Guess...who's...BACK? Me, of course. My absence was inexcusable, and I do apologize for making my billions of fans wait so long for this update. I know how much you missed me, how much you cried over my lack of chapters being updated. Alas, fate is cruel to you, isn't it?
All sarcasm aside, I really DON'T have any reason why this was so late. I suppose I could go with the whole, "I had no motivation," but, as you could tell, I was making new stories. Maybe no motivation for this particular chapter? Eh...whatever. It's out, now, and hopefully I can get the rest done in the next couple of weeks. We'll see.
Disclaimer: Guess who doesn't own Hetalia? You. And me (to some extent, mawahaha! okay, never mind).
If there was one thing Arthur enjoyed more than the coming of spring, it was the coming of fall. The leaves would always change into brilliant explosions of orange, red, and yellow. The wind would become a bit more chilly, sometimes biting at his neck, until he was forced to wear a light jacket whenever he wished to go out.
On top of the beauty that surrounded him, fall also meant a new school year, which kept Alfred out of his hands for a little bit. Even if he sometimes missed his young son, he couldn't deny how nice it felt to take a day off of work and just sit around with a cup of tea, no sounds reaching him but the chirping of the birds as they began to prepare for winter.
Only one thing ruined his love of fall, and that was the raking.
Arthur was a man who loved having his yard in tip-top shape. He had received an award a few times for having the best yard in the neighborhood (it wasn't much, really, they just put a small sign out on his lawn for the world to see). However, because Francis moved in, the competition was a bit more rough. As it turned out, Francis also enjoyed having beautiful yards.
In fact, he was the one who stole the award away from Arthur the last spring. "Well, the best man won," he stated, smiling proudly and admiring the sign.
Arthur had just slammed his door shut and vowed never to speak to the Frenchman again.
Which didn't work, since Alfred loved Francis and Francis made it a point to show up uninvited whenever he felt like it.
Francis' win brought a new sort of determination in Arthur. From that moment on, he worked twice as hard to keep his place looking perfect. It involved much more work than he expected, but it was all worth it in the end, when he was able to rub it in that damn frog's face how amazing he was for winning yet again.
Fall was always the hardest season to work through, though. When the leaves started falling, Arthur had to rake. He couldn't wait for all of them to fall, either- that would probably take until December, considering what happened the other years. Once the leaves dropped from the trees, he always took it upon himself to rake them up, keeping his yard spotless.
More often than not, he roped Alfred into helping him. It usually took a bribe of some sort, but he was able to do so.
"No, just rake them into that bigger pile I made already, Alfred."
They were outside, both wearing cozy and light jackets, working hard at getting rid of the dead, crumbly leaves. Over the night, the wind was particularly strong, causing more leaves to fall off the trees than usual. Arthur had woken early, just so he could get a head-start on his place. This also meant Alfred had to wake up early, and after a tiring week of school, his son wasn't enjoying this at all.
"I'm making my own pile," he grumbled, not listening to what his father told him.
Arthur gritted his teeth but decided not to push it. Alfred was quite grumpy in the mornings, and Arthur wasn't in the mood to experience it, considering how grumpy he himself was on weekend mornings, on his days off of work. "Don't make it too small," was all he said as he turned back to his own rake.
Alfred, being Alfred, apparently decided to ignore his order, and had taken the time to make the tiniest piles he could, all in a matter of a few, short minutes.
The Englishman groaned. "Alfred, why do you do this to me?" he asked, smacking the palm of his hand against his forehead. "Please, just...just gather them all up in one big pile."
The boy tugged at his jacket and stared over at his father with tired eyes. "Can I go back inside? The cartoons are on!"
"Not until you do as I say," Arthur demanded, rubbing his gloved hands together in an attempt to wipe dirt off of them. "You're deliberately disobeying me, so you're going to have to work for your television shows. "
As expected, this brought out a whine from Alfred. "But, Dad, I've been working hard!"
"Alfred, don't test my patience." Arthur glared dangerously at his son until the boy turned away to work on those piles once more.
Silence fell between the two, only broken by Alfred's occasional sighs. It was better than complaining, so Arthur didn't fuss over it. Instead, he simply kept to himself, stuffing the leaves in multiple bags and carrying them to the front of his yard.
"Hey, Dad?"
Arthur held back a groan. "What is it, Alfred?"
Alfred dropped his rake and took off one of his gloves, frowning down at his hand. "I think I got a blister."
His father glanced over. "Did you, now? Come, let me see." Once Alfred stood in front of him, Arthur grabbed his thumb and looked it over. There was indeed a blister there, not a very big one, but a blister, nonetheless.
Instantly, a wave of guilt swept over the Englishman. He was the one who ordered Alfred to continue his work, and look what happened. Biting, his lip, Arthur patted Alfred's arm. "It's not too bad," he muttered. "Let's go get it cleaned up, though, shall we?"
Once indoors, Arthur ordered Alfred to wash his hands, then he set his son upon the bathroom counter, rifling through the drawers. "Where did I put those blasted bandages?" he muttered. There was no reply, so Arthur just continued his search, until he came across the Spongebob Squarepants Band-Aids he bought nearly a month before. "Ah. Here we are." Giving Alfred a gentle smile, Arthur wrapped one around his thumb. "It should heal very shortly," he said.
Alfred jumped down to the floor, looking over his father's handiwork. "Can I watch cartoons now?" he asked.
With a sigh, Arthur put the Band-Aids away. "Yes, yes. Go right on ahead."
As predicted, Arthur saw Francis out the next day, working on his yard. What he didn't expect, though, was to also see Antonio and Gilbert out there helping him. "Oh, hola, Arthur!" Antonio cried out, waving his hands wildly as he spotted the Englishman across the street. "It's a fine day, isn't it?"
Arthur marched right over to Francis' house, glaring at the trio as they raked leaves into piles. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked, placing his hands on his hips.
Francis chortled. "What does it look like, cher Arthur? We're making my yard beautiful." He glanced over at Arthur's place, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "My, my. You didn't get much done, did you?"
"Unlike you, I'm a father," Arthur growled. "I have certain responsibilities to attend to that you lack. On top of which, I don't rope my friends into helping me clean my yard."
It was at that moment that Gilbert finally decided to speak up. "He's paying us! Awesome, right?"
Arthur just glared over at him. Unfortunately, his glare didn't strike any sort of fear into the trio, for they all smiled innocently.
"You might not rope your friends into helping you," Francis said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "But, I do recall spotting young Alfred out here as I walked past the window yesterday. You tend to work your son very hard."
"Bastard." Arthur gritted his teeth, crossing his arms over his chest. "Quit trying to make me seem like some sort of monster. He barely worked whatsoever, and even then, he didn't mind helping out." That was a bit of an understatement, but there was no way that Arthur was going to let Francis tell him that he was a bad parent.
Gilbert perked up, sensing a fight, while Antonio just sighed and continued his work.
Instead of attacking each other, though, Francis merely laughed and gave Arthur's shoulder a pat. "Oui, I know, Arthur. You're just so easy to rile up."
Arthur groaned, then turned away from Francis. "No matter how much you work, I'll still beat you," he snarled before heading back to his own house, ready to work until his yard was spotless and gorgeous.
No matter how much Arthur raked, though, the leaves just kept on falling. He'd wake up each morning to find the leaves littered about his yard. This caused his free time to dwindle as he worked harder than ever outside.
He didn't force Alfred to help him again. Sometimes, his son would do so out of the goodness of his heart, but more often than not, he would sit on the porch and finish his homework, asking the occasional question from Arthur, who would reply to the best of his abilities.
It wasn't the best of set-ups in the world, but Arthur found that he would make do with what was given to him. Besides, he was much too angry with Francis to fume over anything else.
Francis was the one taking all his time away. If Francis would just stop fixing up his yard, Arthur would stop fixing up his own. He knew Francis was doing this to irritate him, and knowing that just made him even more irritated. It was almost as if Francis wanted Arthur to hate him, wanted Arthur to do something drastic and evil and positively rotten.
Arthur knew better, though. He wouldn't fall for Francis' trap. No matter how messy his yard was every morning, no matter how clean Francis' own yard was every morning, no matter any of that. He certainly wasn't going to stoop that low.
Until, of course, he woke earlier than usual one morning only to find Francis in his front yard, throwing leaves everywhere. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Arthur yelled, stepping out on his lawn, forgetting that he was still wearing his pajamas.
His anger, again, didn't seem to faze Francis. The Frenchman simply looked amused at Arthur's current apparel, and said, "Just what it looks like- I'm making you work extra hard. Why, does it bother you?"
Arthur felt as if he were about to explode. "Kindly get off my property," he hissed, voice dangerously low. "And if you ever come back again, I'll phone the police."
"Now, now, Arthur, isn't that taking everything a bit too far?" Francis asked, finishing his work of ruining the Englishman's yard. He admired what he did before turning back to his neighbor. "After all, I'm merely trying to deter you from rubbing your ridiculous award in my face. Goodness knows you do it often."
Nearly letting loose the string of swear words he was certain Francis had coming for him, Arthur opened his mouth. "Now, you listen here. You're playing dirty, and I've a right mind to tell on you."
Francis put a hand to his chest in mock fear. "My, I'm trembling!"
And then Arthur lashed out, hitting Francis and trying to push him away. "Get off my lawn, you bloody frog! Damn you to hell, and all your stupid-"
"Dad?"
Both men ceased their fighting to stare at Alfred, who was standing at the front door, looking as if he had just woken from bed. Arthur felt his heart plummet. This wasn't how a father should be acting. He should be acting like a role-model, not like some greedy kindergartner. "Er...wh-what are you doing up so early, Alfred?"
Alfred yawned, scratching at his messy hair. "I heard you get up, so I followed. Why are you fighting with Francis?"
Arthur wasn't sure how to reply to this. If he continued to just point fingers, Alfred would probably follow his example. Yet, he very well couldn't just admit that he was being childish, could he? Desperate for some way to let this subject just drop, Arthur stammered, "W-Well, you see, Francis and I are both-"
"We're just settling some arguments like mature adults," Francis broke in, smiling over at the young boy. "Are we not, Arthur?"
The look in Francis' eyes told Arthur not to even bother correcting him, even if he felt it was a jab to his unbelievable behavior. "Indeed," he muttered. "Alfred, love, you go back to bed, okay? It's not yet time for you to be awake."
Alfred looked curiously at the two crazy men, standing out on his front yard, before nodding and walking back inside. Once he was out of view, Arthur sighed, drawing away from Francis. "Sorry," he muttered, though he didn't stop glaring. "My reaction wasn't called for."
Francis looked around at the leaves he had thrown everywhere, guilt displayed clearly on his face. "Ah, I'm sorry, too, Arthur. This was foolish of me."
They stood in silence for a few seconds, before Arthur asked, "You came out here every morning, this early, just to throw leaves in my yard?"
"Oui."
"Where did you get this many, anyway?"
"The tree behind my house. I would rake them up in the evenings and dump them here."
"Oh."
Arthur resisted the urge to punch Francis in the face.
Francis pointed over at Arthur's clothing, an amused light in his blue eyes. "I do love your clothing this fine day, Arthur."
Which was when Arthur realized he was still wearing an oversized t-shirt with unicorns plastered all over it and his Winnie-the-Pooh pants that Alfred picked out for him one year. His face turned bright red when he saw Francis laughing. "Bugger off," he snapped, quickly stalking back into his house.
The idea from this chapter came from two things- one, my neighborhood has this 'best yard of the season' thing. I'm certain the neighbors to the left of us are always pissed, because while their yard looks so beautiful and gorgeous and fantastic, our yard is just plain. I think they won the award ONCE. We've never won it. XP Second, my mom would always make me rake some old lady's yard. Always. In the cold, for long hours (holy hell, that yard has loads of leaves) with no breaks and no food. I refused to do it last year, though. REFUSED. I did it for another lady, but only because she paid me.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this long-awaited chapter! *applause from the audience* If you liked it, please feel free to leave a review and say how awesome I am. Not that I don't already know that, but it's nice to hear it more, ya know? ;)
