Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Luck Charms (cereal and song). Or Disney Cinderella. Or Disney Lion King. Or PetCo. Or Windex.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Parents always trip over their kids' stuff. Teensy reference to French Jesuits. Poking fun at Canadians and cannabis. Orpheus and depressing music. There are several theories on why Americans hold one hand beneath the table while eating. (Here's two theories: British officials in the 1770s wouldn't eat with colonists' unless their hands were far away from their knives. Another: During frontier times...yes...we had a gun there, because taking a break to eat was dangerous.) Headcanon: Ancient Scandia was Canada's daddy...but sadly they never actually met. Meanwhile, surfing through the internet has revealed a hilarious amount of real tension surrounding the word "wee." Some Irish admit to using the word "wee" to describe something small, whilst others argue it is Scottish hands down and a few sneer that it's a North Irish tendency. Meanwhile, in England and America it's a bodily function. This chap features Canadian rage...and log running-because I couldn't resist that stereotype...because it's awesome. A few affectionately intended Irish stereotypes...and Reilley lampshading a few of these stereotypes. Alfred not really knowing all that's going on, but going with the flow. Kids being obnoxious. Parents being people and reaching breaking points. Me and my French Language skills X_X. Spain is out there somewhere wandering with a group of men-likely having flashbacks of his exploration days. Angst for...eh...let's cover all the bases...everyone.
Special Warning: VIOLENCE. And yes...all caps on that. Involving knives, guns, strangling, punching, slapping a child, etc. There will be intense child endangerment in this chapter coupled with disturbing images and equally unsettling motivation^-^ If that's not your thing, skim with caution. Otherwise, hey bloodthirsty, action-seeking readers here's a chap for you! : DDD
Note: WOW. I'm blown away by the support. Thank you sooo much for your reviews! I can't believe we've broken 400! I'm glad you've enjoyed the adventure thus far!
Onwards!
Chapter 21: The Hero...Just Got Totally Owned
England raced along-lungs burning. He'd had enough running to fulfill his exercise regiment for a year at least.
He cursed his short-sightedness again; he should've brought Canada with him.
Why hadn't he thought to bring the lad? He could've had both of his boys leave safely with Spain. Mathieu would also have been able to relay information to Alfred on their current situation and have his government respond accordingly.
He risked a glance over his shoulder.
Scotland was several paces behind, dragging a dazed Reilley who wouldn't let go of a bottle of Windex and kept muttering "The least I can do is make the place look nice."
Should he tell them? About Alfred? Had grief made them easier to manipulate? Iroquois' spell on his brothers was weakening, but would telling them make it dissipate altogether?
But was America safe yet?
Their bond kept making him feel like he was nearby-like he was going to trip over him. But America was away, wasn't he? Spain had gotten him out. But was he far enough away, that he could afford to tell?
They were nearing some manner of campsite, or altar?
He rested a hand on his pistol.
Should he draw?
Should he wait?
Should he tell them about America?
Should he-Ooof. He fell hard.
"So graceful" he heard Alistair sneer.
What the?
A trap?!
No...
He'd tripped over a...boot? Yes, he'd tripped over a welly in the middle of a forest. What in the world?
He glanced over to where he felt Iroquois' fading magic. The fire had been put out with dirt-a few embers were still glowing. She'd left a bit ago. So why was he still...
Oh no.
No no no.
He could scarcely believe his eyes.
"You're not at all creeped out by the fact that there was a shovel here?" a Texan drawl questioned. "Awfully convenient, don't ya-"
"Stop it Tex!" a young voice snapped shrilly. "You're trying to scare me with horror movie stuff."
"Well, if the boot fits-"
Oh no. No no no.
"Of course there was a shovel," Alfred declared matter of fact. "There wasn't a fire extinguisher. They live in here, why would they burn down where they live? Hmmm?"
"Al...they don't live here."
"Yeah, they do. They've got a cabin. I know. I've been stuck in there...didn't even have T.V."
Arthur stomped into the small clearing-frustration boiling over.
"You!" he pointed at the child "What are you doing here?!"
"You!" Alfred retorted "See, I can point my finger too!"
Arthur paced frantically, "No! Nonono. I got you somewhere safe! You were supposed to stay put! You just needed to wait this out-"
America scowled at him and told him in an obnoxiously belligerent tone, "Texas was in trouble. Texas was tied to a tree. Where were you? Not here. Rescuing him."
"I'd have...gotten free...eventually."
Alfred patted his brother's hand consolingly, "Of course you would have. But the ol' man shoulda been watching out for you. You're my second-in-command."
Arthur ran a hand over his face as his heart hammered in his throat.
"No. No, you can't be here."
"Don't tell me where I can and can't be! I'm a sovereign nation and this is my country. Everybody's in trouble and I gotta do something. I'm feeling...well...I guess I can't really say better...definitely shorter...but less bad..sorta." He shook his head "Look! I know I was lame before and I've given you some doubt, but I can still get the job done. I swear!"
"Absolutely not. What do you think will happen to you once we face our enemy? Do you honestly believe you're up for hand to hand combat?"
"Dude, I've got a gun. I don't need to do hand to-"
"The answer is no and...my god! Who would issue you a gun? Give me that before you hurt yo-"
"No!" Alfred danced out of reach.
"Alfred!"
"No, I won't let you bench me!" he whined.
"You're acting like a-a..."
"If you say 'child,' I'm gonna shoot you in the foot. Ally or not."
And that's when Arthur was forcibly put into a headlock...by Alistair.
"Albion, you lying little-Alfred. Do it. In the foot. He let us think you were dead!" Scotland growled. "But you were just-just-"
"Yeah...I got downsized."
Reilley shuffled forward until he was right in front of Alfred and then he knelt and wrapped his arms around him.
"U-uncle Reilley?"
"I-I'm...I'm so-so glad...yer...alright" he bawled. He squeezed his nephew tightly.
"Ack" Alistair muttered near Arthur's ear, "And here I'd hoped he'd lost that tendency with his split. He's as big a crybaby as he always was. I'm surrounded by snivelling-"
"Ali-alis-"
"Wrong" the hold tightened and now Arthur really was struggling to breathe. "You know damn well what the first word outta yer gob should be."
"Uncle Al…?" Alfred raised his hand, like a student in class, while untangling himself from his other uncle's grip.
"Yes laddie?"
"He's turning colors."
"Aye, he is."
"Look" Alfred sighed "I don't know the details but...I DO know he probably deserves what you're doing cuz he can be a creep sometimes. But I'm the hero. So that means I'll end up being the one that gives him CPR. And he's my fa-ya-ya know. He's Arthur and that's super gross. So please...think of the hero."
Scotland released his youngest brother with a hard shove that knocked him to the ground.
Arthur coughed and spluttered and wheezed; a small hand thumped him hard on the back, "Geez Artie, you sure know know how to tick people off."
Arthur stared dully at the floor as he focused on breathing. Well, he supposed it was a small comfort to see Alfred awake and moving. No additional damage or memory loss appeared to have taken effect despite his body's tremendous regression.
"You're barefoot" he rasped.
"Hmm?"Alfred readjusted the strap of his rifle "Yeah, Texas made me lose one of my boots, so I just tossed the other. I'll pay the fine for littering later."
At Arthur's blank look he explained, "My shoes have my name written on them. I...I kinda lose stuff."
"I-I see."
"Yeah I-geez Uncle Reilley!" the orange haired man had crept up behind him and pulled him into another lung-collapsing hug.
"Dammit Eire, this is why Mum didn't let you have pets. Let him go. Ye need to cast yer runes. My Gwalia-has-fucked-up-something-sense is tinglin'. We need to find out what it is."
America stopped struggling and looked inquisitively at Scotland. The redhaired man ran a hand through his hair, "Canada and Gwalia are both missing."
"What? Canada's in trouble too? Darn it, him being invisible is s'posed to protect him from this stuff! Texas! Why didn't you tell me?!"
"Matt ain't in trouble" Texas asserted.
Scotland paused and then laughed, "Texas!" He slapped a hand on the younger man's shoulder "Ack, ya made it! I wondered if ya would."
"Yeah, I'm like a potato bug that way. But movin' on, Iroquois is the one in trouble. Matt went off on her like a firework in a powderkeg and-"
America started to snicker and then the snickers turned to guffaws.
"Mattie? Tch. Texas, don't tease!" He rubbed his shoulder. "Mattie hates fighting. Plus, he doesn't like hitting girls" the child puffed up his chest "Which is why I'll go rescue him! I believe in equal opportunity throw downs!"
"You'll do nothing of the kind" England retorted "Now hand your rifle to Texas."
"What? Why?"
"It's too large and unwieldy for you. You're tripping over the thing, and don't think I haven't noticed the weight is bothering you. Your shoulder is aching, admit it. And besides...it's just too dangerous. By accident you could very well shoot one of us or yours-"
"But-"
"No-"
"But-"
"No-"
"Arthuuuur. I don't wanna play musical firearms and be the odd man out. How am I s'posed to protect myself?"
Arthur sighed and reluctantly offered him a pistol. That would be more manageable for his small size.
Alfred wrinkled his nose "Bigger is bette-" he wilted under England's imperious stare.
"Fine, thank y-hey! This is mine!" he looked England up and down "That's all mine! You are something! Bein' all, guns are baaaad, and then you raid my stash?!"
"Well don't get all Disney stepsister on us, Al" Tex rolled his eyes and tugged the rifle free of his younger brother.
Alfred frowned and glowered at England, "Fine whatever. Just don't rip it or anything. That bandolier's my favorite. I bought it special. And I always get compliments when I cosplay with it."
Canada panted and used his sleeve to mop at the sweat on his face. She was quick, but he was determined.
She jumped onto a fallen floating log to cross the bog-probably assumed he'd lose his balance.
Not a chance.
Mathieu had plenty of experience; he'd been a lumberjack for centuries. Also, he had quite a few ribbons in his drawer from various log running competitions over the years.
He wished he could been on the log the same time as her; he'd have rolled her right off.
Still, despite all her attempts at thwarting him, he was gaining.
And gaining.
And gaining.
He reached out a hand and snagged it in her hair.
You're not so fast, eh?
He jerked her back, but she used the momentum to ram her elbow into his gut with lightning speed and more force than he'd thought her capable of.
Still, he was much heavier than her and he made use of that-pulling them both to the ground-where he had more advantage.
She was quick though. And in the brief span of their tumble, she freed her knife from her belt.
He dodged two swipes, but couldn't escape the third which grazed his side.
He took that moment though to trap her hand against him. With his left hand he seized her wrist and slammed it on the ground-making the bone knife fall from her fingers.
He used his right hand to deliver a very satisfying punch to her face.
Dazed by the hit, it was easy to put his hands around her neck.
"C'est de ta faute" he hissed-tightening his hands. "Va te faire foutre!"
He expected her to rake her nails down his face, aim for his eyeballs, or pull his hair.
Instead, she rested her fingertips at his temples and they seemed to-
Mon dieu! Qu'est-ce que-
Sink in.
Her fingers were sinking in.
Memories down fluttered like streamers at one of Papa's fetes.
Wandering the frozen tundra alone...
Hiding in a bush while men's shoes marched by...straps of leather criss-crossing up to their knees...
Glimpses of winged helmets on long blond and reddish hair...
All leaving...fleeing before the Wendigo...
The Wendigo hounding his steps...never allowing his settlers to stay…
Alaska...quiet, kind, firm…distant…
He encouraged the other tribes to help Kanata when he needed it...but he was never welcome…
Kanata wasn't a family member, he wasn't a friend, he was not one of them. They made that abundantly clear.
Tionontati said he was a walking pestilence...the man despised him for the diseases his settlers brought...
There were no lullabies…
There were no cuddles...
Francis was different. Francis was all warmth and sound and sweet food. He chased away loneliness the way the hunters chased after buffalo.
Gave him all the nicest, softest things and took such care in instructing him to speak and write in French…
Mathieu savored every word.
Kept them all like the flowers Alfred would press while England was away-as if holding onto them allowed him some chance later to celebrate the season. As if his brother believed that he could simply open the book when England finally visited and spring would be upon them again...
Francis treated him so well...
He was kind, attentive, entertaining, caring...
Why did everything have to change? Why did he have to lose his Papa? Why did England have to tear them apart?
Scotland clapped his hand behind Alfred's neck as he complained about them "taking forever cuz they were old and slow" and that they'd probably already forgotten their plan "cuz they had Alzheimer's...from being old."
Scotland shook him gently, like a pup in need of a little discipline. Or perhaps, he glanced surreptitiously at Arthur, a lion cub. Yes...that actually explained their dynamic rather well: Alfred was the hyperactive little cub chewing on his Dad's tail with little consequence. 'Cause his Dad would just ignore him.
Which Arthur seemed to be doing now...
The blond threw a few disapproving glances at his son as he whined and then refocused his attention on Eire.
Eire was in bad shape; the man was sentimental and he never took loss well. Scotland had no doubts: the song Reilley would've crafted to lament Alfred's passing would've been a wrist-slitter. Which would've resulted in a modern day Orpheus fiasco. Only since Reilley would revive, his angry mob would've have to walk in front of trains or the like to be rid o' the sound.
He'd stopped crying at least, but until he'd calmed down he wouldn't be able to cast.
Scotland glanced down at the child, who stared back with huge blue eyes.
So the spell had broken and now they had this to deal with. Well, it was certainly going to make meetings more interesting and no one was going to be surprised that Alfred smuggled candy in. And then there was Sealand to think of. The boy would throw a fit watching Alfred get to enter. Sweden, Finland, and England usually gave Peter the song and dance about him being "too young" as an argument of why he wasn't allowed to even sit in the room.
He also wondered how England was going to take this new development.
Yes, he was the boy's father, but...he wasn't his colonizer anymore...which meant he didn't have any real say when it came to America's government or what they'd instruct the lad to do.
Would he able to take standing on the sidelines, now? Now, when Alfred was no longer a strapping youth but a delicate looking bairn?
For the moment, Arthur seemed aloof but what about when Alfred ran into trouble?
Best to test that now...
Scotland purposely squeezed a little too tight, which made Alfred squeak in pain.
Informative.
So that spell of fortitude was no longer in place and...yes...
There was an angry ol' lion growlin' at his elbow now...
Alistair bit his lip to keep himself from smiling-perhaps he ought to fill America's stocking this Christmas with a few toys from PetCo and a DVD of The Lion King. Though...while he was certain America could entertain himself with a jingling ball, a tug of war rope, and Disney he suspected Arthur wouldn't find the joke half so funny.
Alfred pushed Scotland's hand away and pouted, "Why do I gotta be the one?"
"Sad to say, laddie," Scotland replied, ruffling the boy's hair "one of the rest o' us, just wouldn't have the same effect."
"Sorry Al," Texas replied cheerily "you gotta take one for the team." Which in this case, meant sitting in Reilley's lap while he cast his runes.
"He's wound tight" Scotland shrugged "It'll calm him down to know yer alright and he'll be able to concentrate on his craft again."
And with that said, Scotland unceremoniously picked a squirming Alfred up (ignoring Arthur's squawk of protest) and dumped him into Reilley's arms.
"Bless me, jus' look at you! So wee!"
"Yeah…"
"We're going to go golfing!"
"Kay…"
"And I'll get you a little tweed outfit."
"Tch."
"And I won't yell if ya tip over the golf buggy this time."
"You promise that every time."
"...I won't yell...obscenities…in English...when you tip it over."
"Kay."
"And we'll bake coffee cakes! And potato chocolate cake! And-"
Alfred sized him up, "Okay, okay deal...we'll do all the old man stuff you wanna do, but only if you greet me every morning with 'Top o' the mornin to ye Alfie boy' and you have to say 'Lucky Charms' at least once during the trip. Promise."
"Do I have to say 'they're magically delicious'?"
Alfred squealed with giggles.
Eire took that as an invitation to tickle him, and sing the cereal's theme song
"Ahem!" Arthur cleared his throat as loud as possible.
Alistair shook his head. And the lion roared. Ack, Arthur, yeh jealous git.
"The runes, Reilley, focus" Arthur ordered.
Reilley gave his younger brother a sour look, but pulled his velvet pouch out. He emptied it into his hand.
"Welllp, this is kinda weird. We're not gonna use a compass or radar? We're just gonna-Okay. That's cool, lot's of weird stuff is happening right now, so we're just gonna go with it, huh?" Alfred commented. "I mean, I'm-I'm not gonna lie, I've used a witching stick. So whatever works for you guys."
When no one responded, Alfred asked in a loud whisper: "Do you blow on them for luck?"
"No."
"Oh."
Reilley brought them close to his mouth and posed them a question in Gaelic.
"Yeah, you do" Alfred squawked.
"Wha? No. I'm not just breathin' on them. I-I'm asking them a question."
"I ask my dice questions! Like, don't you want me to win? And then I find out pretty quick-"
"Alfie boy, it's...more like a magic eight ball."
"But with pieces? That tell you stuff?"
"Exactly so."
"So...if I do this with Scrabble pieces, they're gonna spell out what I need to do?"
"...I can explain it all ta yeh later."
He threw the stones and stared intently at their carvings.
"Did you win?"
"..."
"Uncle Reilley, didja w-"
"Yes."
Alfred smiled, "Good."
"Well?" Arthur demanded.
"Wales is that way," He pointed straight ahead "and Scot's right. He's in trouble."
"Knew it" Scotland muttered.
England nodded, "You lot, go after Wales. I can sense Iroquois back there." He gestured to the right. "You're all susceptible to her glamours. If she could glamour me, she would have. Therefore, it only makes sense that I should go after Canad-"
"But-"
"Alfred" Arthur scolded.
"But-"
"Alfred! Go after Wales."
Alfred slowly trailed behind the rest of his group, sneaking peeks at England who stared resolutely back with his arms crossed.
"Does Wales think I'm dead too?"
England frowned at his feet, "Yes, luv, he thinks that."
"Well then...I better go pop his happy bubble then."
The sky overhead was darkening and the wind whipped at Arthur's shirt as he made his way to retrieve Canada.
The boy was standing under a large oak staring at the steely sky.
He'd gotten away?!
"Mathieu?"
He rested a hand on the boy's shoulder, "Lad, are you alrig-"
He abruptly found himself flipped over with a face full of dirt, some tree roots against his chest, and one of Canada's knees digging mercilessly into his back.
Iroquois laughed as she stepped out from behind a tree. She smiled grimly-a predatory gleam in her dark eyes.
Arthur noted with pride that Canada had undoubtedly been the one to split her lip.
She laughed lightly, "Behold the mighty British Empire."
"Indeed" Arthur drawled "So mighty, that the great Iroquois fears facing him alone."
"How arrogant. No wonder Dyami fled your care. I've not even been in your company a minute, and cannot bear it. I shall take great pleasure in humbling you."
"As if I've never heard that claim before."
"Bravery or bravado? We'll soon see."
"Francis has told me stories."
"Then you know what's in store" she smiled "Have you a preference? Knife or fire first?"
"So...is this what my Alfred witnessed on a daily basis? Or God forbid, had performed on him? No wonder he ran into my arms. My little lamb."
Her lips twitched into a snarl.
"He never spoke of you" England continued "Too ashamed I think. Personally, as I look at you, I can now see where his more backwater traits originated from."
She continued to move closer. Her hand on her knife hilt.
Good. Get closer.
"Dyami feared you" she spat. "He spoke often of your violent temper, your cruel words, your dominating spirit-"
"Oh no poor girl, you're gravely mistaken. The boy was ever at my side; morning, noon, and night. Adored me. Grieved my absence. My servants often commented on how often he'd haunt the docks waiting for me. If you were the more beloved, why did he not run straight back to you? I was gone long months-"
"He did."
"But he didn't stay, did he? No. My ship would arrive and he always came straight home to me. Even several centuries later, he hasn't changed a bit. All throughout his time as your...well let's not sugarcoat it...hostage. He's been desperate to connect with me. Even at the...at the end, he never made mention of you at all unless I prompted him. All of his plans after the surgery, involved me. He always loved me best, my dear. You must know that."
She let out a shriek of rage and tried to deliver a vicious kick-forgetting that Canada only had his knee on Arthur's back...which meant Arthur's hands were quite free.
Feeling her ankle snap beneath his hands as he twisted her foot hard, was almost as satisfying as her bloodcurdling scream. It reminded him of his time as a Sea Dog, sabotaging Spain.
Unfortunately before he could do more, Matheiu was prying his hands away.
Arthur heaved a sigh, "Forgive me Mathieu." He threw his head back catching the boy in the face. Naturally, his hold loosened and Arthur was able to escape him.
Now to get Iro-Ah!
Every time Arthur tried to pursue Iroquois, who was attempting to limp out of sight, Canada would cut him off.
He let out a hiss as Canada's fist caught him hard in the shoulder. He let it push him into a roll to lessen the impact of the blow. He was such a strong lad-England couldn't afford for him to land a good hit to the head or chest. He groaned as he righted himself. There'd be bruises no doubt, but hopefully nothing was fractured.
He dodged several more blows, "Let him go! Damn you, let him go. Fight me yourself! Stop using children!"
Canada paused and very sluggishly swung at him.
"Mathieu fight her" Arthur encouraged.
His glazed eyes blinked owlishly.
"Mathieu, I know you're stronger than her."
The Canadian clenched and unclenched his fists.
"That's right. We're not enemies. You're my Mathieu. My boy."
Violet eyes stared at him.
Arthur smiled gently at him, "Now, let's fight her together. Like old times boy, I know I can't lose with you at my side."
"Ar-Arthur" Mathieu mumbled.
"Arthur! Arthur!" a shrill voice pierced the air "Reilley consulted his runes again and he said Wales did something really, really, really dumb! And Arthur! He said-he said that because of that you were about to be in really, really bad trouble. So I came to protect you! Arthur! Arth-Are ya listening I-"
America sprinted toward them and grabbed Arthur's sleeve, "Arth-"
"No, you twit! Go back!"
"Mattie?" Alfred looked his brother over "Whoa, dude. You look like you had a bad trip. I think we know who really needs to go to rehab."
England heard Iroquois gasp.
"No!"
Too late.
Canada slumped to the ground in a boneless heap.
"Mathieu?!" Arthur barely moved a step before he heard a gun cock beside him.
He slowly turned to see Alfred aiming at him. Wide blue eyes watched him helplessly as his body obeyed someone else's will.
Bugger.
It was just as he'd feared. Damnation.
Boy, he thought sourly, if you had just stayed put outside of the park, we wouldn't be in this spot.
"Alfred" he murmured wearily. What could he do? Any sudden movement would likely cause Alfred's trigger happy fingers to fire-So he couldn't risk sprinting toward Iroquois. Who...dammit all...he could see was grinning despite her split lip.
If Arthur tried wrestling it away, she might cause them to hit Canada.
"Alfred" he repeated-trying to keep calm, trying to keep Alfred with him.
"Run" the word came out so softly, that for a moment he was sure he imagined it.
"Please. I..I can't...She….She...please run."
Arthur blew out a heavy breath through his nose.
Perhaps, if Alfred could waste the ammunition by shooting in the air. Or...or if he had to shoot him, if he angled it. If he could clip Arthur in the shoulder or maybe in the lower leg. Or yes, if they angled it just right. He could shoot through Arthur and hit Iroquois-that would put a damper on her plans.
Alfred's arms retracted, bringing the weapon back in close. He was fighting it.
"Alfred..." he entreated. He was fighting...but damn, he was losing, England could feel it. They needed to act now, if they were going to succeed.
"Alfred aim for-"
The gun was shaking terribly now and then there was a shift in the boy's attitude.
The child went still; his words came out cold "I don't want to hurt you."
Arthur could almost hear 'but I will' in the silence.
Dammit. Too late.
He was always too late.
To prevent Alfred from meddling in time-magic, to keep his colony from rebelling, to save his child from a madwoman's schemes.
Hard blue eyes watched him stonily. He'd seen those eyes stare at him from across the battlefield.
The hardness those eyes were capable of never ceased to rattle Arthur. It made Alfred capable of dropping the atom bomb, of using napalm, of holding onto his death penalty.
And some corner of Arthur's mind mused that Blue must've found some way to take over once again. He was the only one who could look so terribly composed.
Check and mate.
Damnation.
Arthur was going to be shot. His son was going to kill him. His efforts were in vain: that bitch would have her revenge after all. He would likely be out for a day or two. He'd probably awaken in the middle of this godforsaken forest or in a morgue with his child abducted once again.
He risked a glance at Mathieu. She might steal them both!
"Won't…"
He held the boy's gaze. It wasn't his fault. Arthur needed him to know that. He sent as much reassurance through their bond as he could and was rewarded with a small, joyless smile.
"It's alright" Arthur murmured, daring to come closer. "It'll be alright."
If he got near enough, he might just be able to dodge or-or blast it all-do something. A miracle might happen; in a perfect scenario the gun might jam, and if it did...he needed to be close enough to make use of the opportunity.
And...he needed Alfred to know...that he wouldn't blame him. He was...he was a child. He couldn't help being manipulated by those who'd played this damnable game of war longer.
Alfred continued to watch him in that unsettling, detached manner.
Yes. Yes, it would be alright. If this was his fate, Arthur could accept this. He could forgive it. He took a deep breath and maintained eye contact.
Later Arthur would curse himself for forgetting...that Alfred was Alfred...and he found third options…ones no one else would dare consider...
Alfred closed his eyes. He figured it'd be easier that way-to separate his own feelings from Iroquois'. She was trying to blend their anger. And...yes, he'd racked up plenty of hard feelings towards his old man between his actions as England and Arthur.
For as long as he'd known Arthur, the older man had spewed a constant stream of criticism: for Alfred's (less than by the book) war tactics, to his tourists' behavior (because it's more fun to bitch about the bad ones than all the good ones who passed through), hell...even at the table he was a target…
Arthur constantly derided him for his penchant for 'juggling' silverware at meals and 'why ever is his left hand beneath the table?' (Hmph, well...while cleaning up the streets of the Wild West, he used to hold his gun there when transporting a bandit to his trial. Marshal's gotta eat too ya know!)
But that didn't mean...that he wanted to see him hurt...let alone be the one who...
He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the wind rustling through the trees, on the dirt squishing between his toes, on safe far away things that didn't matter.
Alfred slowly angled the gun up.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?! Alfred?!"
Sometimes being a hero was hard. Under the right circumstances, the wrong thing became the right thing. And sometimes the right thing was the messiest thing. The thing no one else was willing to do. And they didn't need to do it. You would. Because you were strong, you could take it.
He let the gun rest against his own chin.
"Nonono. Alfred, don't-"
He wasn't anyone's puppet. He wouldn't let her control him, whatever the cost.
"Release him Iroquois. He's not going to do your bidding. Even you can see that, can't you? So just...dammit, let him go."
Alfred frowned. Damn his old man, for sounding like that.
Against his will, Alfred felt hot tears slip out. Arthur always made things more difficult than they needed to be.
"O Alfred...not this way...not like this..."
If only he weren't standing so close...
If only it were raining like that one day, then no one would have to see…
He'd stood across from this man then and their armies were all far enough away…
Arthur was far enough and distracted enough that he didn't notice...
The thunder was loud enough to cover the catch in his breathing…
His discipline (thank you Prussia) harsh enough to keep himself from trembling in plain view…
And the rain...bless the rain...no one had to see...
Not his men…
Not his enemies…
Not his father…
If only it were raining...
"S-sweetling" the voice pleaded. "P-Please don't do this."
Dammit.
Arthur didn't do that. He didn't beg. Even during the World Wars, when he was getting his butt kicked, he never begged. No. He argued, he insisted, he outright demanded (giving Alfred more flashbacks of the 1700s than he was comfortable remembering), but he never begged. He was too proud, too stuffy, too England to do something so compromising. Especially after that day.
No.
He never treated Alfred the same after that day.
Against his better judgment, Alfred peeked and found Arthur right in front of him.
"Sweet," he was kneeling. "Sweet.."
Damn...he could feel Arthur's knees brush against his bare feet.
Her outrage boiled over, demanding him to lower the gun, deliver her vengeance. And then they could leave and be together again. A giddy sense of delight bubbled in her at that and how wonderful was that? That she finally felt happy.
Didn't he want her to be happy?
No. He shut his eyes tight.
No, he wouldn't do it. He pressed the barrel hard into the soft spot of his jaw.
Distantly, he felt Arthur's hands touch his elbows.
He could do this. He needed to do this. To prove to them both once and for all that he didn't belong to them.
Their people certainly believed that. He'd never been native enough to belong with Osha's tribe. He'd never been English enough to be part of Parliament.
He didn't belong and by not belonging: He was free.
Free. True freedom was not belonging to anyone. He'd learned to take pride in that-now if he could just fully embrace it…
If he could just pull his heart free, Osha couldn't tug at him, Arthur couldn't squeeze.
Come on, Al...snip it loose.
But flashes of playing with her long hair resurfaced-a lifetime ago where the circle of her arms and the softness of her lap made her the safest place in the world…
Her joy was euphoric as his mind finally placed her.
He gasped.
Osha…
His aktsi:'a…
And...England did kinda ruin their relationship…
In every way…
Forbade him from speaking with her…
Made him ashamed of their shared heritage…
And...
Shot him in the head during 1812 and made him forget all about her…
So that was why she was so angry…
But he couldn't do what she wanted…
Because…
He remembered smiling green eyes looking down at him as if he were more valuable than all the spices, tea, and tobacco in the world. Pressed tight against his strong chest, it was hard to believe anyone could love him more.
Darn it, he couldn't quite...break free...
Fine. He'd sink his heart low...make them be the ones to let go.
Deep down into the darkest, coldest depths; where there's nothing soft or precious about him...where he was ruthlessly practical and coldly righteous and he didn't need human things like family...he could focus on the principles of matters...like they both taught him to with war and neglect...
She felt farther away and the gun in his hold became less dreamlike. Heavier.
Deeper, deeper, deeper down he went...certain that soon there would only be him and his mission and his gun.
Everything was simple there in his heart of hearts.
Cold, numb, barren...and simple. Wonderfully so.
Alfred frowned.
Dammit.
Arthur wasn't letting go.
Damn him. He just kept holding on.
Didn't he understand? If he stepped back into his frail, corruptible self with its mess of chaotic feelings, she was going to exploit him! She was going to use his weakness and commandeer his body and Arthur was going to pay the price.
Let go, England.
No, I need you to stay safe my darlingheart.
Alfred's eyes snapped opened to find Arthur staring back at him determinedly-his hands slowly closing in on the barrel.
Iroquois' pressed in hard then-trying to make Alfred lower it. But Arthur had a good hold now and was slowly maneuvering the end away from them.
BANG!
Maybe it was all the drama of the moment; but the sudden, loud sound honestly caught him off guard and he forgot to compensate for the kickback. Arthur's quick reflexes spared him a broken nose. His quick hands also made short work of disarming him. He blinked and stared at his now empty fingers.
Arthur had the pistol in hand and focused unwaveringly on Iroquois.
Alfred felt his stomach churn.
His sister…mother...mentor...thing...
Yeah...she was...well...she was kinda...psycho and...a pain in the ass but...wasn't that kinda Arthur's fault?
Alfred wasn't considering himself blameless in this either, but...well…
It wasn't like Alfred chose to forget her.
"Arthur" he murmured. "Arth-fph"
Arthur's free hand pulled him in close and now he had a mouthful of shirt.
"Ar-"
He got tugged even closer. Arthur gripped him tightly and stood up.
Wow. Now he was in a koala hold. Just when he thought the day couldn't get worse.
"Arth-"
"Shh pet. Shh now, Daddy won't ever let her hurt you again."
"No Arthur, not like this. She's...she's gotta have a trial or some-"
The dark look in England's eyes made his throat close. For one horrible minute, Alfred feared England had been possessed, but then he pressed a pursed lip kiss to forehead.
"I understand," he mumbled against Alfred's clammy skin "that you don't want to watch. Put your head against my shoulder, cover your ears."
Alfred grabbed at the Briton's face desperately, "Dude, don't be like her!"
But it was no use; the man was practically foaming at the mouth with hate every bit as potent as Iroquois'.
"Father" he whined. "Please, she's just…" Sad? Crazy? Vindictive?
Green eyes glared into blue, "If she wanted her revenge, she'd take it out on me. No one else. No. She wanted more than that. I can't forgive it. Don't ask again."
Alfred shuddered.
"You wanted me to understand, isn't that right?" Arthur called to her "You said I'd understand with 'every fiber of my being' right? Stolen from me."
Alfred wasn't sure how to feel about that. He didn't belong to Arthur, so he couldn't really be stolen.
"Couldn't see him or speak to him. But my tale is worse, when I found him...what condition was he in? Starved. Sick. Beaten. Drugged. You think I did that when I took him in, hmm? Do you honestly believe I ever treated him that way? Never! Not under my roof!"
But there was no heated answer from her.
Instead...
"Sorry."
Alfred and Arthur both stared in disbelief.
Canada shifted, "Well...I came to and...well...you were all stalling and she was watching you so I had an opportunity…and well...I gave her a good jab...and she's out for the moment. I'm glad you're alright Al."
"Uh...yeah."
"Well done Mathieu."
Canada smiled tiredly and gave him a nod, "I think my belt will work to restrain her hands."
Alfred felt rather numb. Over with, just like that.
The hero...just got totally owned by the Mountie. How the fuck did that happen?
Arthur heaved a great sigh and set Alfred down. He clapped his hands on the boy's shoulders.
"Alfred."
Dang, he drew the name out so ominously. Alfred reluctantly glanced up.
SLAP!
The hell?!
SLAP!
"Hey!?"
SLAP!
He tripped and fell onto his butt, clutching at his now stinging face.
"What the fuck?!"
Arthur glowered down at him, chest heaving, his eyes-Alfred looked down.
It was always easier to look away when Arthur was having a breakdown. He thought he was doing him a favor: letting the old man have his dignity. So it was a surprise when Arthur's hand grabbed his chin and forced him to look into puffy, red rimmed, bloodshot green eyes.
"What the hell were trying to pull?" England demanded "You idiot! You fool! God, you're so stupid. You think I came all this way to save you, to accept a front row view of you blowing your brains out?!"
"Well excuse me for trying to save your ass! I didn't want to pump you full of lead-"
"Then you should've fired into the distance!"
Fuck. That was a smart idea. He just...didn't think of that. In his defense, it was hard to think when someone was in your head playin' it like a honky tonk piano.
"Idiot" the fingers were too tight on his chin.
His eyes burned.
Don't take it to heart, Alfred, he coached himself. Your father was always an ungrateful prick. You just had the misfortune of loving him in spite of that.
"I know thinking has never been your strong suit, but your level of idiocy these days makes these quantum leaps that I can scarcely belie-"
Yup, this was the dude you saved...maybe a shot in the shin was deserved.
"But this. This takes the cake! Of all the moronic stunts you've pulled over the years. And there have been many, this-"
Mathieu staggered over and gave Alfred a tight hug that rescued him from England's grasp and lecture.
"I've been so worried about you" his brother stated calmly, sincerely "I'm glad you're alright."
Well, he'd be the first. Texas had been flat out expecting him. Scotland and North's happy reactions seemed to have more to do with alleviating guilt than honest affection. And Father...who'd been so nice to him back in the cabin...was back to himself again...
Back to being Arthur again...
America wrapped his thin, trembling arms around Canada's neck and again wished for rain and thunder that didn't come.
Canada frowned at Arthur's back. Arthur could be such a-
"Hoser."
Thankfully, the wind had picked up and gotten loud enough that his father figure wouldn't hear his softly uttered insult.
The Briton had immediately snatched Alfred away from him the minute his brother's weeping became audible.
Even had the audacity to scold Canada for not alerting him to Alfred's anguish…which was pretty bold considering England would admit to him a few minutes later that he'd known Alfred had survived his surgical ordeal.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
He'd just allowed them all to believe America had died for strategical advantage against Iroquois-though it didn't work as he'd intended.
"I underestimated Alfred's idiocy" was his harsh reply…and then he had the gall to act surprised when Alfred cried harder.
Canada couldn't help but agree with Japan's assessment of England: Tsundere.
It seemed pretty spot on. Arthur could really flip flop between feelings. His previous verbal onslaught was completely abandoned, and he'd spent the last twenty minutes crooning to a distraught America who kept blubbering into his shoulder.
He had Alfred on his hip; one arm securing him there and the other rubbing soothing circles into his back…which left Canada with the unhappy task of carrying Iroquois…made more unpleasant by how his face, his side, and his left ankle were burning.
And now it was raining…which meant his feet were starting to slide as the ground turned muddy.
Though honestly, he didn't really trust England to carry her.
His green eyes would darken every time he glanced at her. It was frightening to see someone who hated her more than Mathieu.
So England staying several paces ahead was for the best.
He was leading the way to the parking lot, where a hiccuping Alfred assured them his military was waiting. He also told them there were several S.W.A.T. teams in the area, so they may run into one.
Arthur nodded approvingly and increased their pace—denying Alfred's request to walk on his own with a harsh "Don't be absurd, we need to make good time."
Though that was true, and there was a heavy thunderstorm on their heels. Canada wished Arthur could've phrased it more delicately.
Poor Alfred—peeking over Arthur's shoulder; he looked so miserable. He became even more pathetic looking as the rain became a downpour and he started shivering.
But Arthur no longer had a coat and it would take too much time for Mathieu to wriggle out of his. And when he did, he'd have to deal with England fussing about his injury.
His brother just had to wait until they made it out of the park. England probably still had the keys to Tex's truck, so they could turn the heater dial all the way for Al. He'd never done well with the cold. While he warmed up, Mathieu and Arthur could play catch me up with Alfred's military-let them know exactly what they were dealing with.
Lightning flashed and Alfred shuddered.
Arthur could do nothing, save hold him tighter.
A thunder clap sounded directly overhead.
Alfred stiffened and glanced around wildly.
"Sweet, please don't fidget-"
But with every passing minute, his little brother only grew more agitated. Canada felt his own heart start to pound.
Oh no.
"Sweet! I need you to-"
Wide blue eyes stared directly into violet before looking up into the swirling black and grey sky. The hair on the back of Mathieu's neck stood on end.
"I have a bad feeling" Alfred sniffled tearfully.
Not even a beat later, horrible howls filled the air.
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