A/N: This story follows the idea that nation's can die physical deaths, however they are able to heal and are resurrected. To officially kill off the personification of a country, the country itself must be destroyed.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers or its characters.

"Somme. The whole history of the world cannot contain a more ghastly word."

-Friedrich Steinbrecher

France

15 January, 1916

Rain poured from the French skies and onto the desolate scene that had taken over the once placidly beautiful country side. Smoke and smog clung to the air, staining it gray and creating a blinding haze. The rain had covered the ground in a layer of thick mud which sucked on the dull weapons and dead bodies that littered the ground of No Man's Land. The definite feeling of eminent death crept upon those who were unfortunate enough to have survived the earlier line of attack. Two enemy trenches faced each other while their soldiers took temporary shelter behind their protection.

Arthur Kirkland sat on the ground with his back leaning against the wall of the trench. The rain pelted his face but he ignored it. His eyes were focused upon nothing as his mind struggled to take him elsewhere. His British army uniform was stained with mud and blood, and was torn in various places. Its recently wetted fabric clung to Arthur's skin, numbing him to his core with cold. But Arthur Kirkland didn't care. One had neither the time nor the energy to care about such trivial things during this war. Instead, he allowed his body to slacken as he tried to wonder off to the safer world of his imagination.

Arthur was not alone in his dismal state of being. He was surrounded by his fellow soldiers who had their share of misery and torment. Every sign of life was drained from their facial expressions, and not a single spark of hope existed in the trench. Not one soldier could remember the last time that he had laughed or even smiled. The concept was now foreign to them.

Black and gray were the only colors that decorated the trench and its surroundings, overpowering the other colors. The stench of rotting death beleaguered the air and caused one to gag with shock at its overwhelming power. Shock of which the soldiers were all too accustom.

None of the soldiers attempted to speak with each other. Each man kept to himself, remembering better times, thinking of the future, or just embellishing this rare moment of peace. It would be all too soon before they would be on the attack again, and each soldier was making the most of what could be their last moments of life.

Eventually Arthur stood himself up and made his way over to a sheltered table. He didn't notice the rain had stopped its assault on him as the small, make-shift roof covered him. Instead, he pulled out a small, worn, and now damp piece of paper from his pocket, and gently spread it open on the table. He directed his attention on the ironically neat scrawl that was his brother's hand writing.

Arthur,

How are you holding up? It's been a while since you have responded to any of my letters, but seeing as how I haven't received any letters informing me of your death I'm assuming you're still alive. Dylan, Cailean, and I are keeping things under control back home, so don't you worry yourself any about that. We're all worried about you. Hell, even Seamus has been trying to get information about your well-being, so write us up as soon as you can, you git. Even though we may not have experienced the trenches yet, we know what they're like, and the thought of you spending day after day in them has us concerned.

Allistor

The letter from Allistor had not surprised Arthur. His brothers wrote to him several times throughout the past several weeks, and he had not responded to any of them. He didn't need to send them stories of the horrors he saw in the trenches. He reread the letter several times, his guilt increasing each time. Every part of him wanted desperately to return home and to see his brothers again in person, but he had no control over his present situation. He needed to reassure his brothers that he was as fine as one could be during this war, and that he would return as soon as he could. Sighing with defeat, he reached into his pocket again to reveal a piece of ill-treated paper and a pen. He immediately set to work.

Allistor, Dylan, and Cailean,

I am dreadfully sorry for the tardiness of this letter. You all deserve better than that. I am holding up fairly well, but I can honestly say that there have been better days. I'm currently in France, and it seems that as of late the weather knows how to do nothing but rain and snow all the damn time. The conditions and constant threat of death that lurk in the trenches and on the fields is alarming, but I've somehow managed to make it this long with only a few minor injuries. The strain this place has on one's mentality is unbelievable, and I am constantly wondering when exactly I will be able to get a full night's sleep again. I am hoping that this will be soon, as the French Commander in Chief, Joffre, and my own Commander in Chief, Sir Douglas Haig, have devised a plan that I believe will result in a hefty British victory.

Various units of the French army were scheduled to join with units of the British army and take down the Germans at Somme. Unfortunately, the Germans have all but dominated the French army at Verdun, so the damn frogs have abandoned us to finish this attack on our own. I'm not overly concerned, for the place will be heavily bombed before our arrival, and will result in the destruction of the German trenches and, hopefully, the Germans.

I'll write to you all as soon as I am able to again, however I am unsure of when that will be. I hope you're all well, and I send you my best. Please give Seamus my thanks for his concern, and assure him that I am alright.

Arthur

Arthur read over his letter again before carefully enveloping it. He addressed the envelope neatly, taking a brief second to stare longing at the letter's addressed destination. He felt a flash of jealousy that he directed towards the paper in his hands, but his glare was quickly interrupted by the shouting of a fellow high ranking officer. He hastily tucked the letter into his pocket before gathering around with the other soldiers for further instruction.

London, England

11 February, 1916

Dylan stood outside of Westminster Palace as he waited for his brothers to arrive. He held an abused envelope in his hands, and his emerald eyes carried a bored expression as he observed the people walking by. He kept his back straight and his shoulders back, giving him a quiet, authoritative aura that suited him well. The wind gently brushed his shaggy, dark blond hair, causing it to tickle and lick at his pale skin.

The Welshman glanced at Big Ben as he decided to check the time. He sighed as he realized that his brothers had caused him to be late for their meeting with their Prime Minister, Herbert Asquith. As he began grumbling curses towards his brothers, he heard their familiar bantering.

"He's going to blame me, you know. And it wasn't even my fault!"

"Och, stop yer whining, Cailean! It's nae 'at big ay a deal."

Dylan snapped his head in the direction of the Irish and Scottish accented voices. Allistor's flaming red hair immediately caught his attention as his earlier indifferent expression turned into a lazy scowl. This earned him a smirk from Allistor and a grin from Cailean. Not one of them had ever been able to completely master Arthur's signature scowl.

Of the brothers, Dylan had always been the quietest. He never needed to say much, and had always been capable of conveying his thoughts and feelings in the most subtle of ways. He had something of a soothing effect on people that seemed to ground them when they needed it most. He was almost a mirror image of Arthur, however he was slightly taller and his blond hair was a few shades darker than his younger brother's. Dylan was the second youngest of his brothers.

Allistor was the oldest of the Kirkland brothers, and his height never failed to confirm this. His flaming red hair mirrored his fiery temper, and, like his brothers, he had emerald eyes and heavy eyebrows. He was rarely seen without his cigarettes, although he would never admit to his addiction. While he appeared to be the most indifferent of his brothers, he was by far the easiest to anger, and usually resolved conflicts through physical means.

Cailean was the second oldest of the Kirkland brothers. He had shaggy, dark red hair that almost appeared to be brown. Freckles decorated his pale face, and he was almost always seen with a crooked grin gracing his lips. This was one of the many traits that he did not share with his twin brother, Seamus. Of the brothers, he was the least concerned with customs and mannerisms, but practiced them nonetheless.

"You're late," Dylan stated. Allistor shrugged, brushing off Dylan's comment. The Welshman sighed before turning his back to his brothers. Together, they made their way into Westminster Palace. They walked in a comfortable silence until a flash of white tangled in Dylan's hands caught Cailean's attention.

"Dylan," Cailean started, "what are you holding?" Dylan's eye widened in shock at the question. He had completely forgotten. He stopped walking, keeping his back to his brothers. His sudden reaction immediately grabbed their attention. Cailean's smile fell as he sensed his brother's earlier attitude fall.

"Dylan?" Cailean asked, uncertain. Dylan jerked around to address his brothers. He offered them the abused, unopened envelope.

"It's from Arthur."

That was all that was necessary to say before Allistor snatched the envelope from Dylan's grasp. In one swift motion, Allistor had ripped the envelope open and hastily unfolded the letter. The familiar, elegant handwriting adorned the paper. Cailean and Dylan gathered around Allistor as the three brothers greedily read the letter.

The three brothers continued to stare and reread Arthur's message several times before they finally met each other's eyes. A heavy silence filled the air as they each searched for the right words to say. Unable to take the silence any longer, Cailean allowed his first thought to tumble from his mouth.

"At least he's alright."

Dylan and Allistor stared intently at Cailean, as if searching for some hidden answer on his expression. Cailean shifted his gaze to the ground, feeling the eyes of his brothers drilling into him. Much to his relief, Dylan ripped his gaze from him and stared off at nothing in particular. His eyes clouded over as he allowed his memories and emotions to take over. Allistor, however, continued to stare at Cailean in an almost sarcastic disbelief.

"Dae ye really think 'at he's alrecht ower thaur, Cailean?" Allistor growled. "Ye think 'at he's ower in th' trenches gardenin' wi' th' Germans, dae ye? Dae ye really think 'at thes experience hasnae hurt heem in some way?" Cailean's eyes continued to stare at the ground as a slight blush adorned his pale face.

"I was just saying at least he's not hurt or…" Cailean's voice trailed off as he found himself unable to finish his thought.

"Dead." Dylan said bluntly. Allistor and Cailean looked at him, slightly shocked. Dylan rolled his eyes in agitation. "Leave Cailean alone, Allistor. He's not suggesting that Arthur isn't doing anything over there. He knows as well as you and I what our youngest brother is facing. Now pull yourselves together. We have a meeting to attend and our arrival is already much too late."

By the end of the meeting, and a short lecture on the importance of timeliness, Allistor, Dylan, and Cailean left Westminster Palace with mixed feelings. The meeting had consisted of a discussion of the current state of the United Kingdom, its future, how to maintain relations with current allies, and, much to the Kirkland brother's shock, the idea of sending Allistor over to France to join the British troops on the front line. By the end of the evening it had been decided that in late April the Scotsman would be sent over to a small British regiment near Albert, France, where the attack at Somme was to take place. Allistor agreed with the hopes of finding Arthur.

Albert, France

1 July, 1916

Arthur marched at the head of several British soldiers as they carefully approached the No Man's Land of what appeared to be an abandoned battle field. Several chills ran up and down Arthur's spine; however he ignored them as his usual stoic expression hid his worry from his fellow soldiers. Something didn't quite feel right to him, and he was unable to explain what exactly it was.

The sky was the usual haze of gray, however it contained a darker hint that indicated that rain was soon to come. The early morning sun was tucked away behind the impending clouds. The air was still with the absence of wind, and, like every other place Arthur had seen before during this war, the foliage and landscape had been completely destroyed. Death tainted the atmosphere, however Arthur and his soldiers continued forward.

It was eerily quiet, far too much so for Arthur's liking, but he continued leading his troops on. The quiet stretched on until the sound of a nearby explosion caused Arthur to come to a dead halt.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded to no one in particular. A heavy pause followed Arthur's question, but this was soon interrupted by the sound of another explosion.

Several more explosions continued after the first, shaking the ground beneath the solders' feet. The sound was deafening, and instantly caused Arthur's adrenaline to spike. Before he was able to completely understand what was happening, the sound of gunfire joined the chorus of explosion. All around him, Arthur's soldiers were falling, screaming, and firing back at the enemy. Arthur pulled out his gun and joined in the blind exchange of bullets. His eyes glared with determination and frustration as his men continued to fall.

It didn't work, he thought. How could our plan have failed?

He briefly noted that the German trenches seemed to be untouched by the storm of bombs dropped just a few days before, and the German soldiers seemed to be holding out as well as their trenches. However Arthur was not one to allow intimidation and fear to take control of his focus, and he didn't even so much as flinch when the man next to him fell screaming to the ground.

Finally finding his legs, Arthur began sprinting towards the German line, firing at as many German soldiers as he could. He smirked to himself as he noticed he had knocked a few down. As he refocused his aim, he felt a searing pain rip through his leg. He stumbled and cursed as a bullet lodged itself into the calf of his right leg. He took a sharp breath of air before he continued his sprint, ignoring the blinding pain in his leg. He raised his gun and fired several more bullets at the German trenches; however the German soldiers returned his fire. His body flinched and recoiled as five German bullets shot throughout his torso.

As the pain coursed through his body, Arthur collapsed onto his knees. His body trembled and shook, shocked at its sudden abuse. He hung his head and wrapped his arms around his rib cage, dropping his gun in the process. He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that in No Man's Land, but when he finally looked up he barely saw several more bullets before they pelted on him. Then, everything slowly turned black as he felt himself fall in slow motion to join his fallen soldiers.

London, England

18 July, 1916

Cailean meandered up the driveway to Arthur's manor. He had been walking aimlessly throughout London, taking in the sights of his brother's capital and reflecting on his thoughts on the war. Allistor had left a few weeks before, leaving Cailean and Dylan with nothing but dread as they now worried about not only their youngest brother, but their oldest one as well. Neither of them knew when the time would come for them to join their brothers and citizens.

When Cailean reached the front door, he entered the manor. He and Dylan had been staying in Arthur's home while he was fighting in France in order to attend what had become regular meetings with their government. As Cailean stepped into the entrance hall, he immediately sensed that something was wrong.

"Dylan?" Cailean called. "I'm back." He did not receive a response. Cailean took a deep breath to rein in the small amount of panic that had risen in his chest. He told himself that he was being silly for worrying and that Dylan had simply not heard him as he took the stairs and followed the hallway that led to the library. Dylan typically did his work in the library, and usually shut the heavy wooden doors when he did. When Cailean reached the library, he was relieved to see that the doors were firmly shut. He gently knocked on the wood before slowly opening the door.

"Dylan? Are you in here?" He called. His eyes scanned the library and found his brother sitting at the desk. His face was paler than usual, and his eyes were wide open. Shocked disbelief glazed over his eyes as he stared blankly at a sheet of paper on the desk. Dylan didn't seem to have noticed Cailean's sudden appearance.

"Alright, Dylan, you're freaking me out. What is it?" Cailean said as he walked over to the desk. Dylan jumped slightly as he finally noticed his brother's presence.

"Cailean? When did you get here? Never mind, sit down. I need to tell you something," Dylan mumbled. Cailean gave him a quizzical look before pulling up a small chair to the opposite side of the desk. Dylan stared at him, making no move to speak. Cailean felt his nerves reaching their limit as he squirmed in his chair. Just as he was about to demand Dylan for answers, the Welshman spoke.

"Do you remember Arthur mentioning the plans for the attack at the Somme River near Albert?" Dylan asked.

"Aye," Cailean answered cautiously. He felt his stomach drop as he immediately disliked the direction the conversation was heading.

"I got a letter from Allistor today," Dylan continued. His eyes continued to hold their glassy glaze, and his expression still seemed to be unable to rid itself of his shock. "It didn't go well for the British army. The men in Arthur's regiment were almost completely wiped out, and the fighting is continuing. It has expanded beyond Albert and along the river with no sign of stopping."

"And what of Arthur?" Cailean asked. "Is there any news of him?" Dylan met Cailean's eyes. They held their eye contact for what felt like an eternity, and Cailean understood everything that Dylan wanted to tell him. In that moment, Cailean mirrored his brother's shocked and disturbed expression.

"Arthur's dead," Dylan answered aloud. The room started spinning, but Cailean held onto Dylan's eye contact. It seemed to be the only thing keeping him together. "Allistor found his body after the battle spread beyond Albert. He explained the extent of Arthur's injuries, and it will no doubt take some time for him to recover. He was completely mutilated. Allistor is with him now, and is bringing him back to London. Seeing as how this letter was sent about two weeks ago, they should be here soon."

London, England

22 July, 1916

Allistor struggled to keep his heavy eyelids open as he fought off the sleep threatening to overpower him. The driver of the hearse shot him a concerned look, but the Scotsman gave him no notice. Instead, he refocused his attention to the passing scenery of London. He was glad to see the familiar city after spending the past few weeks in France. That time had been hell, and he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt as he imagined what Arthur had lived through.

Allistor's English brother was currently resting peacefully in an ornate coffin in the back of the hearse. The driver had found it odd that no funeral would take place. He had been told nothing of the dead man in his car aside from the fact that he was a high ranking British officer who died in France, and that his brother was bringing his body home.

As the car pulled into the driveway of Kirkland Manor, Allistor gave a small smile as he saw the figures of Dylan and Cailean standing anxiously on the front steps. As the car approached them, his smile disappeared as he saw the complete looks of dread on his brothers' faces. The car came to a halt, and the driver looked expectantly at Allistor.

"Here we are, Sir," the driver said. Allistor nodded, and let himself out of the vehicle. He was immediately pulled into a hug by Cailean.

"Thank God you're okay," the Irishman said, "and thank God you found him." Allistor kindly returned the hug before the brothers broke apart. Dylan and Allistor gave each other a small nod before the trio made their way to the back of the hearse.

The driver had opened the back doors, and the brothers stared at the coffin. The dark, polished wood gleamed in the sudden lighting and they could make out the intricate carvings in the wood. It was a glorious death bed, reserved for the most important of people.

The Kirkland brothers and the driver worked together to lift the coffin out of the car and into the manor. The driver was once again struck with confusionwhen he was told by Dylan that they would be bringing the coffin into the master bedroom. The action bewildered the driver, but he complied nonetheless. When the work was finished, Allistor paid the man and showed him back to the front door. When the Scotsman returned to the bedroom, the brothers set to work on removing Arthur's body from its chamber. As they slowly began to open the lid, Allistor hesitated.

"Wait," he said. Dylan and Cailean looked at him expectantly. Allistor looked each of them in the eye. "Just prepare yourselves." With an understanding nod, the three lifted the lid.

Cailean immediately cried out as he jumped back from the coffin, and even Dylan felt a tremor assault his body. Lying on the plush red padding in the coffin was Arthur's mutilated body. His skin was pale with a tint of blue, and bruises and scratches adorned his cold skin. He was still wearing his military uniform, and several dark red splotches announced the areas where he was shot. Dylan was sure he quickly counted no less than eleven throughout his body, a majority on his midsection. A single bullet hole had been drilled on Arthur's forehead. His body lay still, lacking the need for oxygen. His eyes were shut, and he carried a peaceful expression on his face. Dylan was at least grateful for the fact that the body of a nation never decomposed when killed. He painfully noted that Cailean couldn't bring himself to look at Arthur.

"He looked a lot waurse when I foond heem, sae I'm takin' 'at as a guid sign," Allistor spoke beside him. Dylan nodded in response, unable to take his eyes off of his younger brother. Together, he and Allistor lifted Arthur's body out of the coffin and gently placed it on the bed. Cailean quickly left the room.

"How long has he been dead?" Dylan asked.

"I reckon it's bin about twenty-tae days noo." Dylan frowned.

"Shouldn't he have at least woken up by now?" he asked. Scotland shook his head sadly.

"Nae, it was aweful, Dylan. Fer th' British soldiers, 19,240 dead and 35,493 woonded on July first aloyn. I hae nae idea whit those numbers ur noo, but th' battle is continuin'. When it will reach its end, I hae nae idea."

"Shit," was all Dylan said in reply. He sighed in defeated, running his fingers through his hair. He then turned to leave the room. Allistor shot him a quizzical look.

"I'm going to get some towels, hot water, and some clean clothes. We can't leave him like this," Dylan said. Allistor gave a half-hearted chuckle.

"Ugh, what?!" Dylan snapped. Allistor shot him a smirk.

"Ye love us, dornt ye? Even though we pit ye through sae much hell," Allistor said. Dylan rolled his eyes, but smiled.

"Yes, yes. Now wait here. I'll be right back."

A Scotsman ran through a now deserted battle field, scanning the ground for the sight of a familiar face. He could hear the battle continuing further down the river, much too close for comfort. Arthur's unit had fought here earlier, and Allistor had an unsettling feeling in his gut. He prayed that it was indigestion.

He froze.

Unruly blond hair poked its way out of the mud, its owner unmoving. Allistor ran over to Arthur's body. The Englishman was lying on his stomach, his face planted in the ground. Allistor quickly rolled Arthur onto his back. Mud and blood covered his little brother, and his eyes looked outward, blank and unseeing. Allistor knew there wasn't any life in those emerald eyes. He muffled a choked sob as he gently placed two fingers onto Arthur's neck. When he lacked a pulse, Allistor finally allowed his silent tears to spill. He cradled Arthur to his chest, rocking slightly.

"God damn it, Arthur," Allistor choked. "Those god damned krauts."

He carefully closed Arthur's eyelids and ran his fingers through his brother's matted hair.

"My little brother."

Allistor continued to rock Arthur gently as he dug his face into Arthur's hair. Sobs shook his body.

London, England

18 November, 1916

Dylan filled out his paper work diligently, casting occasional glances at Arthur as he did. After Arthur's body had returned to Kirkland Manor, Dylan had moved his desk into Arthur's bedroom so he could keep an eye on him while he worked. Allistor and Cailean joined him throughout the day.

Arthur's body had slowly healed over the past few months, much to the relief of his brothers. However they remained concerned with the fact that he had still yet to awaken. It rarely took the personifications of countries months to recover from a physical death. Nations healed quickly. Allistor waved off Dylan's concern whenever the Welshman approached him on this subject. The Scotsman would quickly assure him that he was tracking the battle, and that it had yet to reach its end. Allistor was sure that when the Battle of Somme was over, Arthur would return to the living.

Dylan leaned back in his chair and sighed. He allowed his pen to slip from his fingers and onto the desk as his arms went limp. He picked up his glass of water, taking a small sip before setting back on the desk. He ran his fingers through his hair, and looked over at Arthur. His brother's pale body lay unmoving on the bed as it had since July.

But then Dylan saw it.

It wasn't much, and at first Dylan was entirely sure that he had imagined it. He rubbed his groggy eyes before refocusing his gaze on Arthur's hand. Sure enough, he saw it again.

A twitch.

That was all he needed. He ran to the doors of the master bedroom, carelessly flinging them open and shouting down the hall.

"Allistor! Cailean! Come quickly!"

The Welshman then ran into Arthur's bathroom, scanning the room for a trash bin. After finding it, he seized the small object before running back into the bedroom. Allistor and Cailean barged into the room not a second after.

"What?" Cailean asked, his eyes alert.

"Arthur's waking up!" Dylan exclaimed. This grabbed the attention of his brothers, and they eagerly watched their youngest sibling.

After several anticipated moments, Arthur had still yet to move. Allistor's expression turned into a concerned glare, and Cailean began to shift uncomfortably on his feet. Dylan just continued to observe Arthur, suddenly wondering if he really had imagined the whole incident. After a few more moments, Allistor addressed Dylan.

"Are ye sure abit thes, Dylan?" Allistor asked. "Why dae ye think he's wakin' up?"

"Yes, I'm sure! I saw his hand twitch!" Dylan defended. Allistor softened his gaze.

"Look, Dylan," Allistor began. "Yoo've bin workin' a lot lately. I think 'at maybe ye shoods jist go and get some rest ur some-"

"No!" Dylan snapped. "I know what I saw!" They glanced back over at the bed.

Another twitch.

Dylan sighed with relief as Allistor's eyes grew wide and Cailean leaned forward excitedly.

"Do you have a bucket, Dylan?" Cailean asked, suddenly concerned.

"Yes, I've got it," Dylan replied knowingly. He and his brothers had been through this enough times to know how it worked. He repositioned himself at the side of Arthur's bed, readying the trash bin. The brothers waited in heavy anticipation.

Suddenly, in one, swift motion, Arthur's upper body sprang up from the pillows and swallowed a giant gasp of air. He took two more greedy gulps before Dylan grabbed his head and forced it into the empty trash bin. The Kirkland brothers grimaced as Arthur retched into the bin. Dylan noticed a glance of scarlet.

"Allistor, grab a towel from the bathroom. Cailean, there's a glass of water on my desk. Fetch it, please," Dylan calmly demanded. As Allistor and Cailean followed Dylan's orders, Dylan sat on the bed next to Arthur. He rubbed his hand in soothing circles on his brother's back as Arthur continued to clutch onto the bin, vomiting blood.

Cailean returned seconds later with the glass, and set it on the bedside table. Allistor returned with the towel, handing it over to Dylan. Arthur's body shook as he struggled to find his breaths rhythm.

"Deep breaths, Arthur," Dylan instructed. "In through your nose and out through your mouth. Do it with me. Ready?" Dylan inhaled slowly with his nose, holding the air for a second before steadily releasing it through his mouth. Arthur struggled to mimic his brother, but eventually was able to match his pace. He kept his face looking into the trash bin, eyes closed, as he clutched onto the object. As he gained control of his breathing, his shaking stopped.

After several minutes, Dylan offered Arthur the towel. The Englishman took a few more steadying breaths before slowly lifting his head up. He squinted at the bright lighting of the room and decided to keep his eyes shut. Dylan gently pried the trash bin from Arthur's grasp and replaced it with the towel. Arthur lifted the towel up to his face and wiped away the blood that dripped from his mouth. Allistor grabbed the trash bin from Dylan, carefully avoiding looking inside of it, and placed it out of the way by the bedroom door. He would dispose of it after he knew Arthur was well.

Arthur slowly opened his eyes again, blinking at the light. Dylan handed him the glass of water, and Arthur greedily drank it.

"Slow doon ur yoo'll be sick again," Allistor told Arthur to no avail. The water was gone within seconds. Cailean took the empty glass.

"How do you feel?" Dylan asked. Arthur turned his head to look at him.

"Much better, thank you," he replied, his voice dry. Cailean quickly went to the bathroom sink to refill the glass. He handed it to Arthur, and Arthur quickly gulped the water down. When he finished, Cailean took the glass from him again. Arthur then proceeded to climb off of the bed. His feet found the floor, and he swayed slightly before steadying himself. Once securely on the ground, he began to stretch his muscles. His bones cracked and his movements were stiff.

"Do you feel alright?" Cailean asked, watching Arthur help his blood flow throughout his limbs.

"Yes, I feel great," Arthur said, continuing his stretching. "How long was I out for?"

"Almost five months," Dylan replied. Arthur stopped and furrowed his brow in confusion as he looked at his Welsh brother.

"Five months?" he asked, not quite believing what he had heard.

"Well, four months an' eighteen days if ye want tae be technical about it," Allistor replied, raising his eyebrow as he watched Arthur's reaction. The Englishman stared in complete horror at his brothers.

"I've been away from the war for four months and eighteen days?!" he demanded.

"Aye," Cailean said cautiously. "You were quite messed up, brother."

"Cailean's right," Dylan continued. "You were shot several times. You needed to recover." Arthur shook his head in disbelief, a look of self directed fury on his face. He then raced over to his closet, searching desperately for something. Cailean sighed in annoyance.

"What are you doing, Arthur?" he asked. Arthur ignored his brothers as he continued his search. He emerged from the closet a few minutes later with a large, now filled, trunk. He then proceeded to look around his bedroom.

"Where is my uniform?" he asked the small crowd. His brothers gave each other worried glances.

"Arthur, you're not going back yet," Dylan stated. Arthur turned to glare at him.

"Oh? And what makes you say that?"

"Och, I donnae know. Hoo about th' fact 'at ye waur dead until about ten minutes ago?" Allistor replied. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Never mind, I'll find it myself," he said. He quickly left the room to search throughout the manor. Cailean addressed his brothers.

"What the hell is he doing?" Dylan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"He's being unreasonable, that's what. Someone should go stop him," he replied.

"He won't listen," Cailean said. "He's too stubborn and you know that."

"Well he'll kill himself again if we don't do something," Dylan snapped. The Kirkland brothers continued to bicker until Arthur reappeared in the room holding a folded, British military uniform.

"I've managed to reach Asquith to tell him that I've," Arthur voice trailed off as he searched for his next words. "That I've… woken up. I'm to return to France tomorrow. He'll arrange for me to be picked up at 7:30 tomorrow morning."

"Arthur, 'at is ridiculous!" Allistor snapped.

"He wants you to go back too, Allistor," Arthur replied, ignoring his older brother's comment. Dylan then walked over to Arthur and placed his hand on his shoulder.

"Arthur," he began. This earned him the Englishman's attention. "Do you have any idea what the British soldiers have been through? What your soldiers have been through? There have been over 350,000 British casualties at the Battle of Somme alone. I really do think you need to rest for a few days."

"Do you think that I don't know that, Dylan?" Arthur replied bitterly. "Do you think that I can't feel it? Of course I should rest for a few days, but I'm not. This war can't be won by resting. Besides, I'll have plenty of time on the ship over to France for resting."

"Arthur, that's not the same and you know that. Please stop being unreasonable," Dylan said.

"I have to go back. My soldiers need me. My people need me. I cannot leave them." Dylan stared at Arthur for a long moment before finally nodding his head. He knew he would not win this argument and that Arthur had officially declared it to be finished. After a heavy minute, Arthur began to collect his belongings again.

"Well, I suppose 'at I'll jist hae tae keep a close eye oan ye, willnae I?" Allistor replied with a smirk. "Seein' as hoo I hae tae go back too an' all." Arthur scowled.

"I don't need you to babysit me!" Arthur snapped. Then all annoyance disappeared from his face and was replaced with a soft smile. "But thank you. All of you."

"What?" Cailean asked.

"For finding me. For taking care of me. For worrying."

"Jist dornt ever let me fin' ye like 'at again," Allistor replied. Arthur's smile expanded as he chuckled and shook his head. Dylan and Cailean helped Arthur and Allistor prepare their things for the next morning. Once finished, they prepared dinner and ate, talking and laughing as they appreciated the simple feeling of being together and healthy again. While they didn't know what the future would hold for them, and while neither Arthur nor Allistor could promise a safe return home, they simply pushed all thoughts of the future from their minds. They could worry about it later. Instead, they enjoyed each other's company and enjoyed the rare moment of happiness that they had found in the midst of the Great War.