Title: The World You're From

Rating: K plus because I can! :D

Genre: Humor, mostly.

Pairings: FrUk and maybe a little bit of RussiaXCanada if you squint enough (but considering their age, I'm doubtful any of you would take it seriously).

Universe: Um, AU. Like, humans.

Summary: Alfred's sick and his father decides to jump at the chance to get him culturally educated. "You should know what kind of world your mother comes from." FACE family. Humor.

A/N: Um… I read a story about "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" and suddenly, I could see Alfred asking the inevitable question (which you will read in this story). Also, I have to mention that in the beginning, Alfred's age may seem much older than ten but that's because I originally was going to make him sixteen. By the end of the story, though, he was starting to sound like a ten year old. So I had to edit it to change his age. I only did a half-decent job at that because I really didn't want to take the time to rewrite the beginning. Sorry.

Hopefully, you all will enjoy this story as product of an overactive imagination. Please review.

Alfred hated being sick. It was always so boring. His parents never let him out of his room – which was usually fine because he had a TV and therefore plenty of video games – and none of his friends could come over. This time, he was sick with a nasty cold and he'd played all his video games one too many times. His father had promised him a new one if he was really good but now that he was sick, he doubted that would happen – he had a tendency to not be very nice when he was sick. So now he was stuck in his room, staring at the ceiling and imagining what it would possibly be like to be a superhero that never got sick.

"Alfred?" his father inquired, knocking on his already slightly ajar door. Alfred turned his head to look at him, trying to convey how utterly bored he was. "Nothing on TV?"

"Not really," Alfred replied dully. "At least, nothing entertaining is on."

Francis sighed, leaning against the doorframe. "Quelle tristesse…"

"I don't speak French…" Alfred muttered, always troubled when his father decided to torture him by speaking in his native language.

"No, but in a few years, I'm sure you'll catch on, oui?" Francis reminded him smugly but in a kind voice with a smile on his face. "Anyway, I came to help you with your boredom. Your mère is not home right now – took Matthew a friend's house – so what he doesn't know, won't hurt either of us." He winked.

Alfred sat up in bed, curious. The only reason his father hardly ever defied his mother's rules was because he didn't like to be guilt-tripped into obeying next time. It was pretty much the same reason Arthur complied when Francis set down a rule. Alfred never questioned their relationship as they were still together and that was what mattered. "And does this mean I can leave my room?"

Francis mulled over this before grinning. "Oui! But only to the library. I know you don't go in there very often but you should. And now that you're sick and only have two rooms to go to – if you don't count the bathroom – I'm sure you'll find some interesting books in there."

Alfred made a face, plopping back down onto his pillow. "But Mom buys most of the books that go into the library. And when I see him read, he always looks so bored with the words on the pages."

"Your mother often looks uninteresting in most things he does…" Francis reminded him and they both frowned at the truthfulness of this statement. "But anyway, it doesn't matter that I haven't supplied nearly as many books for that library as your mother has. You know, it might be a good thing. You should know what kind of world you mother comes from." With a brilliant grin, Francis turned and left.

Alfred stared at the door for several minutes. He didn't want to read any of his mother's books. They all looked so boring and old – there was a reason he hardly ever went into the library. Matthew and Arthur were the bookworms in the family. But the minutes dragged by and his daydream fell victim to lack of inspiration to keep it going. He slid out of bed and wandered down the hall toward the stairs. "I wonder if Mum still has those fairy-tale books he used to read me…" he muttered as he descended the stairs. He turned to his left and headed down another hall. This one was shorter than the one upstairs and all the rooms behind the doors were storage rooms. He'd tried to explore one of the rooms once but his father had caught him in a panic and told him not to go in any of them without a parent.

He walked to the end of the hall where two giant double doors stood, taunting him because of his presence. With a huff, he pushed open one and stepped quietly inside. He made sure the door was shut all the way behind him in case Arthur came home while he was out of bed. He wished he'd thought of doing that with his bedroom door but knew Francis would take the heat if his mom found him missing. Carefully, always afraid to make noise in the massive room, he made his way over to the first bookshelf. His mom liked fictional books, mostly, but thought it was important to be educated – therefore, there were at least two bookshelves full of nonfiction books.

Sighing, he made his way down the aisle until he reached the third bookshelf from the door. He turned and began scanning some of the books. These ones were absolutely ancient and he was sure Arthur wouldn't appreciate it if he touched any of them. He left that bookshelf behind and continued down until he reached the fifth bookshelf. After that, he'd have to go back up the aisle and look to his left as he'd just been focusing on his right side. His mom hadn't ever had the patience to put any sort of system into the library beyond sorting them between fiction and nonfiction and apparently age as well. But without a system, Alfred decided finding a book was extremely difficult.

Finally, he found a row of books he thought looked relatively interesting. He'd looked at the Sherlock Holmes series – had even sat on the floor of the library and read a few chapters of one of the books – but he didn't find it nearly as entertaining as he thought they'd be (mostly because he didn't understand a lot of the words). "The Vampyre" captured his attention for all of two pages before he'd put the book back. It may have been the first one of its kind, but it hardly had an interesting story. He'd grabbed "The War of the Worlds" and "The Time Machine" but he wasn't sure he'd finish reading them (they had lots of big words too). Suddenly, he saw it: "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland". He frowned and took it off the shelf, flipping through it. It looked familiar, with all the pictures. Was this a book his mom had tried to read to him once?

Alfred sat down and set the first two books onto the ground before opening up Alice in Wonderland. The beginning immediately made him think of boring lectures from his mom and he wished he had a rabbit hole to escape to when he was tired of listening. At some point in the day, he realized that he'd been sitting there for quite awhile and he needed to blow his nose. Leaving the two books on the ground – unconsciously deciding to bug his mom by doing that – he grabbed the sequel to "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" and headed out of the library. He heard Arthur and Francis talking in the kitchen so he didn't stop in heading upstairs. He slipped into his room, putting the musty old book face down on his bed so he didn't lose his place. Then he hurried to the bathroom to find tissues.

Matthew hugged Ivan goodbye before he got out of the car and headed up his walk. He was a little late and he was sure both his parents would be unhappy about that. He sighed as he opened the front door – and was greeted with perfect silence. "Hello?" he called hesitantly. "Mère? Papa?"

"Matthew!" Francis cried, poking his head into the sitting room. He looked really pleased with himself at the moment which made Matthew nervous. "Did you have fun?"

"Yeah… Sorry I'm late. Ivan's mommy forgot what time it was," Matthew explained, trying to get an excuse out before his father suddenly remembered the time.

Francis blinked, losing his smile. "Erm, oh yes. Your mère will be pissé if he remembers when you were supposed to be home." He didn't sound upset though and that made Matthew speculate.

"So, what have you been doing all day?" he asked, curious and yet still wondering if he wanted to know.

Francis grinned again. "Oh, I've been sitting around, trying to decide what to cook for dinner." He pauses and steps into the foyer. "And getting your brother to read."

"Read? Alfred, read?" Matthew inquired incredulously. "How did you do that?"

"Boredom produces many wonderful things," Francis sang just as Arthur wandered into the room, blinking blankly.

"What are you talking about…?" he asked in a slightly horrified tone. Matthew decided that he really didn't want to know what the other meaning of "things" was that both his parents had obviously thought of.

Suddenly, from upstairs, Alfred called, "Daddy, is Mum home?"

"Yes," Arthur replied instead, wandering toward the stairs. But Alfred was already at the top of them, making his mom put his hands on his hips. "Any particular reason you're out of bed?"

Alfred beamed. "Looking for you! Will you come talk to me?"

Arthur sighed and looked as though he wanted to do anything but – as he was afraid of getting sick for some reason or other. Still, he wandered upstairs and followed Alfred to his room. Matthew turned to Francis. "Do you know what Alfred decided to read?"

"Nope," Francis chirped but still didn't look any sort of upset. "Should I be more concerned with it?"

Matthew thought about this before following his father into the kitchen. "Depends on what Mères reaction turns out to be…"

Arthur couldn't imagine what his son wanted to talk to him about. It made him nervous. Alfred plopped down onto his bed with a sudden serious look on his face and produced a book from behind him. Arthur squinted at the title before blinking in surprise. "Where did you get that?" he asked.

"Oh, Daddy brought it up to me," Alfred lied easily. "But I had a few questions for you. What's Wonderland like?"

Arthur made a face, confused as he sat down next to his son. "Well, you read it, didn't you?" Alfred nodded and rolled his eyes, ticking off his mother. He hated it when his son did that. "Then you should know. It's an illogical place – drives you mad because there's no understanding in it."

Alfred looked enraptured. "What about the Rabbit? Why doesn't he have a name? And the Hatter?"

"Didn't the book tell you this? Names are pointless in Wonderland. No one cares to have one," Arthur replied, waving off Alfred's questions. "And what about the Rabbit? He's a silly creature, always late for nothing."

Alfred looked down at the cover of the book. "Okay… How do you get out of Wonderland?"

"Heavens, you haven't finished it?" Alfred scowled but shook his head. "Well, I'm not going to ruin it for you. Alfred, why are you asking me all these questions? You're reading the books…"

"When did you leave Wonderland?" his son asked earnestly. "Are you ever planning on going back?"

For a moment, Arthur didn't understand. He stared blankly at his eldest son, his ten year old son. Then he cringed. "What on Earth…? I was never in Wonderland. Wonderland isn't real."

Alfred huffed, setting the book down and crossing his arms. "Sure you were in Wonderland. It makes sense – how you sometimes seem so crazy and talk nonsense. Did you leave most of your sense in Wonderland?"

Arthur put his face in a hand, taking several deep breaths. "I promise, Alfred, Wonderland isn't real. And the only reason I'm slightly mad is because of you and your father and brother. I don't know how anyone can keep sense while in the same room as you three. Honestly! What gave you the idea that I came from an imaginary world?"

"Daddy said I should learn about what kind of world you came from. So I found this book and it reminded me of all those fairytale stories you used to tell me. About the mint bunny and fairies? I remember them. I thought maybe you'd lived in Wonderland…" Alfred looked so innocent with his wide blue eyes, staring hopefully up at his mother.

"So it's your father's fault…" Arthur muttered darkly, glancing swiftly at the door. "Wait, I thought your dad brought you the book?" Alfred stuttered, realizing his mistake. "You went downstairs?"

"Daddy let me!" Alfred screamed, scrambling for blankets to hide under. "I'm sorry! I was bored and Daddy told me that I should read. So I went to the library and found these books…"

Arthur frowned, staring at his son as he peeked out from under his comforter. "It…It's okay. Finish reading 'Through the Looking Glass' and I'm going to go talk to your father." Alfred looked confused about the fact that he wasn't in more trouble but didn't fight it. Arthur calmly left the room and went downstairs, hunting for his husband. "Francis!" he barked, catching the man in the kitchen. Matthew was there too, watching his father cook. "Matthew," he said sweetly. "Go play in your room for a few minutes, please."

Matthew agreed happily and hurried off. "What did I do wrong?" Francis inquired, confused.

"Your choice of words is unbelievable," Arthur snapped, glaring daggers at the other blonde. "Honestly! Alfred thought I was from Wonderland!" Francis snorted, covering his mouth his hand. "You think it's funny?"

"So that's the book he chose? Well…" he smiled as Arthur continued to stare at him. "It's not extremely funny. Alfred is only ten!" Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes irritably. "Oh, you used to have such an imagination!"

"I still do!" he cried, but he wasn't so sure which side he was fighting on now. "But really… He's ten. He…he should have a better grasp on reality. And you're not supposed to encourage him with your ridiculous choice of words." He frowned and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not from Wonderland…"

Francis raised his eyebrows. "I think you're a little more afraid of the accusation than our son's sanity, ma chère…" Arthur grabbed a magnet off the refrigerator and threw it at his husband's head. "Ouch!"

"YOU GIT!"