Welcome back, everyone!

I wrote the story's halfway point yesterday, and today we're diving eeeever so slightly deeper into Al's psyche that's going to lead us there.
Enjoy the chapter! ^^

Let's roll!

Once, Alfred couldn't count how many years ago, his stomach rumbled like it had never done before in his unfortunate, young life. He knew nothing about his whereabouts except that he was most likely in Manchester somewhere. As he stumbled down an alley, shielded from the streets and the atrocities conducted there, he finally laid eyes on something that resembled black, shiny pillows. Walking a bit closer, he confirmed that they were bags for garbage disposals, and his little hands eagerly opened the biggest one. Before he could stick his arms inside and look for some moldy bread, heaps of possibly months-old food fell out in a pile, its smell likewise. It was the first time Alfred had felt so utterly repelled by food when his stomach rumbled.

This was the first thing Alfred could think of when he set foot back on the ground in Smalltown after another hour of train-faring. There was a pungent smell - this time not bread baking - filling his nostrils; A preposterous mix of rotten eggs mixed with the metallicness of rust. Every time he returned from places farther than a fifteen-minute train ride away from the village, his nose had lost its desensitization to the peculiar smell that emitted from the lake. He would truly never get used to it.

It was now around 10 in the morning. A little before, actually, so Alfred decided he had time to quickly go home and put away the basket of greens. In less than ten minutes he had dropped off the basket and was now approaching the Vargas' brothers' workshop. The lights were on which meant that they were at work already, so Alfred walked straight inside.

"Ve, good morning!" Feliciano chippered upon noticing him after having turned off the welder and lifted his goggles.

"Buoooongior- Woah!"

Alfred caught his salute in his throat when he laid his eyes upon the steel frame that stood ever so majestically in the middle of the room. The steel gave off glimmers in the sunlight that shone through the long and narrow windows. And although Alfred had difficulties imagining how utterly awesome it would look with the metal materials laid on top, it was as if the frame itself sufficed. Even if it lacked wings. With eyes as wide as saucers and mouth agape, he neared the frame, his gaze gluttonously devouring it.

"Cool, riiiight?" Feliciano smirked, visibly satisfied with Alfred's reaction.

"Dude, it's hella cool…" Alfred looked up at Feliciano briefly and tore himself from his little daydream, "What am I supposed to do today? Weld it? Assemble metals 'n stuff? Or maybe- Yo, am I gonna help with putting the engine-"

"Calm the hell down, will ya."

From behind the plane's unfinished tail, Romano came forth and put his own welder onto the bench conveniently placed next to him. He beckoned Alfred to come closer and rolled out the illustration on the bench.

"This looks neat."

"I don't care. You see these shapes here." Romano tapped his finger on one of the uninformative shapes that were drawn next to the airplane, though Alfred didn't figure out specifically which one due to the glove having widened his fingers greatly.

"Before we place the engine, we gotta mount the seat and foot space and front wheels. Then we can work on the wings."

"Will we be done today?"

"I dunno. If you don't slack o-"

"How much longer till we can install the engine?"

"Ah, che palle-"

Alfred beamed and firmly grabbed Romano's shoulders, paying no attention to the Italian's visible dismay.

"This is gonna be awesome, this baby's gonna get done in no time!" he squealed before heading into the mess of cardboard boxes and tools. He eagerly looked for something that he could recognize to give him a sense of what to do, but when he found nothing, he helplessly turned back to the grouchy Italian and popped a sheepish grin.

"So, what exactly do I do?"

Feliciano giggled. Romano rolled his eyes and made some gesture that could impossibly mean anything friendly. He gave a nod in Alfred's direction, his eyes looking as if they had never been wrong about overthinking or catastrophizing. With renewed energy coursing through his veins, Alfred pivoted and darted over to a few bigger boxes behind him. Upon opening them, he saw something he presumed was going to be the seat. It was a white piece of hard plastic. In another one he saw pieces of metal shaped in an obtuse angle. What they were for he had not the slightest clue, but his fingers itched with excitement knowing that he'd go home today with the answer.

The work at the workshop went by relatively fast, with an intermission consisting of lunch at the bakery since it was next door. Alfred had been slightly shocked at how little Romano ate, not only in comparison to the hearty appetite that his brother and Alfred shared, but in general. From there they began talking about their childhood which led to talking about the war, which again led them to the topic of the polluted lake. It was a regular occurrence that conversations touched upon the topics of the war and the disheveled state in which the country was. Then people would naturally start talking about their experiences during the war. Alfred did for example not know that the Vargas twins came to Smalltown three years prior to him. What they did find out, though, was that they all shared the common experience of losing their guardian figures and meandering the streets. Then again, that was the past of many nowadays. After lunch, they had returned to the workshop in livelier spirits than before; Alfred and Feliciano talked even faster and louder, while Romano's curses and patronizing comments became more colorful. By the onset of late afternoon and the framework of the wings had just started assembling, the boys leaned against the closest wall, counter, or flopped straight onto the floor.

"Mamma mia…" Romano sighed as he slid into a position in between lying down and sitting.

"I told ya we were gonna come far!" Alfred panted as he fluttered the collar of his shirt, sweat piling up on the old sweat from earlier at the farm. If he didn't go home soon, his presence would definitely become a noseful.

"Ve~," came a sole, exhausted voice from the other side of the room.

It wasn't the process of lifting and supporting that had knocked them over, however, even if they wanted to think it was. In their minds they bathed in the pride of having done heavy labor for hours, but everyone who had passed by knew that what ultimately pushed them to their limits was the labor combined with festive singing, shouting, possibly dancing and whatever other activities that served as a distraction. Yet thoroughly convinced that that wasn't the case, Alfred noticed how a dry throat and tired vocal cords made it harder to catch his breath.

God, he was so ready to go to sleep.

Some minutes of sheer relaxation passed by before Feliciano got to his feet and hurried upstairs. He came back down with some coins and banknotes.

"Here you go," he smiled and stuffed it into a pocket on Alfred's coat which hung by the entrance.

With a sigh and a slight shake of the head to loosen up his neck, Alfred headed over to the door and threw the coat over his shoulder.

"I'll head out then, thanks for today!" he said, the greetings returning in a merry tone, before finally entering the late winter air outside. He absolutely did not feel the need to put on his coat and would rather strip himself of everything called garments, and would probably have done so hadn't it been for the fact that his workday wasn't over yet.

Though… It wasn't like he had to go. After having worked non-stop all day and even starting to see shapes float around in his field of vision, wouldn't it be an acceptable excuse when talking with the main park keeper tomorrow? Frankly, Alfred could barely feel his arms at this point since most of today's work had required the strength in his upper body, which had also taken a little toll on his back. Practically speaking it would be more effective if Alfred postponed the work until tomorrow when he felt better.

Though again…

"Hell, nah," he found himself muttering to no one in particular, immediately resenting his current thought pattern. Sure, overworking oneself would never be a good thing, but he had to expect a few days every now and then where he had to force himself through it. Basic resilience, discipline, and focus; If Alfred counted on motivation to be the sole fuel for these elements, he'd never get anything done. Sometimes the work had to be done no matter how little he wanted to, and today was one of those days. So to the park he went, and he braced himself for the hours that lied ahead.

His legs felt like lead wading through thick, thick syrup. Even the littlest rock in his path felt like an obstacle, but at 9 in the evening, Alfred slammed his hand onto the doorknob and twisted. He pulled it open, staggered inside, and used the last of his strength to close it. The slightest movement caused a massive emission of the savory smell of hour-old sweat, as it drenched his clothes with a mix of now melted snow that had begun falling around an hour ago. About to announce his homecoming, Arthur unexpectedly showed up as he exited the basement.

"Well, hello to you," he said before scrunching his face up in pure disgust, "You look awfu-"

Within a second, Alfred opened his arms with the smuggest grin on his face, and wrapped them around his dad in a tight, clammy and rancid embrace, to which Arthur responded with all nuances of cuss words and threats.

"I woooove you, Dad!" Alfred cooed tauntingly.

"You unhand me this instant! Do you hear me!? No dinner for you, you putrid disgrace, get off-!"

Peter quickly emerged from the living room curious about the ruckus, then running downstairs to join the fun. However, once he saw why this was happening in the first place, he backed away. Unfortunately for him, Alfred noticed. He let Arthur go.

"I wooove you too, Peter," Alfred said ominously, enjoying the great fear that welled up in his little brother's blue eyes.

"Go away!" Peter shooed, slowly ascending the stairs backwards on his butt. He thought he was ready to run, but before he could even get to his feet Alfred leaped forward, grabbed him around the waist and yet another innocent civilian fell victim to his steamy hug attacks.

Amidst Peter's half-elated, half-terrorized screams, and after Arthur had made sure his own clothes didn't reek of sweat, Arthur begun walking upstairs, lightly slapping Alfred on the back in the process to get his attention.

"I heard they got funds to fix the lake," Arthur started, voice raised slightly to not be drowned out by Peter's shrieking laughter, "They're starting in a week, so if you want to tag along for some coins I advise you tell Toris."

"Oh, alright, but- Hey, hold up," Alfred said as he tried to get Peter to sit still for just a few seconds, "Not to be mean, but I didn't think Big T would be rich enough to do that?"

"He isn't," Arthur assured with a little chuckle, "The Russian has been so kind to help out."

Ah, so that was how it was. Few people wanted to be acquainted with Braginski, Alfred being no exception. However, this was the first time Braginski was offering the town a friendly gesture unless he had ulterior motives, so perhaps there was hope. Besides, who was Alfred to pass up a chance to earn money? Those Newcastle tuition fees wouldn't pay themselves!

Alfred gave Peter a last tickle attack before commencing his evening routine of eating supper, washing himself thoroughly, getting changed, wishing his family "goodnight", and concluding it by flopping onto his bed. Within what felt like a second, he was sound asleep.

Translations:
- "Buoooongiorno". Italian, "gooooooooood morning".
- "Che palle". Italian, "what balls" but is used to express "what a pain" or "how annoying" etc.
- "Mamma mia". Italian, "my mother", used to express various emotions. But y'all knew that ;)

Seeya next week, folks!