There comes a time in every brother's life where things get too great for them to handle. Callum Kirkland, Wales, was by far…by far no exception to this rule. He was such a quiet, obedient boy. He always did what he was told by his brothers, although never really agreed. He took whatever he could endure, and then some. It had to take a toll on him at some point, and that point was right now. It hurt him, every day to live with the UK and sometimes Ireland. Though he had to admit, he enjoyed when his North American nephews came to visit, though this was a very rare occasion. Most of the time, it was Arthur gone to visit or do other things around the world. Which led to the problem of staying, alone, with Scotland. Even Idris (N. Ireland) was rarely ever home, knowing better. But even he could stand up to Alaster (Scotland), though when he did it resulted in fights and leaving in anger.

Now, right this very minute, Callum was being forced to clean the house. He did not complain, however he did slowly get sick and tired of it all. Biting his bottom lip hard, he stood up from the kitchen floor. He heard Alaster snickering at the telly every so often, most likely pissed beyond his wits and a fag in his mouth. Oh how his brother was a lazy drunk…and Callum could not stand it one bit. Especially the part where Alaster would yell at him to get him another ale or a light. But when he was happy, he was fine. Completely benign. Though it was when he was talked back to, or rejected did he get very angry. He was not normally a happy drunk, lest kept that way.

Callum did not turn around when he heard foot-steps come up behind him, or a paid of arms around his waist. He didn't condone it, not at all, but he did not oppose. Allowing his brother to do what he wanted was the easiest way to make it out alive, honestly. Shifting on his hips a little bit, he leaned over to look back at Alaster,

"Must you-"

"Shet ep." The Scotsman snarled suddenly, frowning deeply. Callum normally never caused his big brother any problem…this was such a rare occasion.

"I will not shut up, Alaster. Let me go." he snapped almost immediately. Alaster was briefly taken aback by this outburst. He nearly let go. Nearly. Though he grabbed the other's wrist, and squeezed with a great might. He was getting quite aggravated at the man, he would not stand for this. Not in the least bit. Ignoring the light whimper and struggling from the smaller, he shoved the other into the wall, growling,

"…what the feck did ye say te me?" he snarled, "…Yer grown' a backbone, ain't ye." he looked the other over. He was trying to stay fearless and strong and, oh my how cute it was. It was all a facade, nothing more nor less. He found it nearly endearing his brother was going to such lengths to stand up for him. He was certainly not going to stand for any of this. Laughing, he abruptly smacked Callum, grinning, "Aye…it needs te be broken again." he said softly, touching his cheek lightly. Callum shied away almost immediately, frowning in legitimate, genuine anger. Something that did not quite happen as often as it should, or could.

"Alaster, no." He snapped abruptly, shoving the other away. The drunkard staggered a little, growling, he was screaming at him..but it wasn't anything he cared to understand. It wasn't Welsh nor English, so he simply did not care. "I do not care Alaster!" he screamed abruptly. Then the argument ensued, both parties not even using English anymore, but their own respective languages. Gaelic and Welsh never really came together smoothly.

"I am SICK OF YOU ALASTER!" Callum was the first to break away, but Alaster was the first to throw a punch. Physical fighting was never Callums forte, he did not have the correct physique nor will power to attack. Well, at least when it came to his brother. But why should he ever have to listen to them? What made them so different from Callum? He knew. He knew he was the only one willing of the Kirklands to do their bidding, be their little slave of some sort. He would not have it at all, but the last thing he took was the punch from the drunken man.

Gasping softly, he growled and grabbed the first possible thing he could. It was cleaning solution he was using beforehand, and doused it on the larger. Alaster stumbled back a bit, cursing quite loudly. The fag in his mouth dropping and that was it. He was up in flames within a matter of seconds. Panic ensued the man, and he tried to get it off..but the liquid on his skin and cloths took ablaze in the easiest of ways.

All Callum could possibly do was stare. He could not move his legs to run to help him, or advert his eyes to stop staring at his brother being burned alive. This was not intentional. It really was not. He hated his brother, he did not want them dead. He felt his chest tighten, smelling the flesh burning and cooking. Blistering and peeling. It made him sick, very sick.

Watching his brother drop was the worst part of it. It sounded so hollow, and listless. Was he really dead, though? Though still burning with all oxygen taken from him…was he not a country? Countries did not fall so easily, did they? Tears stung his eyes as he watched Alaster move and shift, struggling to crawl somewhere. The flames turned into nothing and he still smoldered. He was alive. He was a country.

Alaster could not breathe, nor speak. He wanted to die at this point, but this feat was entirely impossible. He wheezed and tried to get anything to alleviate this pain. He managed to stare right up at Callum, pleading silently. And…

All Callum could possibly do was stare. But now, he started to cry. He was completely scared, and had no idea what to do. He knew Alaster was suffering, and needed to die but could not. And he felt nearly ashamed in himself. He could not bring himself to move, or even think about helping Alaster. Somewhere, deep down, he knew that Alaster deserved this. Every last blister and oxygen-deprived second. It still sickened him, stomach churning and bile peeking up in his throat to come out. He did not sob, but tears came out. The home was completely silent. The abrupt sound of Callum running as fast as he could, away from this place. Into his bedroom, or even to the first flight to Canada. He just could not bare to see Alaster anymore.

Arthur can handle it when he got home, couldn't he?

Oh my…sorry for the HUGE delay. But I got this written with a stroke of inspiration. I hope you guys enjoy :3

R&R, even if you reviewed before! It keeps me going! And I need suggestions bros!