What it means to be a big brother

Interesting news


England heard some shouts and some wild laughs over his mobile phone before hearing the voice of an angry and frustrated man.

"Excuse me? Is this … um … who is this?"

Arthur's eyes widened at the question. Shouldn't he be the one asking that?

"I'm sorry but are you a friend of some blond Frenchman?" the voice continued.

Ah. So that's what happened. England sighed.

"Yes I am. (sadly enough) What has Francis done now?"

"Well, him and his two friends are trashing my pub just now. Do you think you could come and pick them up? He says he wants his … um … 'petit lapin' to pick him up. When I looked at his phone record, I found your number under that name."

England mentally cursed. What the hell was the frog thinking? Saving his number under that silly nickname Francis always liked to call him when he was young! England swore he'll touch a word to France as soon as he's sober … a touch with a punch! Just to be sure he gets it!

England thought for a minute. He had a meeting in the next 25 minutes and he wouldn't be able to both take care of that drunken trio and go to the meeting. Although England would love to leave those idiots to their craziness, he felt sorry for the owner of the bar.

"Alright, I'll get someone to pick them up. May I have your address, please?"

After noting down the address, England phoned his older brother. It's a good thing he's in England right now because of the world conference taking place there this week. Usually, he would let England deal with it when abroad but he'd always show up (even if it was just to hang out at the pub and not at the meeting) when it took place in the UK, in London.

"Allo? England?" a rough and gruffly voice answered.

"Hello. You're still in London?"

"Aye, why?"

"Scott, could you do me a favor?"

There was a silence on the other side of the line. Yes, that was very, very, extremely rare for England to ask a favor from anyone but even more so from his older brothers.

"Must be damn important. Ask away!"

"France, Spain and Prussia are wrecking pubs across London. The owner of the last one phoned me to pick them up but I have a meeting in just 20 minutes so could you take care of it for me … please."

Again, another long silence before Scotland burst in laughers.

"That's all? I thought you were dyin' or somethin'! Aye! I'll take care of Frenchie and the other two! Ye owe me one and I won't let ye forget! Have fun at yer meetin'!"

"Yeah, thanks. Bye."


And with that England hung up. He cursed for a minute wondering if it had been wise to call Scotland for that. America was too much of an idiot and anyway, he'd rather owe Scotland than America anytime. Alfred might ask something weird in return like a lunch at his disgusting fast foods! At least with Scott, he'll end up with … with what? Shit. He couldn't even imagine what Scott might ask of him! That was not a good sign. Well … it's not like anyone one else could deal with all three idiot drunk at once. And Scotland knows London better than the other countries so …

England sighed as he picked up his case and left for his meeting. Hopefully, he won't have to regret his decision.

" … Looking sick and sexy fine! So let's go oh oh! Let's go!

Tonight we're going hard hard hard hard hard hard!

Just like the world is ours ours ours ours ours ours!

We're tearing it apart part part part part part!

You know we're superstars! We are who we are! …"

Scotland could hear the three drunken he was meant to collect singing as he got out of his car.

"Can't they at least sing in tune?" he mumbled as the singing grew louder.

When he entered the pub, Scotland barely took notice of the devastated state of it and instead scans the place, looking for his parcel. He saw one piece of it crawling under a table with a wide grin, top less and the rest of his clothes soaked in alcohol, his green eyes gazing into nothingness, and singing while using his empty bottle of wine like a microphone. Another part of Scotland's parcel was dancing on top of the bar, a bottle of beer in each hand, naked with only his boxers left on and his tie tied around his forehead in the midst of his now messy, dirty, silver hair. Finally the last piece of his trio collection, the blond man with a small beard on his chin was lying flat on one of the tables, giggling madly in the midst of his singing, completely naked (yes, without the boxers) and waving around an empty bottle of champagne. One, two, and three … yep, that's all of them. Scotland was about to fetch his required parcel for England when a man hiding behind the bar called for him.

"Are you 'petit lapin'?"

Scotland blinked at him. He understood the French word but … he didn't quite get why this man was calling him a 'little rabbit'.

"I'm sorry?"

"Aren't you the man I talked on the phone with?" the other guy pleaded.

Oh! So that's what he meant! 'Petit lapin'! Yeah, that sounds like something France would call England. Scotland grinned at the thought of England's face when he must have heard that name during the phone call.

"Nah, I'm tha lapin's older brother! He was caught up in a meetin' and asked me ta help him out."

"I'm glad! Could you please get rid of them!" the man almost begged. He looked terrified and was especially scared of the mad Prussian prancing around in his pub, smashing everything. If you think that's bad, go take a look at a Scottish bar in Glasgow, mate! Especially when Rangers are playing Celtic! Now that's a sight of hell!

"Aye! I'll take care of it!" Scotland reassured the Londoner before heading for Antonio.

Scott pulled the Spaniard from under the table and dragged him outside. He left him rolling around on the pavement as he went back in to collect the other two. He managed to drag first France then Prussia (it was harder to get him out) out of the pub to join Spain outside who was grinning while staring at the starless, clouded sky. The owner thanked Scotland as he was throwing the three dumbasses in the back of his car. And they were off; heading for the hotel that was book by England for the world's other countries during their stay for the conference. Scotland had decided to book in another hotel and thus avoiding all those idiots he wanted to avoid. He knew he could have stayed at England's but there's no way that would happen!

Scotland stopped at a red light and glanced at the loud still singing idiots at the back through his retro mirror. Suddenly, out of the blues, France seemed to notice that they weren't in the pub anymore (took him that long to realize?). He fidgeted, looking around for a familiar face and when he saw Scotland, a frown appeared on his half-conscious face.

"Scoooott? Où eeeessssttt mon lapiiiiin!" (Scott? Where's my rabbit?) Francis asked with a rusty voice. Good thing Scotland understood French. It helps that he had once been in an alliance with the frog.

"He's at a meetin' so I'm takin' you back ta tha hotel."

"Quooooiiii! J'veeeeuuuuux moooonnnn laaaapiiiiin!" (What? I want my rabbit!) Francis started crying like a spoiled child asking for his favourite toy.

"Well, he ain't comin'a'right! Deal with it, frog!"

"T'eeeesss paaaaas sympaaaaaa, Scoooott!" (You're mean, Scott!)

"Aye, whatever you say Francis."

Suddenly, Spain started to whine too. He had caught up with what was said as he was coming back to reality and leaving dreamland for drunks.

"Arturooooo! ¿Pooooor quééééééé no estáááááááá aquí! Mi tomaaaaaaate encantadooooor!" (Arthur! Why isn't he here! My lovely tomato!)

'Lovely tomato'? What the fuck was the Spanish bastard talking about? Scotland wondered as the light turned green and he drove off. He had learnt Spanish when Arthur was fighting against Spain during the 16th century. Although it didn't concern him at the time, Spain still was the leading Empire of that century. And even if Scotland would never admit it, he was worried a tiny wee bit about his little brother at the time. But it turned out alright with Arthur beating the crap out of Spain. Scotland decided to ignore the complaining Latins until Gilbert joined the party.

"Waaaaas? Arthur ist niiiiicht gekommeeeen? Waaaaas machteeeer? Der awesoooome ich auf ihn gewarteeeet! Nicht awesooooome!" (What? Arthur didn't come? What is he doing? The awesome me waited for him! Not awesome!) he shouted to the world to hear. "Wooooooo ist mein Vögelchen?" (Where's my little birdie?)

'Little birdie'? Did they all have ridiculous nicknames for Arthur? Scotland also learned German through the two world wars. He grunted. That job was more of a pain in the ass than he had thought. He's going to make Arthur pay him back twice for that! What should he ask him anyway?

Scotland was caught short in his train of thought when they arrived at the hotel. The trio was still moaning, complaining, shouting, arguing, insulting, and whatever else drunken people do. They kept talking about England which slightly peaked Scotland's curiosity … and kind of pissed him off.

It was getting late and Scotland had to bring up to their individual rooms the three drunkheads. It mostly went well, apart from the time wasting and the annoying complaints of the trio. What was wrong with them anyway? Since when was it a law that Arthur had to be the one to take them back to the hotel. If Arthur really was the one who always had to get them all out of the pub each time they get drunk then Scotland will have to congratulate him for not having killed any of them yet. He was now leading France to his room, since the other two were now already in bed.

"A'right Francis, we're here. Gimme yer keys."

But Francis just stared dully at his friend. His eyes seemed a bit sad and his face looked really attractive and sexy when he didn't have that pervert smile. It always surprised Scotland at how different France could look sometimes. Unlike Arthur who tended to look cute no matter his mood (at least in Scotland's opinion!), his moody personality actually brought up his cuteness and sexiness. England always looked attractive (in Scotland's opinion! Aye, he's really proud of his wee brother, but won't ever tell him that) but his change of mood made him sexy in various ways. While Francis was more of … how can he phrase it? France was just so often showing his annoying self that when he actually acted not like a pervert it was hard to recognise him. Scotland waited for France to answer him but instead, he went on a different topic.

"Why does Arthur hate me?"

Scotland didn't know what to say. He could think of many reasons why Arthur should hate France (and just as many for himself) but he knew that his brother didn't hate the Frenchman (although Arthur would never admit that he thought of Francis as a friend) and neither did Scotland. Well, Scotland didn't really hate anyone … except maybe America. He got pissed by people (mostly England) but he never hated them truly. Scotland thought about the best way to phrase his answer.

"Arthur didn't come today because he hates you, he just couldn't come."

Francis' face immediately lightened up … a bit too much for Scotland's taste.

"But that doesn't change the fact that he hates you." Scotland said in a rush as if wanting to prevent something. He didn't know why he said that but he felt relieved when Francis' face darkened again.

"C'mon! Let's get you to bed! Keys?"

Francis handed the keys over and in a half conscious state, let the Scotsman lead him inside his room. He mumbled in French to himself and Scotland lent his ear to the depressed blond.

"Why does he hate me … Does he like someone else? Maybe Antonio? Yeah, probably Antonio. That tomato idiot is always teasing him around to get Arthur's attention … and Gilbert always hangs out with him for beers … maybe it's him … no, it has to be that stupid America! Arthur is always too indulgent with that bastard! And there's Japan too … there really close friends … too close … or China … they even have Hong Kong to link them … yeah, China obviously likes him … why … can't he be mine? Even Russia finds him interesting … that's because he doesn't get scared in front of him but … why are all those bastards around him … and him … who is it he loves …?"

Scotland's eyes widened as the Frenchman dropped dead on his bed and his mumbling turned into snoring. So, that's why? Since when has his little brother become so popular? And with boys none the less! Scotland felt something strange awaken in him, something he hadn't felt in many years.

So, they were all after his precious little brother? Well, that didn't sound too well to Scotland's ears. Maybe he would go to the world conference for once. After all … he wants to meet all the bastards targeting his family. And explain them the rules … his rules.