Arhur slowly pressed on the breaks. The light was part of a busy street he'd rather not take chances on. Malevolent vehicles made their way here frequently. Although it wasn't as congested as it were to be during rush hour, it still seemed like the perfect place for an accident. Because that's what the family needed right now. More hospital stays.

He gave a heavy sigh, the car hadn't warmed up too much, the heater was blasting in his face, and even though it chapped his lips greatly, and made breathing through his nose difficult, it was a slight relief from the cold that lingered through the doors. The feeling of the wind outside seemed to be contagious though, because he was experiencing chills from head to toe, but heat waves that was making him sweat.

He cracked open his window.

Due to the lack of complaint, the Brit looked over. Alfred had fallen asleep. Nose was still red for the freezer breeze outside, but the medication from the hospital hadn't worn-off making sleep inevitable for the boy. The bags under his eyes showed how much he needed though.

Arthur didn't notice before, but Alfred had a split lip, healing but the cold made it more protruding. It could be because Arthur had sat on the other side of him, but who knows. It's there, and it looks deep, maybe even painful to the touch.

There seemed to be even though bruising around the lower neck area, the purple discoloration had gone away and it was very light, but due to the white snow outside, and the car's dim lighting made it stand out like it was contrasting. Don't forget the shoulder, his long (also very large) sweater shit Francis had bought him (for 'comfort purposes' dare he say) – had dragged down revealing a scratch by the looks of it. Maybe even a cut.

He'd ask later when they're settled in, and in the comfort of their home.

He guesses the last thing to notice was the way Alfred had positioned himself.

His son was stiff as a board, legs pushed together like they were cowering, hands were tucked neatly at his sides, avoiding any physical contact on the center console. Angling himself just barely towards Arthur; like he was preparing to pounce, it was extraordinary as to how uncomfortable he looked. Out of necessity? Out of fear? Questioning didn't continue much longer because the light had turned green, and there were more important things to worry about at this very moment. And that thing – was going home.

Alfred found the silence alluring as well as calming. Head laying slightly against the window, hair dampening slightly from the window that was coated with frost from the morning dew. Music was turned on low; Bluetooth automatically connected to the speakers – Queen, Alfred had quietly noted.

He found himself to be drifting off though. Untroubled breathing, an a finally relaxed position made everything seemingly better. Soothing noises of the radio that gently played swayed his judgement greatly. Alfred's breathing was hardly labored or disturbed precociously. And to him – it was nice.

The teen must had been drifted too far; because the next thing he is aware of it a hand shaking him awake.

"Al," Arthur nudged.

Alfred shook his head awake, eyes barely adjusting to the light, "…hm?"

"We're home…"

The car was noticeable quiet. It was getting colder, and the creaks of the car settling can be heard.

But if there was one question he was supposed to ask himself; what now? He felt the coldness, the air that liked to bite his skin and so many others. This year it seemed worse though. The cold was burying into his skin, and planting a seed to making him unbearably frigid.

He tuned his head to peer through the frosty windows. Papa's car was in the drive, completely covered in snow that had the texture of dust. Footprints were filling up from the snow that had begun to drift down. Recognizing the small headache that had dared to creep back to his head, and the drowsiness was also lingering. Alfred would be completely content to fall back asleep right now.

"…Oh." The boy seemed to stutter.

Arthur shuffled a little bit. Reaching for bags in the back and finally stopping right before he opened his door. Alfred on the other hand seemed content to just get out and leave finally, quickly opening his door and feeling that horrid breeze and air.

"When we get inside-" The brit struggled for a moment, "I want you on the couch."

Alfred understood. So, he nodded. Implications and emotions were high. He didn't want to falsely play his cards, and make things worse.

Arthur was expecting a chastising jab, but it never came. They both exited the vehicle silently.

When the door opened, Matthew was greeted with the chilling cold. Wrapping himself in the knitted blanket, he was unaware of the timing for a moment before he heard a slight cough. This made the boy turn his head over the back of the couch that faced the front door.

"Oh, hi dad!" Matt gives off a cheeky smile. Attempting to run up towards the man, Arthur nudges the youngest away.

"You don't wanna hug me, I'm greasy and nasty, I love you but it's not worth it." Matthew practically tackles him anyways.

Alfred doesn't take the time or effort to notice the interaction. Alfred doesn't make the effort to push his own hair back. He doesn't make an effort to smile, or greet anyone. He barely makes an effort to take his jacket off because there wasn't a point. The boy didn't feel he deserved so much as a second to relax. But he was being forced to. And although taking the time to relax is good, it still wasn't worth the amount of work he had to get done.

Albeit the fact he had to do it or not was completely washed from his brain. Sad to say the boy was used to it.

Alfred trudged past the two hardly noticed. Papa didn't take the time to even give a smile like he usually does. He doesn't deserve it he supposed, and rightfully so.

The couch didn't feel comfortable under his skin, the couch didn't even look appealing to start with. Whatever was playing seemed to at least drown out the uncomfortable atmosphere. Everyone was happy, he felt horrible for ruining that.

Hugging his knees to his chest; he rested his head on them and sighed. The heat was making his throat burn even more. There wasn't any point in complaining about it. It as his fault. But his eyes were threatening to slip shut to relive the pounding headache. He resisted as much as possible. Alfred didn't feel he had to sleep. He didn't deserve it. The blond could pout as much as he wanted. But it wouldn't stop the fact that it was his fault, and his responsibility to deal with.

The sound of the kennel going off only made Alfred bury in his thoughts more.

Earl Grey. That's what Arthur liked most. The warm tea that seemed to etch itself into his soul once again was delightful.

"How was the car ride?" Francis asks hurriedly, turning the stove plate off.

"He complained that it was cold at first, but he fell asleep after a couple minutes." He mumbles out, sipping the hot tea. Being cautious of the heat, whilst also trying to be as quiet as possible.

"It's the anesthetics have yet to wear off. Not only will that but the pain meds too."

Arthur groaned under his breath, "I know, he was prescribed Ibuprofen, need to get it filled today or tomorrow…" Too much to do in such a short amount of time.

"Yes of course, but in the meantime; I will get Alfred, you two can set up the table."

That wouldn't be such an easy task.

Calmly setting his cup down, Arthur could he heard calling Matthew to set the dining table up. There wasn't much to do really, but maybe clean a few stacks of papers off, and move a tie or two. An easy task.

Francis on the other hand, didn't really dread getting the boy from his home camp for now. He could barely see him over the couch though because he was slouching so much. Stiff as a board the Frenchman could recall.

Sitting in pure silence was bliss it seemed the best way to spend an afternoon, alone. The wind was getting louder outside though, catching onto things and whistling. Repetitive it seemed to be.

"Alfred it's time to eat."

"I don't wanna…"

"It doesn't matter whether you want to or not, now come get something to eat."

Alfred had no intentions of moving, fairly comfortable on the couch away from his family made him feel like he was doing something right for the first time in forever. But he realized almost immediately that this wasn't his home. This was a house. Not his, it was Papa and Dad's… Arthur and Francis'. The teen figured he had not right to argue. And he didn't, he stifled his way silently to the dining room table. A medium toned wood color, chairs were their basic shape, and the rectangular view made it seem like a normal family was meant to be here. Too normal for Alfred, and too loving for Alfred. He quite liked the fact that he was able to at least be alone like he's going to end up being anyways.

He laid dormant in one of the chairs far from next to Arthur. Avoid his disappointing gaze at all cost. Avoid all disappointing movement that his father would make towards him from now on. For being weak. For not acting like a man he was supposed to be. Alfred was a man and could take care of himself.

Couldn't he?

"How was Feli and Ludwig's' house?" Arthur asks calmly, biting into his soup that Francis had so graciously made.

The young child perked up.

"Oh it was a lot of fun! Scary at first, but Ludwig was so nice to me, and let me pet his baby puppies, he also read me stories when we went to bed! Feliciano was also awesome, he tried to teach me to paint something weird, but it was too hard. But really fun! He also stayed up with me when I had a nightmare!"

Alfred was letting the conversation slip through his ears gracefully.

"How about Grandpa, was he nice?"

Matthew nodded wholeheartedly, "Mhm! He told me really funny stories, and it was funny when he tried to make dinner but Luddy scolded him for being in the kitchen and risking a fall and hurting his back, so there was that."

He continued to explain more, but at this point Alfred had forgotten the other three were even there, Idly stirring the soup with zero intention of eating it. He didn't need to.

He had to.

"Alfred eat it." The Brit warned.

The blond shook his head and crossed his arms.

The Frenchman cleared his throat, "Al, why don't you take three bites, and then you can go up to your room." Arthur didn't like this idea.

"But I don't wanna…" fight it fight it fight it fight it. Fight them, fight them, fight them.

Instead the listens, and he listens carefully because he couldn't disobey them, or make them hate him so much anymore.

So, he takes his bites quickly, and forces away from the dining room table. Too weary. He'd head for the bathroom to let it all out, but he was still scared to go there.

Arriving at his room, it was dull as ever. The dull curtains still hung over his window. His laptop and phone was both still sitting there, more than likely dead. Bed was unkempt and ruffled everywhere but it looked comfortable to just flop on and pass out. Other than the twinge of pain in his arm – Alfred was too keen to just pass out. So he did.