Author Notes: Lately I've developed a liking towards Scotland and his bullying characteristics towards England (Although I understand England more since I'm the younger sibling in my family and the constant target of bullying). It's great; brotherly love and bonding. I had shepherd's pie for dinner tonight hahaha. And apologies for the lack of accented dialogue – I can't really do any of that amazingly fancy stuff and I find it hard to read otherwise, so I've stuck with good ol' English.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or anything related to it.

It was an absolutely gorgeous day. Everything seemed in harmony as all four brothers sat leisurely on the large balcony, enjoying calm serenity. The sun was quickly setting behind the darkening tree tops, buckets of reds, oranges, purples, blues and yellows tossed across the skies, staining them in colourful shades of warm and cold colours. The wonderful weather was infectious – England had been able to revel in a full day without being targeted by his brothers and on the other hand, his brothers were equally chipper, making pleasant small talk with one another like an ordinary family and taking comfort in one another's presence. Even Scotland who had the worst temper was in high spirits without the tobacco and ritual sipping of whisky; heck, he was even humming softly to the tune of Auld Lang Syne, a definite sign of contentment.

What could England ask more for than this? A nice day spent lazing around with his brothers who are actually acting like a proper family to him and a day where France decided not to charge into his house and do whatever he does. But he knew this magical experience would be short lived come tomorrow. He needed to tell them but he just couldn't find it in himself to destroy such an amiable atmosphere; or in other words, dig his own grave. Literally. He needed to wait for the opportune moment to tell them and that moment was not now – later would be better; or so he told himself over a million times already today when he considered letting the cat out of the bag. But no, later was better.

Not long after, dinner time arrived. As if to add to this brilliant day, Ireland was cooking, not England or Scotland. Dinner consisted of a rare treat of a dish called Dublin Lawyer that uses expensive ingredients such as lobster accompanied with barmbrack, a type of traditional Irish bread, a simple potato soup and for dessert, a refreshing blackberry sorbet. They didn't talk much at the dinner table but as England set his spoon down after finishing his serving of the sorbet, he knew there was no better chance to confess than now.

"Could you all listen to me for a minute?" The blonde started awkwardly. The trio looked up from their desserts. Now that he had their attention, England didn't quite feel like continuing. "Well… In truth… Actually…" He couldn't look at his brothers' faces.

"What is it? Spit it out, kid." Scotland raised an eyebrow.

Oh dear God. The one person who he didn't really want to address spoke up. "The thing is… Tomorrow…"

"Keep talking. What about tomorrow?"

"You can tell us anything." Ireland said.

"This better not be anything serious…" Wales sighed.

Regardless of the encouragement which only made England even more nervous because of the oddity of it all, England breathed deeply. It was do or die; although in the end, either way, he would still end up dead. "Tomorrow America's coming over to play for the day." He stated as clearly and loudly as possible, pronouncing each word with precision.

An eerie silence hung in the air as all movement stopped and the air seemed to ooze and drip all over England. There, he said it, now he'll die. Personally, he knew Ireland and Wales wouldn't have cared but the largest obstacle was Scotland – his eldest brother unquestionably devoted much of his undying hatred to America. When asked why, Scotland would explode into a rant, complaining about just how loud, inconsiderate, boisterous, uncultured and annoying America was. Dare he think it, but England thinks that Scotland's hate for America probably outweighed the hate Scotland especially set aside for him. As he glanced from Ireland to Wales and from his third eldest brother to Scotland, he could already picture his death scene.

Oh there would be so much gore. A bagpipe would probably be involved some way or another.

Shockingly, the auburn haired man's face lit up like a light bulb, his smile so dazzlingly sweet that it made Wales spit out his water and Ireland drop his spoon. England just stared. That smile looked so genuine it was worrying.

Today truly was a miracle.

x. x. x.

The very next morning, it seemed God's grace had left. It was pouring outside and crackles of thunder and lightning marred the sky, the clouds grumbling in rage. But that didn't upset Scotland's jolly good mood. He could not wait for that irritating self-centred brat of a nation to come; just he wait! Being the generous and charming man he is, he had a surprise planned for America. The Scottish man had spent majority of his night plotting away, concluding the session by praising his own ingenuity. Nothing could possibly go wrong when he had taken into account every single detail. After America leaves, he'd have the rest of the day to bully England and lecture him for being so ungrateful particularly after he had bothered to be so kind to him yesterday. It sounded like a delightfully busy day for Scotland. Of course, none of his plans would have any impact on how he would treat America or England presently or in the future.

The day wore on as per usual except England was constantly within a metre's distance from America; be it dashing down the hallways, playing mock warfare with wooden soldiers or enjoying afternoon tea. If not for the terrible weather, Scotland had no doubt that young little America would trample all over the lovely garden and England's most loved roses. It was hard to find a chance to set the first half of his conspiracy for America into action with England around but an opportunity opened itself up when England had no other choice but to go take a phone call and by the sound of it, it was going to be long. He had hid his hair under an oversized hat the entire day so far because he had secretly dyed his hair blonde and now was the time to put it to use. Scotland entered the drawing room casually after ruffling his hair so it was like bed hair.

The dirty blonde child playing with the wooden soldiers looked up and smiled like the sun, "England! You're back!"

Scotland darkened his scowl and twisted his lips into a sadistic smirk, "Wipe that grin off your face. I'm so sick of you smiling like that, having not a single worry in the world and letting me carry all the responsibilities of taking care of you. Do you know how much money you've made me spend? Keeping France away isn't cheap you know."

"England?" America stopped building his castle from the multi-coloured blocks lying around. The faintest beads of tears formed in his azure blue eyes and his chin started quivering.

"You know what? I've never liked you. I'm only taking care of you because if you were to become part of the British Empire, I would become invincible! You're nothing but a tool, America." Scotland scoffed. He bent down to America's level and stared him in the eye as he toppled the building blocks over with an easy flick of a finger, "You're such an eyesore."

The sniffling soon gave way to America's loud cries, tears dripping from his face and staining his clothes in large drops like the rain outside. Covering his ears, Scotland shouted over the boy's crying, demanding the boy shut up and stop crying. "B-b-but…" In between sniffs and sobs, America managed to squeak out, "England d-doesn't like m-m-me anymore!"

Scotland opened his mouth to say something but was cut short when America latched onto his arm. For a tick, the Scottish man's heart softened and he considered apologising to the youngster, America's small physique and cries reminding him of when he threatened to abandon a very young England in the woods all by himself after defying everything he told the blonde to do. But before he could do anything else, his vision flipped itself upside down, the room spinning itself and his sense of balance and direction completely overthrown. When everything righted itself, he heard a loud crack of something breaking and then felt immense pain as his back, leg and arm tingled in fiery waves of agony. Scotland shut his eyes, bit his lip and tried to swallow the pain; it would not do to publicly express his pain in front of his younger brothers – he had an image and reputation to keep!

But it didn't end there.

America was still crying, wailing even louder than ever, bawling like there was no tomorrow, still religiously chanting the phrase 'England doesn't like me anymore' as he continuously slammed his petite balled fists at Scotland's left ribcage. Something cracked again. Scotland scrunched his face up.

He couldn't hold it in anymore. The Scottish man shouted as loud as he could, "England, get in here right – Argh! Jesus bloody Christ! America, you bampot, leave me alone!"

x. x. x.

"That was such a stupid thing to do, Scotland. Moreover, I can't even begin to comprehend why your scheme half worked when you have such a heavy accent…" The blonde jabbed innocently at his brother's bandaged right arm.

The ginger haired man swore at the touch and glared daggers at England. "That brat will be your downfall I tell you! He'll come in the middle of the night and tear you to shreds with his bare hands, giggling like some retarded mass murderer!"

Wales attempted to prod Scotland's bandaged ribs but stopped when his brother snapped at his finger and tried to bite it, growling like an undomesticated dog. Ireland stood at the end of the bed, shaking his head, "You two are definitely brothers."

"What makes you say that?"

"England broke his arm, collar bone, nose and jaw from getting thrown face first by America because he scared the kid with a mask."

"When I asked you about it, didn't you say you fell down the stairs?"