Don't Tell Mummy, Wales..-APH-

It was dark.
But, the darkness was the only thing giving Ireland the slightest bit of security.
He didn't know why it did; someone could easily turn on the lights and open the door, and catch him.
But who would? What were the chances? Who would know?
He was trying to calm himself, but thinking about his action; which he knew they were punishable; it made his feel even more nervous. He cleared the troublesome thoughts aside.
He shuffled around, his bright green eyes useless in the pitch black.
Everything he felt was recognizable. The old chests and boxes, caked in dust, books scattered told him he was near the old rotting bookcase in the corner. That's where he wanted to be.
He felt for the keg but couldn't find it. A little frustrated, but still frightened, knowing what he was doing was punishable, he sped up his pace.
Finally he laid hands on it.
He smiled.
Pulling himself to his feet from his knees, he leaned over it and felt for the cork. It was a big barrel, about his height.
He'd just found it when he heard footsteps. He panicked a little, but then realized they were far away, nowhere near the cellar door.
He kneeled down and picked at the nozzle, but was unable to pull it open enough, but it did spill a little. He tasted it and smiled even broader.
Rum!
He stopped long enough to listen.
Nothing else. He wiped his hand on his tunic and reached once again for the top of the keg.
He let his stubby nails catch on the edge of the top and pulled it upward.
There was a crack and Ireland was sure he chipped something, but apparently not.
His second concern was someone had heard him upstairs, but it didn't seem so.
But, then again, the heartbeat in his ears blocked out most sound, so he wouldn't be able to tell anyway.
Slowly, making sure he didn't get any on his clothes, he stood at the keg.
There were footsteps. Close by.
He ducked behind the open keg, hoping he was facing away from the stairway.
There was a short silence.
Then the lights flew on. Ireland blinked at the sudden light; it stung his eyes a little.
It illuminated the boxes, crates, and the keg with Ireland crouched behind it. Luckily, he was facing away from the stairs, toward the wall, just as he'd thought.
Maybe whoever was coming down the stairs wouldn't look very hard. Maybe they wouldn't notice the open keg and the moved, dusty boxes, and not decide to investigate.
"…Hello?" A quiet, nervous voice came.
Ireland stayed silent.
Wales, despite not getting a reply, calmly continued down the steps.
He looked around. Nothin was out of the ordinary. Except…
The rum keg was leaking, the lid crudely set on.
Wales sighed and walked over to it. He shut the nozzle and looked around the back.
Ireland was still blinking in the light.
"…Ireland…"
Ireland jumped and squealed.
"Wales!" His voice showed he clearly knew he was doing something wrong.
Ireland saw Wales' sudden exasperated expression and gasped, panicking.
"Nay! Nay Wales…!" Ireland pleaded, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.
Wales tried to grab his hand, but Ireland pulled back. He eventually found a way to get a hold of his hand and yank him to his feet.
"Wales, don't tell Mummy!"
As a feeble attempt to get away, Ireland let his knees buckle. Wales sighed angrily as Ireland slipped from his grasp. Ireland went to struggle away, but Wales took him by the boot.
"Nay! Don't tell Mummy! Please Wales!"
Wales didn't some to notice.
Both of them stopped as the door opened. Instead of Mum, a familiar red-headed child poked in.
He started to laugh at his brother's dismay. Ireland stopped crying and looked up at Scotland, tears marks still streaking his face.
"Got into Mum's rum, ey?" He laughed.
Scotland bounded down the stairs toward the steps.
Wales sighed once again. At least he wasn't telling, himself. It was a bit fun to tattle on Ireland, he made such a useless fuss.
Ireland seemed confused, whether he should go or start crying again. He went with the latter.
"Scotland!" He whined. Before he could finish, Scotland mimicked him mockingly.
"Scoooootland! Ireland! It's your fault anyway!" He teased.
Ireland's tears came back immediately.
Wales yanked him up the stairs; it was a slow process, so Scotland gave Ireland a playful shove every now and then.
Ireland started pulling away, now from anger at his older sibling, but he couldn't quite reach him.
As soon as the others were out of the cellar, Scotland slammed the door shut and returned down the stairs, making his own way to the already opened rum keg.
~
Ireland was crying, audible now.
Scotland wasn't yelling or being obnoxious.
Wales wasn't standing around tagging behind her.
Britannia knew something was wrong.
"MUM!" It was Wales.
Ireland finally was able to release himself from Wales, but Britannia was right in front of his when he did so.
He looked up and was silent, face pale.
"Mummy! Ireland was downstairs, and-"
There were more than one thing Britannia could think of that Ireland might get in trouble for when he was quite a bit older having to do with the basement, but for now, at this age, there was only one possibility. She cut Wales off with the wave of a hand.
Ireland made a mix between a gasp and cough as Britannia hoisted him up by the back of his tunic.
Wales swallow hard, hoping he wouldn't get swatted as well. Britannia looked at him, a squirming, crying Ireland in her hands, and dismissed him with an irritated nod.
Wales scrambled away as quickly as possible, but stayed right outside.
He'd run if she decided to change her mind.
Britannia situated herself on a chair in the study room and laid a hand on Ireland's back, laying him across her lap.
He squealed, now fully aware of what was happening. He tried to squirm but she was holding tight.
Because there was nothing handy, Britannia simply whacked down on Ireland's (currently) clothed bottom with an open hand.
H let out a pained yelp through his already existing sobs.
He tried blindly to escape what was harming him, to no avail.
Britannia pulled down the last bit of protection of his backside just enough to expose him and gave him a couple more firm smacks.
After this, she let Ireland adjust his undergarments the way he wanted and let him bury his face in her shirt. She proceeded to rub his back through sobs and hiccups.
She heard giggling.
"You three." She said sternly.
The giggling stopped.
"In here." Britannia said.
Three heads poked around the corner of the doorway, a blond, a red-head, and a light brunette.
Reluctantly, England, Wales, and Scotland came forward.
Ireland was now looking back at them, sniffling, still latched to Britannia.
She looked at all of them. Wales seemed innocent, except tattling, which could be taken care of in other ways.
England seemed oblivious.
Scotland did, as well.
She took one last look at their faces and waved a dismissive hand.
All three children loosened and sighed.
"Wait." Britannia said, making all of them jump.
"Arthur, Wales you can leave." She said nicely. "Scotland."
Scotland put on his best poker face and stepped up to her.
"S-Scotland w-was in th-the cellar, too." Ireland managed through hiccups and sniffles, which were lessening ever so slightly.
Britannia raised an eyebrow.
Ireland gave him a sly smile, and Scotland scowled at his sneaky brother.
"Run along, play with Wales and Arthur or something, dear." Britannia said quietly to Ireland, letting his hesitantly drop to the ground and scramble away, rubbing his bum.
Britannia looked at Scotland, who went pale.
He knew what was coming next.