Notes: This story is a human AU which will probably serve as background for other stories I might write. It's going to be 4–5 chapters long. I wanted to try a bit of a different style, more fragmented than usual, but I think I succeeded only in part, and not in this chapter. I hope it's not too bad. It's also my first time writing something so long from Arthur's POV, I hope I haven't messed up!

Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to its creator Hidekaz Himaruya, credits for the cover picture go to シロクマ (pixiv id=621971).

Alfred, Part 1

In retrospect, Alistair would say that it was all Arthur's fault. Arthur would deny, of course, because he wouldn't agree with Alistair even under torture, but when he was alone, without his older brother's grin tormenting him, the boy would recognize that yes, he had certainly played a hand in the events that had followed. And the thought was always accompanied by a spark of pride, because, unlike his older brothers, Arthur could see what truly mattered: he could see the way their mother's eyes sparkled now, the way her smile was more genuine, her features finally lacking the tension that had hardened them for so many years. It hadn't always been like that.

It wasn't like that the day everything was put into motion, a warm day of June when Summer's warm temperatures and bright sun were timidly starting to make themselves seen. Arthur had felt blessed for the presence of the air conditioning that cooled down the rooms and corridors of the university, making him forget the humid heat he had complained about when he was still outside. And it wasn't only that: the university building was incredibly interesting, in the humble opinion of a ten-year-old. It was a maze of ample corridors sided by grand walls adorned with low reliefs and motives that exuded a note of solemnity, almost reminding Arthur of some old buildings from homes, with the high windows opening on a cloudless sky that gave no indication of the location. If Arthur pretended hard enough, he could almost imagine that he was still in England.

The architecture wasn't the only interesting thing, however. Somebody seemed almost to have feared that people could forget they were inside a university instead of a random old building, and had done his best to remind them. The halls and corridors were invaded by boards with colourful posters and displays that highlighted the activities of the university, such a rich display of knowledge and trivia that Arthur's head was almost spinning, he didn't quite know where to look to absorb all that information.

A series of panels about an expedition in Egypt was the cause of the boy's ultimate downfall. What he did was nothing special: he merely stopped to have a closer look at the pictures and found himself completely engrossed in the explanation. Yet such an apparently harmless, insignificant action led to unforeseen consequences of much bigger magnitude.

After reading one of the panels, Arthur turned to show his mother the discovery, his lips curled into an excited smile – only to find an empty space next to him. The boy needed a moment to process the unexpected information, then his eyes quickly roamed over the corridor, widening, his features slowly shifting from excitement to horror as his stomach coiled with dread.

"Mum?" he tried to call fearfully, his voice wavering, but deep down, Arthur already knew that it was useless: his mother's bright red hair was hard to miss, and there weren't many people around the corridor. Two girls were chatting next to a door, a young man was walking at a brisk pace, but there was no trace of red. If Arthur couldn't see his mother, it meant that she wasn't there.

And neither was Alistair, who had left even earlier to check on something – Arthur hadn't even been listening to him. The boy couldn't claim that he liked Alistair, but at that moment, even he would have been welcome.

"Mum?!" Arthur called again, his breathing pitching up.

For a second time, nobody answered him.

Arthur swiftly turned around, his eyes wildly inspecting every corner as his head frantically moved from side to side, but the result didn't change: no red hair. It was at that moment that the boy was invaded by another horrifying realization: he had no idea of where he was. He hadn't been paying attention to where they were going, too taken by the displays and pictures, and now he didn't know how to get back to the entrance, or how to get out of the corridor. There was only one thing he knew with certainty: that place was huge.

Now, Arthur was a big boy. He was ten years old, which was almost a grown-up, no matter what Alistair or Connor or Dylan said, so, he was aware that he shouldn't panic. Yet, that knowledge wasn't helping. Arthur didn't know what to do. He kept looking around, his eyes as wide as saucers, but his feet were frozen on the spot. Mum mustn't have realized that he had stopped, so she didn't know where he was, either. She would look for him, but would she ever find him? That place was so big…

Arthur almost wanted to run, but that would have probably only resulted in him getting lost even further. What could he do, then? Those corridors, that had looked so bright and inviting a few moments earlier, where suddenly ominously big – the walls were too high, the small windows suffocating, they almost seemed to be curling inwards, closing over him.

Arthur's throat was closed off by a big lump, and his vision was blurry – tears, he realized suddenly. He felt a slight twinge of shame at that, and he swallowed painfully, somehow managing to restrain the hot tears that were pressing against his lids. He still didn't know what to do, however.

He was in a foreign country, with people who spoke a butchered version of his language, who were said to carry guns around and maybe kidnap children and sell them for their organs – that was what Oliver had said when he had learnt that Arthur was moving, at least. Arthur hadn't believed him, his mother had told him numerous times that he shouldn't take heed to anything that came out of his cousin's mouth, but at that moment… what if Oliver was right? The fear was closing off Arthur's throat, a barrier between his brain and any rational thought, his heart was racing.

He wanted Mum. Or Alistair. He would have hugged Alistair if he had seen him, even if he didn't like him at all. Scratch that, he was never going to say another word against Alistair…

"Hey, kid, is everything all right?"

Arthur jumped, screeching.

The man who was crouched next to him smiled, holding up his hands in a placating manner.

"Whoa there, sorry! I didn't mean to scare you. I just noticed that you seemed to be alone… where are your parents? Did you get lost?"

Arthur didn't answer, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the stranger.

The man was American, he had immediately realized it by his accent. He was tall and strong, casually dressed in a pair of jeans and a white shirt that highlighted his tanned complexion. His chiselled features were framed by straight chestnut brown hair and his eyes were of the most intense cornflower blue that Arthur had ever seen, so bright that it almost looked fake. His white-toothed smile was far too perfect as well, there was no way somebody would smile like that without having a hidden agenda. Suddenly, all of Oliver's tales about disappeared children sounded far too real.

"I shouldn't talk to strangers," Arthur declared drily, inching away from the man.

Much to his surprise, the stranger laughed. It wasn't the sound Arthur would have expected from the mouth of a child-snatcher, but a hearty, honest laugh.

"Fair enough," the man retorted, "Nice to see that there are some judicious young men around. Well, I'm George Jones. It's a real pleasure to meet you. And I won't do anything, I promise – just take you to the information point so we can make an announcement and call your parents to get you, how does this sound?"

George Jones offered Arthur his hand, but the boy made no move to take it.

"How do I know that I can trust you?" he asked, forcing himself to stay completely still.

George Jones simply smiled.

"Turn around and look."

It was probably a stupid thing to do – maybe the man would snatch him as soon as he got distracted – but on the other hand, the stranger's seemingly open face had piqued Arthur's curiosity. He turned around – and was met by George Jones's startling blue eyes and tanned face, smiling wildly from a picture in the panel.

'Professor George A. Jones,' the caption said, 'Head of the Archaeology Department'

A soft 'Oh' seeped through Arthur's lips as he turned again to the man, his eyes wide.

"See?" said Professor Jones, "I'm a faculty member, not just some stranger. I'll just take you to the information point, I promise, I'm not trying to kidnap you."

Arthur was aware that Jones's words weren't a reliable proof of his intentions – being a university professor didn't mean that he couldn't also be a child-snatcher – but after all, did he have any alternative? And at least, Jones was a renowned person inside the university, somebody would probably be able to identify and remember him if Arthur turned out missing.

"Okay," he muttered, "I'm Arthur Kirkland."

George Jones smiled even more widely as he got up, dusting off his jeans.

"Great, Arthur!" he said, gently placing a hand on the boy's shoulder to lead him, "Like the king, right?"

Arthur nodded as he started to follow the man's steps.

"Mum likes legends."

George Jones hummed.

"Ah, yes… You come from England, don't you? I don't think I've heard such a perfect British accent in a long time… Do you have an older brother or sister who wants to study here?"

Arthur shrugged.

"Not really. Mum got a new job, so we are just moved here… Alistair is studying in Edinburgh and Connor in Belfast, and Dylan will start university in September… Mum hopes that he'll move with us, so she came to have a look of the university, but it's useless. Everybody knows it, she just keeps deluding herself. Alistair is going to stay in Edinburgh, Connor is going to stay in Belfast and Dylan is going to an university in England or in Wales. It's just going to be Mum and me."

Arthur suddenly realized that his throat was uncomfortably tight. He didn't want to cry – he wasn't even sad about it, actually. He didn't mind being without his older brothers, they were only a nuisance, always mocking him for everything and trying to act like they were superior to him. But his mother clearly thought differently, and Arthur's chest clenched every time he saw the lines on her face getting deeper, her eyes, once as bright as his, duller. Arthur wanted to tell her that everything was going to be all right, but every time he tried, the words seemed blocked in his throat. And it wasn't only that. Everybody kept saying that a change of air would do his mother good, that she needed it, but… in spite of everything, England was their home. Deep down, Arthur knew that he wasn't ready to leave it, just like his brothers weren't.

Jones gently tightened the hold on his shoulder – barely, but enough for Arthur to understand that it was meant to be a comforting gesture.

"I see…" the man's voice was soft. "You sound like a very bright boy, Arthur."

Everybody always told him that, but somehow, Jones sounded earnest in a different way other people did. Arthur decided that he liked him.

It wasn't long before Arthur and George Jones arrived at the office. It wasn't far from the place Arthur had gotten lost in – maybe, he would have even felt embarrassed, if he hadn't been so relieved.

"Arthur Kirkland is waiting for his mother Aila Kirkland at the information point at floor one," a bored-looking secretary announced at the interphone a few moments later, under the boy's request.

The smooth, professional voice alleviated the weight at the pit of Arthur's stomach. Mum would know where he was, now. It was going to be all right.

Much to Arthur's surprise, George Jones didn't leave. Curiously, he asked the secretary to prepare a cup of tea before bringing his attention back to Arthur.

"Aila, uh?" he mused, "That's a Celtic name."

The man spent the following minutes discussing with Arthur about Celtic mythology and naming, he seemed to be weirdly knowledgeable about it. But of course, he was an archaeology professor, that was probably normal. Arthur answered with enthusiasm. He had just started to relax while Jones was telling him how much he would have liked seeing Stonehenge, when a scream tore through the air.

"Arthur!"

The boy's heart missed a beat. He jumped up, ready to run to hug his mother, but as soon as he turned, he found himself frozen on the spot.

His mother looked horrible. She was as pale as ghost, her eyes bright and bloodshot, and there was something wildly out of control in her brisk steps. Without stopping for a moment, the woman closed the space between them and convulsively clutched Arthur to her chest. The boy could feel her shaking – and suddenly, to his horror, she burst into tears.

"Oh, Arthur, thank goodness you're all right, I turned around and you weren't there anymore, nobody remembered seeing you, I had no idea of where you were, what if somebody had taken you…"

Arthur was aware that he probably should have said something, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. His body felt frozen, his brain unable to connect with his tongue. He had never seen his mother like that. She wasn't supposed to be like that, she was strong, not… not that snivelling, bawling mess.

"And then a lady said that she had seen you leave with a man and oh God Arthur you have no idea of just how terribly worried I was, what if…"

It was at that moment that George Jones cleared his throat, announcing his presence.

"Uhm, excuse me, Mrs Kirkland…"

Aila straightened abruptly without releasing her hold on Arthur.

"I am the man Arthur was with," Jones said, "I noticed that he looked lost and I brought him here to give the announcement. I understand that this must have been quite a scare, but it's all right now."

"Oh…" Aila murmured weakly before regaining some control of herself and wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. "Oh, thank you so much, sir… I'm sorry for causing such a scene, I just…"

She finally loosened her death grip on Arthur, but she didn't seem to be able to stop crying.

George Jones offered her a sympathetic smile.

"Don't worry about this. I understand perfectly, I have a young son as well and God only knows how much he makes me worry… I know how terrifying this must have been." The man laid a gentle hand on Aila's arm. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

Aila nodded weakly, still sniffling. She let herself be led away from Arthur and collapsed on a chair next to a small table, where a cup of tea had just been placed by the secretary.

Arthur wanted to join his mother, but his feet were glued on the spot. He didn't understand, he had only stopped to look at a display, it shouldn't have led to such consequences… it shouldn't have, really. And in spite of that, his mother was clearly hurting. Arthur's stomach started churning at the realization.

"Arthur! Mum!"

The boy gasped, whirling around. Alistair was coming towards him in long strides, almost running. His light blue eyes were wide, the paleness of his face even more evident in contrast with his crimson hair. He started slowing down his pace only when he caught sight of both his family members visibly unharmed.

"It's all right, Ali," Aila called weakly from her spot, her trembling hands cradling the cup of tea like a new-born pup. "Mr Jones here found Arthur, he's fine. It's all right."

She didn't make any move to get up from the chair, she looked too drained to do so. After a brief smile at Alistair, George Jones turned back to the woman. Arthur realized that he was talking, but his voice was too soft for the boy to make out any word. His mother was nodding, however, and the trembling of her hands was starting to quell down.

Alistair's hand suddenly descended on Arthur's shoulder, giving it a rough squeeze.

"Let's give Mum some space," he murmured as he started leading Arthur away.

Alistair's eyes were dark on his stony features – not a good sign. Arthur still followed him, too shaken to protest. He couldn't erase from his mind his mother's teary eyes, her anguished expression, and especially, the horrifying, gut-wrenching knowledge that it was his fault. There was no strength left in him to oppose his older brother.

Only when they were outside of the office Alistair loosened his hold, positioning himself in front of his younger brother.

"I want to know what you were thinking," he hissed.

His hands were trembling slightly, his eyes bright with rage. Arthur instinctively took a step back, but his older brother followed him.

"How can you be so fucking selfish?! Mum has so many things on her plate that you can't even start to imagine it! And instead of helping, what do you do?! You decide to run off on your own, without caring about how much it's going to hurt Mum!"

Arthur wanted to defend himself. He really did, what Alistair was trying to describe was nowhere close to the truth… his tongue seemed frozen, however, his throat blocked off by a big lump. And Alistair kept scolding him, his voice rising in volume until he was almost yelling.

"I can't believe you! You know what's going on, but you don't pay the slightest attention to anything, you just keep being this self-conceited brat—"

Arthur hadn't meant to behave in the way Alistair was describing. He wasn't selfish, he loved Mum above anything else, and would have done anything to ease her concerns. He had only stopped to look at a display, he hadn't realized that his mother had moved away…

In spite of that, the trembling mess that was now his mother was a direct consequence of that brief moment of carelessness.

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. All the emotions that had swelled inside his throat burst out in fat tears streaming down his face. 'I didn't want this!' he wanted to yell, but Alistair didn't leave him any space to talk, he didn't even seem to realize that Arthur had started crying – he only kept yelling, his clenched fists trembling.

"—And if you have any idea of just how much we were worrying, you should have seen Mum she was completely frantic— Ouch!"

"Leave him alone, you big bully!"

What?

When Arthur managed to blink away the tears, his blurry vision returned to focus on a surreal scene. Alistair was still in front of him, but expression had shifted from anger to confusion as he looked wide-eyed at the small child who was at his feet, valiantly kicking his shins.

Alistair raised his hands, taking a couple of steps back as he tried to subtract himself from the child's fury.

"Now, lad…" he started saying, trying to dodge the small feet, but the child interrupted him.

"I don't want to hear your excuses, you meanie!"

Alistair's blue eyes were wide in confusion. After a moment of hesitation, he gingerly bent down to try and placate the child, who merely snarled at him and took a couple of steps back before charging again.

Arthur had even forgotten to cry, he could only watch in fascination the odd scene that was unfolding in front of his eyes – Alistair, being attacked by a child who couldn't be any older than seven. Certainly, not something Arthur had ever expected he would see, and his brain was failing to react. He was having troubles merely processing the situation, he still couldn't believe that it was real.

George Jones's shocked voice finally jerked Arthur back to reality.

"Alfred! What are you doing?!"

The man swooped in and swept up the child, tearing him away from Alistair.

"I'm sorry," he started saying immediately, "I don't really know what's gotten into him… he was supposed to stay in my office!"

In the man's arms, Alfred scowled, folding his arms across his chest.

Recalling Jones's words to his mother, Arthur wondered if the child was his son. Alfred's features were softer and his hair dark blond, but he did share some resemblance with Mr Jones: they had the same straight nose, tanned skin and, more importantly, those incredible cornflower blue eyes. There was no denying that they were related.

"You were taking forever, Dad!" Alfred whined, proving Arthur's theory. "So I came looking for you! And luckily I did, because this man was being a big bully! Look, he made him cry!"

Arthur blushed slightly as George Jones's eyes darted to his face, while Alistair's expression was darker than ever. Jones faltered. It was clear that he didn't know how to deal with the situation, but somebody else did.

"Alistair!"

At the shrill shout, everybody turned towards the small form that was advancing towards them with brisk steps.

Aila seemed to have mostly recovered. While her face was still pale and her eyes puffy, she was walking with her shoulders squared, and only determination showed through her features.

Alistair paled under her scorching gaze. Arthur's tears were still clearly visible on his cheeks, and Alfred was glaring at the young man. There was no mistaking what had happened, especially not to Aila's expert eyes.

"I think we need to have a talk, Alistair," declared the woman, folding her arms across her chest.

In spite of everything, Arthur found himself cheering internally, the knot in his stomach loosening: somebody was going to get a good thrashing. Next to him, George Jones swallowed, visibly uneasy.

"Well, why don't you come to my office with Alfred, Arthur?" the man asked, somehow summoning a wide smile. "You were looking at the panels from the Egypt expedition, I have some interesting articles about it that have yet to be published…"

Arthur wouldn't have minded assisting to Alistair's demise, but on the other hand, the articles sounded interesting, and they had the added bonus of showing Alistair how superior Arthur was to the entire situation.

"Okay, thank you," he decided, taking the offered hand.

"You can ask the secretary where my office is," Mr Jones said, at which Aila answered with a small nod.

"Thank you," she replied without turning, her eyes boring holes in Alistair's face.

"Mum, I…" Arthur heard him saying.

"No, don't start apologizing now!" Aila cut him off, "What I want to know is how it could even cross your mind to talk to your brother that way?! You're not his parent Alistair, I've told you one million of times! Nothing gives you the right…"

The woman's voice faded in the distance. The disappointment blossomed in a small frown on Arthur's face – the discussion was finally getting to an interesting point – until he felt George Jones's hand slightly relax the hold on his one, making him understand that the man had offered to take him away to save him for a potentially harmful situation. It wouldn't have been, but Arthur realized with surprise that he wasn't any less touched.

He turned to offer the man a small smile, only for his eyes to meet Alfred's bright blue ones. The child was still perched on his father's arm, looking at him with curiosity.

"Your Mama is quite scary," he commented, "Is she always like that?"

A slight crease disturbed the smooth skin of George Jones's forehead.

"Alfred…" he started rebuking, but the remark had made Arthur realize how the man had reached his conclusion.

"No, only if somebody does something wrong," he cut in, "She's actually very sweet when she's not angry. But I don't mind, really, she wasn't angry at me, just at Alistair. So it's fine."

Alfred nodded, clearly satisfied with the answer, leaving Arthur wondering whether such a small child could truly understand what he had just said.

"You talk funny," Alfred declared then, twisting in his father's arms so he could look more closely at Arthur.

George Jones barely managed to restrain a snort behind a dry cough.

Arthur found himself frowning.

'You're the one to talk!', would have been the immediate reply, because honestly, and yet… after a glance at Alfred's big, earnest eyes, the words died in Arthur's throat. There was no malice in the child's expression, only genuine curiosity.

Moreover, Alfred had to be truly young, Arthur had to remind himself, maybe not even old enough to go to school, blaming his ignorance on him wouldn't be fair. That was without even considering how rude it would be, when his father had been nothing but kind to Arthur.

"That's because I come from England," the boy answered in the end, his words slightly clipped.

Alfred cocked his head.

"Oh wow, it sounds really far away… is it farther than Canada?"

Once again, Arthur had to refrain himself from rolling his eyed. 'He's just a child,' he reminded himself before talking.

"Much farther. There's an entire ocean in between."

Alfred's eyes widened in wonder.

"Wow… This is so so far away… like Egypt! I went to Egypt once! Didn't we, Dad?"

Jones chucked at his son's enthusiasm. The child didn't wait for an answer before resuming his excited chatter.

"And it was soo beautiful! The pyramids are so big… I wanted to climb one but Dad didn't let me. But he let me have a ride on a camel! They smell weird, but it was so much fun! And then…"

Alfred kept blabbering about the trip to Egypt the entire way to his father's office, his eyes wide and bright with excitement. Arthur slowly found himself relaxing, the child's enthusiasm was contagious, taking his mind away from the memories of the last moments.

George Jones's office turned out to be as interesting as Arthur would have expected. It was a big rectangular room, with a huge window that opened on the garden, and it might have looked airy, hadn't it been for the books that almost swallowed it. They were piled all over a big wooden desk, stacked in sturdy shelves, there was a pile on a coffee table and one big volume with a blue cover had even been left on one of the two cushioned armchairs next to it. The parts of the wall that weren't occupied by books were covered with old-looking maps and some pictures.

Alfred's voice seemed to fade into the background as Arthur looked around, his eyes widening at the impressive display of knowledge. He itched to put his hands on the books, he wanted to spend the rest of his days in that office, he decided suddenly. He even forgot about the articles until he saw Jones put down Alfred to reach some papers on a shelf.

"What are you looking for, Dad?" the child asked immediately, jumping to try and see the papers his father was sorting through.

"Some articles for Arthur," the man answered, "I told him before, weren't you paying attention? You know…"

A gentle knock at the door claimed everybody's attention.

"Yes?" George Jones answered immediately, his voice deeper than it had been when he had been taking to Arthur.

The door opened to reveal a girl with a frizzy hair and the hugest pair of glasses Arthur had ever seen. The boy judged her to be around the same age as his brothers, but instead of exuding their confidence, she was nervously chewing on her lower lip and the binder she held tightly in front of her chest looked almost like a shield.

"I hope I'm not bothering you, professor, I hope I could talk to you about my last paper…"

George Jones straightened up as he walked towards the door.

"Yes, of course. You send me an e-mail yesterday. Barbara, right?"

He was still talking in a deeper voice. That was Professor Jones's voice, Arthur realized suddenly, the same one he had used with the secretary. His countenance was slightly different too, he was standing straighter, and when at the girl's small nod he moved towards her, his steps looked more deliberate. Arthur was just starting to realize how much the man had been trying to make him at ease, which brought a pleasant sense of surprise.

"I'm sorry, boys," Jones said just before stepping out of the room, looking back at Arthur and Alfred. "I'll be back in a minute, you two can stay here… Arthur, if you see any book that looks interesting you can take it."

Even if they weren't the articles George had promised, Arthur was satisfied with the arrangement. His eyes immediately darted to a packed library, but he didn't have the time to choose a book.

"Hey, who was that man who was yelling at you before?" Alfred asked unexpectedly, "Do you know him?"

The child had sat down on one of the two armchairs and he was swinging his legs as he looked at Arthur, his head slightly tilted to a side.

Arthur sighed, carefully moving the book to a side before settling himself on the second armchair.

"Just my older brother," he answered, frowning at the thought. "He's…"

The boy hesitated, stopping himself just in time. 'A pain in the ass,' would have been his next choice of words, but Alfred was a child. Arthur couldn't talk that way in front of him.

"A real bother," he said in the end, "He's always very mean and grumpy. But Mum is going to give him a big scolding."

Alfred's eyes widened.

"But this is horrible! That's not how big brothers should behave, he's so mean!"

Arthur shrugged. He couldn't deny that Alfred's outrage brought an unexpected twinge of satisfaction, but it was far too clear that the child didn't have the slightest idea of what he was talking about.

"That's just how big brothers are. Let me tell you, I've got three of them, and Alistair is the worst, but they are all horrid."

Much to Arthur's surprise, Alfred pouted and folded his arms across his chest.

"Nu—uh. Big brothers aren't supposed to do that. They're supposed to be awesome and take care of their little siblings!"

Arthur didn't know where Alfred had gotten that skewed view from. The TV, maybe, Arthur had seen siblings' relationships generally presented in a positive light there, but it couldn't be further from the truth. And yet… as he opened his mouth to answer, Arthur was once again forced to confront himself with the fact that Alfred was just a small child. Had he any right to crush his naïve beliefs? Besides, Alfred had been so ready to take his side… Arthur really couldn't find it in himself to cause the child some distress.

"Well, maybe mine are a peculiar case," he conceded, but Alfred didn't seem deterred.

"And doesn't your Mom scold them, then? And what about your Dad?"

"Mum does, but sometimes she tells me I'm exaggerating. And Dad…" once again, Arthur found himself hesitating. How much was he allowed to tell such a young child without frightening him?

"He's not around anymore," he decided to settle for in the end, "And this is why my big brothers are so insufferable, too. They want to act like they're my Dad, but they aren't."

That was what Mum always said when she tried to explain him his brother's actions, at least, but Arthur wasn't completely convinced. He was sure that there was a lot more to being a father than behaving like grumpy, whiny spoilsport.

"Oh." Alfred nodded solemnly, his eyes wide. "I see."

He managed to keep his composure for about half a second before fidgeting, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Is he gone like Mama or gone like Jefferson?"

Confusion creased Arthur's forehead.

"Come again?"

"Oh, yeah." Alfred waved his hand in a careless gesture. "Jefferson the hamster. He was really old and sick and now he's in Heaven with God."

Well, so Alfred knew about death. Of course, Arthur had known as well at Alfred's age, but he had been in a different situation.

"While Mama left me and Dad and now she lives with Mattie in Canada."

Arthur's blood ran cold. He knew about divorces, and he knew how unpleasant they were. He could see it written in the too tight features of Alfred's face. He found himself deeply disliking that expression, the child was much better smiling like he had been before.

"My dad is in Heaven. He wasn't old, but he was really sick," Arthur answered evenly.

"This is really sad," Alfred mused, looking at him with impossibly expressive eyes. "I can still see Mama, but you cannot see your Dad… You must be very sad. I was sad when Jefferson died…"

An unexpected spark of warmth blossomed in Arthur's chest. Alfred was just a child, but his concern seemed genuine, and his words were clearly a clumsy offer of comfort.

"It's all right," he answered with a small smile, "I cannot really remember Dad, I was still very little when he died." Henry Kirkland was hardly more than a flash in Arthur's memories, a frail hand ruffling his hair, a breathless laughter, a thin body enveloped by white sheets. "So I cannot really miss him."

That wasn't quite correct, however: while he couldn't miss his father, Arthur was acutely aware of the painful void that his absence had left. He could see it in his mother's dull eyes, in the way her face was constantly wrinkled and tense, so different from the smiling girl Arthur could see in some old pictures. He could see the void in the way Alistair clumsily tried and failed to take charge, in the fact that, when his mother couldn't pick him up from school, Arthur would see one of his brothers, not his father like other children did.

But Arthur couldn't possibly say any of that to the bright-eyed Alfred, who had straightened his back to look more adult and was nodding solemnly. Once again, the child was back to a more exuberant countenance in a matter of seconds, his eyes lighting up as a satisfied smile stretched his lips.

"Hey, you know what? My Dad is alone and your Mom is alone. They should marry, so they won't be alone anymore and your brothers won't have any excuse to bother you!"

Arthur's badly concealed snort quickly turned into a full-blown laughter. Alfred's suggestion was simply preposterous, it wasn't how romance worked, but Arthur couldn't manage to stop laughing long enough to tell him, he could hardly breathe. Fortunately, Alfred didn't seem to take offence at that, or maybe he mistook Arthur's amused reaction as an assent, seeing how he never stopped smiling proudly. Arthur found out that he didn't mind: after all, Alfred was just a child, and his genuine enthusiasm had had the side effect of making the boy almost forget about his previous concerns. While he stayed in the office with Alfred, his mother's tears and Alistair yells seemed far away, easy to ignore. The fact that Alfred seemed to dislike Alistair as much as Arthur did was an added bonus, too.

After that, Arthur kept chatting with Alfred, barely realizing the passing of time. Even the books were forgotten in front of the child's enthusiasm – there were clearly some misconceptions in the way he retold his trip to Egypt, but it was entertaining to see how Alfred's eyes sparkled, unspoiled by maturity. By the time George Jones came back with Aila in tow, Arthur had completely forgotten about Alfred's plans, and when he waved him goodbye, he wasn't expecting to see him again – and he wasn't even truly sorry about it. For how pleasant that time had been, Alfred was still a near-stranger and a child far too young to be considered Arthur's friend.

In spite of that, Arthur found himself thinking about the child when Alistair started nagging him again (this time, on the fact that he should try to go and talk to some children who were playing near their house). He couldn't stop recalling the way Alfred had kicked Alistair, and a smile tugged at his lips at the memory. Alfred had been a sweet child. Arthur probably wasn't going to meet him again, but he hoped that everything would go well for him – and at least, he had a caring father instead of an annoying older brother. He certainly deserved that.

(word count: 6,118)

Notes:

Arthur's mother is a bit inspired by how I would imagine the personification of Albion (I'm not a big fan of Hetalia OCs, but in these cases I will use them). She's supposed to be Scottish, while Arthur's father is English. Aila is a Scottish Gaelic name that means 'from a strong/resilient place'. She got married at 22, had her first child at 23 and she's now 45 years old.

Alistair, Connor and Dylan are respectively Scotland, North Ireland and Wales, and they're 22, 20 and 18 years old.

Oliver is 2P England, and his mother (a single mother) Lillian is 2P Nyo England. She's Arthur's father's much younger sister, and certainly not a positive person. They won't make any other appearance, however, I just thought that Oliver would be one to tease people like that, and they will be referenced some other times.

George Jones is an OC, but I bet you can guess where I got his name from. He's 42 years old.

Jefferson the hamster was actually named after Thomas Jefferson. I'm 100% sure that Alfred would do something like this.

I would also like to add that English isn't my first language, I apologize for any mistake.

And that's all for now. I hope you guys liked this introduction! Please leave a review if you're interested, it certainly motivates me to work faster!