...Carry On [UK Bros; Part 2]

[England]

Don't breathe.

That burn in the lungs is just proof of life. As long as he could hold on to that ache then he knew that he had not succumbed. Arthur had clung for life to the last thing he'd had to hold onto before the waters engulfed them. Namely, the Scotsman that had taken a grip on him before everything dissolved into a rush of black, cold, wet. This wasn't how he had expected for their shambles of a reunion to conclude; the flood of water surely took everyone by surprise that had been in these lower floors.

In those few moments when the Englishman's head managed to crest atop the water he gasped desperately until the weight of his clothes dragged him into those inky depths again. He thought that this was his time to die. Would his brothers make it out? His wild thoughts were turned to them in the chaos. Arthur knew that his fingers were still tangled in Hamish's costume; the fact he was snagged there was the only reason he had not lost his grip to get swept apart from the redhead. Howell had not been in the best shape. Could he swim against these pulling forces? Would Michael get him safely to air?

Arthur collided into something solid. Pain blossomed white hot as the press of the water smacked his tumbling body into the sharp edges of an unyielding structure. He could feel the surge of the oncoming deluge rush over him. The water threatened to crush him where he was pinned, and the Englishman could no longer hold his breath when his ribs were getting so painfully compressed. At the last moment before he opened his mouth to take in lethal waters, the wave receded, rolling back as the force balanced itself out.

Apparently he was on the grand staircase between the floors. The waters were not enough to reach the upper level. Was this the third floor of the Manor above him? Arthur forced his head to turn to look upwards. The rest of his body was not so cooperative. He knew that he'd fallen into shock. There was no pain in his limbs yet; that would come later, once the adrenaline had worn off to leave him feeling every bruise, every tear, every break. His blurred vision sharpened to note the other figure nearby.

Hamish had indeed made it with him. Arthur could see the redhead moving around there on the stairs. He tried to push his body up with his forearms, and when unable to find the strength to operate them, just remained rested on that spot. Checking to see if his brother had sustained injuries demanded too much exertion. Arthur's indomitable will was flagging to the point that he couldn't even summon it to propel him upwards. Water was still lapping at his boots. He felt it licking around his ankles, just below the hem of his trousers. If it decided to pull him back into its depths then he was a guaranteed goner.

"Ha--" A croak sounded out of him, mangling Arthur's intent to call out to the Scotsman. The burn in his lungs had subsided enough for him to take a deeper breath and try again. "Hamish? Are you alive over there? I'm in no condition to move yet, so if you're in need of urgent first aid, wave your hand around and I'll crawl over as soon as my body lets me. Do you see Howell or Michael anywhere?"

Background Tunes

[Scotland]

Water was all around him but even with the current around him trying to pull him into the depths the feeling wasn’t sending him into a panic. Arthur had been the one known for sailing but in his history he often sailed between his land and the other surrounding islands. The darkened water never scared him; not knowing what hid beneath the surface just added a sense of excitement to the escape. Arthur’s fingers curling into his shoulders reminded him that his fight against the current was not only for his own life but also in order to save his younger brother.

You’re not worth anything if you can’t protect family
Family was all the mattered in his life. Grudges or not they were his kin and he believed they had to always be there for each other. Come hell or high water they depended on him and he would rather die than let them down.

The darkness surrounding him made it difficult to tell if he was plunging into the deep or if he was reaching toward the surface. Releasing a bit of his breath into the water he watched the movement of the bubbles and used that as the guide. Water would not be credited with his death.

Before his head could break the surface of the water his lungs began to scream for air begging him to breath already. Using his breath to find the way to the surface did in fact help him to locate the direction but also caused his lungs to be starved for oxygen. Before he could stop himself his body inhaled the swamp water into his lungs making him choke under the waves of the water. Even with the burning of his lungs Arthur still was relying on him. Hate didn’t matter at the moment so long as he was sure he was able to save his brother from certain death. The ex-pirate was known for his inability to swim meaning Hamish knew that his brother wouldn’t survive if left to find his escape on his own. Howell and Michael had disappeared as the water pulled them apart but they weren’t what Hamish had to worry about. Michael was a wild card but he wouldn’t abandon Howell in this mess. The two would appear when he surfaced he just knew it.

Stairs were felt beneath his feet at last showing he was almost out of the water. His body collapsed against the stairs and crawled away from the water. Silent coughs came from his shaking form as his body tried to purge the water from his system so he could inhale the air. Giving a dry heave the water was expelled from Scotland’s lungs in a sickening pile by the stairs. Fowl tasting as it was on the way down the Scot gagged a bit as he once more tasted the tainted water. The burning sensation still remained but he was able to breath once more but not without a few more coughs ridding him of the remaining water.

Normally bright red locks that went in all directions were now closer to crimson and color and plastered to his head from the water. Already pale skin seemed to lack any pigment by the freckles creating a splattered design on his cheeks.

Only now did Hamish realize he was now defenseless against anything that attacked. Arthur was injured already and his own weapon had been abandoned back in the billiard room when the brother escaped to the higher levels. The weight of his scythe seemed to be too much when he needed to focus on his life along with his brother’s when it came to the escape. When the waters lowered he’d have to go in search of the weapon. Being unarmed just wasn’t his style in a place with demons trying to eat them.

“Clam feck up a'm braw.” Hamish wouldn’t admit that he needed help when Arthur had already been through so much. Any wound he had was nothing compared to the beaten form that was now Arthur. Looking along the surface of the water Hamish tried to see if he could spot moment or anything that would signal the other two brothers. The water was still and gave an eerie feeling to it. Closing his eyes Hamish tried to sense the other two as if this would give him any indication of where the two had disappeared. “A dinnae ken whaur thay gaed. Ah dinnae feel thair presense anymair.” A small amount of panic in Hamish’s voice betraying him as he tried to remain calm.

Eye stayed focus on the water with an unsure gaze. “We need tae shift awa' fae th' water though. Something is waiting tae attack ah kin feel it.” Moving back down toward Arthur he lifted the smaller male and carried him away from the water. In his hellhole no one knew what might have been waiting in the water trying to kill them if they waited at the edge for too long.

[Ireland]

As if it weren't bad enough that his reunion with his dysfunctional lot of siblings had gone all wrong, there came the added disruption of a sudden flood to shatter the tentative peace they'd been settling into. Michael had been quick to lock his grip on Howell when the Welshman used him as a means to escape the deluge. His superior height did nothing in the long run. The Irishman was swept by that force just as easily as the rest of them. He instinctively curled his arm tightly around Howell to make sure they weren't going to be separated. Any thought of calling out in alarm to Hamish and Arthur bulleted out of his mind when the waters rushed up so fast. Michael didn't want to swallow any of that brackish liquid.

It was almost impossible to get his bearings. The water was spinning him dizzily, and the lights around them had been guttered out with the touch of the bog that had spilled into the walls of the Manor. Michael could feel the water trying to slip into the space between his body and Howell's, threatening to steal the man away. He countered that by tightening his grip to squeeze the Welshman to his chest, possessive enough that Michael wouldn't let any force of nature take his kin from him. As hard as he tried to keep Howell with him, the Irishman also knew that it wouldn't be long before they drowned if he didn't try to prevent it.

Michael wasn't a strong swimmer. He was, however, strong from a daily routine of regular exercise. That habit had its pay-offs. His hand reached upward to skim blindly in the darkness as he sought out any object that might allow him to grip hold. Michael's fingers brushed along flat walls without any luck. The burning of his lungs was getting intense enough that he was about to lose his focus on his efforts. Then, mercifully, he snagged upon the lip of an opened doorway. He locked his fingers to it, and bearing the weight of himself along with Howell, sought to pull himself in opposition of the coursing press of water. His wet-slick fingers slipped on the wood, making the Irishman fear that his effort would be in vain.

A second push of his strength saved him just in time. Michael labored Howell up with him to retreat into that room and away from the direct jet of the rushing waters. Now that he had a better sense of up from down, the Irishman immediately pushed them both up to the surface. The room was nearly filled with water already. At least it wasn't buried beneath it yet like the one they'd just been standing in. Michael gulped greedily for air, hacking and coughing out since his lungs were angry with him for having held his breath so long. He shook his head to fling water out of his eyes as much as he could so he could check upon Howell.

"Howell? Howell, are y'okay?!" It was likely that he was shouting too loudly since the man was still gripped to his chest. The roar of the water outside still had an immense volume of its own. Michael was trying to remain as calm as possible but the situation had him barely holding onto that composure. They wouldn't have too long in this space. Breaking the window to get outside wouldn't be of any help either. At least this would give them a chance to catch their breath before they risked going back beneath the water.

He worried for Hamish, and even some for Arthur. How had they fared in this? The Englishman was hopeless in the water. Perhaps Hamish had managed to get them out of the water just like he did for Howell? There was no way to know that until they got out of this room to investigate. The only course from here was to move upwards and hope that reaching the next floor up would be enough for them to be out of this water completely. He shook Howell lightly. "Howell? Come on. Speak t'me hare."

[Deleted]

Liam needed to get to the library, if he could at least find out something about the manor, he would feel far more secure. Knowledge is power as they say. If he remembered correctly that library was on this floor. Now it was just finding it and making sure it was safe to enter. The probability of it actually being safe was next to nothing but Liam needed it.



He would have to search every room until he found it. That would definitely take a while. Hopefully he wouldn't run into anything deadly. With his luck, that might just happen. But then again with this manor maybe not so much.



To make everything worse, Liam hadn't seen his brothers yet. Okay he could do without seeing Micheal but even if he didn't want to admit it, he was worried about all of them Micheal included. Liam growled to himself. Okay he was worried less about Micheal than he was about the others. Okay now he felt better.



“Liam get yer head together. This place will take advantage of yer grudge.” Liam had seen enough horror movies to know that dark thoughts led to dark actions in scary places. Now where could that library be? He had only been walking a few feet when he saw a flash of red hair. There weren't many countries who had red hair like Liam's. In fact Liam only knew of one, his brother Hamish.



He took off towards where he remembered the stair case being could his brothers be there? If they were at the staircase they could have been on the first or third floor. Had they kept missing each other? If they had, then that was a great coincidence. The thought of the Manor purposefully keeping them apart entered his mind, but he pushed it away. He was giving this house any more power than it already had over them.



“Hamish, Arthur, Howell, jerk-Micheal. Are ye here? Where are ye?” Liam ran towards where he saw the flash of red. He would find his brothers if it was the last thing he did.

[Deleted]

The torrent of water nearly punched Wales off his Irish steed though it swallowed them both up for a ride. Tumbling and spinning, Howell soon lost track of general direction, like what way air should because air was good and remaining submerged was bad. On top of that, the Welshman had his brute of an eldest brother, whom he really didn’t associate with much at all, clinging to him like a babe on it’s mum’s tit. Upside down, tumbling and rolling, the brothers spun off into wet insanity, bumping into passing walls, tables, and who knows what else what. True they were probably only under the water’s surface for barely a minute, but after three or so thuds Howell was having a lot of difficulty holding his breath especially with the way Michael was clutching to him. Exhausted previously and already somewhat prepared for a water ride because of his dream, the Welshman floated in a daze, not truly caring which way his limbs swung, that his swordstick was probably bashing the Irishmen in the side of the head, or how many times Howell oh-so-graciously softened his brother’s collision into a wall with his own head and body.

Ouch… this American vacation was so overrated.

The constant spinning and swirling was rousing some rather disconcerting feelings in the Welshman’s abdomen and just when the groggy man thought he was getting that tell-tale burning sensation of nausea in the back of his throat, a strong grip suddenly ceased they’re spirals with such a jerk that Howell’s position in his brother’s arms slid downwards a good couple inches. From somewhere far away the soggy, submerged blond was slightly aware that his body was being pulled away from the current, but all of that thought process went back into the current when Howell’s right temple smashed into what fell like a rather sturdy doorframe. Groaning was the result of such carelessness, which ended in a mouth and lung full of water, which sent Howell into a sputtering, underwater coughing fit until finally Michael had the sense to pull his head above the rather cold water.

Well that was nice to him…. Though it was a shame that when he did, the Irishman received a good mouthful of backwash in the face as Howell continued to cough pathetically. The smaller man soon went limp, his weight held by his brother and the slowly churning water; his features cast into rough darkness form the dimness of the random room. As dark as the room was though didn’t matter because Howell’s eyes were painfully shut, his arms swayed by his sides, and sometime during their swim down the halls his cane had gotten jammed down Michael’s hip, meaning that at least the pair had some sort of weapon on them, which was good because Howell couldn’t recall if his brother even had a weapon, which was foolish in this place because….

"Howell? Howell, are y'okay?! Howell? Come on. Speak t'me hare."

Rather loud words exploded Wales’ head and his eyes fluttered open to peer rather unimpressed-like at his obnoxious brother, whose nauseating shaking was threatening some nice projectile vomit that Howell was sure his body could spare given their situation. A lazy blink was the first true sign of the man’s life, before a single, perfect stream of water jetted from Howell’s lips directly upon Michael’s nose. The water didn’t taste all that great, to be hones it had a slight coppery taste, but Howell’s bruised and throbbing head wasn’t really worried about comprehending about the flavors of American waters.

“Ay’m too bloodeh old fa’this…”

Howell’s words bubbled out tired, weary, and completely bored sounding, as his head lolled back in his brother’s embrace. His head hurt like it’d been used at the ball in illegal football game and in his daze, Howell reached up to limply cast his sodden bangs aside but was faintly surprised to feel and unexpected, sticky heat that he regrettably recognized. “Ah’ell…” He breathed, setting his head back into the cooling water and could envision his temple’s wound bleeding sluggishly into the moving water, not that he was going to inform his brother of his injury. Hell no, he was already in the man;s arms like a damsel so there was no reason to sugarcoat it in anyway whatsoever. Taking a few good breaths, his chest aching from its exposure to the water, Howell licked his lips and spoke up towards the ceiling, also known as his brother, “Well… Let’s crack on, aye?” making no indication that he was moving, meaning that Ireland was now and forever his ferryman.

[England]

Hamish's harsh response to him wasn't enough to faze Arthur. He was too tired and too sore to work up the gumption to feel hurt by that as well. Whatever concern he felt was quickly shoved down inside, and his elbows dragged across the surface of the stairs as the Englishman attempted once again to lever himself upright. "My apologies for asking. I'm sure you're just blooming ducky, Hamish. I, on the other hand, feel like I have been run over by a tank. Twice."

The proposal to move away from the water's edge was one he was eager to jump on. Arthur was uncomfortable just being this close to it still, and if his body were functioning better he'd already have put as much distance as he could between himself and that dark, treacherous water. His mind didn't worry so much about what might be inside the waters as it was fretting over the possibility that the water might surge up again and claim him as a victim. Safer ground was only a few steps away if he could make it. Arthur was stubborn enough that he would have clawed his way up to the next landing if he had to.

He was relieved when Hamish came down the stairs to scoop him up. His body didn't take kindly to being shifted around by the Scotsman, Arthur's injuries reminding him of their severity as he was jostled up into the redhead's arms, yet the fact it took him further from the water was worth the extra pain. Arthur even allowed himself to relax in that carry, limbs resting limp since they were not cooperating with him as it was. His eyes shifted to the water over the curve of Hamish's arm as the older man mentioned the absence of their brothers.

"I'm sure they'll make it through. If not here, then in another part of the Manor. Both of them are far too tenacious to die. Michael has enough brawn to see them through and Howell has brains enough to keep that blasted fool from doing anything too daft. You'll see. I wouldn't worry about them too much, as I am sure they are hardly concerned for us. Well. Concerned for you, perhaps."

Once they had made it up to that higher landing his hand lifted to wave feebly through the air to signal Hamish to lower him. "Put me down. I'll be right as rain before you know it after a little rest. Did you manage to keep hold of your weapon in the chaos? I think it was leaning against the wall -- right? I wouldn't risk swimming back to retrieve it. There's no telling how much of the room is already flooded through and I doubt you could hold your breath for that long. We'll just have to try to find--"

"Liam?" Arthur's head turned quickly when he heard another voice from down the corridor. His pain-filled eyes brightened from their darkened hue as he placed the source of that accented sound, pitching his own into a higher volume as he called beyond Hamish to where those queries were coming from. "Brother, is that you? We're by the stairs."

[Scotland]

If the pain from being thrown around in the swamp water wasn’t enough Hamish’s anger formed from having to abandon his only weapon was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Body aching Hamish still felt the need to destroy anything within reach until the anger subsided but only one thing seemed to be within reach and that was Arthur. Despite all his pent up anger from the past now wasn’t the time to take revenge for past actions and open old wounds. This wouldn’t help the situation or even the relationship between the two of them; it was rough already there was no reason to make matters worse.

"My apologies for asking. I'm sure you're just blooming ducky, Hamish. I, on the other hand, feel like I have been run over by a tank. Twice."
Biting his tongue, Hamish almost spit a comment of how this was nothing compared to the pain Arthur caused him to endure. Despite how he felt or his pain tolerance he had no reason to lash at the blonde now for feeling miserable after being thrown about and nearly drown in the murky water. For whatever reason his mind urged him to cut into Arthur and make him suffer with memories of how they fought during the rise of the empire. Maybe he mind had a weird way of making him talk things out with his brother my throw them in his face to bring the idea to attention. Manors where they could die at any moment seemed to be reason enough to get feelings off their rest to die without regret but Scotland found himself only to pick fights like an overgrown child. “A'm sorry,” he mumbled not managing to say anymore.

Ignoring the signal the blonde was cradled against his soaked chest. If from touch alone Arthur couldn’t feel the rapidly beating heart Hamish was almost positive he would be able to hear the sounds of it pounding against his chest in the panic. During all the madness he was left unarmed and his brother was injured and wounds were probably flushed with the filthy water making infection once more a risk. For a moment Hamish debated diving into the water to retrieve the scythe and a bottle of alcohol to cleanse the wounds once more. Panic seemed to continue make his body grow stiff and thought changed to finding a spell that would give Arthur’s wounds to his body leaving the young blonde unmarked. He was a fool for leaving that pocket sized spell book within his home. “Tis gaen noo bit we need tae wash ye again. Ye wilnae be dying oan me Arthur!” Bottle green eyes bore into Arthur showing the serious nature to Hamish’s words. It seemed to be a demand that the blonde not be allowed to die during this time.

Nothing seemed real in the manor anymore making even the sound of Liam’s voice seem to be deceptive to the Scot’s ears. Thin fingers wrapped over Arthur’s lips silencing his yells and Hamish back away round a corner to watch for anyone that might come to greet them or even attack. Turning his attention back to the blonde he cradled Hamish hissed in anger. “Urr ye mad? Whit if that wis a monster?”

[Ireland]

Having any sign of life out of Howell was relieving. The Welshman had been such a dead weight for him during this harrowing adventure through the blackened waters that Michael couldn't tell for sure whether his brother even still lived. He would rather that Howell responding to him didn't involve getting water spewed into his face. Michael blanched, face twitching away from that grossly warm spray of moisture with its suspicious coppery scent. At least it was followed up with words, no matter how weary they sounded. The Irishman didn't bother to wipe any of that spittle-laced water off his face; it couldn't be any worse than what they were bobbing around in right now.

"T'at makes two o' us. T'ings just keep goin' fart'er t'shite." Michael murmured darkly. Once he knew that Howell was still alive he became distracted by the idea of how he was going to get them both to safety. This wasn't a place that he knew. The location was still a mystery despite how long he had been wandering the corridors. Getting his bearings was difficult for that very reason.

Added to that was the fact that the Welshman's condition wasn't close to ideal. Even if he could trust that Howell had the strength to swim -- which he didn't -- Michael still couldn't expect the younger man to lead them in the right direction. They had both been turned around so much by the buffet of water that the Irishman couldn't remember which way they had been swept away to by the force of the waters. All he knew was that they'd need to be on the move quickly. The waters were surprisingly cold for being conjured up from the southern half of America's states. If the loss of oxygen didn't kill them then the exposure to the temperatures certainly would.

The situation was surreal for Michael. Not because of the obvious fact that these waters had materialized out of nowhere to attack them. It was surreal due to the fact that he was in a position where his primary concern was for someone other than himself. There had been few instances when the Irishman had felt the pressure of anyone else relying on him. He was content going about his life without having anyone lean on him for support. Capricious, unreliable Michael. These sorts of heroics were better suited to England with his martyr complex and his desperation to do good. If not for the fact that the Englishman was notoriously helpless when it came to swimming, Howell might have been better off with him.

Michael squinted down in the darkness, unable to see anything of the Welshman in the darkness. He could feel the weight of Howell balanced at his chest, that burden becoming heavier in his arm by the moment as the water sought to snare their clothes and drag them down. His fingers twitched in response to the next buffet of water seeking to pry the Welshman away, tightening their clutch upon Howell's body to fetch it tighter to his chest. Hearing the younger man tell him to act was incongruous with the limpness of the Welshman's limbs and left Michael to wonder if perhaps there was in fact something very wrong with him.

"Aye'll do m'best. Hopefully t'at'll be good enough." He wasn't one to make empty promises, after all. Michael wasn't going to mislead Howell into thinking that they'd make it through this when he didn't know that for certain. This was one of those occasions where he couldn't trust in his ability to be successful or that his luck would see him safely through to the other side. Ditching Howell would have better guaranteed his safety. The Irishman knew he could better move his way around without having Howell's weight attached to him like this. Facing his brothers after doing so might not have gone well.

The push of the water had subsided enough that Michael could travel through it easier. Around them in the room, it was filling up fast. It was now or never if he were going to try to get them both to safer ground. Michael mumbled to Howell that he should get a deep breath in before they went. If he could make it to the stairs then perhaps they would be able to get above the waterline enough to make it to the roof. He'd need to conserve his strength for carrying Howell that far, though that seemed impossible with the task ahead of him. Once he was sure the Welshman had taken a breath to hold, he repeated the same and plunged them both back into the water to creep out from the doorway.

His free arm clawed at the water with powerful strokes, feet kicking at debris to help propel them along. His hand remained out in front of them as much as he could allow it to make sure they weren't colliding into a wall. At least Michael knew that they were in a corridor, and that hall would lead them along until they found the next floor. In the darkness around them, the Irishman thought he saw light filtering in the space ahead. He struggled to reach it as quickly as he could, fighting his way towards it since it was the only thing Michael could navigate by. Howell wasn't resisting him as he pulled the man's weight along. That helped his progress considerably.

Michael said an internal prayer of thanks when his hand reached out and slapped upon the sharp corner of a step. The stairs! He took no notice of the ones moving there above the water's edge as he pulled himself forward. Red hair in a wild, curly mess broke the surface of the water as Michael surfaced there with Howell still fit to his chest. He coughed powerfully, sputtering for water and once again telling himself what a great idea it was to quit smoking so his lungs were in better condition. The Irishman sagged down heavily, uncomfortable where his long, lean body was draped on the stairs, and tried to heft Howell just a little further out of the water before he collapsed to let his strength recharge.

"Aye'm never doin' t'at again. Feck me." His legs remained underwater, unable to carry Howell or himself any further along.

[Deleted]

Liam could feel hope well in him when he heard Arthur’s voice. He was close to finding his brothers. Liam never thought he would feel such relief from hearing his brother’s voice. It was no secret that the Uk brothers tended to be a bit argumentative. Okay they could be downright violent and destructive when it came to each other. But at the end of the day they generally stood by each other. Liam hoped it was Arthur and not some monster. He had to take the chance that it was Arthur. They were stronger as a family when they are all together.

Liam followed the sound of Arthur’s voice. For some odd reason the halls seemed to go on forever. Liam wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know why that was, figuring the answer would either drive him insane or upset him. Both of which would be very bad especially in this situation. The best he could do was keep hi s mind focused on his goal: finding his brothers. The red hair that he saw would have to Hamish so was he with Arthur? Hopefully he was and maybe Howell was with them too. And hopefully Michael wasn’t there.

Liam hated that the mention of Michael could put him into a bad mood and that was dangerous for him outside the manor so he pushed it aside and put on his easygoing smile. He learned long ago that if you faked a smile people generally left you alone or worried about you less at least. It worked well enough and if it didn’t play a few pranks to annoy people away. He was a private person by nature at that included his brothers. If anyone or anything hurt his brothers, they would feel his wrath? Even if hurt him in return.

Liam finally got to where he was sure he saw his brothers earlier. And there they were with Hamish taking care of Arthur. Monster? Who was Hamish calling a monster? Liam understood paranoia well enough but to not believe in Liam was pushing it. How long had they been brothers? You would think by now that they would able to tell each other’s voices from anything else. Liam could feel his temper simmering beneath the surface but kept his smile on. “Who are ye calling monster?” His aggravation leaking in his voice; his family was made up of jerks.

[Deleted]

Shivering from the icy embrace of the dark, churning, waters, Howell very much preferred the stiff embrace from his brother and the part of his head that wasn’t hurting was thankful that the guy hadn’t just dropped him already; the fact that he hadn’t was commendable. Michael was not the “loveable, help his younger brothers’ sort of man, rather Howell considered it to be true that most of the time Ireland pretended he wasn’t related to any of them; surely his separation and independence had proved that theorem. Perhaps it was a mixture of these feelings and the fact that Michael’s land and Howell’s were the furthest apart that Wales really did not have much a relationship with his eldest brother, Scotland yes of course but not Ireland. In truth, when Howell had been really young, he had thought that Ireland was not related to him at all, seeing him as an entirely different entity, and needed heavy convincing that they shared the same mother.

Being held now by his biggest of brother, feeling like a water-logged rag doll himself, Howell was too beat up to even begin to ponder his feelings on being paired up with Ireland by the rushing waters, which curiously seemed to know exactly where to place their currents to try and pry the brothers apart. His mouth smothered into Michael’s shoulder eliminated his attempt of words, at least for the time being, and while Howell did know that he should at least make an effort to seem that he was as fine, as he wanted to paint to his brother; the blood leaking from the side of his head, making that side of his face the only warm area of his entire body, made a valid argument to remain lax.

"Aye'll do m'best. Hopefully t'at'll be good enough."

Looking aside into the darkness, seeing the faint outline of his brother’s face, Howell frowned and looked away in shame, having been broken down already in the billiard room and now he was literally broken from this flooding; it was quite possible that his one arm could be broken, it hurt like hell, but he couldn’t be sure for the time being. He’d just remain quiet and with a nod of his head, indicated to the Irishman that he’d heard him and accepted his honesty. What did he expect? That Michael would snap their fingers and they’d turn up on Liverpool having a pint with the rest of the bros? Right… No, they were half submersed on the second floor of a haunted manor, in the dark, in cold water, that might as well have been the metaphorical shit creek, and they had lost their paddle, canoe, and lifejackets.

Obliging like the good little brother everyone thought he was, Howell took a deep breath, shut his eyes tight, and held onto his brother as much as he could like Henry VIII’s corset abound his at gut. During his brother’s efforts to get them to wherever he was headed, Howell’s head was mostly under water but he made no complaint, no motion of drowning, and tried imaging he was gripping to one of his dragons as they swam through a lake. That thought brought up his earlier disturbing dream and Wales’ concentration broke, he flinched back, and as punishment was whammed into something hard once again as they swirled and drifted down the indoor river. Internally groaning, Wales must have blacked out yet again, at least for a while, from that one extra blow because the next thing he knew he was coughing hoarsely, his lungs gasping for air as Ireland heaved him up upon what felt like stairs.

Lying where he was, his breathing ragged and course, Howell legs remained in the water but he made to effort to ascend the steps further; his head was out of the water and that was enough for now. The Welshman was on his belly, his face facing the stairs’ railing and away from his brother, and his left arm was hanging limply aside him; maybe not broke, dislocated possibly, whatever the diagnosis was he couldn’t really move it and was not trying to. Coughing in agreement with Ireland, he laid there until he heard voices, instantly recognizing Hamish’s. Oh thank god… Hopefully that meant, yupp, there was Arthur’s voice so they were both safe and from the sounds of it, already up the stairs.

“Yah… cayne go’n a’ead, Michael… Ay’ll just catch me breath ‘ere,” he muttered, lifting his right, good arm to wave at his brother, while he hoped that Ireland still had his swordstick, because the weapon would have to be entrusted with the Irishman for now. “Thanks,” he uttered softly, barely audible, before he swallowed and coughed a bit more. Howell was glad that Ireland couldn’t see his face, because opening his eyes he could see the watered-down stream of his blood flowing along the step his head rested on. Crap, but it probably looked worse than what it was; head wounds bled a lot generally. Howell would wait until he heard Ireland move off until he dared move, using his right arm to grip the banister aside him to inch his stiff and drenched body upright until he was on his knees on a mostly submerged step.

Blinking furiously to clear his eyes, Howell got the glimpse of a reunion of brothers up above him, and that helped the fake smile to from on his lips, hoping that his bleeding was not too obvious from afar. He didn’t want to start a fuss, not after all they’ve been through… Though being babied right now sounded nice, the thought also irritated him too. Scoffing gruffly, he heaved himself up until he stood, ascending one step with a foot for balance and took a deep breath while he paused to allow the stars before his eyes to settle and the dizziness his in head to hopefully pass. He’s been through worse, had fallen off a many a dragon, and been banged up more than this so tighten up your knickers Howell and get going.

Then came the sound reminiscent of the tide washing upon the shore. Looking down at the steps, sure enough, Howell saw the retreat of a slight wave as it returned to its origin. That was odd… usually ripples of that sort were created by something exiting the- A sharp, short thud cut through his thoughts and was shadowed by Howell’s slight gasp; in an instant his entire body went rigid, jostled slightly as his lower back was struck by something and went numb all at once. Confusion clouded his mind and the blond furrowed his brow in puzzlement when heat began to pulse from the area of his back. Breathing suddenly become difficult again, he couldn't get a full breath into his lungs, and his legs began to tremble, but he still could not figure out why. This whole ordeal lasted only about a second before his mind recalled that where his back was getting hot, which was suspicious in itself because he was still covered in cold water, was where something had hit him.

Just as he made that connection, Howell looked down slowly to observe an increasingly paradoxical sight. His stomach was becoming hot too, like his back… actually his whole diaphragm was fighting back his sudden numbness with heat, and watching the green of his wet jacket turning dark, the colour spreading, it a darkness that Howell instantly recognized. Wales only had an instant of clarity before a sickening, sucking sound ripped through his being and the air as the four, long, razor sharp tips of claws protruding through his gut, exited his body back through his back with a fast, deliberate motion jerking him back into shock. Rocked by the movement, Howell fell to his knees with the slightest of grunts of surprise, his eyes unblinking and staring forward blankly, wide-eyed with shock, as a new stream of blood dripped from the corner of his lips.

His fallen figure revealed the amphibious, tall creature that had crept up unnoticed behind him in the murky waters. As it stood to its full height, looming over the kneeling Welshman, its claws dripped with the nation’s fresh blood, red as the dragon on his flag, and it licked its claws, a predator claiming ownership over its prey.

[The Baudeau Ketos]

This was an entirely different environment from the creature’s normal territory, which was the estate’s lake and adjoining bogs; his masters were so generous. Swimming leisurely down one of the manor’s hallways on the first floor, exploring whatever room opened for him, which was any one he wanted for the Manor had no qualm with endorsing into the creature’s curiosity; it wasn’t everyday that the Manor allowed itself t become flooded now. Passing a submerged statue, Calder’s natural bioluminescence lit up the woman’s face eerily before the rushing water’s darkness consumed her once more. Swimming past a set of double doors, the creature was about to swim towards them with the current around shifted, the power of the Manor, and the ketos froze and inhaled deeply with his gills, his internal sense of smell pinpointing the faintest traces of blood.

Excited with the thrill of the hint, the beats shot forward, expertly following the bloody trail through the swirling water, the currents straightening before him, goading him, directing him. With the speed matching a dolphin, the creature quickly entered the front hall, the grand space before the solidly sealed front door standing before the twin grand staircases. Slowing, the creature entered its stealth mode, a predator hunting its prey, as the creature began to crawl up the stairs with the patience of a Nile crocodile in a foot of water, inches away from a drinking wildebeest. His excellent eyesight, improved by his aquatic second set of eyelids, had no issue in seeing the two sets of human feet protruding into the water, the creature could feel the vibration of their frantic heartbeats through the water, and the scent of blood… it was still flowing, fresh, alive.

Patience was the key to success and slowly turning, the creature pressed it’s back upon the stairs, hiding it’s glowing spots, and the downed man’s boot was within arm’s reach of the waiting creature as it remained for the opportune moment. It came, moments later, after the other, non-wounded man got up and left, and watching his target shift position and stand, his back to the motionless ketos, a mistake. Rolling right side up, the creature inched forward, making its move, but its eagerness disturbed the surface of the water, breaking its stealth but it was too late. With a strike that was lightning fast and precise, Calder shot its claws forward, impaling the back of the human, preventing any hope of escape. The attack itself only lasted a few seconds before the ketos retracted his webbed claws, the scent of fresh blood filling the air, ands as the man succumbed to his injuries, still alive, ad fell to his knees, the ketos’ image was truly revealed to the other group of humans up high and out of the water.

The beast’s yellow eyes scanned the other humans as it savored a taste of its preys blood, a growl erupting form his chest before the ketos roared at the other humans, warding them to keep their distance; the sound of its screech was like that of a ship’s haul being torn apart but at a higher decibel. The roar ended as quick as it came, the warning clear, and shooting forwards the ketos took hold of its kneeling prey torso by wrapping its slick arm around him, and made for a quick retreat back into the safety of the water, to drown the man, finish the job, and eat.

[England]

Having Hamish apologize to him for anything made Arthur regret his sass. Sarcasm came to him like a knee-jerk response when he wasn't mindful of his behaviour and right now worrying about appearances was far from the Englishman's mind. He offered a tentative pat of understanding upon Hamish's shoulder with a hand still badly trembling. Hamish's distress was transparent; if he wasn't careful then he could press the Scot right over into panic. That was not something Arthur wanted to deal with atop all the rest of this rubbish situation. "I have no intention of dying here, Hamish. You have my word."

His calls to Liam were cut off by a blanket of Hamish's hand. It had him on the verge of retching. His face cramped up behind the mask of the Scotsman's fingers as Arthur fought the reaction. Whatever brackish waters they had just emerged from were foul, the scent of it still fresh on the fingers just below his nostrils. He reached with both hands to pry Hamish's palm away from his face to escape the strong stench. Arthur's voice pitched to a low hiss. "Of course it's Liam, you git. I can sense his aura better than the lot of you. It's just in time, too -- he can help us search for Howell and Michael."

Arthur's concern for the fate of his brothers was immense. Even if he got along with Ireland as handsomely as cats and dogs, it wasn't in him to wish anything ill of his eldest sibling. Just because they could not reach an understanding with one another didn't mean that Arthur wanted to see harm befall Michael. The idea that Howell might be somewhere with the Irishman added to his hope that his brothers would see their way through to safety. They were Kirklands. They were stubborn. They had survived far worse.

The wound on the back of his neck throbbed. Arthur squirmed around in Hamish's arms hoping that the older man would put him down on his feet. He trusted his legs better to stand on their own and Arthur didn't want to be coddled when there was rescuing to be done. Not that he would do them any good. The notion of going back into those waters already had him anxious. He lowered his gaze back to the depths of that black water. Tried to imagine himself actually going back into them. Fear mangled the image. It would take the last of his reserves of courage just to submerge a foot again.

Liam's sour comment to Hamish upon reaching them was missed by the Englishman. His eyes caught sight of movement below the waters, stirring the surface up with fresh ripples. It was difficult to make out what was about to break through the top; Arthur was just about to alert Hamish to it so they could bid a retreat to safety when he saw Michael's familiar mop of orange hair pushing up out of that blackness. An equally soggy Howell was with him. Seeing them both caused such a rush of relief in Arthur that he felt giddy.

"Oh, thank goodness. You both made it." Arthur sighed gratefully. Whatever wounds the men had sustained could be dealt with once they had all regrouped to a dry location. It didn't seem that either Michael nor Howell were faring much better than Hamish or himself. Liam appeared to be the only one that had not suffered a tumble through cruel, wet darkness. "Liam, could you help dredge them out? Howell was already in bad shape before the flood caught us unawares. I'm sure once Michael gets his head together we can all... we can--"

The sound of Arthur's voice died out. His eyes had been intently surveying the damage sustained to his brothers, with his concern directly mainly to Howell. That meant that he didn't miss a moment of watching the blooming bursts of darkened red that went blossoming out from the front of the Welshman's torso. He gasped in horror to see claws come slicing out through Howell's body, eyes expanding impossibly large in his shock.

This isn't happening. You knocked your head, that's all, and this is just your muddled brain. He internally protested, seeking to deny what was taking place right before his eyes. Arthur choked out a sound of distress from his otherwise numb body, limbs trying at last to squirm his way free of Hamish's arms in an attempt to try to get to Howell.

When the Welshman fell to reveal the monster that was hidden behind him, Arthur's worst fears were realized. This is it. The thing that lurks in the dark and the water. The monster you knew would be waiting there no matter how often you tried to tell yourself there was nothing there. Here it is, and it's murdering Howell.

Arthur went straining for the Welshman even if it meant getting dropped by Hamish. The mute setting that he'd gone into was broken by a shout of his brother's name that rang through the stairwell. "HOWELL! NO!"

[Scotland]

Having already apologized for his earlier comments Hamish just felt more distance, as Arthur seemed to dismiss his panic as if it were nothing. The hiss in Arthur’s voice didn’t help with his anger toward all that happened around him and even made him regret his apology. Arthur seemed always able to lash at Hamish making any affection or worry he had for the youngest brother a waste of his time. “His aura doesn't feel th' identical. It feels tainted lik' yers always does.” There was a sneer in his voice and he debating dropping Arthur but couldn’t bring himself to throw the injured brother to the floor and abandon him. “Dae ye honestly care if thay die? Ye wur duin tae abandon us a' afore th' flood happened 'n' ye failed tae pull th' trigger oan Howell.” Nails began to dig into his own pale arms as he tried to contain his anger.

The aggravated voice seeming to lash at the Scot made the bright eyes seem to darken with warning of testing him. Few strides were needed to carry Hamish over to Liam. The long steps had a determined grace making the large man appear to just float across the floor in an instant. Lifting his lips and growling like a dog Hamish shift Arthur into one arm before the free hand collided with Liam’s face. “Oops thought ye wur a monster.” Eyes still forced into a glare showed now amused Hamish was with the two brothers that seemed to act as if he were insane for fearing what may lurk around corners. No one knew what lived within the manor or even what wondered through the fog of the grounds waiting. As far as Hamish was sure there could be a monster that mimicked voices or even a presence that prevented Arthur able to sense things correctly. It was unknown of what was around and Hamish hardly could trust him family even if it were actually them not a monster replacing them. Unable to forgive many things of the past had put a wedge in the family making Hamish unable to truly trust his brothers.

Even at the sight of Michael and the injured blonde Hamish couldn’t stop the anger that was already surging through him. Seeing the beaten state of Howell against the stairs and Michael leaving him to rest there a growl emerged from Hamish’s throat. Moving forward another low growl came from Hamish, “Ye'r juist aff tae lea him thare? Kin ye tak' care o' a'body wi'oot hauf assing it?!” Limbs began to shake struggling to carry the Englishman toward the muscular ginger. Green eyes only could see red and they looked on in endless anger. “Kin ye ever dae anythin' fur someone ither than yersel'?!” The angered questions cause his voice to crack as he advanced more toward his brother in his blind rage.

The water stirred and there it was… The nightmare he knew could lurk in the water and kept him on edge. Water was the unknown and had always been.

Arms fell to his side forgetting the weight in his arms belonged to the youngest of the family, the baby he earlier cradled was now forgotten on the floor. Fingers curled into his fist cutting the pale skin letting blood to seep through the cracks and drip onto the floor. There didn’t seem to be a coherent thought in his head. His mind screamed a single name as his body moved forward without command. Were his family really there? This was hell! It was hell! He was dead and this was how he was being punished. They couldn’t take Howell from him! If this was hell it was all he had. It was all he could hold onto! NO NO NO NO! Howell trusted him! Didn’t he? Failure, he failed as he always had. He couldn’t protect his rulers and now watched on as his brothers died. Failure. Hair on the back of his neck stood on end and his eyes were empty green pools that lacked any life.

What was happening? Hamish found himself before the beast digging his nails into the jaw attempting to pry it open with mouth wide giving a broken laugh. Blood ran over his hands and down his arms. Who’s blood? It could be Howell’s or his own. Maybe it was the monster’s blood and he tore into the jaw trying to snap it like a twig. Lost in the madness his teeth sank into the flesh of the creature trying to tear away the flesh. They would pay. Everyone would pay that allowed his brother to be taken from him. Pulling one of his hands back he ran it over his pale skin painting himself with the crimson color over his face giving another cruel laugh.

Hamish’s mind was gone and lost replaced with a manic need to kill the beast. That’s all that seemed to remain in the wild shell. "Howell~," his voice continued to ring out in an endless chorus of laughter that echoed along the halls.

[Ireland]

Michael's fuses had been all shorted out from the trip through the water. He was exhausted, ached all over, and his muscles felt annoyingly useless to him from bearing the burden of his own body weight along with Howell's to get them to this safe point. The Irishman remained in place, panting on the steps, even while the others spoke from somewhere nearby. This sucked. It royally sucked. This was why he wasn't cut out for heroics; he immediately regretted the expense it cost him along the way. In this case it was his lack of strength -- his only weapon, really -- that left him unable to even drag himself fully out of the thick waters.

He lifted his head when Hamish came growling at him. Michael noticed Arthur was in the Scotsman's arms, and both seemed a little better off than himself or Howell right now. The words spoken from the other redhead triggered a telltale dangerous narrowing of the Irishman's eyes, Michael ignoring the water that was dripping from the ridges of his eyebrows as he answered Hamish with his own growl. "Aye just swam two grown men t'rough a feckin' lake. Underwater. In complete feckin' darkness. Come hare a wee bit closer and try t'talk big t'me, and we'll see whit happens t'yer face when Aye punch yer teet' t'rough yer skull."

Oh, Michael would do something for Hamish alright. Redecorate his face, maybe. At least his anger was a powerful enough motivator. The Irishman started to push himself upright, dragging his legs out of the water to let it all go rushing down upon the stairs. His shoes were even full of water. It wasn't a sensation he liked. Michael tried to shake some of it out but knew it was pointless. He'd have to remove them completely to pour out the moisture. The Irishman was still panting, chest heaving as he braced his hands upon his knees to keep himself upright. He only straightened when Howell's walking stick was poked at him, Michael taking it without more than a brief glance.

His interest in harming any of those gathered was lost when the Irishman's attention was drawn to the situation unfolding nearby. Michael's face went flat, empty of expression to the point of coldness, as he took in the sight of Howell's impaled torso. The Irishman had already learned that this place didn't let them heal their wounds. Those injuries were fatal. Having a creature in front of him, along with four other possible attack targets, had the Irishman on high alert in seconds.

Before he could even move, Hamish was already rushing forward. He saw Arthur get dropped to the stairs when the Scotsman went running right over him to attack the creature. T'at feckin' idiot!, he thought to himself as Hamish assaulted it with his bare hands and no defense. The creature had just proven how deadly it was by piercing Howell without any trouble. What the hell did Hamish think he was going to accomplish with an attack like that? They were going to have two dead Kirklands here if he didn't do anything to try to stop it.

Michael went forward towards Hamish and the monster. When Hamish straightened up to paint himself with blood and start laughing like a lunatic, Michael's elbow went launching harshly into the Scotsman's face. With any luck the blow would send the redhead backwards on the stairs and give the Irishman room to fight. "Art'ur. Liam. Get t'at sorry arse away from me befare Aye use him far a shield."

His grip on Howell's walking stick changed so that he could draw it from its scabbard. He kept that in one hand, with the sword in the other. The scabbard could be used to defend, and the sword would be his weapon to attack. Michael's first action once he'd stanced himself on the stairs was to try to drive the sword's point into the creature's abdomen while the thing was still recovering from Hamish's suicide ambush. "Come on, ye feck. Ye want t'kill somet'in' meaty? Come get some, ye back stabbin' bastard."

[The Baudeau Ketos]

The copper smell of blood hit his nose and he breathed deeply, enjoying the scent as much as he could with such an audience present. The Ketos enjoyed feeling the blood running along his scales and the sound of it dripping on the floor as the body struggled to stay alive. Eyes roved over the other men and he roared again, the sound coming from deep with him. Catching the movement of red hair, the figured landed on him and he those fingers trying to claw at him were more of an irritant. Picking him off as a man would pick up a fly; he flung the Scotsman into the tall, lanky orange haired Irishman, sending them both flying. Turning his head and exposing his teeth to the last brothers as a warning, he backed back into the water with the boy in his arms. As he sunk under the water with him, he knew the boy would be dead in the next few minutes and then it'd be snack time.

[England]

Arthur's alarm over Howell's predicament was disrupted when he was dropped by Hamish. The Englishman did not anticipate the abrupt loss of support, unable to right himself into a graceful landing there on the sharp edges of the stairs. He winced as his landing jarred an already aching shoulder. His adrenaline was thrumming enough that the blond scrambled up to his feet, that physical pain temporarily forgotten.

He'd barely managed to stabilize himself when Hamish was charging at the monster. The unhinged behaviour of his elder brother disturbed him; a chilling echo from a memory of their past conflicts that he wouldn't let surface now. Arthur moved forward to try to grab at the Scotsman in an attempt to pull him back. If the monster managed to harm yet another brother here in front of him then Arthur wasn't sure what use he would be to them all.

Howell. Oh God, oh God. Is he even still alive?!

It was a blessing when Michael sought to intervene. The Irishman was highly capable in a melee fight. Though the jabs directed at the monster were apparently ineffective. Everything happened so quickly that Arthur could only watch as the creature sent both of his elder brothers crashing down upon the stairs. They were sorely lacking in strength enough to fight. Their ordeal with the water had sapped them of their chance to face a monster in physical combat. Howell was about to be lost to them, possibly for good.

The Englishman's feet felt glued to the floor. His body wouldn't obey any commands. He was frozen, staring as the creature started pulling Howell back into the blackened depths. This was a nightmare for him made real; the darkness and the water. Arthur felt helpless, little better than a small child facing an unimaginable fear. His adult mind whispered to him in opposition to that, If you do nothing then you will never forgive yourself.

He made a quiet sound of distress. While he was wrestling with that crippling fear Arthur's body went darting forward, quick as a hare, to close the distance separating him from those cold waters. He didn't dare reach for the monster. Instead, Arthur's hands went clamping around Howell's limp forearm, his body falling clumsily back on the stairs in his desperation. The Englishman had no inkling whether the creature could understand his language but that didn't prevent him from shouting at it. "No! I won't let you take him! He's my brother and not yours to have!"

Arthur's body trembled. The water was lapping at his arms where he was tugging to yank Howell back above the surface. Intense fear marked his face, tears sprung out of eyes wide as saucers, and the Englishman looked every bit the baby brother as he fought to keep Howell clutched, even while he was getting dragged that much further into the water himself. "L-let him go!"

Being reckless like this wasn't something Arthur did often. The chances were high that the creature might injure or kill him too. He had to take the risk. If he let go of Howell then losing the Welshman was guaranteed. Arthur couldn't allow that to happen. Even if his brother was dying with every tick of the clock -- or already gone -- he would not let this monster have Howell without a fight. No creature would steal his brother away from him. It couldn't end that way.

They hadn't made peace for the conflict that had taken place in the lower level of the Manor. If Howell died without knowing that Arthur loved him, forgave him for everything, then there would never be any closure. He struggled to keep his hold on the Welshman even as the slickness of the water was trying to pull them apart. Arthur had been tenacious since birth; he had no intention of ever letting go.

[Deleted]

From the moment that Howell’s knees touched down upon the damp steps, the next few minutes came in flashes as his entire attention turned to the numbing burn from his abdomen and nothing else much mattered for him. The cries and actions of his brothers fell on deaf, inattentive ears while his gaze had fallen downwards onto the water on the steps around him, and how oddly its tinge was turning a coppery red. Even that only confused him a little for it required much of his focus for him to lift his hand and press it on the area that ached and itched him so, though once heat flowed over his fingers a thought of how abnormal that was did strike him but he didn’t pull back his fingers to investigate, he no longer cared that much. Howell’s adrenaline and shock was anesthetizing him to the point that he no longer felt pain, no longer heard sounds save for his own, strangled breaths, yet the world around him seemed to have fallen beneath a cover of slow motion.

Straining against the weight of the world, Howell lifted his head, having forgotten the blood to his mouth and saw both Hamish and Michael’s enraged faces charging down towards him, mouths open with their shouting, but they ran too slowly. Wales could not even blink quick enough before a python of steel wrapped itself around his mid-section and pulled him back, earning a wide-eyed, grunt from him. Pain… pain reminded a person, and nation, that they were alive, and being in the cold, scaly embrace of the Ketos aroused the teeth of injury back into Howell’s wounds and earned them both a scream of anguish and agony. Once more, he was on fire and blood rushed past his fingers, onto the Ketos’ arm, to drip down into the floodwaters. The fire was intense and sweat appeared to mix with the water already on Howell’s skin as he weakly writhed in the Ketos’ sure grip, though thankfully cold water began to lap higher and higher.

Ah, sweet heaven…. The water brought back the chill of numbness that Howell’s body wanted and the Welsh’s head lolled back as Ketos dragged him further into the water. Water of another sort was washing through Howell’s mind, however, clearing away his sanity and clarity, leaving him nothing but dulled acceptance that he was tired and his eyes were dropping closed fast. The world had grown silent again and so had he. Blearily, Howell looked up the ceiling and the cold chill of the water, having doused his fire, brought about another chill of fear and a faint smile came to his bloody lips that there was someone holding him because, he didn’t want to be alone. However, whatever was holding him was cold, much too cold to be comforting and Wales rolled his head forward with a groan as he dumbly muttered for his mother.

Frantic and warm hands clasped his forearms and they so contrasted the hard arms around him that Howell managed to look up and blinked almost s if he was confused that the face he saw was not his mother’s. Rather, it was England and he was shouting something terrible though Howell could make out no words. Blood loss and the early stages of hypothermia were confusing his mind, dulling his mental abilities and making him shake, but even so he recognized the face of his whiney baby brother. Why was he holding his arms so hard? Why did he look so upset? Oh, he was always upset about something… what now? Howell blinked as the water lapped up to his chest, still the world moving much too slow for him while in reality, this was all happening much too fast but still, Howell found himself thinking, ‘Why does Arttie look so scared?’

That above everything else bothered Howell, but he was beyond the capacity to know why exactly. All the same, it made him frown just as the water crested over his eyes and when he blinked again, he saw his brother from beneath the water and the world truly fell silent except for his fluttering heartbeat. His own blood drifted through the water in front of his eyes, obscuring his view of England properly but that didn’t stop Wales from doing to most natural thing he knew, he smiled: he smiled for his brother so he wouldn’t be scared no more because there was no reason to be so as long as there was a Welsh smile for you. After that, however, the grey edges of his vision filled in and there wasn’t much else Howell saw or felt except his own fear that one of these days, his smile might not be enough to make England feel better and… darkness.

~Well... it's safe to say that Howell is unconscious, near death put not quite there.... though he is bleeding and now drowning so yay! Either way, the next time I'll be posting is maybe by Inhabitant but either then that, Wales is done from this thread.

[Ireland]

"Oof! Goddamnit!" Michael bellowed out when he found himself getting hit away by the monster. Getting knocked back into Hamish gave Michael double the reason to be pissed off. The creature was trying to escape with Howell in its clutches and by the looks of it, Arthur was going to go along for the ride. Michael swore as he got himself righted up to go charging back in the direction of the waters. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep a calm head because sinking into a total rage wasn't going to do any of them any good. The Irishman hurried forward to where Arthur was getting pulled along down into the water right along with their Welsh brother.

He hurried to grab hold of Arthur's leg since it was the closest limb for him to get a grip on. Michael ignored the wild kicks it made at him as he got a secure grip on the blond. "Sonofabitch! Whit t'hell are ye doin', y'feckin' Aynglish twit?! Tryin' t'get yerself killed too?!" These type of heroics weren't anything that Michael understood, and that he far from appreciated. If Arthur wanted to go drowning himself then he could do it another time. To his eyes, this act looked like a suicidal attempt to save the day -- when losing yet another life in this fight would have been pointless.

Howell's sword was left back on the stairwell above them where Michael had fallen. The weapon hadn't been of any use to him in this situation. And since Hamish had gone off his trolley then Michael at least didn't need to worry about the redhead racing over to cause further trouble. Michael focused on pulling at Arthur, trying to get a better grip on the Englishman by pawing his hand further up the man's leg. It was due to all those clumsy pats that he discovered the solid metal of the Englishman's gun. That weapon was holstered still.

Who needed a sword? Michael's fingers fit around the gun to pull it free. The outside of the gun was soaking wet, yes, but the bullets inside would still be useful. Unlike his old-style gun, that had been reduced to a lump of soaked powder and metal from the flood. There was a coldness that descended over his face; rendering it emotionless. That blank look was turned down to the Ketos that was receding deeper into the waters. He could still see the shape of its head as it began to blend down into the shadows below.

Michael flipped off the safety of the gun and promptly fired two bullets directly at that retreating shape.