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“I don’t need to be babied.” England said annoyingly, nursing his headache by pouring himself another drink. “Don’t see why you needed to travel to the other side of the world for something so humdrum.”
Wales took the glass from England right before he could take a sip. “The letters I have gotten from your bosses said you’ve been drinking a lot more than usual.”
“Bloody snitches,” England mumbles, raising the side of his nose in disgust. “It helps me fall asleep.” England vaguely said before he went silent.
“I’m not trying to baby you little brother. I’m just worried ever since what happened at the ports of H-” Wales cut himself off once his brother glared at him, but continued onward. “And well...have you looked at yourself in the mirror. What you are doing is not suitable for your body.”
“My body is just fine!” England hollered and Wales sheepishly looked down at his feet.
England had a problem, Wales tells himself, always seems to be the first to try the newest and latest stimulant, not even pregnancy could stop him. Remembering the story of how England needed to meet up with some merchants but was so high didn’t realize he entered active labor hours ago. Reasoning with himself, that the pain he was feeling was usually national pain. Once he did realize his grave error, he hid behind a massive pile of wooden crates. Even worse, he was still high as a kite and was just the first of many irrational decisions he made that night. Lifting up the concealed blade from his boot, England’s hand shook right before he plunged the knife into his torso.
Later, Chinese port officers opened and investigated the warehouse after complaints of screaming. Following the screams of a baby. The officers not only found a newborn with an umbilical cord still attached to the placenta laying on top of a heavy coat and wrapped in a white shirt stained with amniotic fluids, but England. Hiding in the shadows, he pulled and rearranged his guts that seemed to spill out onto the floor and exclaimed to them, “ Not to worry gents, I can put everything back together in tip top shape. ”
By some miracle they were able to bring him to a medical facility to semi patch him up. Doctors, nurses, and surgeons all questioned if he really did this or by a feral animal’s claws, judging from the animistic tears that opened his torso. The officers all showed the medical staff their wounds that he inflicted on them, once they tried to get the sobbing newborn away to safety.
After England’s bosses, caught wind of what happened, they decide to send their nation on a wild goose chase across his empire’s colonies to see how they are fairing, instead of letting him rest in his own home. Weeks later, they sent Wales to get a report to see about England’s health with the underlying message to see if he’s gone mad enough to act on them. Of course a nation would rarely attack their bosses, but they still fear he would snap against them somehow.
“Look, I know your bosses have barred you from reentering your home. But maybe you can stay with me.”
“Stay?” England said in disbelief “In your nation?”
“You make it sound like my country is awful.” Wales pouted.
“No. No. Your country is just...different and besides I don’t want to trouble you. I’ve got some things I need to take care of.”
“Well, then I shall stay with you until you feel okay.” Wales warmly said, opening his arms up preparation to hug him. However, England leaned back and responded bitterly, “Fine, do whatever you want.” Wales was saddened by his baby brother's touch avoidance reaction but returns a smile and gives England a soft pat on the back. “These things take time,” Wales told England while reminding himself as well.
As night fell did they into their own beds letting the cool night lulling them to restful sleep. When suddenly...
Something was here , Wales quickly thought the moment he opened his eyes. A magical sensory skill he developed from interacting with specters and ghosts.
Something was wrong , the being in the room didn’t feel like any of his magical friends back home. Quickly, checking off the list in his head of what to do in this situation, he planned to grab the gun stored under his bed.
Something was definitely wrong ! His mind was sharp as a tack but his body remained heavy, like it remained under a sleeping spell. Desperately, Wales couldn’t even lift a finger. Internally panicking over something on his chest pushing the air out of his lungs. Then felt eerie finger like tendrils creep their way to...
No.
Trying to shake his head in disbelief.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
No.
NO!
His eyes watered when he felt a brutal force penetrate him. Green iris shook in terror as Wales felt something invade him repeatedly. Unable to shout or hold something tight, disgusted at the boiling built up in his own lower region.
Forcing himself to escape into his mind and recall...something. Anything, songs, hymns, landscapes, spells, recipes, friends, family, betrayal, hatred, pain, war...
Anything!
Anything was better than this.
Anything was better than this reality.
And it was done. As to what was done to him, Wales couldn’t comprehend. Everything jumbled in his head so far off that he didn’t know whether or not his body regained the ability to move. Only one word seemed to describe how he felt overall; used.
This didn’t happen.
It didn’t happen.
It didn’t happen.
It didn’t happen.
It didn’t happen.
It didn’t happen.
“You’ve been spreading your jam around for two minutes now.” Wales jumped a bit by his own brother’s voice that his knife broke the bread in half. Looking up, he sees England drinking his tea across from him at the table.
Since when did I enter the kitchen? Wales thought before asking, “Um, sorry were you saying something?”
“You seem out of it today?”
“Oh...sorry.” Wales only managed to say. There was a long uncomfortable silence before England broke it with a cough then said, “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“Oh?”
“About me moving in with you so I am closer to my home.”
“Oh yes,” Wales frantically said, “Let’s do that. In fact, let's do that right now. I'll go get my things.” Leaving his uneaten breakfast in favor of getting his things and before leaving the kitchen Wales heard England telling him.
“Good I don’t want to lollygag about. My bosses hired spies writing every detail I do and I want to go before they figure out I left weeks ahead of schedule.”
Wales huddles closer to England as they walk through the busy town street,. At some points he wrap himself around England's arm or torso or burying his head near England’s coat collar.
At a point on the docks England asks his brother, “Why are you being so clingy today?”
“Just a headache.” Wales painfully responded. His headache worsened as England conflicted and successfully argued his way onboard the ship. Moments later, the ship lifts up and the anchor leaves the port and England watches as it grows smaller in the distance. Turning to his brother, England saw Wales, eyes closed, continuously trying to rub out his headache.
“You know. Not many nations can handle being away from their nation’s for too long.” England said sympathetically.
“Why is that?” Wales questioned.
“Well,” England rings his fingers together trying to think of the words to describe it. “we are a collection of our people. Sometimes being away from that collection of those thoughts and beliefs and entering a space with another collection of people that see your nation differently can be...mentally…” England's eyes widen over his older brother’s sudden sickly appearance “Wales? Wales! What’s going on-” But a terrified England stopped himself.
Wales felt some liquid coming from his nose and was about to ask England what is was. However, his voice was lost when each of his frantically coughs filled his mouth with blood. Everything started to go dark and he continued to cough his lungs out. The last thing he heard was, “Turn this bloody Goddamn ship around!!!”
Miraculously, Wales wakes up in a clean cool bed feeling a million times better. He would have continued to sleep if it wasn’t for the frantic whispers. Slowly sitting up, he saw England sitting in a wooden chair at the corner edge of the bed, with his hands on his head talking about something.
“What happened?” Wales said.
“I’m sorry.” England said not able to remove his hands from his eyes. Shaking his head in utter disbelief. It will be mere moments before a tearful England could look him straight in the eyes “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault!”
Wales wonders why England is sobbing until he slowly starts to explain Wales’ bodily reaction on the boat and what is developing inside him. Turning pale, Wales covers his mouth to prevent any vomit from leaking out when he sprints for the door. England follows him outside and sees Wales puking out next to a tree he was stabilizing himself with.
“Big brother?” England timidly said.
“H-how...am I...supposed to give birth?” Wales turned and said to England panicked.
“Well, nations do, in a sense, physically represent all of their people. Including genita…”
“This is not happening. This is not happening.” Anxiously, Wales looks at his stomach as his arms wrap and unwraps around himself. Call him an idiotic romantic, everybody does, but he always imagines if the opportunity arises to create life it would be out of love.
Not this...not by...not though…
Wales vomited again and somewhere in the middle he started to cry, then sobbed to the sky after he was finishing retching. England slowly patted his brother’s back. Whispering, “it will be okay,” repeatedly. It’s the only thing he can do after he just Wales why it’s physically impossible to get rid of it and the only one he knows that can ease this situation was sobbing his eyes out. After an hour Wales started to settle down, both brothers laid against the tree and away from the vomit. England finally spoke something also besides the hallow phrasing.
“Remember when you visited me in the Americas and commented on how sweet Alfred was.”
Wales sniffles, “Yeah.”
“Well, think how extra sweet the child will be coming out of you.” England awkwardly said trying to make things less worse but it only seemed to cause Wales to continue sobbing.
“Look, you can’t change what happened. But…You can take care of it, l-like your lambs back home.”
“A baby is not a lamb!”
“No, but unlike a lamb they can grow and learn and they look up to you with such love. Remember, how you were with mum, it’s like that but reverse. Try to remember.”
Wales sniffles, he had always looked back fondly at his mother and how she took care of them. How they were all a family. How they were all free to show care and love.
Love?
A concept forbidden in the unwritten law of his kind. Short lives mean less chance to feel the suffering cries of his people caused by the aging hands of foolish rulers playing God and by his own brothers.
Only to reserve his love for animals and creatures who he saw raise families and children of their own.
Maybe he did feel a pang of jealousy when America would toddle up to England with a huge smile on his face.
Maybe….Maybe, he could have that too.
Care for someone that just wants love and he can give that love freely. That feeling warmed something in his heart. A feeling that would help him cope with the next couple of months of his body and mind continuing to betray him with aches he never knew he could get and his mind spiraling further than he knew was possible. On days like that he opted to just sit in a wooden chair for hours just looking distantly out the window and softly signing Welsh lullabies while rubbing his stomach. But even that short peace was ended by hearing his brother shrieks and colorful swears. Walking out, he heard his brother yelling and flooding out what looks to be an apologetic English immigrant’s explanation.
“England?” England quickly stops to look at his brother in a military stance with his arms behind his back.
“Oh, good afternoon Wales.”
The English stranger’s eyes opened wide and made another quick apology before fleeing. Meanwhile, placing his hand on his stomach as a form of anchor, Wales descends down the stairs.
“Nothing, it’s just...” England crumpled up the letter behind him before changing the subject, “sheite from work. I... h-have you thought of any names?”
“Oh.” Wales thinks for a moment not about the strangeness of the situation, “Hmm, well I really do like the name Rhys.”
England held his brother’s hand with his own free one. Squeezing it slightly then looking at him started into his eyes with a determined promise. “I’ll see to it that it is so.” Wales squeezed back affirmatively then again as an anchor months later. Wales squeezed his own face red until the baby squeezed out of him. One finally painfully groaned later, Wales heard the most beautiful sound he ever pierce through the room. Tearing up, unable to wait to help this little one grow and nurture that voice, Wales extended his tired arms awaiting for the medical team to bring him his baby. Yet they all moved strangely about. Telling him that he needs to push out the placenta. Asking them if he couldn’t see him while his body seemed to repeat the process for the afterbirth. And his smile faded away as quickly as they made their way out of the door.
“Wait?” Wales said hoarsely.
“Wales-” England gently pushes his brother to lay on his back.
“Where are they taking my baby!?!” Wales looked at England, panicked.
“Wales-” England said softly as he tucked Wales with a blanket.
“Where are they taking him!?!”
England gulps before stating “My bosses found out about you a-and... t-they... don’t want a Welsh nation raising an English colony. I’m sorry.” England looked down with shame written all over his face. While Wales stews in disbelief and betrayal.
“Dic Sion Dafydd!!” Wales angrily mumbled yelled before yanking off the blanket and was about to charge at the door. Only to be held down with a hug by England.
“Let me go!!!” Wales roared. Wales screams as he claws and pounds his brother’s back repeatedly. England’s face winces in pain but doesn’t loosen his grasp over him.
Wales said hoarsely, “Don’t take my baby!”
“P-please, don’t take my baby.” Wales broke-down sobbing, whimpering and whispering that phrase over and over again into England’s shoulders for as long, maybe even longer than the actual labor.
Everything blurred after that, surroundings, sounds, voices, food, time. He knows he should care, waking up at dawn and thinking it’s dinner time, but it was too much work.
“Does it really matter?” Wales broke his silence.
“Does what matter?” England was taken back not by the question but by hearing his brother talking.
“If we love. Hate. Or try to heal. It could all be destroyed by one order. We are all just vessels for the whims of mortals.” Wales lamented.
“Wales. It’s not as simple.” England softly said.
“This past year, did you house me, feed me because you felt saddened by the situation or did you do it because it meant your empire had another piece of land to claim?”
“You’re my brother of course I wanted to help.”
“You could have at least let me hold him.” Wales said silently holding back tears.
“You would’ve gotten too attached if I did. It’s easier for everyone if that didn’t happen.”
Of course it would be easier if he didn’t feel. Of course it would be easier for a vessel to just smile and take it. To take any order he was given. Because no matter what he was just a pawn to immortals who only care about power no matter what the cost.
Well, he was not going to be used again anymore.
“Trust me Wales, over time you’ll realize-Wait? What is that?” CLICK. “Wales don’t!” BANG!
England watches his older brother drop down on the ground. A pool of blood grows around his head’s bullet wound.
Yet, like clockwork, Wales wakes up in a bed with England in the exact same spot he was almost a year ago.
“What happened?” Wales said coldly.
“You um you” England broke eye contact with him to reach something inside the bag. “Here, I’ve brought you a present.” He said as he gently placed a finely dressed baby doll into his brother’s arm. He continues, “It’s a porcelain doll a lot of people use them to help them process grief. So what do you think”
“Is this...” Wales looks down at it. Nothing. Its skin felt frigid with blonde flax hair that seemed to mock him. Yet, slowly the frigid skin becomes a glowing warmth. Then it's blonde flax seemed almost welcoming. Finally it began to slightly weigh more in his arms, like how much Wales imagined he would have weighed. “Is this my baby?” Wales said smiling.
“I-” England hesitated with the truth once he saw his brother’s hopeful expression. He sighs out with a tired smile, “Yes, this is your baby.”
“My baby.” Wales smiled as he cooed over the doll like what happened on that day never did occur.