Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Frosty the Snowman. Or Power Rangers. Or M&Ms.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Fluff. Angst. Drama. Norman Conquest. Could make you politically fussy (EU). Some hard pokes at Germany because...yeah. American view of Canadian personal defense laws...yeah...no 'Stand Your Ground' Laws up there...
AN: Hey! Survived my midterms! And now I get to start worrying about two Middle English projects, a Film Project, and two huge papers : DDD Thank you so much for your reviews! They keep me inspired! : D
Chapter 3: Frosty the Evil Snowman
Arthur rearranged a platter of pink and purple macarons for the third time—taking care to look oblivious to his surroundings.
Contrary to how he presented himself, England could understand a good deal of French. The Norman Conquest had made learning it a vital skill to maintain power after the takeover. France, William, and their men were hell bent on replacing every official with a French one. It would take several centuries and bubonic plague to shake the French Language out of his lands and even then quite a few of their words and syntactical structures remained.
Yes, England's skills were outdated and rusty, but you don't magically forget several centuries of occupation and knowledge. He blinked...unless you were America and dabbled in dangerous magic. He shook his head and focused on the men's words; he could make out a terse conversation unfolding beside the heart-shaped crystal punch bowl.
"You could have come to me," Francis insisted. "How is it that I'm the last to know about this?"
"I didn't want to upset you, Papa," Mathieu murmured as he set down his clipboard.
Francis ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not upset that you want to know more about your origins. I'm upset you don't confide in me. I met him. Arthur and his brothers have met him. The Nordics have met him. We will pool our resources-"
"...he's still dead…" Mathieu mumbled, head bowed.
"But he is not forgotten."
No; it was hard to forget a brute like that. Arthur would need to assign Rhys to ferreting out a way of relaying such information in the least insulting manner possible. Scotland and Northern Ireland would lack the tact necessary to think of Canada's feelings. They'd speak of him exactly as they remembered him.
Speaking of tact, he needed to speak with Alfred. He didn't think the boy would purposely aggravate such a tender subject, but tripping over it could cause troubles. Alfred's new leaf of "being more honest" had its ups and downs...and the downs...
Sometimes he was a bit too forthright when giving his opinion on Arthur's choice of television show or Arthur's cooking talents. Which could be irritating even when it was innocent speculation.
Other times, his musings took an especially dark turn.
America was opening up about the frustrations of his early days of sovereignty. How frightened he'd been, how overwhelming his responsibilities were, how it seemed like he had no one to turn to in the whole world.
"You could've come to me any time," Arthur had murmured and had been surprised and a bit hurt to hear the bitter response:
"I wish you wouldn't say such things...it makes it sound like I suffered for nothing."
Apparently...suffering was still acceptable as long as it was for something.
He still needed to find a way to break Alfred out of that mentality.
Mathieu sighed as he climbed up a stepladder and Francis kept it steady. With the Frenchman's help, Canada hung a 'Happy Valentine's Day' banner.
Arthur tried not to flinch as "œil" cropped up.
Arthur sighed and looked at the entry doors of the meeting room for Alfred and Rhys. Rhys usually arrived at events 5 to 10 minutes early while Alfred tended to be 5 to 10 minutes late. He was curious to see if that meant they'd arrive on the dot.
Germany entered the room with Italy half a step behind. The two blonds locked gazes for a moment before each looked away.
That old familiar lurch of fury tightened England's chest: for two World Wars, for scores of dead citizens, for the death-knells of his empire, and currently for an immigration policy that left his people feeling exposed, for a weighty membership fee that seemed to increase with every year, and a council of foreigners determined to encroach on his sovereignty with their power-hungry ambitions...
He blew out a hard breath.
This was not the time nor place…to get into that…
There were positives to the equation too…free movement of labor, access to the Single Market, common currency...and a sense of unity with Europe...
But the negatives...God, it was like an itch...
And considerably less benign than the one that woke him this morning.
Not long after 7:00 am, Arthur had raised a hand to scratch the tip of his nose and felt paper scrape his face.
He'd blinked and registered a note from the hotel room's stationary clipped to the sleeve of his pajama shirt.
Alfred and I are exploring the hotel.
Worry not, I'll see that he's fed
something to tide him over
until the meeting starts.
-Rhys
At the time, Arthur had frowned—peeved that Alfred had been spirited away. The child usually woke up affectionate and Arthur was missing out on early morning cuddles.
But as the two stepped through the door right at 10 and Alfred pointed up at the ceiling, and Rhys set the boy on his shoulders so he could poke at the shiny pink streamers dangling down…
Arthur couldn't muster any irritation.
Alfred tapped the harp of a cherub and then pointed to Rhys and pantomimed playing a harp.
Rhys nodded.
Rhys was usually so hands off when it came to interacting with the children. Yes, he spoke to them, instructed them, and recorded their likes and dislikes, but he seldom...held or carried them.
Arthur frowned, had he always been that way?
No...
He'd carried, soothed, rough-housed, and played with Arthur and his brothers growing up. Had doted quite a bit on Alfred and Mathieu and their colonies of the 1700s until…
Arthur blinked...until?
When was it that Rhys closed himself off?
His brother noticed him watching and blushed. Rhys set Alfred back down on his feet who made a beeline to Arthur.
England braced a hand against the wall as the child nation slammed into his legs.
He winced and swallowed a litany of curses because he remembered the alternative: where Alfred cringed from his touch and leaned away when he tried to carry him.
He pet the soft wheat hair and nodded at the chatter which consisted of 'people watching' and the various noses, ears, and beards the child observed. He half-expected the little one to write it down like a dedicated ornithologist.
It wasn't so different to hearing a colonial Alfred listing all the 'silly' people he'd seen at the docks while waiting to meet England after his ship came to port.
Nostalgia crashed over him and he gave the little body a gentle squeeze as the cockles of his heart warmed. He looked up and noticed Mathieu watching with an odd expression.
Arthur's head tilted and he raised an imposing eyebrow.
Mathieu sighed.
Arthur's eyes narrowed. He felt for Mathieu. Truly. Losing a parent at any time, let alone at such a tender age, was tragic. But...maybe it was callous but...in Arthur's view...it wasn't as though the role was fully vacant.
Arthur had been hesitant to name himself "Father" to Mathieu out of respect to Francis and Mathieu in accordance to the nature of the changeover in guardianship. He'd also refrained from doing so with his other wards because many weren't entirely willing when they came under wing.
Alfred was a special case in that he'd bestowed the title on Arthur freely...even before the realization of their blood relation. It wasn't as though Alfred had a monopoly on using that title. If the others wanted to call him "Dad," they could.
And while Mathieu certainly had plenty to be upset about...it in no way excused his recent behavior towards Alfred. His method of venting was unacceptable and if he didn't take steps to change it immediately; they were going to have troubles.
"England-san, America-san," Japan greeted.
"Japan!" America turned with his arms wide open as though he was about to bestow a hug to the Asian island nation.
Japan froze and seemed to brace himself for a display of unwanted affection.
America's smile faltered, "..."
America turned back and hugged England's legs again. It was...probably for the best, though Arthur's left knee popped unhappily.
"Bon matin!" Francis greeted. "If we can have everyone's eyes over here?"
Canada cleared his throat, "We-we'll be starting today's meeting with a little trust exercise called: Minefield. If everyone would please pair up?"
As they assembled, the doors opened with a harsh push.
"Guuuuuuten Morgan!" Prussia cried as he crashed the meeting. "Allow the awesome Prussia to have first pick-"
"Bruder." Germany frowned. "We agreed that if you stayed in the room, you could buy a useless souvenir. You were not invi-"
"When you are as awesome as me, you are welcome wherever you g-oh?" Prussia caught sight of America. "Kesesese! Hey, hey, half-pint!"
America immediately let go of England and stepped around him as Prussia strode over.
The albino grinned sharply as he crossed his arms. "Well, well." He lowered his voice. "Back to being Daddy's boy, huh?" he tutted and shook his head.
"Gilbert," Arthur warned. The last thing he needed was the arrogant berk undoing all the hard work they'd put into repairing their bond.
"Ugh, if you'd have seen vhat a crybaby I had to deal vith during training. 'Prussia, it's too cold to train.' 'Prussia, my arms are sore.' 'Prussia, you are too cruel.' It vas alvays someting."
"Prussia," England's fists clenched. If there was ever a topic he didn't feel like discussing—
"You chased me out of my tent, in my bedclothes, in the rain...with a bayonet!" America whined. "Dude!...Psycho."
"Yes, hehehehe. The element of surprise! And you got faster!"
"I got shanked," Alfred grumbled.
"And then you learnt to be faster!"
"Yeah, and then you totally up and left me—with Spain and France...they're like the weird uncles you wouldn't trust to watch over a goldfish."
The man guffawed, "Awwww, did you vant me to hold your hand in battle?"
Alfred's cheeks puffed. "Yeah, I think we're done here."
"Ooooh. Somebody's gone soft," Gilbert taunted. "And vasn't fast enough." He gestured to the missing eye.
"Gilbert. Enough." Arthur growled as his hackles rose and a strong desire to punch his face in filled him. The Prussian was largely responsible for Alfred's introduction to war and making light of their conflict...deserved a good jab.
"S-soft?" Alfred snapped. "You think I'm soft?!"
"Ja."
"Oh yeah?"
"Ja!"
"Yeah?!"
"JA!"
"I'm gonna beat you Gil! You Frosty the Evil Snowman whose eyes glow like coal!" He raced over to where Mathieu was reading off the instructions.
Germany sighed as Italy hung off his arm, "Bruder...why?"
The red eyed man grinned, "I live to rattle his cage. Poke the Gentle Giant in the eye. It's good fun. And it's good for him. Exercise."
"MOVE OUTTA THE WAY LOSERS, I'M WINNIN' THIS THING!" Alfred vowed.
"You...you need a partner Al," Mathieu pointed out. "And it's not about winnin-"
"Who else wants to WIN THIS? And CRUSH our competition?" Alfred declared.
"Crushing sounds fun, da," Russia agreed.
Arthur shuddered.
Alfred stared, "Anybody...else? Anybody?"
Canada looked away. "I'll be managing the event."
England tried to move forward to the rescue, but Prussia snagged his arm. "It'll be like old times! We're Team: Crusaders!"
Arthur's teeth grounded against each other as his jaw tightened.
Canada passed out one blindfold per team and blushed when Francis made the unnecessary comment: "Kinky."
"If you'll please follow me to the far end of the room, eh? You'll notice crumpled paper balls on the floor. Those are the mines. One player will wear the blindfold and enter the field. The other will guide them around the mines with instructions."
Three minutes in and there were multiple complications.
Italy found the whole thing too stressful and had sat down and rocked back and forth. Seeing he was a tripping hazard for other players, Germany carried him out. Japan and China couldn't agree on who to go first as neither wanted to be ordered about.
Gilbert didn't listen at all to Arthur's instructions, "I got across the field in record time and that should offset some of the mines I hit."
Arthur scoffed, "You're legs would've been bloody torn off, you knob-"
Wales wasn't faring much better, "Well, you've managed to make me step on each one. Congratulations."
"Je suis desole," Francis rolled his eyes.
Stupid frog. He didn't know what he was getting himself into.
Rhys's eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms; from that moment on, he communicated only in Welsh. Which made Francis's turn...frustrating. It was also likely the Frenchman sensed from the tone that Rhys was doing more than directing; he was spouting that Francis held a number of unflattering intimate relations with various farm animals.
Arthur shrugged; some of it might have been true. The Frenchman spent much of the 1600s drunk off his arse.
By the end, in a shocking twist; America and Russia's combined ambition led them to victory. Both successfully navigated each other through the field without either taking a hit.
"Where's our trophies?" America demanded.
Canada frowned, "I told you, it wasn't about winning."
Russia smiled and leaned in, "I would like trophy now, yes?"
Mathieu swallowed uneasily as the man's shadow fell across him. "I'll...see what I can do."
Concerned that World War III could break out without intervention, England, along with a sulking Rhys and Francis, swiftly approached the two Cold War rivals.
He was just commending them for their display of cooperation, when Russia grinned downward and remarked: "It reminds me of our days in the circus."
America turned red.
"What's this?" England stumbled to a stop and frowned.
"One of our few missions together in WWII. Infiltration espionage. It was only a few weeks," the Russian man stated.
Alfred fidgeted. "I really don't wanna get into the details-"
"We were chosen because we, and my sestry, have background in circus!" Russia offered.
"You were in a circus?!" Arthur gaped at his son. "Doing what? Er, why?! When?!"
"Arthur, breathe," Rhys muttered out of the corner of his mouth. And asked in a surprisingly hopeful tone, "Were you a ticket taker?"
Alfred gave a tight smile. "Look, that was a long time ago. The army was desperate, they saw a note about it in the archives."
"What did you do?" Arthur demanded.
"I was Strong Man," Russia explained. He chuckled and flexed his biceps. "He was High Wire."
"H-h-high wire?" His heart began pounding into overtime. "Why would you do something so dangerous?" He rasped.
"It wasn't dangerous, I had training."
"How high up were you?!"
"Like a birdie," Russia smiled—hooking his thumbs and flapping his hands.
Rhys sighed.
"Tex was never a fan. I stopped. We did some bounty hunting, western expansion, and then we settled down, kinda. I was a baker!" Alfred emphasized the last part loudly as though it made up for all the other things he just mentioned. "I've clocked in more hours as a baker than like anything else."
"Bounty hunting?! What for?!"
America shrugged, "Military had me on the move a lot and sometimes the pay took forever to get there (No Interstate) and I...had to make ends meet. Yeah, I've held down some...interesting jobs."
"Alfred!?"
"I don't mean 'interesting' like that," Alfred insisted. "I mean, I've never been like, a stripper, or anything down that lane."
"You missed out!" Prussia called. "Easy money! When you're awesome!"
Arthur choked.
"You said that oddly," Rhys commented. "...Texas or Hawaii?" He frowned in thought and then shrugged, "...or Alaska?"
"Tightrope walking, bounty hunting, what else?" Arthur frowned.
"I was very briefly in the Pony Express. But Tex didn't like that either and then there was the Civil War and...well...I only did one job. It sucks because I thought it was right down our alley. Horsemanship, adventure, mail, exploration! And they were hot after orp-" Alfred coughed and cut himself off. "Hey um, look...there's punch over there...ya want some?"
"Orphans?" Arthur's eyebrows twitched. He whipped out his cellphone, did a search, and held up a picture of an old recruitment poster, "Orphans Wanted!?"
Alfred blinked and went pale, "Uh…Oh look, it's time for the meeting!" He sprinted for a chair between China and Japan.
England swatted Rhys away as the Welshman tried to pull him back by the elbow.
Canada had dismissed the meeting for a quick snack break when a dispute between England and Germany began escalating.
Ludwig scowled, "You are being short-sighted, we have a responsibility to the globe to-"
"No, you're being short-sighted. You're determined to rewrite your past history with present philanthropy. We have too much at stake. If citizens consider themselves European rather than English or German, we have lost our borders. If we don't have borders, where are our identities? How can we be countries? Would you see us all dissolve into ghosts of our former glory?" England gave a pointed look at Prussia who went very still. "For the creation of some Super State? What kind of personification will that beget? Do you truly think you'll be able to control it? Especially should it decide that it deserves to rule all of Europe? Norway? Iceland? Switzerland? Albania? Prussia knows how difficult it is to manage a colony. Do you, Ludwig?"
Germany barked back, "Globalization is key if we're to solve the many economic and social issues facing humanity at this time. The scale of atrocities unfolding in other lands demands compassion-"
"It's key for certain ideologies to promote themselves at the expense of others' rights which were already in place-"
"Dad!" There came a persistent tugging on his sleeve, "Hey! Dad! Dad! Daaaaad!"
He glowered down, "Alfred, I am speaking right-GOOD LORD!"
A trail of blood was leaking from Alfred's mouth, "...Help."
After overreacting and sending far too many people for towels and ice, Arthur had Alfred on his hip.
" 'S Russia's fault…" Alfred pouted. "He heard me talking about my tooth fairy anxiety to Japan…"
Arthur looked over at the hulking Russian man, who smiled. "I gave him taffy from the table."
"Now she's gonna come for me. Here. Where I'm defenseless because of stupid Canadian laws where burglars and trespassers have the upper hand!" Alfred lamented with a towel hanging out of his mouth.
"Germany can offer his protection! Vee!" Italy offered.
Alfred looked away, "Yeah, I read about his New Year's...think I'm gonna pass."
Germany stiffened and then sighed and looked over at England, "We will...continue our...discussion...later."
"What am I going to do, Dad!?" Alfred cried.
"You're going to chomp down on that towel" Arthur instructed. "And let me see."
There in the center of Alfred's palm was his small tooth. It's roots were completely dissolved.
"I thought I had more time...to plan," Alfred muttered woefully.
Arthur readjusted his hold on the child and remarked, "It needed to come out, and so it did."
"I'm unprepared."
"Say 'Ah.'"
His gum was a deep red, but the bleeding had ebbed.
"Good. Now be a good fellow and don't go poking it with your tongue. Else it will start bleeding again."
"It feels weird. My mouth tastes bad."
Arthur nodded, "Rhys can you get him some punch with ice?"
"Prussia has been there."
Contaminated.
Arthur groaned.
"But we did find several vending machines throughout the building," Rhys reported.
"That's right we made a map!" Alfred grinned. "There like vertical treasure chests. You just have to pay to play."
The elder blond blinked. "Right."
"Let's go Captain Blindside," Rhys nodded.
"Aye aye, anchor's aweigh!"
Alfred blew a lock of hair out of his face. The meeting was a total bust with Mathieu wanting everyone to share current and personal events...dude, that was just asking for trouble.
Arthur was super snippy for the rest of the day, Prussia was being a pain, Alfred had to team up with Ivan, and Alfred's smile suffered a casualty! And now the fairy was coming for him. And his trophy for mine-dodging was lame! He frowned at it. Just a cheapy snowglobe from the souvenir shop downstairs. He glared at the Canadian trinket. TORONTO was spelled out in block letters at the center of the globe. He was tempted to take it home and use it as target practice.
"I don't believe this?!"
Alfred startled.
"You told him and not me?!" Tex freaked.
And to complicate matters further, his skyping session with Tex was going to the dogs. His brother was super upset that he hadn't shared his dental troubles.
Alfred looked back down at his laptop. "No, Bro; It's not like that-"
"Sounds like that-"
"No...he just...was here…"
"I am ONE phone call away!"
"Dude, I didn't want you to worry! You've got enough going on-"
"I'm worrying now! You can tell me anything! Anytime!"
"I know…"
The rant only ended when Rhys said it was dinner time and Tex gave a terse, "I love you...even though ya done me wrong," before signing off.
Alfred sighed; he needed to find his brother something super duper cool at the airport to calm him down and shut him up.
He'd been looking forward to dinner being something laid back and easy...except whenever Alfred made suggestions, Arthur shot them all down like they were clay pigeons.
"We do not need so much red meat in one weekend. My cholesterol will go through the roof and it's not healthy for you either!"
He got worked up into such a hissy fit about health and fitness, Alfred finally just walked away and played with Hop in a corner while his stomach growled.
A few minutes later, a heavy hand rested on top of his head. "I'm sorry...I'm just...do you want chicken? Fish?"
He shrugged a shoulder. "...don't care." And he really didn't by that point.
Arthur's brows came together contritely as he nodded.
Only...
Dinner with Arthur didn't go so well either; nothing the waiter did was good enough and none of the food was tasty enough, and the restaurant was too crowded and the people too boorish and the night was too chilly and for God's-Sake-Stop-Fidgeting-Alfred.
Still, at least his uncle managed to steer the conversation away from his circus days. He needed time to think of a good way to explain that time of his life that was uplifting.
After that, Rhys took up Alfred's offer of his hotel room and sought relief from Hurricane Arthur over there.
"Knock three times, if you're in need of sanctuary," Rhys had muttered on his way out.
Alfred had kinda hoped that Rhys leaving would mellow Arthur out, since having his brothers around sometimes got him all wound up. Which, considering what seemed to be happening with Mattie and him, Alfred could totally relate.
He hadn't intended on getting so defensive the other night but whenever people's tones got nasty, he got nasty back!
He was waiting for Arthur's shoulders to come down, for him to loosen his tie, and remove his cufflinks.
He was always most relaxed when he took off his watch...when schedules weren't in effect...
Except...
Arthur collapsed onto the bed without even removing his shoes.
Alfred abruptly remembered that was a really bad sign. When Father's boots remained on, his coat tightly buttoned, and his cravat knotted...
He felt his breath quicken.
Arthur massaged his temples and snatched up the television remote—turning it to the news, muting the volume, and then griping over the captions.
Father poured over paperwork and hissed to himself about 'imbeciles' now and then. Alfred watched from just outside the doorframe, if he said or did anything, he was too loud.
"H-hey?" he ventured.
"Wot?" Arthur replied without looking at him.
"Do you...have a headache?"
"Yes."
Getoutgetoutgetout.
He walked over to his things. He selected his pajamas, put his mini-flashlight in his pocket, and tucked Hop under his arm. He pushed a chair over to the door so he could unchain the lock.
Even an evil tooth fairy would be less of a hassle than a pissy England.
"What the devil are you doing?" Arthur demanded, alarmed as the bolt slid free.
"I'm gonna go hang with Rhys or Kiku or...something…while you chillax."
"Now!? It's past nine."
He shrugged his shoulders. "...I'll figure something out." Even if it just meant wandering around the hotel...though it increased his chances of being tangled up in France and Prussia's hijinks.
Green eyes went wide and the remote fell to the floor.
"..."
Alfred stared at the controller. The back portion, that held the batteries in, had popped off.
"You don't have to leave." Arthur hurried over and put the lock back into place. "You don't have to…" He picked Alfred up maneuvered the chair back to its place with his foot as he muttered. "No need for…"
"..."
"No need at all for you to...you're no bother...not at all..."
"..."
"Daddy just needs…"
"Valium?"
Arthur coughed and looked away. "Yes...but he'll make do with Paracetamol." He took two, stared hard at the mini-fridge, and finally took off his shoes.
They got ready for bed.
Arthur turned the programming to cartoons; the volume was super quiet, but Alfred appreciated the gesture.
"Do you have your tooth?" the older blond asked as he massaged his temples.
"Yeah," Alfred pointed to a neat little origami pocket Japan had made to hold it in.
"Well, bring it here."
Arthur put it under the pillow and Alfred swallowed nervously, "Do I have to do this?"
"Pish posh, she'll give you something nice. You'll see," Arthur smiled gently. He tucked some of Alfred's fringe behind an ear. The American watched with one studious eye; the old man was trying super hard to be nice.
He tucked and re-tucked Alfred into the bed beside him and rubbed his back soothingly.
Alfred wished there was a way to tell him that he knew he was sorry...that Alfred understood...that he was...off...right now. But...he didn't think anyone would take a message of 'stop loving on me with your guilt' well.
He floated in and out of consciousness and vaguely heard the T.V. channel go back to the news. He sighed when he heard his dad muttering about "idiots."
Alfred pressed into an embrace which was slowly tensing as his dad got wound up again.
The T.V. was turned off and the tone warmed, "There, there, love. I'm here."
The lights were dimmed.
Now if only he'd stay…
Alfred drifted off and then returned to the sound of whirring wings.
"This would be easier if you just told me which pillow," a high, squeaky, inhuman voice commented.
Oh...God...it was here.
"A moment please, I'm hardly nocturnal," Arthur yawned.
"I'm on a schedule-"
Alfred clenched his eyes shut and whimpered.
"Oh look, he's awake," Arthur whispered. "Nonono, pet. It's alright. This is good. Meet Fifi-"
America shook his head and tried to get under the blankets.
Arthur sighed, "Sorry. It's not you. He's a smidgen...nervous...and for good reason. Our last few interactions with the fae, haven't gone as well as I'd hoped. Perhaps a raincheck, maybe, Beltane's Day to take it? So I can prepare him?"
"No! I don't want it hanging over my head either!" Alfred snapped from his burrow.
"This is why I prefer to work while they're asleep," she grumbled.
Which sounded hella creepy; Alfred started crying loudly.
England sighed and reached down and pulled America back out into the open air. He squeezed his eyes shut.
The buzzing whirl of wings grew closer.
The fae hissed an exasperated breath near Alfred's ear, "Alby, I know you're big shot countries and you've all the time in the world, but some of us fae have jobs that keep us in existence! I have been waiting on this one for ages. It was scheduled for 1792. Do you have any idea the backlogging that's resulted from this? All the repeat check-in's we've had to make over the years?"
So there were even more fae spying on him?! As if the whole friggin' UnSeelie Kingdom wasn't enough! Alfred wailed harder.
Phantom fingers pet Nantucket gently, "Now, now, little bairn. It's alright. Look Albion, if you two don't want me to have this one, burn it. I'll come back for the sixth one. He'll be older. It'll be less scary. And you can work on teaching him how to separate Hollywood fiction from real life in the meantime."
"Nonono, this is good for him," Arthur argued.
Alfred peeked to see long bony fingers on thin hands...connected to overly long arms, "Eep." He buried his face in Arthur's chest.
"Fifi please; I need him to have some good interactions with fae. Alfred, greet the nice fairy."
"Noooooo," Alfred moaned like a wounded dog.
She sighed, "I'm sorry Alby. I heard about that debacle in the UnSeelie Court. Terrible. If they'd have socialized that brat more, it wouldn't have happened. I get what you're trying to do. Really. I'm just on such a tight schedule. I've gotta leave now, if I'm gonna make it to Brazil. Valentine's Day, Halloween, Hockey Season, these are just really busy times for me."
"Understood," Arthur replied stiffly. "I apologize for the inconvenience."
"No need," she replied in that squeaky voice "Just keep telling him, not all of us are bad. And if he wants to meet, we'll set something up. I'll grab someone to cover my shift, and we can share some fun stories." She flew close to Alfred's ear again and said in a semi-patronizing-sugary-baby-talk voice, "Don't worry popkin, Alba reacted much worse than you."
Canada sighed and stared at his phone, contemplating yet again whether he should proceed. He pocketed the device.
He stood and walked over to the window—looking out at the lightly snowcapped buildings.
Technically, his event was a success; Hotel Management only had two complaints about noise and one warning about a reported, but unproven, case of streaking. Which always seemed to happen whenever France and Prussia were under one roof. Thankfully, Spain wasn't there...he tended to be the one who was caught...and unable to explain it away.
He looked over his shoulder at his room's coffee table. There was a shiny red gift bag containing a Red Power Ranger action figure, Valentine's Themed M&Ms, and a small bag of chocolate dipped marshmallows.
It was meant to be a peace offering to his little brother.
The time apart since New Year's had done Canada good and he felt an intrinsic surge of care and concern for his brother as he read over Scotland's email detailing his treatment by the UnSeelies; stalked, harassed, and then injured at their hands.
He'd felt strangely outside of himself when he'd watched a distraught Arthur return with his brother's unmoving form sometime after midnight.
He'd stood there in his hoodie and sweatpants and stared.
Arthur in armor, Alistair in highlander gear, Alfred's face heavily bandaged and bloodstained...
It was so...surreal…
He'd had nightmares about that during America's Revolution. That Alfred would push their colonizer too far and Arthur's mercy would dry up. He'd strike...and then regret...and Mathieu would be the one in the house when he staggered across the threshold with a felled rebel in his arms.
He'd been totally worthless in the chaos following...thankfully Olivia and Jet stepped up.
Was still worthless actually…
Here his brother had been in peril again and he just...
He just...couldn't act...couldn't involve himself in a meaningful way. Every time he tried, a bitterness that he thought was resolved, bubbled up to the surface.
When England had fired back a snarky email to Canada's accusation that Arthur did NOT treat his colonies equally...the absurdity of the situation hit home.
Alfred was receiving the attention Mathieu had wanted as a child. Which just...hadn't been possible.
The native tribes had always treated him as an Other...and his time with France wasn't nearly long enough for him to feel safe and secure...and then he'd gone to England...but...
England was too busy then...
And too soon, Canada was called into action as a pillar of support in the British Empire. He'd learnt to appreciate the attention, the respect, the inclusion that brought him...but it cost him a good deal of innocence.
Being a right hand man and serving with his uncles of sorts...all the war and suffering he'd seen...
He wished something as simple as a bubblegum blowing contest could bring him joy.
It was strange to think of all the battles his brother had participated in, without...being fundamentally affected. That he wasn't emotionally capable of seeing the full extent of his actions.
'Water off a duck's back.'
It made him angry, it made him envious, it made him afraid; what manner of questionable missions had Alfred been sent on through the ages that the rest of them would've immediately shot down?
Mathieu pocketed his wallet and key card, and took up the bag.
Rhys had texted back that they were in the hotel lobby. Rhys was growing frustrated with him, Mathieu could sense it in the minute twitches, the harder frowns. But at least he hadn't closed the metaphorical door on him...for which the Canadian was grateful.
When Mathieu arrived down there, it made him a little embarrassed that Arthur presented two boxes of chocolate which were painstakingly identical to his former wards.
Mathieu then set his gift down in front of Alfred and tried not to be thrilled that Arthur looked pleased.
Because it was supposed to be a kind thing to do for Alfred. To make him happy. And to do something nice for Alfred in order to have Arthur be proud of him…
Merde...that wasn't how this thing was s'posed to work...
The young American chewed at his chapped lower lip. "...I didn't get you anything."
"That's alright. I...I didn't come to your Pirate Party. So...so we're even."
Alfred gave a slow nod that caused the dark sunglasses he was wearing to slip forward.
He'd taken off his eyepatch in favor of the glasses and whenever he moved just so, Mathieu caught unsettling glimpses of a stark white eye.
He should've been more moved and he knew it. If it had been Sealand or Wy, he'd be horrified. Because it was Alfred...and Alfred never looked before he leapt…
He shook his head.
What was wrong with him?
He watched Alfred smile as he pulled out the action figure and worked its arms. Mathieu had seen to it that the toy had batteries in it and that its features worked correctly. For a moment, he felt it; that spark of happiness that Alfred was happy. But then Alfred crawled up onto Rhys's lap and the way it caused Rhys's eyebrows to lift…
The very slight curve of his lips that meant he was quietly delighted...
It shouldn't have hurt.
Arthur reached over to adjust the collar of Alfred's shirt and then to the hem to keep his midriff from showing.
None of it should hurt.
The three of them huddled over there…
Blond, blond, red blond...
Blue, hazel, green…
All the same skin tone...because Alfred was always pale in winter…
Arthur's hand brushed Alfred's hair and for a moment pushed Nantucket down...and they looked even more alike...
They shared a smile. Mathieu had never realized until right then, that they had the same close-lipped smile. Alfred usually gave tooth-bearing grins and Arthur was a perpetual frowner.
Mathieu chewed at his lip.
He'd never have that with his own father...
Warm, fawning moments...
Observers noting their similarities...
Canada pulled out his phone and texted a secretary to schedule an appointment with a counselor.
He needed help.
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