Welcome to Tasty Buns How May I Help You
England walked into the restaurant, extremely ticked that it had taken so long to find. No one seemed to know an Alfred, and he didn't mean just Alfred F. Jones. No one in America went by that name whether it was simply out of respect for the dead or an attempt for the government to make finding the information he needed difficult. Finally, finally, one little girl mentioned a burger joint where he could find an Alfred, whether it was the Alfred he needed remained to be seen.
Much like the rest of America, the reconstruction had made the place flawless to a fault. There wasn't any dirt anywhere. Mysteriously, much of the designs where based on styles prominent in the 1950's, he had a feeling this had been one of Alfred's final wishes. He was at his most optimistic then. As he opened the door, the small bell rang, and the fry cook looked up. England stared, not realizing how literal his informant had been when he said to find Alfred.
"Welcome to Tasty Buns how may I help you?" he said cheerfully, handing over a take out bag to a lady in front of him. England oddly enough did not feel the sting he would have thought at seeing someone else with Alfred's face. Of course, the people America worked with rotated at a rapid pace, but they would still care that he'd all but disappeared as a personality. They would have wanted another one, and it made sense for this machine to know the secret. Who did Alfred trust more than himself after all?
"Alfred, we need to know the formula your master gave you," The smile disappeared entirely when he realized he wasn't a customer. England sighed in relief, glad that this model did have some sort of collective intelligence past making burgers.
"I'm sorry that is not on the menu, but you may request a special order from one of the human cooks upstairs," he said, making England's face blanch. He was back to smiling. Perhaps, he had imagined the rest. Months, months wasted, finding a stupid fry cook robot, he couldn't know what the other countries around the globe desperately needed, a gift that Alfred had only seen fit to give to his brother who unfortunately died right after him. This was his only lead, and it was over just like that.
"Forget it, I knew the idiot couldn't actually make intelligent life," he said, and this Alfred cast him a frosty glare, before wacking Arthur with his metal spatula.
"Ow," England said, both irritated and excited by the signs of personality. He must know something. Yes, there was hope.
"That will be two ninety five," Alfred demanded. He didn't seriously expect him to pay for getting whacked up side the head, did he? No matter, even if he was engineered by Alfred himself, he would get the information he needed from this damn thing.
"I didn't order anything," he said, practically shouting, earning him strange looks from the people at the tables. They returned to their business once spotted. After the riots and pillaging, it seemed the U.S. mentality had developed a mistrust of strangers, especially ones from abroad. He didn't blame them. After he . . . no, he needed to focus, and this glorified grease fire was the key to everything.
"You were being an ass," he replied cooly, before handing over a vanilla ice cream cone to a little girl.
" So, you do know something," England said, leaning forward. Alfred ignored him and filled the next order. This continued until he had no customers left. Finally, he bothered to acknowledge the brit.
"Why should I help you? All that matters is my people are safe and happy" he said, and just as he thought, the reason this place hadn't received a new personification was that Alfred had simply made a replacement, one that couldn't die (from natural causes anyway) and could gain the knowledge he had easily. He never did like to start over.
"The rest of the world is running out of food, and your government won't reveal the bloody formula," he said, not caring who heard, and no one cared to interrupt. America grinned and lifted his hands to feign innocence, one of which still had the spatula.
" Sorry, not my problem,"America said, flipping his break sign and helping himself to some soda. Slurp. Guzzle. Glurp. England watched in disgust as he sucked the soda like a vacuum. England began to twitch. This thing only seemed to have Alfred's bad qualities, the self centered soda guzzling prat. After the thing belched, England couldn't take it anymore. What was he really waiting for anyway?
"Forget it, as always, no matter what you're made of, you are selfish to the end" he spat, briskly making his way to the door which wasn't more than ten steps away. The place was small and secluded, but everyone in town called it the best kept secret in Idaho. He'd leave it a secret for all the good this robot was.
"So you're going to give up that easily huh?" Alfred replied coyly. No, every time he tried to dissociate himself with that idiot he dragged him back in, until, . . . never mind that. Against his overwhelming desire to leave and never see him again, he turned around.
"I imagine Alfred programed you to follow strict rules correct? And knowing him, he would follow the bloody three laws of robotics," England said, and this Alfred put a hand where his heart would have been, revealing the first semblance of pride he possessed.
" Alfred Jones program me without a heart? Impossible," he said with a teasing smile. If you can convince me, I will help you. This machine had something he needed, and he wasn't asking for much. He might as well try. What else could he do?
"Okay, what will make you give up the formula?" England asked because he wasn't all that good with emotions. He'd pushed any semblance of that down years before, to the point that he'd become estranged from his extended family. America- Alfred( because he would not recognize him as such) crossed his arms. It just wasn't fair. He'd expected- wanted to start over with him( or whoever replaced him), and instead, there was a hunk of metal.
" Say please," Alfred said in a sing song way. The little girl from before giggled in the corner. He winked at her. His smile changed into a more of a smirk when Arthur's jaw dropped. He couldn't be serious. Arthur, say please to a machine? A thing made to serve man and who existed more out of convenience and desperation than anything, no, he wouldn't.
"No," he said instantly. America flipped another burger.
"Say it," he said, with an edge of impatience. As much as it bothered him, he noted Alfred's growing annoyance and stopped himself from saying no again. The people at home were counting on him. It wasn't fair that America purposely avoided telling the rest of Europe his secret, all because of what Arthur did. He would attempt to reconcile that as best he could.
" Fine. Please," England said, waiting and waiting as Alfred checked his servers. Finally, he shrugged.
" I don't know," he said, and England began making a scene throwing napkins everywhere. Alfred let him, continuing to smile lazily. Some people were leaving at this point, before "the crazy man" sat down.
"What the hell? You tricked me. You stupid fry cook" England said, shaking his fist, enraged, but clear headed enough not to hit him and avoid bruising his knuckles on the metal body hidden underneath the synthetic skin.
"Leave it to him to make bloody robot fry cooks and not keep a back up of the stupid formula," England muttered, because it had all been very mysterious at first. England had blamed himself as far as why America had begun to slowly withdraw from the international scene and stay at home. Most had assumed that it was simply his preference. No one realized that he had grown weak and had been advised to stay at home for his health. He had exhausted most of his natural resources and had been working frantically to ensure the future of his people before everything got shot to hell. Perhaps, if he had known that, he wouldn't have done what he did. (They told him it was alright, and he had believed them, but that's another story entirely.) The fact remained that North America was mysteriously run so they did not suffer food shortages, and the rest of the world was not.
"I don't have all of it. If I did, I wouldn't remember that I knew it," Alfred said sympathetically. Seeing another customer walk in, he took their order while England considered the information given to him.
"So, what do you know?" England said, and Alfred considered a moment.
"Rosebud,"he said, and Arthur assumed the robot was teasing him. No way Alfred would say that, well actually . . . Damn America for being so random.
"You have got to be kidding me?" he asked, back to square one. Perhaps his time would have been better spent helping Russia and Japan crack the code, the fact Ivan hadn't yet left the man somewhat bitter. England pointed out no one knew how long ago America had developed the formula so he should be patient. (Arthur wasn't sure if they could. No one had tried and succeeded before, and it was America, not one of his scientist that created it. Still, if anyone had a similar passion for science, it was Russia and Japan.)
"It's not what he said, but it's something like that. He probably wasn't thinking about all that science stuff at that point," Alfred elaborated, and his speech pattern slowed becoming hesitant and sad, (like he would know true sadness.)
"You heard his last words?"England said, becoming somewhat distracted. All he had heard from his boss was America was dead, and they should celebrate. It was then that he'd walked out of parliament for the last time and hadn't returned since.
"Yeah, he told them to let me in," Alfred said, slurping the last bit of soda and staring at the empty cup.
"And?" Arthur pressed. Alfred shook his head, chucking the empty soda cup into the bin.
"Never mind, it's too personal. I don't think he would have wanted you to know," Alfred said which only made Arthur's curiosity burn brighter. Did Alfred not hate him as much as he claimed in his final years? Did he forgive him for destroying him, little by little?
"Did he say my name?" England said, causing the robot to erupt in hearty laughter. It was so realistic that it caused England to pause. Perhaps, he wasn't as okay with this copy as he thought. However, if he noticed England's sudden discomfort, he hid it well. Alfred gave him a rueful grin.
"Conceited much?" Alfred said, making England scowl. Not that Alfred's opinion actually mattered to him, he could call him a monster as much as he wanted. Whatever the rest of the world thought, his bosses had made England better for a little while, at others expense, but he hadn't known that then. He'd seen nothing but happy faces. No one showed him the pictures.. . and
"Just tell me," he snapped. Alfred extended his hand and took hold of his head, pulling it back to get a better look at his eyes. England grit his teeth, but Alfred chuckled, releasing him.
"Neverland" he whispered, watching him closely. Neverland. He'd said that? It could mean so many things. Whether it was this enclosed bubble he'd created for his people or a reference to happy times long past, he wasn't sure. He knew what he wanted it to mean, what it could mean and what this robot thought it meant.
"Are you sure?"he asked, still wondering what to make of it. In the pressure of his final days, did he wish for . . . no.
"Yeah," Alfred said with a heavy sigh. He marveled at these things, one could not tell the difference most of the time with the advanced ones. If he did not have the gut instinct that told him this wasn't Alfred, he would have thought as much. Not that it mattered, he wasn't. He felt a bit more at peace about his departure, but he still did not have what he needed.
"Well, thank you for your time," England said, heading out. Alfred moved from the counter, and England instinctively turned. No way he'd attack him, but he wouldn't take the chance. He need not have bothered.
"Where are you going?" Alfred said, appearing the tiniest bit apprehensive. Does he have the compulsion to befriend other nations? Or is he confused by other memories? Ones, where he was still smiling fondly at America, instead of smugly. I told you I would win one day, boy. Once again, I am the best, and you're left in the dust. England's eyes watered. He hadn't known then that his government had poisoned the water supply, burned the fields, killed . . .
"While what you said is an interesting tidbit, it doesn't really help me now does it?" England said, growing stiff. He couldn't break down here.
"I can take you there," Alfred offered, casually, as if he did it all the time, as if it were real. All that was a ridiculous and useless fancy, he was a robot. What did he know of such things?
"Nice try,"he said, managing to glare. It didn't matter what he did before. He wasn't putting up with such a notion. At no time had he believed in such a thing, he loved the idea, but this source wasn't credible, and the faeries that he'd imagined had only giggled scornfully when he asked. You're such a dreamer Arthur.
"I'm serious. It's where he figured out the formula. If nothing else, it will give you another lead, " he offered helpfully. Arthur laughed mockingly, and Alfred frowned, ignoring the little girl trying to get his attention.
"You want to send me on another wild goose chase?" England asked, and Alfred immediately switched to a sly grin.
"Do you have another one to follow?" he asked, and England huffed. He didn't need to know that he didn't. England could swallow his pride and return to parliament and forget this hopeless mission that was sending him to Neverland of all things. He could.
"Can you even leave your post?" Arthur asked instead. Alfred's smile grew even wider, finally picking up the little girl.
"I'm America. I can have any job I want," he pushed his thumb to his heart for emphasis. The girl giggled and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and slipped her a note. She then squirmed out of his grip and returned to her family in oddly formal attire compared to her yellow summer dress. He wasn't sure why his attention kept coming to her, but it simply did. He wasn't missing his family or anything. Whatever, he had a mission to accomplish. Silly little girls in sunflower dresses didn't matter.
"And you chose to be a fry cook," he said wryly. He'd always thought if Alfred ever did have to take a human occupation, he'd go for astronaut. This caught Alfred by surprise. He looked at him dubiously as if it were obvious. Yes, he could understand why, but it's such a waste for a robot to stuff his face.
"So? I own the place," he said with a shrug.
"Never mind, I should really stop trying to understand you Americans," he said and shook his head. He couldn't really seem to get used to this machine. Alfred played with his tag that actually read George. So how had that little girl known? Not important, he did have a lead right now, sort of.
"Is Neverland code for something?" he asked, and Alfred once again checked his servers.
"Yes and no," he replied. How cryptic, it couldn't be literal. Mermaids? Faeries? Such things only existed to keep people sane, he'd lost that luxury around the time he'd gained a dictator.
"Be more specific," he asked, keeping his tone calm yet insistent.
"Neverland has many stops along the way, and all together carry the ideas of that place," he replied vaguely. So, it was a recreation, by the sounds of it, an American recreation. He had seen plenty of his things remade by America. He didn't really want to add Neverland.
"So, it really isn't Neverland," England said, somewhat disappointed. He should have known it wasn't true, but the machine had sounded so confident.
"Well, he made it, so it sort of is," Alfred said logically. There's American ingenuity for you, if it doesn't exist, fake it. He had mixed feelings about America's illusions, sometimes he really liked the cgi, and other times, he just felt lied to.
"He made it?" Arthur said, knowing that fact alone might string him along a little longer.
"Same time he was competing with Japan in the robot department," Alfred reminded him. Ah yes, he remembered that fondly, although Japan had better reasons for what he did. Japan had an increasingly older population to worry about. America had been more than happy to share what he knew back then. That wasn't something that could be said later on.
"So, he makes islands to?" he said, disbelieving. He couldn't have faked that, not to the last flippin mermaid.
"It's a secret city," he said, putting a finger to his lips.
"Of course it is, he would urbanize it. Wouldn't he? He couldn't leave things well enough alone," A nasty glare met his sardonic response, it didn't seem natural on Alfred's face.
"You can leave now if you're going to be like that,"Alfred said deadly serious. The machine had been tolerable before this. He had triggered something but what? He tended to be borderline sarcastic most of the time.
"What?" England mouthed. The words barely leaving his lips.
"I have no reason to help you. The only reason I am is because he would have wanted me to," Alfred said, curling his hands into fists. The intense glare unsettling, familiar, and impossibly genuine. He couldn't so perfectly match such defiance, as was set in his arched eyebrow, and thin lips. America couldn't have replaced himself so easily. Arthur wanted him to make a mistake.
"He hated me," England said. He'd received whole letters consisting of nothing but I hate you, over and over again until the words blurred together. It was always accompanied by a photograph. Someone was usually dead in it.
"No, he just intensely disliked you," Alfred said with a shrug. England knew the difference between casual hate and intense hate. If you really hated someone, you avoided them entirely. Much like Scotland before him, America had wanted nothing to do with England- again. He hadn't cared either. He thought he'd only have to wait another hundred years or so for him to cool off about a few killings. Trivial in the grand scheme of things that amount of time and for a paltry set of bodies. Arthur hadn't tried to apologize. Never did he try to contact him either. America was dying, and he hadn't noticed.
"Same difference," England said, feeling sick all of a sudden. He leaned against the counter. Alfred noticed and poked him with a spatula.
"No, he disliked you for what you've become," he corrected. What had he become? Competent? Debt Free? Friendless? Merciless? What he had tried to prevent in the first place? No. He was still the same.
"Am I so different? The monarchy was due to die out and then, there's the other thing," he could never right out and say what he's actually become to the others. He always chose some sort of flowery way of saying it.
"Well, he hoped if you could remember the magic you used to believe in. Then, you'd be ready," Alfred said, making a long sweeping motion in the direction of the ceiling. The contraption looked hopeful, and he had no doubts that he believed every word Alfred told him. Tragic. There's no such thing as fairies. He slapped a mosquito along his neck. They always seemed to follow him.
"For what?" England said, not up for some of the ridiculous challenges Alfred set. That had only been for truth or dare, if he were really hated, England could begin to see the many things America might have planned for him to make him "worthy."
"Apparently, he left the formula with a faerie for when he felt you deserved it," Alfred said.
"There's no such things as fairies," England said, feeling some sort of unpleasant twinge right after. He'd learned to ignore it.
"Bam, dead faerie, better hope it wasn't the one you needed. He didn't write it down," Alfred taunted. England didn't believe the bluff. America wasn't that much of an idiot. He wouldn't leave his people's future to chance.
"Someone in your government must know how?" he asked. Alfred shook his head.
"Nope, everything is designed to take care of itself," Alfred said, pressing a button to clean the counter to prove his point.
"I have to see one of those things?" he said, unpleasantly. When he had seen glimpses of them, they hadn't exactly been nice.
"That totalitarian government really jaded you," Alfred said, somewhat exasperated. There it was, the truth. He didn't need to hear it from a robot.
"Shut it. I'm here to make sure my people and the rest of Europe won't starve. I'm not here for you to complain about the path I took," England said, meaning every word. He did it to survive, become stronger, and he had. America had withered and died. As always, America just had to find a way to best him. He'd been gone for years, but he'd foreseen the same happening to the rest of them. Why else would he send him that letter?
By the time you read this letter, I'll be dead.
I need you to know one thing before I continue. I still hate you. I always will.
I, however, don't hate people. I never have. Even when I hated Russia and Japan, I never wanted to hurt anyone who didn't deserve it. Governments can take things too far.
You of all people should know that. So, I leave this letter to give you hope. When you're out of time, find an Alfred. He will send you on the right path.
Begrudgingly,
Alfred F. Jones
"Of course, I have no right to mention what killed Alfred, ignore me" he said, smiling yet glaring at the same time. He held his spatula ready as if he were just waiting for England to make a wrong move.
"I didn't kill Alfred," England said because that was never his intention. It was a consequence. He didn't think it was deliberate. He didn't know, but that was always their excuse wasn't it? He'd accused Germany being a blind fool but the same had happened to him. Karma, at its simplest, always seemed to work this way with him. He laughed when France crumbled as an empire, and the same happened to him, only much more slowly and painfully. He took Canada away, and France took America, again in the ugliest way possible. Sometimes, he really did just want to give up.
"You made things worse," Alfred said, and he couldn't argue that.
I do not know why I do this to myself, but this popped into my head. Let me know what you think. As it stands for my Hetalia section, Broken Glass of Empires will be updated fairly often. As the Tide Turns, I need to be careful with and will be updated when I feel whatever chapter I have his ready for output. That said, I recommend putting anything of mine you're interested in on Alerts.