The train turned out to not go from Leeds due to a discovered minefield not too far ahead. Therefore, they had to walk to York which this ex-soldier Arthur-man said would have taken less than a day if it weren't for his and Alfred's worn-down conditions. The man who seemed tired enough from caring for that little baby, had even been so kind as to buy a pair of shoes for Alfred's blistered feet which helped immensely, but did nothing to cover the stench. Alfred had been strict on not taking any breaks before they reached the train station in York, but ultimately he had reached a point in which tears welled up in his eyes whenever he took a step. So Arthur insisted they spend the night in the woods where the dense leaves of the treetops could shield them from the rain.

The weak bonfire warmed tremendously, and Alfred felt a warmth he hadn't felt in years.

"This is like the camping trips I had with Momma and Davie."

Alfred hadn't meant to say it, but it slipped out anyway.

"Who's Davie?" asked Arthur as the infant that had previously slept in his arms kept pulling on his clothes.

"My big brother," said Alfred. Even if Davie was still at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean with Momma, he was still Alfred's big brother. Perhaps this Arthur knew why they had jumped overboard? Perhaps Alfred could ask? He wanted to, but it didn't come out. It probably never would.

The conversation ended there and didn't start again in a while. They both watched the little boy, who didn't have an official name yet but whom Arthur had called Peter as a placeholder, on his wobbly feet who constantly had to hold onto something so as to not fall over. Alfred knew this baby had to be Arthur's biological son because of the eyebrows that showed signs of becoming bushy, and he was intrigued over the absence of a mother. However, he didn't ask. He assumed it was the same case as with his father in New York whom he had never met. Peter would probably grow up not knowing his mother.

The rain had let up slightly and Arthur got to his feet with Peter in his arms, and moved farther away from the bonfire. He proceeded to sit down on his bum on a slightly drier patch on the ground, and stretched his legs forward to the best of his limited ability.

"Come on," he said, quickly gesturing Alfred to come as well. Alfred squatted down next to him. Arthur adjusted his hold of Peter so he was holding him underneath his arms before placing him on his feet some inches away from him. That was the moment when Alfred realized what he was doing, and he lit up in a smile.

"Is he going to walk?" he asked eagerly and shifted closer to Arthur, who nodded as a response. Ever so slightly, he loosened his grip on Peter, just enough that he wouldn't fall over.

"Hey, Peter!" Alfred cheered, "Come here!"

"Come here, Peter, you can do it," Arthur softly encouraged as his hands softened around the little boy. He took a chance and removed them completely, but Peter plopped right onto the grass. He seemed like he wanted to cry but shortly mirrored Alfred's boisterous laugh, and took advantage of this to create as much sound as possible when Arthur helped him up again.

The second time, Peter managed to initiate forward movement, but couldn't take a step before he fell into Arthur's hands. And Peter and Alfred laughed in unison once again.

Once more Arthur placed Peter by his feet, this time pushing him slightly when he had softened his grasp around him. Peter walked two steps while still being held, and while the momentum was there, Arthur fully let go. In the midst of encouraging cheers and whilst laughing louder than he had ever done, Peter walked one, two, threefourfive steps on his own before bumping into Arthur's torso.

"He walked!" Alfred cried excitedly.

"You're almost an adult now, Peter!" Arthur laughed before hugging Peter tightly and rolling onto his back.

"Towering in gallant fame, Scotland my mountain hame-" Alfred began singing and Arthur immediately followed, just as animated and loud. Peter decided to join in as well by simply hollering and laughing.

The following day, they woke up to sunshine which unfortunately became a rainstorm a few hours later. When they finally arrived in York as three soaked cats, Arthur made sure that the first thing that happened was to get a change of clothes. Alfred hadn't worn anything else besides his rags for years, so this was his first official change of clothes ever since he was forced to survive the streets on his own. The woolen sweater enclosed his body heat, his pants were smooth on his skin, and he even got himself a new pair of underwear. Although his hair was still a mess and had long made his scalp numb, fresh clothes was all it took for him to feel like a new man.

Arthur had also made sure they got some nourishment and Alfred ate a meal way too big for his stomach. It saddened him greatly that half of what he had so heartily consumed came right out again. He also found out he liked tea as long as it had five cubes of sugar in it.

At long last they stepped into the train wagon. For the first time, Alfred could enjoy the British landscape pass by without having to worry about the blisters on his feet. And now that they had been tended to, they hurt more than ever. Arthur had said that Alfred wouldn't be able to walk for a long time now that the wounds were going to heal, and Alfred could already on this first day of healing feel the urge to challenge God. And he could definitely do it hadn't it been for his malnourished condition.

The train ride felt like a second had passed in comparison to the year-long travel Alfred had had on the streets, and when they finally arrived at the platform of 'Smalltown', Alfred was amazed at its emptiness. Yet he saw the warm lights from the windows and occasionally heard vigorous laughter coming from them. It also smelled of freshly baked bread from the house closest to the platform.

"It must be quite spartan compared to New York," Arthur said before he took Alfred's hand, and hoisted Peter who was comfortably resting on his hip.

Alfred imagined how sunshine would light up the streets one day, people talking to each other from their windows, and he himself, hopefully along with some other peers, would be running around overloaded with work. Peter would grow up. Arthur would be the typical father to do paperwork by a wooden desk in the living room. Frankly, Alfred had fallen slightly in love with the idea.

Peter stacked the final cardboard box on top of the others. None of them were particularly big. The basement would be cold in half a year so Alfred had made sure there was nothing in there that was sensitive to cold or could be broken by it. In the door frame he watched as Peter lingered by the boxes. Clad in the darkest clothes he had, he nearly disappeared into the basement's darkness.

"Done yet?" Alfred softly said. Peter cast him a brief glance before looking back at the boxes and finally going back to Alfred's side. His little hand latched onto his. They looked upon the warm strip of light that dimly illuminated the basement.

"Cold season is gonna make us depressed if we gotta go in here every time we want cold water," Alfred chuckled as he tightened his hand around Peter's, "Let's go."

Alfred closed the basement door and locked it, hanging the key on the little nail in the wall. When they stood before the house's door, he straightened out his almost black clothes and dusted Peter's. He knew that he and Peter wanted to linger, but decided it would be better to get the whole event over with. They were out the door in the wink of an eye.