Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Pokemon Go. Or Toys R Us. Or the NSPCC. Or McDonald's.

Warning: Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Apparently, from several articles I read, quite a few Nordic countries let their kids nap in snow. XD O that would never fly here. Tsyohwʌ́tstakale: seagull. There, one translation cuz it's a tough one to find :P Mulligatawny Soup: Indian dish that's popular in UK—can be super spicy. British emergency number is different than the American one...and arguably...easier? Also, rest easy all: your dose of angst/drama has come. And there's a Tex moment, too.

AN: Thank you for your reviews! XD I'm in that Repair-the-Battlefront Mode; tidying my living space, working, and wading through several semesters' worth of papers/drafts that I need to weed through/shred. I have soooo many papers between school and creative writing ventures...I could paper mache a castle. XD

Chapter 10 : Mr. Sassy Britches

It was nearly 3 A.M. in the morning when Rhys awoke to the house's alarm going off and a spectacular crash. He shuffled down the hall and flicked a light switch on.

He blinked as Alistair brushed past him—marching toward the staircase in naught but his briefs.

"That's what yeh get, yeh clumsy tosser," Alistair sneered and used his foot to prod at Reilley, who was sprawled on the floor, tangled in a baby gate at the foot of the stairs. The Irishman was deeply flushed and a strong smell of alcohol emanated from him.

Rhys sighed and walked over to the front door, which was wide open. He plucked the picks out of the lock, pocketed them, semi-impressed that his little brother picked the lock despite his highly inebriated state. He closed and locked it before heading over to the security panel which was flashing and beeping shrilly.

Scotland yawned and scratched at the red patch of hair on his chest.

"Who's down there!?" Arthur's voice thundered from halfway up the stairs. He had a medieval mace held threateningly in one hand.

Rhys's eyebrows shot up; Arthur usually favored a cricket bat for investigating suspicious sounds.

"Whoa! Easy!" Alistair barked. "S'just Reilley."

Arthur groaned in irritation. "The fuck is happening down there?!"

Alistair waved a dismissive hand. "Settle down, you."

"And what are you wearing?! My eyes are bleeding."

"Oi, if I was in my own house, I'd be wearing less."

The other three Kirkland grimaced.

"And had you done that here, I'd have had to burn the sheets," Arthur muttered.

"Wait! Wait! The hero will-" An exhausted Alfred tripped down the stairs and tumbled into Arthur's legs. His impromptu weapon flew out of his hand and thudded down with a heavy, metallic clang.

Reilley flinched as it missed him by centimeters.

"I fell," Alfred added unnecessarily.

"Oh, Sweet," Arthur fussed as he turned and began assessing him. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. I-I heard the crash and-"

Arthur carefully picked him up and set him on his hip and turned—making sure the child didn't brush against his mace at any time. "Dearheart, I had everything under control." He gestured at the foyer with the weapon. "As you often delight in reminding me that I'm ooold," He nuzzled their noses. "I can assure you I've experience with this sort of thing. You were quite safe."

Rhys plugged the password into the security system otherwise they'd get a visit from the police.

The boy whined, "I don't like being the backup. It's like I'm the third understudy and I've no chance of seeing the spotlight."

The stairs creaked as Arthur began ascending. He crooned something that sounded suspiciously like: "Silly goose. You're my star. Of the stage and the sky-"

Alistair grumbled to himself for a moment and then called after Arthur. "Don't worry about us! Or getting ice or anythin.' Go. Ack, just go on now."

The ensuing door slam revealed their youngest brother's sentiments.

Reilley was still flinching—eyes tightly closed.

"You're fine," Alistair muttered as he picked up the pipe wrench. He looked over at Rhys. "The hell was the mite doing with this?"

"Perhaps, he nicked it from the garage or-"

"You never invite me," Reilley accused between hiccups. "You never do."

"S'not like we were having a party."

"You're still angry at me," Reilley sighed dejectedly from his spot.

"I am not."

"Cuz I didn't leap at a chance to-"

"I said I'm not."

"-battle the UnSeelie Court. I can't take risks like that anymore! Not against a whole army!"

"Eire-"

"I can't! I don't know how well I could handle a death by magic! I dunno if she'll inherit my last bit while I'm out."

Scotland knelt down, pulled his brother's legs free, and changed the subject. "What would you have done, if yeh could've climbed up there?"

Reilley shrugged, "I dunno. I might've shaved one o' his eyebrows."

"Just the one?"

"Aye."

Scotland snickered appreciatively and soon both redheads were laughing.

Rhys gave a long suffering sigh; so many chaotic personalities under one roof and when Arthur was so...volatile.

The mace bothered him. It bothered him a lot. From sports equipment to weaponry...quite a jump...

Alistair ruffled Reilley's hair. "Tha's a good one. But wait on it. Let him earn it and then wait until he's shitfaced. Then do it. Right now's no good. You saw. Lion's got his cub with him; he'd have torn yeh to ribbons if yeh'd have loomed over them in the dark."

Rhys shuddered as he thought about that. They couldn't afford to provoke him.

Texas was glowering at his laptop. He was supposed to check in with him! They had a system! They checked in with each other! Every. Day. Even if it was just a text, or phone call, or Skype or face chat or something!

That's why he'd known something was wrong last June with that counseling session.

He did his part! Yesterday! But...nothing...

"Sir?" Stuart murmured as he set down a tray on Tex's desk. "We missed you at breakfast so I wanted to make sure you had lunch."

Tex ignored him and waited for his brother's avatar to light up. His grip on the desk's edge relaxed as America came on screen.

"Hey Tex!" Alfred giggled and waved.

"Hey you," he replied tersely. "You, who didn't respond yesterday."

"I didn't?" Blue eyes went huge. "OMG, you're right! I meant to before bed, but...I got tuckered out from flying-"

"Huh?!"

"Whoops! Uh, yeah. I'm flying again! Er, well, floating might be more accurate-"

"You're hanging me out to dry is what you're doing!" Tex howled. "How could you not tell me? How did you...not take a selfie or a video?"

His little brother had a weakness for it. It was a sudden departure from their earlier years where Al had thought photos were way too expensive and kinda frivolous. Tex used to have to twist his arm to get nice portraits done. Now, that they were cheap, Al's love for photography exploded. Tex had lost track of all the plant pics his little bro had on Pinterest.

Still, Tex also blamed the rise of social media and their citizens' addiction to it for Alfie's sudden selfie habit. Heck, Tex found himself taking pictures of food. Of food?!

Tch. Sometimes trends just got divided between them. Like roller disco and perms…

Tex was still hunting down and burning every photo of himself with that awful hairstyle.

Ugh, that was a mistake.

Meanwhile, in the last decade or so, Tex had developed a habit of binge-watching seasons of shows and reality T.V. and Al was obsessively into anime and comics. Tex was nervous about that Poke-whatcha Go? Or whatever the hell ya called it that was coming out in July? Al was already foaming at the mouth in anticipation.

"Sir?" Stuart began. "Are you certain you're alr-"

Tex glowered. "I am taking a private call. Get out. Get out. Get oooout!"

The man shook his head and closed the door.

"I know, right? It was super hard resisting the 'Selfie-pull' cuz I could get some awesome chandelier shots. I guess I'm a little worried about sending something sensitive like that over the web."

Good point.

"Oh! Oh! Hey? Hey, guess what?"

"Chicken butt."

"...Classy," Alfred's face puckered.

"I try."

"Tomorrow, we're going to Toys R Us. It's gonna be awesome! It's gonna be really fun! Right, Dad?" Alfred exclaimed standing up in his computer chair. The thing wobbled and gave a lazy spin.

Tex leaned forward. "Uh, Al?" If that chair toppled...

Arthur entered the picture, picked Al up and happily spun him around. "Yes, it shall, but please don't stand on furniture."

"Right, I'm only allowed to abuse furniture when there are goblins." Alfred nodded.

"Uh..er.." From the white-eyed chagrined look on old Art's face, it was clear something had been lost in translation.

"Er...hello, Texas," England greeted distractedly.

"One. Week." He grit out.

"Yay!" Alfred cheered. "Wow, you're sailing through it!"

Not...exactly true. But he was leaving in a week. Anything that they needed done, they better set in front of him. Stat.

"What's that?" Reilley demanded as he also entered the picture with what looked like an Eggo waffle hanging from his mouth.

"Tex is coming in a week!" Alfred replied joyfully.

"Get out of my office, you Taig," England grumbled.

Northern Ireland ignored him, "He's coming too? Where's he gonna stay? All the bedrooms are-"

"Yes," Arthur agreed. "Two of you will need to-"

"No, I'm not sharing," Alistair growled from offscreen. "I always have to share. It's always me."

"It's because you don't move," Reilley explained. "And you don't get cold, so you don't battle for the covers-"

"No. You go to Rhys this time. It's his turn."

"Never. He kicks in his sleep." Rhys's voice refused point blank.

"Well, I'm not sharing. God, you lot wonder why I keep fighting for independence. So I can have my own bloody bed to myself and-"

Rhys sighed, "Alba, I'm not saying you have to be with him. Stay with me-"

"NOT sharing!"

"Why does my room have all the cat stuff in it?" Reilley asked.

"Cuz you were here last and that's the price you pay-"

"Alba-"

"NO-"

"You're all crazy. Tex'll bunk with me!" Alfred squealed. "And it'll be funner this time, Big Bro-"

"Love, 'funner' isn't-"

"Cuz there's no scary fae portals. Alistair double checked and sealed them all up. He went over every square inch. He said so!"

Arthur's jaw dropped. "You found more?"

"Tight as a drum now. I can go through Parliament too if yeh want."

"Yes, I would. Thank you. And…" Arthur gestured awkwardly to the room. "Thank you."

"No more Gryms for me!" Alfred declared happily as he climbed haphazardly out of Arthur's arms to plop back down in front of the screen.

Tex smiled. "I'm glad."

He was. Honestly. After that fairy fiasco...he wasn't too keen about Seelies, UnSeelies, or whatever-hell-else there were out there gettin' so close to his little brother.

"Get out of my office, you wankers. Only America has my permission to-"

Alfred pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, "I got a list of stuff-" He briefly shoved it in front of the laptop's camera before retracting it. "Stuff that I want to do here cuz I missed out at Christmas: Gingerbread, and a sleigh ride, and diner pie, and a snowman and oooh—s'mores! Yeah, s'mores!"

"Now, that's why you're me easy nephew," Reilley pointed to him with the leftover Eggo in hand. "All o' this could be done in a day! "

"Nonono, too many sweets," Rhys and Arthur began and then catching each other's eye unified their argument. "Those treats need to be spread out over a few days."

"Yes, it could make him ill-"

"I love you, Big Bro. I'm sorry you feel left out of my loop. Everything's kinda-" Alfred looked over his shoulder at his fussy relatives and then back to the screen "Kirkland-y over here. I'm lookin' forward to having another Jones in the place."

They spent nearly a half-hour talking about nothing: weather, dinner plans, what groceries Alfred needed to buy that day.

Only...

Al had that fidgety-ness that suggested he had more he wanted to say and couldn't because of all the bystanders loitering around.

Alfred finally gave another look around, sighed, and gave up. He wished Texas a good rest of his day, promised to call him the next day, and signed off.

Before Tex could think too hard on it, his laptop screen lit up and pinged.

"O God," Tex muttered. His hand hovered over the laptop's mouse-pad. He very reluctantly answered the Skype request...for international diplomacy.

"Hola mijo! Stuart says that you are experiencing emotional distress. That is no good. Tell Papi who hurt your little feelings. Oh! Did you get my Edible Arrangement? I do not know because you did not send me a note." Spain leveled a slightly scolding look. "Papi raised you better than that."

Texas groaned and rested his head in his hands.

Alfred sighed—filling his spoon and then letting it drain out.

The place was set at the head of the table, but the chair was empty. It totally gave him flashbacks of his colonial days cuz England was always gone or working in his office or…

It kinda made him want to sit there because then he'd be able to switch his brain into Sovereign Nation Mode and hell...the whole table could be empty and he'd...endure.

He filled the spoon again with the thick corn yellow soup—staring dispassionately at grains of rice.

It had been nice having Arthur home for most of the day, and when they'd gone to the grocery store, he let Alfred choose the sugariest cereal without ragging on him about it. But then he'd finally had to leave for a night session and having dinner without him was just…

He was getting spoiled. Ugh, he could envision it now: he was going be so used to getting the old man's attention whenever he wanted, he was going to make a brat of himself at a World Meeting when England was at the podium and get all butthurt when his questions weren't answered first.

He let the liquid run back out and then set his spoon down.

"Not a fan of Mulligatawny?" Scotland asked while he pushed his half-eaten bowl away.

Alfred fidgeted because he knew Reilley had gone through a lot picking out enough ingredients to feed them all that night.

Alistair reached over and flicked his ear. "Oi."

Alfred sighed. "It's kinda spicy."

Tex would probably love it. He could guzzle the strongest tabasco sauces known to man. He was that guy you could dare to tip back the bottle for five bucks.

Alfred could eat spicy stuff now and then but sometimes...there could be consequences. Wasabi, man. Wasabi needed to be respected. Heck, Japan no longer offered it to him when he visited.

Alistair threw his cloth napkin onto the table. "Alright. Let's go then."

"Huh?"

"McDonald's."

Blue eyes widened with hope. "For real?!"

"Aye."

"Wooooohoo!"

"What's all that rumpus?" Rhys demanded from where he and Reilley were getting second helpings.

Alistair pushed his chair in. "We're goin' out."

Rhys set his bowl on the table a little harder than necessary. "What? Why?! It's frightfully late."

"We're going," Alistair replied.

Alfred had thought that was that and went to fetch his coat, only he came back downstairs to find Rhys was waiting at the front door. Alfred's coat and gloves were not deemed enough for the elements.

It turned out that Rhys was almost as bad as Dad when it came to fussing over winter clothes. He made Alfred wear his scarf, and earmuffs, and hat and two sweaters. And then, just when it seemed like Alfred passed inspection and he and Uncle Al were free to go, Rhys decided to join them.

Unwilling to be left home alone, Reilley came too.

Though the tagalongs made a few snide remarks as they were led to McDonald's, neither tried to interfere as Chicken Nuggets and a Chicken Legend were ordered.

They did tease Uncle Al when he pulled out wrinkled coupons though. Alfred kinda admired him when he managed to get the staff to accept an expired one.

Unfortunately, the restaurant they were at didn't have a Play Place inside so after they were done, he begged for a side trip to a playground.

His uncles scared off some shady teenagers and then Alfred had full reign of the place.

"It's freezing," Rhys stated as he rattled off the temperature. "This is a terrible idea."

Alistair waved a dismissive hand and then lit up a cigarette. "Let him run it out."

It, being youthful energy.

Alfred grinned and gave a salute. He then ran amuck; pleased that there was all sorts of stuff Alistair made allowances for in order to tucker Alfred out. His uncle had often sparred with him in the past to "exhaust his mischief."

Alfred kicked at a pile of snow and watched it fly.

"Alistair!? You can't smoke here!" The Welshman hissed.

"The hell I can't."

"There's snow on everything!" Alfred laughed. He swept his hands along different play pieces and threw the powder up into the air.

Reilley humored him by playing on the seesaw for a while and then Alfred played on the slides. Ice had made them even slicker and faster and more exciting.

"Alright. Alright now, that's enough," Rhys called. He checked his watch. "Alfred, we've got to go now."

Alfred ignored him. He spotted Reilley over on the swingset. He was stealing sips from a flask in his coat when he thought no one was looking.

Alfred climbed up onto a seat near his uncle and then stood. He swung back and forth and enjoyed the brisk wind on his face.

The branch swayed under his feet as he touched down. Keen blue eyes stared into the distance.

There…

Near the shore…

The largest, strangest canoe he'd ever seen in his whole life was bobbing on the waves there. It was as big as an island with mighty trees growing out of its middle. And the trees! O he had to see them up close! So tall! So straight! And they gleamed in the sun!

He waited for the pale strangers to move beyond his hiding spot. They chattered in strange sounds and dressed oddly. Weird headdresses shaped like the eggs of some giant beast were on their heads, the men sometimes took them off to mop at the sweat on their brows. The headpieces made strange 'ting' sounds when they hit things.

He'd watched them all come ashore in little canoes. Small versions of the big canoe that had no trees in their middle. It reminded him of little fledglings from a nest, ones that still had soft feathers and small beaks.

When he deemed it safe enough, he flew out. Over the sand. Over the waves. He followed a Tsyohwʌ́tstakale as it cried and circled the great canoe.

He tried standing on the trees but they were hard and slippery beneath his feet and did not react. No sense of joy bubbled up his feet at his choosing them to perch on. They did not welcome him. It made him upset at first until he realized the trees were not alive. Dead. Dead like dried firewood. They were not growing out of the canoe. The canoe was not as magical as he'd first thought.

Something like disappointment weighted his insides until he entertained the thought that it was a tribute.

He'd seen elaborately made gifts for chiefs and tribes and-and-and-

This one was floated on water to him...

A gift from his water-father!? And the canoe became beautiful again. Perhaps this was a sign?! Water-Father knew that his son could not fly the distance between them and had sent him this. He would use this gift to cross the seas to Father.

Aktsi:'a, who'd shown him with rocks how the world had been fashioned, had told him how they were in the center and the world was made of rings and most of them were water. That's what made their land so special. That Sky Mother had landed here. That the turtle had risen to meet her.

Father was adventurous and lived near the edge of the world for its thrill. Or-or! No! He was heroic! And he kept things from falling off the edge.

That was why Dyami had been left in the center of the world. So that he'd be safe. That's what he told the other children when they teased him for having no one.

"Alfred, please don't stand up there," Rhys entreated. "I can help you get down. Or...or if you must...levitate...then do so...into my arms. It'll look like a jump if humans are watching, but you'll have control-"

Alfred blinked and gazed down. At some point he'd moved onto the tippy-top of the swingset equipment. He was unconsciously playing balance beam on the steel bar.

"Alfred," Rhys repeated. "Alfred, your father wouldn't like this one bit and neither do I."

He stared into serious hazel eyes.

"America...surrender. You've lost this battle." The Welsh nation stated coldly. "You are too late. Don't be a fool. Give yourself over."

America looked behind him to a harbor full of burning ships. The lurid glow, acrid smoke, and hissing steam made it seem more nightmare than reality.

Ash and cinder fluttered down between them.

As he turned back around, his uncle took an aggressive step forward.

Instinctively, he stepped back.

America didn't even have time to yell as he dropped from the top of the swingset.

It was only because of Scotland's saving dive, he didn't end the night with a concussion.

Alfred shakily complimented him; he must be great at volleyball.

Rhys was openly agitated after that and tutted repeatedly over unsafe playing habits and what could've happened. Yeah, playtime was over.

"You could've done grievous harm to yourself," Rhys scolded for the upteenth time as they made their way back to the train station.

"Ack. Let it gooo," Alistair growled.

"And you could've burnt him!" Rhys hissed as he snatched the cigarette out of his brother's mouth and dashed it on a brick wall.

"But I didn't," Alistair muttered under his breath.

Rhys sniffed and for a while it seemed like he was going to let things settle down...until Alfred raced over to the train—abandoning them all.

In retrospect, it probably looked bad and unruly for someone his outer age to just jet away from his relatives but…

His uncle totally overreacted.

Alfred got a very public, very embarrassing, dressing down about running off which America brushed off because: Dude, he was the U.S. of A. and was totally sovereign and independent and who cares what Wales thought.

Later, when he tried to climb up onto Reilley's lap on the train, the Irishman immediately pushed him off. "Oh no you don't, Alfie boy. Don't get to hide out with me."

He looked over to Alistair who was leaning against a standing pole. The Scotsman leveled a hard gray stare at him and an accusatory finger. "Fix it."

Alfred frowned. Fine. Whatever. He didn't need a soft spot to sit. He could stand too! And he did! For a couple of minutes, and then his feet started to hurt as the train vibrated with movement and it was hard to stop yawning and he was really cold.

All the fun and exhilaration of the night had leached out. He very reluctantly made his way over to where his Welsh uncle was sitting tensely.

The American let out a long, frustrated sigh and then grumbled, "I'm sorry I made you upset...but you were being really super bossy."

"That's your apology?" Rhys raised an eyebrow.

"Yup, you were mean."

"Telling you not to run off and endanger yourself, is mean? When it's past ten at night and there are...are dangerous characters about?" The man refuted incredulous.

Ash floated in the air...

"Alfred?" The voice was stern.

And he was horribly outnumbered…

"Alfred?" The tone was concerned.

Anxiety invaded him and his heart pounded as all the warnings he'd received that his family members were now enemy combatants rang true-

Alfred flinched as a hand touched his face before retracting.

"So you're starting to remember that…" Rhys sounded sad.

He wasn't really sure what to say to that, "...s-sorry…"

"Is that why we're having troubles right now?"

Alfred squirmed and begrudgingly nodded.

"Would it help to know that I feel badly for how that turned out? It wasn't what I wanted...at all..."

America plucked at the cuffs of his jacket. "...you won…"

"Did I?" The man muttered bitterly.

Arthur returned after a brutal evening session to find his home empty, his child gone, his dinner spoiled from being left out, his cat unfed, and no note. No bloody note, email, text, or message from anyone.

Everything was in disarray like they'd had to leave suddenly...which unravelled his nerves to near breaking point.

His heartbeat was loud in his ears as he made multiple calls and received message machines. He filled Camelot's bowl with dry kibble and gave him an extra treat for his patience. He paced the house several times. Checked every email, pager number, and counter surface for a hidden Post-It. He was about to report his child as missing to the police. Had his finger poised on the 9. Already knew which wallet photo he'd present. When the front door opened and his family spilled in.

"Did yeh see that tramp?" Reilley noted. "I was impressed how far he pulled that shopping trolley. What with the locking-wheels nowadays."

"Where the bloody hell were you?" Arthur raged as he stormed over. "I've been desperately calling you lot for the last-"

Alfred turned around from his spot in Rhys's arms to reach feebly for him.

Arthur immediately acquiesced, "Poor dear, you must be freezing!" He dusted snow off the child's head and shoulders. He immediately began working the little one's coat off so he could benefit from the warm house and make sure his sweater wasn't soaked. "Alistair, close that door. It's letting a draft in."

"The Nordic's people let kids nap in it-"

"I'm NOT a Nordic! Close the damn door!" Arthur hissed.

The Scotsman made a face but did as told.

Arthur checked his child over. His son's lips were getting chapped and he swore he saw a hint of purple in those rosy cheeks.

"Three grown men," he tutted. "Three! And even with your combined forces, you can't safeguard one child! He's probably got frostbite! Out at this hour with him? He'll likely catch pneumonia."

"It IS America," Northern Ireland pointed out. "You gotta grade us on a curve."

"I'll kick you to the curb! You twa-"

"You're loud!" Alfred complained and jutted his bottom lip.

Employing herculean restraint, Arthur lowered his volume because the child was overtired and cranky.

And no wonder why! It was past 11!

Arthur forced in a breath, counted to three, and stated to his brothers in a calmer...though no less dangerous voice: "If you lack the decency and courtesy to inform me of your whereabouts and respect my curfews...I will have to ask you to leave."

Alfred stiffened in his arms and his face went sour. "Nonono, don't be like that! It's me. I was picking at my plate cuz I was in a funk cuz I kinda missed...sooo they took me out to eat and then we went to the park and there was this seesa-"

Arthur choked, "You-you went to the park at this time of night?!" Which one did they go to? There were several that were dreadfully unsafe after nightfall; breeding grounds for drug transactions. "Those-those are daytime things to do-"

"Nuh-uh," The child argued petulantly. "Those are...whenever-you-feel-like-it things cuz...places are 24 hours now...welcome to the Millennium, Old Man."

Arthur's brows furrowed. "O no you don't, Mr. Sassy Britches, there are certain levels of respect I demand adherence to."

"I should've informed you," Rhys intervened.

"Yes! You should have!" Arthur growled at him. "Have you any idea how worried-"

"NO! He's taking the bullet! Dad, he wanted us to come home sooner, but I wanted to keep playing and-"

"Of course you did, and that's why I left him in charge!" Arthur roared.

Bloody hell...

An unsettling silence fell on them until…

"Idgit," Alistair muttered.

"Whaddyamean he's in charge!?" Alfred exploded—voice going high with outrage. "I don't need anybody in charge. I'm in charge. I'm the Super Power. I'm the Leader. Put me down. Put me down, now."

Arthur held him tighter. "It was a poor choice of words on my part. I expect him to advise you. I didn't mean-"

Blue eyes narrowed into slits. "No! You expect him to babysit me. I don't need a babysitter."

Arthur sighed, "If you would prefer Eva, I can call-"

Horror contorted the young face. "NO! Is that why everybody's here?! OMG!"

Arthur blinked taken aback. "Don't be absurd."

"It is! It is!"

The boy thrashed and Arthur had no choice but to set him down. The Briton was too tired; his strength and concentration were compromised; he'd never forgive himself if he dropped the little one on the hard floor.

Still, Arthur guarded the staircase to prevent the child from running up it and escaping the conversation. "Please, please, hear me out."

"It's the law, Alfred." Alistair stepped forward and grabbed the child's shoulder. He spun him around roughly.

Arthur's hackles instantly raised at the less than tender handling.

Alfred stared at his uncle. "Huh?"

Alistair gestured with his thumb over at Arthur. "Arthur's afraid of getting his arse prosecuted by the NSPCC. You're under 12. They're iffy about that sort of thing. If people saw you coming and going as you pleased for hours at a time; tending the hedge, shovelling the roof, bringing back groceries all alone. Not going to school. All that'd be seen as permissive parenting. You understand?"

Alfred's face reddened with frustration. "But...but I'm not...a human-"

Alistair snorted, "It doesn't matter how it is. It matters what it looks like!" Alistair crossed his arms and loomed over his nephew ominously. "They'll call it neglect. They'll call it bad parenting. They'll say Arthur's a bad dad and they'll report him. Yeh want that? Yeh want them to take him in and put that on his record? Put you in a foster system? Yeh'd be separated from each other. Governments'll have to step in to mediate and sort the mess out. Yeh want that? Yeh want all that?"

Alfred bit his trembling lip and shook his head. He briefly made eye contact with Arthur before looking back down and whispering: "...I don't want you to get in trouble."

Effectively stunned by the drama, Arthur stood numbly as the sniffling child ducked under his arms and climbed the stairs at breakneck speed.

Arthur turned back to his brother, aghast with how that turned out. "W-why did you go and do that? W-why did you say it that way!?"

Scotland raised an eyebrow. "I saved yer ungrateful arse. It's the law. The law and not you that's hedging him in. You see?"

Arthur looked up at the top of the stairs and winced as a door slammed. "You hurt his spirit."

"He'll sleep it off," Alistair reasoned.

Maybe if England was still the same person he'd been in the 1600s and 1700s, he'd believe that. He mounted the stairs instead and made for the child's room.

"Alfred?" He knocked. "Alfred?" He tried the door, but it was locked. "Sweet? Let me in? Let's talk, you and I? Please?"

He pressed his ear against the wood and strained to hear. He caught soft, half-swallowed keening and with all those horrid dreams he'd had of late…of his little one suffering an ocean away.

They were only a few meters apart right now and he'd be damned if he let something like a door stand between them.

Movement behind him made him look over his shoulder.

"I don't need an audience," He growled as Reilley and Rhys stood side by side.

"Ahem." Reilley extended an opened hand to Rhys.

The Welshman sighed, dug around in his coat, extracted a set of picks, and set them in his younger brother's hand.

The redhead grinned and swaggered forward. "Step aside Artie, this calls for a professional."

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