"-And I have no idea how to explain it to ya, Matt, but it's like my eyes just zoom across the page now- That was an exaggeration because the words still keep hopping around, but-" In a moment of breathlessness Alfred inhaled deeply and released it. He thought he'd be able to project his words in a calmer manner afterward, but again his adrenaline kept pushing his verbal pedals.

"And I read the whole book about the Napoleonic Wars last week thanks to 'em, and I just-" Alfred looked straight at Matt, "How come no one suggested glasses to me earlier?"

Matt, who sat on the other side of the table resting his cheek in his palm, only shrugged with a faint smile on his lips. His gaze quickly swept across the bookshelves surrounding their table.

"I think we all just assumed you were somewhat illiterate," he snorted as his gaze landed back on Alfred, who in turn wrinkled his nose at the remark. Indeed, he had had problems back when he went to school – which was now eight years ago – but Momma and Davie had worked hard to help him get to the level of the rest of his class. And he had actively improved his reading skills over the years, butd thinking about it, he truly wasn't at the expected reading level for his age.

"Something's always gotta be wrong with me, huh," Alfred chuckled.

"Pas du tout," Matt corrected before sending him an apologetic look, "Words jumping around on a page doesn't make anything wrong with you. I'm sorry I called you 'illiterate'."

There wasn't need for anything other than a nonchalant shrug from Alfred before they proceeded with the study session.

It had now been a week since Alfred got his glasses and he had been reading a considerable amount because of it. Being able to read at a farther distance had been helpful in cases such as following recipes so as to not get the paper full of whatever condiments were on his hands, or catching the main headline in the newspaper as he quickly passed by. Being able to read history books in a variety of new positions made his reading sessions longer as well. Looking back at the time he thought Matt's glasses weren't much more than slightly useful decoration on his face, he internally laughed at how wrong he had been. Yes, he cursed at them when they fell off for different reasons; Yes, raindrops had proven to be a nuisance, and yes, he had many times lost them only to find out that the ones at home were testing how long he'd go before he noticed they had stolen them. But after years of wandering this blurry world, it was worth it. Though, he did wish there were inventions that could work as glasses except more adaptable and portable.

As Alfred's gaze ever so smoothly sailed across the page to the best of his ability, he slowly came to notice that there was shouting in the street. Exchanging looks with Matt, they got up from their chairs about to open the window, when the door to the biblio opened. The boys' attention, especially Matt's, went straight to the source of the sound: In the door frame stood uncle Francis, his eyes weary and stubble dense. Matt seemed to nearly lose his balance for a second, before tears faintly welled up in his eyes, and he threw himself in the arms of his father whom he missed so dearly.

"Mathieu, je suis vraiment désolé. Vraiment."

It was a sight that didn't last for long, but for as long as it lasted, Alfred felt a knot in his chest. But, of course, that wasn't something he would vocalize. Truly and genuinely, this was a moment he thought and knew that they deserved to linger in for as long as they must.

"Oh, goodness gracious," uncle Francis quickly muttered after having let go, chuckling lightly, "I didn't come here to cry."

"What's up?" Alfred asked, and uncle Francis turned slightly so he could look at both of the boys. He broke into an excited grin.

"It seems like people are going to the runway to see the plane."

With a gasp, Alfred and Matt exchanged wide-eyed looks. Quickly gesturing that he'd go and change out of his pajamas, given that it was still only ten in the morning, Matt exited the room and left Alfred and uncle Francis alone. Before he himself left, Alfred approached uncle Francis with shuffling steps and a slight frown.

"Uncle Francis," he said, "Uh, do you know what happened?"

Uncle Francis looked at him with heavy eyes before resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I know as much as you, and that he was already gone when Peter returned after getting us," he explained somberly. Tightening Alfred's chest, the knot was on the verge of squeezing out a tear, but he repressed it as hard as he could. Unlike uncle Francis, Alfred had all these people he felt comfortable with confiding in. Alfred had nothing to complain about. A bittersweet smile made its way onto uncle Francis' lips.

"But I heard them laughing," he said, and gave Alfred a gentle clap on his cheek before exiting the biblio. A thousand bricks lifted from Alfred's shoulders.

The old runway behind the Vargas workshop was indeed crowded, and it didn't take long before Alfred found Peter. He was walking around with Wendy. He quickly located Jack as well due to his sheer height, on the other side of the crowd animatedly conversing with Gilbert and Ludwig.

"Kinda looks like your toy plane, doesn't it?" Alfred asked once Peter approached him and wordlessly grabbed his hand.

"Are these the only people living here?" Wendy remarked and looked around, supposedly checking if more people would come.

"It's called 'Smalltown' for a reason," Alfred snickered, his eyes sweeping across the crowd as well. He caught sight of the actual airplane, in all its blue coolness, at the start of the runway. And there was yet another familial sight. Though it piqued his interest that Romano was seemingly crying into Antonio's chest with Feliciano stroking him on the back, he'd have to shelve his curiosity for now.

Alfred mingled with the other townsfolk in the meantime; Found some of the elderlies so they could proceed to talk about the decay of their bones, found Matt again who once more managed to strike an advanced conversation with Wendy, was just about to make chat with Antonio upon his approach, when he noticed all eyes turning to the airplane. Feliciano closed the hatch to the fuel tank and gave a thumbs-up to Romano, who sat in the single pilot's seat wearing a warm jacket and headpiece, gloves, and goggles. He returned the thumbs-up and Feliciano stepped away to a safer distance.

And then the engine roared, the crowd gasped in unison followed by energetic chattering. The pilot adjusted everything he was wearing before grabbing the yoke. Within the second gasp's eruption, the plane began moving ever so slightly along with the propeller, the sun's reflection nearly blinding them all but none of them looking away. With just a few adjustments from the cockpit, the hum of the engine and the propeller grew loud enough that people had to shout at each other to be heard. Jack had started a lively team cheer of anticipating "Ooooooooh-!"-s as the speed picked up, something Alfred had joined in on momentarily when his ears picked up on it. Accompanied with the passionate "Oooooh-!" and the thundering engine, the airplane sped past the crowd and, with the cheer erupting into climactic exclamations, it lifted from the ground and took off.

Everyone had of course seen an airplane before. But it was the first time they did not have to worry about bombs.

Some good samaritans in town had set up a little buffet in the park a while after the take-off. Many had insisted on staying at the runway to see the plane land as well, but Antonio had with his cheerful smile strictly prohibited them from doing so. No one had taken him seriously, so when Feliciano had begged them to listen, they complied and followed the stream to the park. It seemed like people were alright with that upon arrival, because there was not a single person not impatiently queueing up for Elizabeta and Lily to hand them a slice of apple pie. Even Peter grinned from ear to ear when he got his slice, and the happy munching made Alfred realize that far too many things had changed since last time he had had apple pie.

"So, what do you think?" came the light voice of Feliciano from behind, and Alfred spun on his heels to face him. He held his palm up as he chewed as fast as humanly possible.

"It is radical!" he finally exclaimed, suddenly bursting into a little coughing fit.

"Cool, riiiight," Feliciano beamed as he forcefully slapped Alfred repetitively on the back till the cough subsided, "We're so grateful for all your help!"

After a hot minute of coughing and clearing his throat, Alfred stood up straight again and gave the Italian a little salute. Feliciano laughed and took a bite of his pie when Alfred came to remember something.

"By the way," he started, the image of Romano ever so uncharacteristically crying re-appearing in his mind, "How come you two found out you wanted to build an airplane?"

Still munching, Feliciano chortled, his round, expressive eyes becoming slightly surprised once he was ready to talk.

"It was so random!" he said, his gestures outwardly and lively as ever, "Fratello and I were on such bad terms when Tonio took us in, so of all things he said-"

It was a bad imitation, but good enough to sell Alfred and make him laugh in amusement.

"So make an airplane!" Feliciano's endless buoyancy toned down and became rather wistful as he explained the rest.

"We really were on bad terms after our grandfather died. Neither fratello nor me believed Tonio's plan would work to stitch us back together, but… While this means more than the world to me, it probably means even more to Romano."

It was as if a bubble enclosed them in the middle of the festive crowd, shrouded in the grey memories of war. Yet at the same time, there was a golden tint to these memories as there was a certain joy that was only possible to experience after having grieved. Alfred couldn't with certainty say that Feliciano was experiencing this feeling, but it certainly was not the apple pie that made this solemnity.

"It sure takes effort to reconcile with family feuds," Alfred sheepishly chuckled, only now registering that Peter was still holding onto his hand, "But if we're lucky enough to even have one, it really doesn't cost anything to try." Without reacting upon it, Alfred registered Peter's hand tightening in his own. Despite how much it hurt them both, Alfred needed to say it. For them both.

At some point during the festivities, nobody noticed, except Alfred who just so happened to be looking in the direction, the little airplane that had roamed the skies coming back to land.

Translations:
- "Pas du tout", French. "Not at all".
- "Je suis vraiment désolé. Vraiment", French. "I am truly sorry. Truly."

A/N: Didn't have my laptop over the weekend, so it had to be a late update! Thank you for your patience! 3