One Difference
Part 9
A week. An entire week, all one hundred and sixty eight hours, ten thousand and eighty minutes, or sixty thousand and forty eight hundred seconds went by without a single contact from the American brothers. Not even their boss was informed of their location or wellbeing, much to his chagrin. In said week, Arthur went through both a mental, emotional, and physical hell, all of which having their own unique tortures. As soon as Russia had left the party he had been bombarded by all of the nations, demanding to know what was going on. Without much of an option in the matter, he explained what he could about Jackson's birth and confirmed that the Russian was, indeed, not lying. The interrogation confirmed that he had not really been ready to speak about Jackson just yet, much less actually to him. At that rate he probably would have kept him a secret after all and would simply have visited occasionally, like Russia. Not that he really had the choice anymore.
Afterwards, the hell really began, because the dispersing crowd left both a certain Canadian and matching Frenchman. That was when he started having to explain the personal stuff. Both thought they should have been told the moment Arthur found out, but who were they to say that? They had no idea what kind of position he had been in, yet he remembered all too well how he had felt when he first found out and could not voice the dying outrage. As he could have never expected, but not have been surprised by, the three screamed their lungs out at each other before simply choking on their own and each other's sobs. It was daylight before each of them parted from their company, feeling far worse than when it began, and returned home. Then, they waited. Waited, and waited, and waited for anything from Alfred, Jackson, or each other. Nothing came.
That was why, when the week ended and the world meeting began in Berlin, Arthur waited outside of the meeting place rather than in his usual spot. Part of him died the moment he left his house to attend, the half that ached from his sobbing, drinking, and self-loathing, but the other half made sure he arrived on the park bench across the street at dawn to watch the countries shuffle in. He was numb now with no distinguishable emotions. All he knew is that he had to see Alfred, he had to know he and Jackson were alright, and he would not be beat to the meeting today. Still, it was all up in the air if much of anyone attended this meeting. Several of Alfred's closest friends had been quite offended from the secret, Kiku and Toris being the top two. On top of that, there was Francis and Matthew. The globe had already counted Arthur absent, Germany included. Still, formalities, regulations even, long forgotten, Arthur was going to attend this July meeting whether or not the host thought he was stable on the off chance Alfred was going to be present, and as he watched the countries enter one by one he soon learned he was not the only one thinking that way. The globe really did assemble into one building that day, except for Alfred and technically Arthur, who was waiting outside.
In all actuality, Arthur was not sure how he felt about all of the party guests being present for once. He had expected as much since a scandal always increased the attendance rate of these things, but that probably meant Alfred was not coming, was he? Not that Arthur knew, of course. He would not have come, but no one could predict Alfred, especially not Arthur as much as he hated to admit it. So he simply sat there, staring at the building in front of him. He still had a good hour before he had to go in, anyway. This must have been a pretty juicy scandal if this not only amassed the word, but did so early as well. This would probably never happen again. Utter horror broke through his numbness. It better not!
"Hey, Artie. It has been a while."
Arthur's heart skipped a beat at the familiar voice. Fearing it was another hallucination, he had been having quite a few in the past week, he slowly rose from the bench and turned his gaze on a sheepishly smiling American, garbed in his usual bomber jacket and a white T-shirt with jeans. Behind him a little ways was a none-too-happy younger version of him, in pretty much the exact same outfit only with a gray, leather jacket and a red shirt. So it was real after all… There were a whole lot of things Arthur wanted to do in a situation like this, so many that it would make the average person's head spin. Yet, before he knew what he was doing, he found that he subconscious had made the choice for him. It only really clicked in his mind when he had already decked the golden haired boy, sending the American tumbling to the ground after a sickening crack, and was then perched on top of him sobbing into his shirt. Jackson stood, frozen, a few feet away with widened eyes. He certainly was not happy with that punch, but had expected as much, they both had, and Arthur looked like he had been the one hit.
"Where were you two?"
That brought them both back to earth in a moment's notice, Jackson not missing a beat, "Russia."
That froze Arthur immediately. Russia!?
"Where else would we be when he sold us out?" Alfred asked honestly, staring up into Arthur's reddened eyes, "He played the same game for centuries and suddenly thinks he can switch up the rules, no way!"
Arthur was not quite sure what game he was talking about and it made him wonder just how close the two were to Russia, but he knew very well that he saw said Russian enter the building. He certainly was not dead, so what had happened?
The sheepish smile was back, "I know what you are thinking, and I cannot tell you. Not now at least."
Arthur stared expressionlessly downward before raising his fist once more—
"Hey!"
The firm grip around his wrist tightened as Arthur was pulled up and off of Alfred. It took a second for Arthur to register that it was indeed Jackson removing him. The teenager must have not been able to stand watching his brother get hit again. Pain once more constricted his chest, nausea following. He could not stand it either, quickly realizing that this would be another moment he would never forgive himself for. If it was possible, this was worse than the first time he hit Alfred. Although he knew it physically hurt more for Alfred the first, now he had done it in front of Jackson. He just proved the Southern boy's assumptions about all the nations for a second time and deep inside he still ached because Arthur lacked a caring little brother like he once had and Alfred now did. Why did he always mess up when it came to these two? Alfred was once the most precious thing in his life, he probably still was, and he could already feel his heartstrings being pulled by Jackson, so why could he not do anything right when it came to them? It was always a simple mistake and he would lose everything for it. Life was never fair.
By this point Jackson had already helped Alfred to his feet and the two were observing the quieted Arthur. Alfred could not help but wonder why Arthur always looked worse for wear whenever he was the one hit. Still, the last thing he wanted was for this to set them back again. Alfred really did not hold anything against the British nation, the punch and wet shirt included. He had honestly been asking for those when he put the rest of the world aside to take care of the commie, not that he had not done this before with the Cold War and all. Alfred had wanted Arthur to suffer the first time he was hit as much as he had and still believed that the man deserved every bit of guilt for that, but there was a line Arthur had long crossed. He had to let it go.
"He deserved it."
The words shattered all the gathering tension and brought both Alfred and Arthur back from their minds' depths.
"What?" they chorused.
Jackson rolled his stormy gray eyes, "I will be the first to admit he deserved it. Not that I liked you punching him, of course, but I would be lying if I said I hadn't myself."
Alfred found himself grinning at Jackson's brutally honest nature. The boy could lie through his teeth and act with the best of them, but the truth always suited him the best. Alfred thought it was one of his best qualities, even when Jackson's truths conflicted. There were many kinds of truths, emotional and logical were only a few, and he would tell them all as nonsensical as it sometimes made his actions seem.
"Don't remind me," Alfred chuckled, "He is telling the truth, Artie; I really do not blame you."
Arthur's gaze could not be diverted from the boy with gray eyes, "You realize what you are saying, right?"
Jackson grimaced as he sucked in a breath, but answered flawlessly like Arthur got a feeling he always did, "I cannot stand for anyone hurting my family, but a man always gets what is coming to him."
"But I just—"
"Calm down, Artie. It is no big deal." Alfred interrupted, waving both his hands in the air, "I told you to let this stuff go. Just imagine that you punched France, you do that all the time!"
Now Arthur grimaced. Punching the frog was a separate matter entirely to this. Punching anyone other than Alfred, except maybe Jackson, was an entirely different matter to this. He really wished the American could just understand that. Still, he was finally feeling something positive in over a week's time: hope. It was completely desperate and probably undeserved, but he still had it. Maybe Jackson did not hate him as much as he thought, but, then again, he knew the boy at least tried to be polite. He was probably civil with everybody, which was bound to be easy with a wall of acting to hide behind and practice with the Russian. Arthur had to wonder how exactly he was felt about, not that he could bring himself to ask.
"Look, you… Both of you, had me beyond worried all week. Your"—he pointed to Alfred—"birthday party was ruined and you"—the finger moved to Jackson—"were revealed to the world, then you both just disappear. No one had any clue what to think, especially because nations are not supposed to even be able to vanish like that and when we finally see each other it erupts into violence. Do you really think I can just let it go?"
Alfred begins to rub the back of his neck, "Well, yeah. I am sorry and you already hit me, plus Jackson and I showed up to face the music, so what is there really to linger on at the moment?"
All words died on the tip of Arthur's tongue. He wanted to say there were a lot. He wanted to say that he could never move on. He wanted to say that he did not deserve to move on. He wanted to say that Alfred did not deserve for him to move on, Jackson either. Instead, however, he swallowed the words' remnants and put on the practiced look of annoyance, of normalcy.
"You git, we better get going then." he huffed, turning around on the two brothers, "We do not want to be late, do we?"
Arthur strode away towards the building, not noticing as Jackson spoke, "I am not believing that for a second."
"Me, either." Alfred snorted, "You know, time is supposed to heal, but it can't if you won't let it."
Jackson observed his brother's face very closely, "You are talking about me, too, aren't you?"
At this, Alfred smirked, "Of course. You two a very similar after all, so you know what it takes."
Jackson sighed, turning away from his brother's sight, "Is this really such a good idea, coming here?"
"Yep. You need to meet them, even if you think you embarrassed yourself in front of them. You know it is rude if you don't, good impressions aside. I swear it does not make much difference, anyway, they are all pretty loony, and who knows, maybe you will like somebody." Alfred affirmed, grabbing Jackson's wrist and leading him towards the building, "Besides, even if you don't, I will be right beside you the entire time."
Jackson felt a comforting squeeze come from his brother's hand as the words finished and the building came closer. He really, really did not want to be here. He had heard plenty of things about these meetings both good and bad from his brother, but none of that meant anything now that he was here. He had to face the entire globe and explain his existence. And yet, he could not help but believe things could have been so much worse with his brother's hand wrapped tightly around his wrist.
"I think I can understand why he acts that way, when he lost you."
