland. England coughed into his hand once to clear his throat (and stall for time). America looked at him expectantly with big blue eyes.

"For a start, this 'butcher dude' was called Cumberland. The butcher part was just his nickname for… well… his cruelty, I suppose."

"Cruelty?"

"Yes. He was very harsh in his suppression of Scottish culture. A lot of Scotsmen and women were killed by him…. They were forced to disband their clans and family and stop wearing tartan, speaking Gaelic and playing bagpipes…" England looked miserable, retelling the story. He looked up to America's face to check for his reaction. America didn't seem to understand how bad suppression of one's culture was. England sighed internally and explained a little. "It's like if someone took away all your Macdonalds, American flags, apple pies and the statue of liberty"

America's mouth made a cute little 'o' shape as he finally understood, which soon turn into a deep frown.

"Anyone who resisted was killed immediately but unfortunately…. The Scottish people take after my brother. They were stubborn about letting go of their national identity but Cumberland was persistent… Scotland was my prisoner at the time. He had a bad injury on his back from the battle so was busy healing in my care… though he was continuously loud and bad-tempered…" England smiled weakly but it didn't reach his eyes. He left out where the injury came from but America already knew. He didn't tell England this though.

"Cumberland decided the best way to break their moral was to break their leader… Scotland… Unfortunately, he didn't know his weakness. Scotland is surprisingly strong and hard to break down. He was questioned and refused to answer, even after… some… torture…" He gulped loudly. America looked a little shell-shocked.

"So he asked me what Scotland valued the most. I didn't think much of it at the time. I answered, thinking it was just some bit of trivial information. I was a little naïve at the time…." His thick eyebrows furrowed. "I told him it was Scotland's pride at never running away… His un-marked back in other words… Scotland was already secretly depressed, after I…. after he was cut on the back during the battle."

France looked concerned and stared hard at the ground. He already knew the story (Thanks to North Ireland again.) but he hated hearing it. Ireland and North Ireland had fallen completely still and silent but North Ireland was still in a lock.

"I went to deliver Scotland's meals like I always do but he was missing. I asked my boss about it but he told me not to worry so I forgot about it. The next day he was also no in his room again. My boss told me to just ignore it again so I did. This happened for a couple of weeks and each day, I became more and more worried about where Scotland was despite my boss's reassurances…. Eventually after a month… he… he… appeared back… in… in…in his r-r-room…" His sentence became broken by hiccups and America jumped back in total surprise when the normally grouchy English man became crying in huge sobs. France looked shocked as well. England rarely cried in front of anyone. His brother stared at him with blank faces. To be honest, they were shocked at the tears but they weren't surprised either. They had seen Scotland after he was released, they had cried too when they saw him…. Especially when he spoke English...

England wiped at the stray tears with the sleeves of his PJs. "S-so-sorry about t-that… It was just thinking a-about it… I-I-I…" He gulped and took in a couple of breathes, settling himself again. His green eyes looked so sad. America couldn't speak, for once, because he had no idea what to say. The only time he had seen England cried like this was at the end of his revolution. He didn't cry for as long though. He seemed reluctant to cry here so his tears lasted a few minutes while his tears during the revolution lasted so long.

He decided to continue, mainly because it was a matter of pride. Once something was started, he believed it should be finished. "S-Scotland was back in his room. I was surprised but a little happy. I acted coldly though… that's how we always acted towards each other…. I asked him a couple of things but he just sat there, staring ahead of him… on a tiny stool in the middle of the room… I was startled. Every other time, I tried to talk to him, he would insult me or yell something at me angrily in Gaelic." He wiped the last tear away. "I-I walked up to him but he didn't move or do anything!" He moved his hands erratically as he tried to convey his feelings. He could still see the picture crystal clear in his mind.

He had just placed the food on the floor by the door and was about to leave, expecting some sort of Gaelic insult to be thrown at his back as he left. He froze when there was no insult. He turned around and stared at Scotland a while but he didn't move. He didn't seem to see him or recognise him. He had seen the pale outlines of the remains of torture on the Scot's forearms and chest, for he wasn't wearing a shirt. They had already faded into light scars. He was an amazingly fast healer, barely marked for more than a couple of weeks before the wound disappeared completely. It always amazed and startled the blonde.

He remembered walking over to Scotland and looking closely at his face to examine it. It had been unusually pale and taunt. His cheeks were hollow and had black rings around his eyes. He thought about how concerned he was for the man's health, and questioning him for when was the last time he ate or slept. The red-hair remained silent, like a statue, which made him very worried at the time. That was when he had noticed his eyes. The brothers all had green eyes but each had a slightly different green apart from the two Irish men who shared eye and hair colour.

To put it simply the Irish men had the darkest green, Wales had the bluest green, England had the lightest green and Scotland had the brightest green.

They were always shining brightly and seemed to glow in the dark. They suited him well as his eyes always seemed alight with life and passion that burned fiercely. The eyes he had looked into weren't Scotland's… They were a dull, depressing green that reflected nothing. The two orbs of green had lost their regular mini flames of light. This was troubling. He didn't like Scotland but he didn't want his brother to be a zombie. He had waved a hand in front of his eyes, searching for any reactions. Usually this would earn a retort and his hands being slapped away in annoyance but he looked like he couldn't even see his hand. His eyes looked so unfocused that he was beginning to doubt if his brother could see actually see.

He moved his messy red bangs from his face to look at them better. 'Are you blind, Scotland?' …Silence…. 'Scotland?...' England circled around him a little, still crouching to check his ears in case he had become was deaf too.

He stopped when he saw…. He lifted his hand to his mouth and a flood of tears forced their ways to his eyes, making him cry involuntarily. He couldn't help it. There was just… so…. so much… blood! The long diagonal scar that ran from his bottom left back to his right shoulder blade, the one he had left on Scotland, had disappeared under the layers upon layers of deep, thick red gashes, criss-crossing. Signs of a whip being lashed against bare skin, of a hot iron rod being hit over and over again on him and of countless different blades slashing continuously covered the entire area of his back. Some wounds were fresh and some were old but none of them had been treated. He gasped for air through the sobs.

'B-b-br-brother!...' It was the first time in a long time that he had called him his brother out loud. He stumbled back a little and ran to the front of his brother. He shook him a little, wanting a reaction.

'Brother!' The man didn't even seem to register that he was moving or that he was being shaken. His brother felt weak under his hands and thin. He slapped his cheeks lightly. 'Wake up! Wake up! Brother!' He sounded frantic.

The red hair man's head flopped forward a little but other than that he didn't respond. England gave up and move to his back again to check out the extent of the damage. If he was human, he would have been died. Scotland seemed dead. He couldn't get over it. The last month when Scotland had been missing, he was actually being… this entire time… a whole month with little food and sleep…

He looked away in disgust. He was disgusted by the state of Scotland's back, by his boss's behaviour and by the fact he had let it all happen. He reached out a thin finger and gingerly stroke the jagged edge of a particularly deep gasp by his shoulder blade. Scotland's eyes widened as a single spark of life and pain shot through his body and eyes. His back had arched backwards as he screamed out in pain. England jumped back as his brother suddenly bellowed. He suddenly leaned forward, resting his head and arms on his knees, still screaming but not as nearly as loud as the first scream. His body was shaking uncontrollably as pain pumped through his body in steady bursts of heated agony. England was shocked. It was the first time he had heard Scotland scream like that or anyone really…. England slid to the floor, watching in stunned silence as the screams quietened down into strange strangled noises then into gurgles and finally into gentle sobs. This was the first time he had seen his brother cry as well… Tears streamed down England's face as he fully absorbed what he had done… This man wasn't his brother...He had let his boss kill his brother… Scotland was suppressed but at the cost of his brother and all Jacobites and resistors who stood up for their culture…

He was horrified with himself.

He stood up shakily and left through the door in a hurry, glancing at his brother who had tilted his head up slightly. His eyes were dead again but they still produced an endless supply of tears. He had argued with his boss that day. His boss insisted that it was necessary. If they ever wanted the Scots to behave and not start another rebellion, they needed Scotland suppressed. And the only way to do that was to crush their country's morals, by whatever means possible….

Of course, he spared the detail description of the scene and simply said. "His back was covered in so much blood….He was beaten until he was dead on the inside."

America looked away suddenly and England felt a stab of pain in his chest. France spoke up suddenly, sounding surprisingly and unusually kind and sympathetic.

"Angleterre… L'Ecosse iz still here and clearly alive. Zat'z all zat countz…" England looked up in surprised at France.

"Frog face…." France continued (unfortunately - he should have stopped at that...)

"Mon Cherie iz strong! He iz okay. I juzt know it! We shall find him. Then me and L'Ecosse have ze passionate night together!"

"FROG FACE! You will not take advantage of my brother while he is injured!"

"Tu are injured too. How about ze troisome?"

"Erse!" A punch from Ireland hit France against the back of his head.

"Ow!" "Stop tryin' ta fool erround with me brothers!"

"Seriously Francy… ye always afta some tail..." North Ireland grinned. Ireland was glaring with his fist raised in a threat. It seems that Ireland released his brother to hit France.

(A/N - A point to be made. Scotland isn't a weakling, he was badly injured when he was capture. He was locked up in a room inside England's fort for a while and was tortured a little. Then suddenly he disappeared from the fort for a month, during which his back was continuousy hit simply to cause pain and scars. He was basically chainned to the wall by his wrists and whipped and whacked repeatably. Things like hot welding rods, spiked whips, maces and swords were used. He had little food and water and wouldn't be able to sleep due to the pain. In other words it was very bloody and horrific. It lasted a month because that was how long it took to break Scotland's will power. England pointed out that Scotland spoke mainly in Gaelic but after that he was forced to speak English. Scotland became better after a very long time but he still loss a huge chunk of his precious culture, including Gaelic.

And yeah... France is a big pervert... Even with his close friends or enemies...

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