"Here Scot, I've brought you a brew. I'm sorry for the mess I've caused." Cian gently shook the Scotsman's shoulder, placing a plaid patterned cup and saucer onto the coffee table while Alistair sat upright from where he lay sprawled out on the couch. The brunette folded his arms across his chest, examining his younger sibling's body language and facial expressions to decipher what the latter could possibly be feeling and thinking in that exact moment in time. Sighing, Alistair stood and approached Cian. The ginger gulped audibly, his mind racing with possibilities of what Alistair may say or do, for he recognised that the nation was still rather cross with him. Instead of a scathing remark, which he'd braced himself for, Cian was relieved to see Alistair reach out and place a hand on his shoulder with a hint of compassion sparkling in his forest green eyes.
"We all make mistakes. What's important is that you own them and, where possible, try to make things right. I can see you've learnt a lesson today." Scotland spoke wisely, earning a small smile from Northern Ireland. Thank goodness Scotland had come round and accepted his apology! That was one out of the three brothers he owed apologies to. Northern Ireland decided to provide Scotland with more space, given he hadn't fully recovered yet, so he nodded his head to the Scotsman and took his leave. The Scotsman chose a biscuit from the plate and demolished it in seconds, licking his lips to remove any evidence.
Alistair sat back down, picking up the cup and saucer, placing the rim of the cup to his lips with a content hum. Arthur found himself violently thrust to one side, finally able to surface and catch his breath, which left him choking hoarsely. However, the sight which befell him made England's blood drop in temperature. The nation saw Scotland sipping at the beverage in which he had been submerged in and right now, he was heading straight for his elder brother's mouth.
"Scot! Hey! I'm here! HEY! Alistair please, please no!" Arthur roared, wailed even, waving his arms around erratically and managing to direct a few lone sparks of magical energy to Alistair's upper lip. Unfortunately, this apparently went unnoticed by the brunette, as did the blond's cry for help. Suddenly, the man found himself awash inside his brother's maw, laying on the slippery appendage that was the Scotsman's tongue. But Arthur had no time to even comprehend what was happening or to formulate a plan of escape as Alistair started to swallow the intake of tea, the Englishman being forcibly pushed to the back of his elder brother's throat. In a blind panic Arthur tried to grab onto anything to put a halt to being unknowingly consumed, but the liquid worked against him and his brother's tongue was much too slippery to get a firm grip on. In a final, desperate plight to save himself, Arthur extended his arms upwards just as he was knocked backwards yet again by a wave of tea, hoping to grab onto Alistair's uvula. This proved futile, as the man's fingers just brushed the bottom of the flesh ball, disappearing down the dark tunnel that was his big brother's throat with an audible gulping sound echoing around him, as though to mock him.
Cian made his way down the hallway, satisfied and relieved he'd managed to make ammends with Alistair. Hopefully, he'd feel much better after some tea and some more rest, fuelling his energy levels so that he could continue to aid Cian and the others in the search for Arthur. Northern Ireland, curious as to what Medwyn and Cathal were up to, decided to cave into his curiosity and pop into the basement to see how things were progressing, where he found Ireland and Wales conversing, with the two engrossed in a large, dust coated leather book whilst chatting about the contents it held.
"Hey, have you found something?" Cian quizzed, a spark of hope igniting in his eyes.
"We think so!" Ireland jumped up, clapping his hands together, sending dust particles flying that resulted in Wales coughing. If we combine these two spells: the all seeing spell and the enhanced eye spell Scot used earlier, it'll grant the user not only enchanced vision but should in theory allow them to see through objects including living things!" Cathal buzzed, fetching a piece of chalk to draw a new pattern on the ground to conjure up magic, he was clearly excited about this breakthrough. Medwyn, on the other hand, remained quiet and simply nodded along with the Irishman's explanation. Cian's heart skipped a beat. There was an increased chance of finding Arthur with such a powerful combination of spells! However, one thought bothered him: if Scotland felt so utterly awful after using a vision enhancement spell, what would happen if it were combined with the 'all seeing' spell? As though reading his mind, Medwyn piped up, "I will be the one the spells will be performed upon, Ireland will be the one casting them on me." Medwyn picked up a small vial of vibrant violent liquid and handed it to Cian. "To avoid side effects like Alistair's, I have just prepared an elixir ready to drink to ease eye strain and have set some aside for Alistair too. If you don't mind, Cian" The Welshman elaborated, stepping into the chalk outline Cathal had drawn and closing his eyes. Cian examined the vial in his grasp, admiring the beauty of its colouration.
"I'm ready." Wales uttered, drawing a deep breath in anticipation of what was to come.
Ireland brought both of his hands together, shut his eyes tightly, and began to chant. All of a sudden, the chalk outline shone a sheer white with beams of light shooting out at the Welshman. Cian, although he was positioned a fair distance away, stumbled backward as he was blinded by the light, shielding his eyes with his arm. This was incredibly powerful magic!
Consuming the last dregs of tea that had gathered at the bottom, Alistair set both the cup and saucer back onto the coffee table and resumed laying down on the couch, blinking blearily as he gradually gave in to his body's demands for rest, his eyes still giving off a dull ache after the use of the spell. Meanwhile, Arthur could only let out choked sobs as he was squeezed down the Scotsman's esophagus. It was so dark he could barely see, with the sliminess and odour stirring a strong sense of nausea. Then, after what felt like a lifetime of being crushed, Arthur was exposed to a deep, elongated moan from the stomach, excited to welcome him. There was no stopping it. England was plunged head first into Scotland's stomach, compressed through the opening of the organ and landing with a wet plop into a bed of tea, half-digested porridge and digestive biscuits. In a state of shock and disbelief at what he now faced, Arthur rose and felt for the walls of his brother's stomach, pounding against the flesh uselessly with punches and kicks and aiming blows of magical energy in all directions. Yet, all this did was result in an explosion of rumblings from the organ, as though it were laughing at the nation's misery. Now what? No one knew, not even Alistair, that Arthur had been accidentally ingested. The blond knew that, as a nation, he would not perish for good but that he would be thrust into a cycle of being digested and revived over and over, doomed to stay put in his brother's belly until he passed through the digestive system.
"ALISTAIR! ALISTAIR!" Arthur screeched, stumbling backwards and falling onto his bottom as the organ jolted in jest with the newest additions that it had to play with. Being consumed by his big brother and rendered trapped inside his gut was the furthest thing England had expected to transpire from his planned day of desk-based work. Above the groaning and moaning of the stomach, Arthur could faintly make out the sound of Alistair's heart thumping and recognised his snoring. Alistair had fallen asleep. Arthur uselessly tried to find someway to escape Alistair's stomach, unable to sit idly by and wait, repeatedly knocked down by the movement of food and drink in the organ. The Englishman knew his fate was in the hands of his brother's, particularly Alistair. All Arthur could hope for now was that they'd deduce he was in Alistair's tummy and would rescue him.
The light died down, the room restoring to its usual lighting, the chalk outline ceased its eerie glowing. Cian removed his arm from his face, blinking hard a few times to adjust his vision. Cathal finished his utterances, opening his eyes and approaching Medwyn cautiously, reaching out a hand to the latter, who remained stone cold in place.
"Medwyn, how're you feeling?" The Irishman tilted his head to one side. Wales opened his eyes and looked at his elder brother, gasping lightly, which concerned both Cian and Cathal.
"What is it? What's wrong?" Cian rushed to Medwyn's side, a million thoughts racing through his brain. Had the spell failed? What if Wales had gone blind? What if the spell backfired somehow and he had reduced vision?
"It...It worked but it's so...creepy...Ireland I can see your heart pumping blood into your veins." Medwyn examined his surroundings, mouth agape in awe. Northern Ireland sighed in relief, casting a look to Ireland, who looked just as reassured.
"Well that's eh...something...let's go and try to find Arthur before the spell wears off. We've not got all day you know!" Cathal smiled warmly, leading the way to the stairs.
"How long will it last for?" Cian rushed up behind Cathal.
"Because we combined spells, it reduces the time it lasts because of how powerful it is. I estimate we have thirty minutes." Ireland theorised, stroking his chin in deep thought.
"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!" Medwyn raced past the pair back into the main home. Ireland laughed, encouraging Northern Ireland to follow as the duo headed up the stairs. Already, Wales had begun tearing the kicthen apart in search of England, shifting and shuffling objects so that he could see through the walls.
"I'll take the dining room, yeah? Why don't you start upstairs?" Ireland suggested to Northern Ireland, walking away before Cian could say a word. As Cian walked through the dining room to go up the stairs, he glimpsed Cathal on his hands and knees looking underneath the table and all of the chairs.
"He's not in here, I'll go in the living room." Medwyn moved in the direction of the living room.
"Careful, Scot's asleep in there!" Cian called from the bottom of the staircase leading to the first floor.
"Got it, thanks." Medwyn responded, waving his hand to Cian as a further acknowledgement of his warning.
Northern Ireland crouched down and started the process of examining each carpeted step in search of his brother, tenderly brushing his fingers along the fabric. Cian had barely gotten to the second step before Medwyn emerged from the living room, as pale as a ghost, stumbling into the dining room. The look on Medwyn's face made Cian's stomach turn. Something was wrong. Had Medwyn found Arthur? If so, why did he not simply announce so or have him in his possession? Was Arthur hurt? Cian rose and swung around the corner into the dining room, where Cathal was attempting to coax Medwyn into revealing what he'd seen that had him react in such a manner.
"What is it? What did you see?" Ireland placed both hands onto Wales's shoulders, a serious glint in his hazel eyes. After a brief pause, where Wales could only open his mouth and make short sounds in place of words, the Welshman finally blurted out what he'd found and nothing could have prepared Cian or Cathal for what he disclosed.
"Arthur...in Alistair..." Medwyn stammered, panting heavily, eyes wide and wild in alarm.
"What? What do you mean?" Cian stuttered, perplexed as to what Medwyn could be referring to. Did he mean by Alistair? Maybe Arthur had crawled into one of Alistair's trouser pockets?
"He's in Alistair...in his stomach...I saw it..." Medwyn spoke again, fighting to remain composed.
"Medwyn are you sure-" Cathal did not finish his sentence before Medwyn shook off the hands placed on his shoulders harshly.
"Of course I'm bloody sure! I've just seen it!" The Welshman cried out, resulting in Cian letting out a choked cry.
"Ok, ok I believe you! We need to work out what to do now." Shocked, Cathal placed his head in his hands and began to think of the different possibilities of how they could proceed. But he hardly had time to even process what he'd been told before Wales interjected once again.
"What to do? We need to wake Scotland and make him stick his fingers down his throat is what!" Medwyn strutted into the living room, tears threatening his eyes.
Scotland shifted in his sleep, an arm draped over his abdomen and the other covering his eyes. The trio descended upon him, with Wales anxiously gripping the brunette by the shoulders to wake him.
"Scot! Wake up right now!" The Welshman demanded, his voice breaking with fright and his hands trembling terribly. Alistair cracked a single eye open, adjusting the position of his arm so that he could see who had disturbed the blissful dream he'd been submerged in. Behind a panic-stricken Wales, stood Ireland and Northern Ireland, Northern Ireland was crying while Ireland did his best to console him. The sight of this unnerved Alistair, causing him to bolt upright.
"What's going on? What's wrong?" The Scotsman looked to each of the brothers for answers, an uneasy feeling engulfing his chest.
"We found Arthur... we combined the spell you used earlier and this one..." Medwyn trailed off, opening the book and holding it up so that Alistair could read the pages of the spell they'd used to see through all things in a bid to find Arthur.
"Oh at last! Took us long enough, right? Where is he?" Alistair inquired, his relief short lived as it was not reciprocated or shared by any of the three surrounding him. What was going on? Had something happened to Arthur? Why did they all look so glum and...scared?
"He's in your stomach, Scot. You ate him" Wales forcibly choked out, the words sticking in his throat in the form of a large lump, which made Northern Ireland turn to Ireland and bury his head into the latter's shoulder, muffled cries emitting from the ginger. At first, Alistair let out a short laugh, shaking his head from side to side at this poorly executed joke. However, it gradually became apparent that this was no joke, the realisation hitting Scotland like a truck.
"...You're serious?! Wha-How?! Oh god! SHIT!" Alistair sprang up from the sofa, clutching his stomach. Instantaneously, the Scotsman shoved two fingers down his throat to make himself vomit, desperately praying this would bring up Arthur.
Alistair's eyes streamed with tears as the sound of retching filled the dead silence that occupied the room. Cathal dashed out of the room and returned with the washbasin from the kitchen sink, handing it to the Scotsman as Medwyn and Cian could only stare on, frozen in place. Ireland awkwardly rubbed Scotland's back in a circular motion, instinctively crinkling his nose when a stream of sick expelled from the brunette's mouth and splashed into the basin below. Coughing, Alistair continued to vomit, feeling his stomach churn as he did so, discreetly grateful that Cathal was by his side to console him. Wales, now defrosted, moved closer so that he could swiftly retrieve Arthur once he was puked out. It was unpleasant, to say the least, to view someone vomiting from the inside and Medwyn had to fight the urge to gag. Northern Ireland remained fixed to the spot, hiccuping and crying, the guilt that manifested feeling too much for him to bear.
"There! He's out!" Medwyn cried out, clapping his hands to draw the spell to a close along with the mumbling of a phrase in an ancient language and, flicking his wrist, sending a spark of magic into the basin, which served to collect Arthur and deliver him to the Welshman's palm. A shared breath of relief was passed by all present, a semblance of happiness lighting the space. Cian rushed over to Medwyn's side, straining to see the pea-sized Arthur rendered unconscious in the country's hand, while Cathal handed Alistair a tissue from his pocket and continued to rub his back as the Scotsman let out a low groan, refuse dripping from his chin as he clung onto the basin.
"Let's return him back to normal size before anything else happens!" Medwyn didn't wait for a response, instead spinning on his heel and sprinting down to the basement. Cian, Cathal and Alistair, basin in hand, pursued and observed in anticipation as the Welshman carefully laid the Englishman onto the project table, having used his unoccupied arm to clear the table, sending books, pages and bottles flying to the ground. Then, Medwyn procured the pint-size bottle of antidote he'd whipped up from a nearby shelf, steadily using a pipette to place three drops of the green gloop onto Arthur. At first, nothing happened. Then, it all unfolded at once. In the blink of an eye Arthur resumed to his normal size, wearing a coat of vomit and saliva and completely out cold.
"We did it!" Cathal cheered triumphantly, his hazel eyes shining brightly. "We should probably clean him up and put him to bed, eh?" The Irishman suggested, earning a collective nod of agreement from the others.