Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Sherlock Holmes. Or Velma and Scooby Doo. Or Barbie. Or The Price Is Right. Or Toys R Us.

Warning: Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Some angst. More drama. And a copy machine.

AN: Binge-watched Digimon Tri (Japanese audio) and I gotta say...it's pretty adorkable. XD. Thank you for your reviews and support! I've been re-reading them to keep me focused! Thanks for waiting patiently and now I hope you enjoy! : DDD

Chapter 11: Breaking Point

England wrung his hands as he waited for the door to be opened. God, he hoped he wouldn't find an open window and a vacant room—Australia's specialty. Or a tantrum-induced mess; a younger Sealand sometimes threw toys and pillows about and, if it hit something breakable, England would need to bring in the broom and vacuum.

"That's the ticket!" Reilley crowed as the tumblers surrendered and he twisted the door handle.

The door swung open and Arthur practically tripped over Reilley in his haste to enter.

The room was in order; the floor was uncluttered by toys or clothes, the lights were on, and the bed was made.

It shouldn't have been too surprising that the space was clean; the child had been spending most nights with him and Arthur's room was the one suffering a stuffed animal invasion.

Only, there should've been a little body curled up on the covers here.

He tugged up the bedskirt, but the child wasn't hiding under there either.

The window was closed and bolted and he felt some relief at that...only...where was his son?

Unease began to drip down into his stomach and the shadows in the room seemed darker.

If they'd missed a portal and an UnSeelie had infiltrated and spirited his child away…

No...no...he felt the little one's presence clearly, but where the devil was he?

Reilley nudged Arthur and cleared his throat.

"Didn't even barricade the door," Reilley tutted loudly. "Lazy American. What does it matter if you're working at all hours, if it's half-arsed work?"

The mahogany wardrobe creaked.

Reilley and Arthur looked up.

There, huddled on the top, was Alfred—frowning dolefully down at them.

He must've flown up there.

Reilley smirked at his younger brother.

Arthur shook his head. "Alfred, it's filthy there. Come down. Let's talk this through."

The child sniffled, looked over the edge, and shook his head.

"Come on, sweet. We'll go to the kitchen, get a warm drink, and sort it out."

A tear hit him and Arthur felt his heart twist.

"Oooh me...what a face…" Reilley winced. "You are your father's son when yeh let the waterworks go."

Arthur gave his brother a hard elbow and then raised his hands up."Come down, or hover over or-or-or...just...I'll catch you."

"...no…"

"Reilley, grab me the desk's chair-"

Alfred sighed. "I just...wanna sec...to myself and...so I can-can…"

Arthur mounted the chair and realized he still wasn't at an adequate height to maneuver the child down.

"Geez...you don't give up easy, do you?" Alfred noted.

Arthur frowned up at the child. "Who do you think you inherited that indomitable spirit of yours from?"

Reilley muttered several choice Gaelic insults about that stubbornness as he eyed Arthur and held the chair steady while his younger brother balanced a foot on each of the chair's arms.

"You don't have to do that," Alfred replied softly.

"Good," Arthur snapped. "Prove it." He raised his arms again.

There was a long sigh and then the child swung one grimy leg over the side, scattering dust bunnies to the floor, and then lowered himself into Arthur's arms.

Arthur then very carefully made his way off the chair and down to the floor.

True to his word he carried Alfred down to the kitchen, past a pensive Rhys, away from an aloof Alistair, and set him at the table. He pushed the chair in.

Arthur pulled out a pot for the stove and milk from the refrigerator.

Rhys surprised him by taking over the task and turning on a burner.

Arthur sighed, mouthed a 'Thank You' to his eldest brother and moved to the far cabinet.

"...I just didn't think this would all start happening so fast," Alfred broke the silence.

Arthur acknowledged the statement with eye contact and a nod. He then pulled out two ceramic mugs from the second shelf.

"It's hard," Alfred continued. "It's harder because...I...I had the chance…to go back to how it all was before..."

Arthur looked over his shoulder.

The child had his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. The posture of a defeated man didn't suit America.

"That UnSeelie King...he could've made me a grownup again...you were there...you heard him."

"You stayed true to yourself," Arthur replied.

"...bit me in the ass."

Arthur shook his head and closed the cabinet with more force than he intended.

The sharp sound startled the child into looking at him.

"You were brave," England stated—tone hard. He came over and set the mugs down on the table.

"...but I could've avoided all of this!" Alfred insisted. "Now, I have new problems-"

"Precisely." Arthur nodded.

The boy gave him a quizzical look.

"You have new problems," Arthur echoed.

Alfred blinked.

"Which means: you solved some of your old ones. And now you move on to a new portion of the puzzle and quest we call, Life."

Two thin blond eyebrows came together. "I can't tell if you're patronizing me."

The Briton smiled gently, "I'm proud of you. It's frightening moving on, isn't it? Quite suddenly, you find yourself in a realm brimming with uncertainties. And all the expertise and knowledge you had before...isn't...enough any more."

Arthur had hesitated on using that word. "Enough" had deep connotations for the little one.

"It's scary," was the child's reply.

"Indeed."

"...Has this happened to you a lot?" Alfred turned to face him.

"Sweet, it's happening right now." Arthur muttered while he took a seat beside him.

"Is it really weird, dealing with me, like this? Give it to me straight, dude."

"It's...challenging...I think over a lot of our...interactions in the past...how I...could've conveyed things differently had I known..." That he was doing business and diplomacy ventures with someone so frightfully young.

That England had been so short-tempered with the boy's many shortcomings, made him feel terrible.

In the grand scheme of things, there was no way to deny that Alfred made a goofy grownup. He was efficient where he had to be: in business, in science, in war...but he was always that little bit off in social situations.

Obnoxious, foolish, eccentric, selfish were words that had flitted through England's mind as he watched his ex-colony flounce about in ballrooms with all the decorum of an overexcited child.

And that hurt now...because he had been...and he was viciously teased about it.

With an ache, he thought over Alfred's reaction to Arthur's winter ball. At no point had he expressed genuine interest or excitement. Beyond apologizing to Arthur for his absence which had instigated Arthur's own absence, he didn't seem disappointed to have missed it.

France, Austria, himself, and other European nations; they'd ruined balls for him a century earlier. Arthur could see that now.

So quick to poke fun at him; his vapid conversations and oafish manners. So easy to prey on his narcissism with a sharp, witty comment. He'd lent himself well to being the butt of a joke. They'd used their talons on him; self-righteously certain that they were ultimately helping him by deflating that head and making a better nation out of him.

And he'd learnt to tune them out. And it seemed like...he wasn't...very good at telling when he was being teased, when he was being insulted, and when he was being offered unwelcome (though needed) advice. It all got lumped under: "Things He Did Not Wish To Hear." And nothing anyone said held much weight. It was difficult not to flinch thinking of all the "I love you's" he'd given these last few months that had been met with suspicion.

And why not? Arthur had done precious little over the centuries to make him feel loved. All the small tender things he'd done over the years, which helped himself sleep at night, did nothing to alleviate the neglect that had flooded his poor child's life.

It stung Arthur to think of him alone in a house struggling to take care of himself and make himself presentable to adults who were quick to tell him what he was doing wrong...and never what he was doing right...

The child was a braggart; telling everyone at meetings what his people had invented, showing off maps of where new railroad sections had been implemented, waiting for confirmation from anyone that he was someone special...

Because he wasn't getting that from anyone...except perhaps...Texas…(And who was Texas getting that from? America? No wonder the two were so...)

Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose.

His child could also be callously dismissive in moments that demanded empathy. On more than one occasion, England had observed the American stare down at photos of destruction with nonchalance.

"Enemy camps?" the American inquired.

Throat tight at the wanton loss of life, England had nodded.

The lad stretched and cracked the vertebrae in his neck. "Good."

He'd been disgusted with him in that moment.

But now…

The memories that had been shared with him: losing a leg to a cannonball, losing a hand to scientists' nuclear experiments, having his chest hacked into with a tomahawk for the pursuit of Manifest Destiny...

It was a probably a miracle Alfred hadn't devolved into a ruthless monster. In dark, quiet moments when Arthur thought over the blasé attitude regarding their nation's capture, the disconcerting comments made by America and Texas here and there, this damned letter conspiracy...Arthur couldn't help but shiver; it seemed terribly likely that his government was deliberately pushing him...hoping he would buckle.

What they thought he would do unfettered…

Arthur blinked as a small hand was waving itself in front of his face.

He grasped it gently.

"There you are. Lost you again," the boy mumbled.

Arthur frowned.

Alfred sniffled and tried to tug his hand free. No doubt for the large tear trailing down his little face.

But Arthur held the hand fast and brushed it away himself.

How could Alfred be more compassionate when he had no one to model that for him? When there were no gentle hands for him?

He'd had books; legendary heroes on quests to lay out values and morals. In fact...many of his mannerisms were...strikingly similar to the stories and songs Arthur had read to him so long ago...but placed in a modern setting...no wonder some of his words and deeds seemed so...amusingly stilted...

And then it became sad again; those heroes he was emulating...they were all flat, static things he couldn't interact with or be truly comforted by.

But through them and an array of humans passing in and out of his life: He learnt how to be pleasant, how to be entertaining, how to be impressive and intimidating in turns.

He mimed "correct" behaviors, memorized "correct" dance steps, and recited "correct" phrases to close out business deals.

He was a prodigy.

He was a bloody child prodigy.

He was a lonely, ill-treated, unsettlingly serious child...

Who was currently fretting over all his adult responsibilities, and grieving over an impending loss of adult independence, and anxious over what global expectations would be desired of him next…

The weight of all that...meshed with so much neglect...had warped him and was continuing to warp him terribly.

Little fingers squeezed his larger ones.

"I used to think over our interactions, too. Ya know? When I was younger," Alfred nodded emphatically as he spoke. "You'd use such fancy words sometimes, I wouldn't know what the hell you were saying. I wrote them down and researched them, so I could use them too. But then by the next time I talked to you...you had more. And you weren't impressed at all that I knew the old ones…"

Arthur's heart contracted painfully because...he had done it on purpose quite a few times. Had wanted to use the ensuing bafflement to persuade a young America to accept schooling at one of his universities so he could draw him out to his country.

But Alfred never asked; just laughed it off.

There were so many small, sticking un-kindnesses that had littered their visits like prickly burrs caught in socks after tromping through fields. It was going to take years to pull them all out.

Rhys came over and poured the pot into their ceramic mugs: blue for Alfred and red for Arthur.

Alfred took a sip of his cup with his free hand. "I'm not angry at Alistair and...I don't want you to be either."

Ha. He didn't get to decide that.

Alfred sighed, "I...I know my own government will probably start cracking down on me about this stuff too. I just...I thought I had more time before it became a big deal. And I didn't think you guys were gonna be the ones to jump on the bandwagon first!"

Arthur nodded.

"I...geez...I...I gotta figure something out fast. I mean, I...you're…" He looked down at the table and then at Arthur. "They respect you."

His heart began to flutter. Was his child going to request him to stand in as his guardian? That would be the best possible solution for their troubles! There would be no questioning of his motive. No accusation that England was trying to relive his glory days. Just a realization that if there was anyone in the world whose care and concern for him was limitless, it was Arthur.

"I...I need your help," Alfred entreated.

Arthur enfolded those little hands in his own and then held them both to his chest close to his heart. Hope flowered in his breast.

His child swallowed nervously. Arthur rubbed soothing circles across the small knuckles.

It seemed to work; Alfred took a deep breath then said: "We...we have to convince them. Together would be best..."

Arthur began nodding.

"That...that I'm not human enough for their standards to apply."

Arthur stared. Over by the sink, Rhys dropped the pot with a soft curse.

"But we can't go crazy about it!" Alfred explained. "Otherwise, they might try and quarantine me like a vicious animal. You're good at that. You're good at-at talking. You...you always sound reasonable. You could help me argue it. I mean, I get that I look all wrong and that's...fine. I...I mean, it'll hurt having to move from my Colonial house that's...a special home for me and Tex, but I get that the public would freak seeing me hang Christmas lights and stuff. And if that's the case, I've got that Hall. This is the kick-in-the-pants I need to get that place up and running. It's...not in that horrible of shape, all things considered. Though, I need electricity and wifi stat. I can fix the stairs and check the floors. I planted a lot of the trees on that inner ring surrounding the estate specifically for future repair work. And as far as aesthetics go, I can whip out new curtains and there's tons of crap in the basement I can probably use. Hell, I even added an attic way back then. I remember, they thought I was crazy for having both in one house. All that extra timber I had to have...Dude, I'm...totally rambling...Father? Father, would you support me in this? Please?"

Ice. In his stomach...in his fingers...in his toes...through his spine...in his soul...

The American sighed, "I know that's a lot to ask. You can sleep on it. It's just...if I had someone like you in my corner. I...I wouldn't feel like it's a lost cause…and that my life's ruined."

Alfred fidgeted. He'd gotten up super early to Skype with Texas before his brother started his day and because he needed spiritual backup. It wasn't panning out exactly as he'd planned though.

"You said that?" Tex gasped—bug eyed with shock. "You actually said that? 'Support me or my life is ruined?' You gave him that kind of ultimatum?!"

"Uh...well…"

"Ally-olly-oxen-free!?" Tex shook his head in amazement as he pulled a fresh undershirt on.

"W-well, he didn't answer back! He's...mulling it over still, I think," Alfred mumbled as he tugged a comb through his hair.

After Alfred had finished his milk last night, Rhys had coaxed him into taking a bath while Arthur just sorta sat there absorbing it all.

When he was clean and dressed in his cozy racing pajamas, he'd arranged his stuffed animals on Arthur's bed, kept one bedside light on, and waited.

He'd been in a light doze when the mattress dipped at around 2 am. He was too tired to ask Arthur's verdict but was happy to be tucked in and have his hair pet.

"I'm sure."

"Anywayzzzzz. I wanted to keep you updated. I couldn't tell ya last time: letters."

"Oh yeah, you texted me a few days ago. They finally coughed up your Daddy's letters to ya. How's that been going-"

"Oh! Yeah, those...well, actually...I meant, Osha's letters."

Tex clucked his tongue. "Right. She's...still writing you and...you're still reading."

"Yup! They're a map!"

"Huh?!"

"It's crazy clever. They make a map. And some of the letters have numbers up at the corner and you think: O! She's just numbering the pages...and she is...and yet…" He paused for dramatic effect. "She isn't. And when you add up certain sequences you get two digit numbers and those numbers when paired correctly correspond with-"

"Ugh! Weird math. Even this imaginary kind makes my head hurt. Geez, this stuff is frustrating…"

Alfred blinked. "Big...bro?" Tex was good with math. He did their taxes. Plus, he was an ace when it came to The Price Is Right.

"What am I gonna do?" Tex muttered as though he was thinking aloud.

"W-well, when you come over I kinda wanted to have you read them too and see if there's...hidden stuff in these that I didn't catch."

Tex raised an incredulous eyebrow. "We both know I can't figure that stuff out. I never solve the whodunit-movies we watch. I don't even need to read the damn letters to know I can't do squat."

"T-texas? You, okay?"

"What am I gonna do? Be emotional support? Glorified nacho-maker?"

"Texas…?"

Texas grabbed his hat off the corner of the desk, stared at it, ran a hand through his hair, and then put his hat on. "You're my baby brother and you're...so smart. I dunno what I can really do to help."

"You've got my back!"

"...I guess."

"Texas…"

"You just don't get it. It took us months, Al. It took us...all o' us...ALL o' us workin' together pooling resources, making plans, bouncing off ideas. Me, Alaska, Hawaii, Canada, the U.S. territories and allies and cooperation from tribes I can't pronounce, and the U.K. Brothers. England was like-like Sherlock Holmes and...look at you! Solving Osha's clues, which ya know are sneaky enough to pass through prison scrutiny without settin' off alarms. You're like Velma from Scooby-Doo. She didn't need anybody else. The rest of that gang was eye candy."

"..."

"You...by yourself with Professor Google, an atlas, and a dictionary figured it out. Didn't you?"

Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. "I...didn't use a dictionary...this time."

"You see? Ya see that there?! And what? It took you: November, December, January, some of February? Nah, we shouldn't count December cuz...you were busy. Like less than three months. And you've been doing it in stealth too! Haven't ya? You haven't told them, you don't have the clues all set out on the kitchen table like we did. You're solving stuff at weird hours of the day and-"

"Look!" Alfred cut him off—feeling frustrated and concerned at the dull hopeless look in his brother's usually blazing eyes. "Ya want a job; I'll give ya one. I need a reason to go there."

"Huh?"

"North East in the U.S., ya know, eastern woodlands. I...was kinda hoping Arthur would get on board with my I'm-gonna-renovate-Kirkland-Hall plan. I mean, I know he's usually so excited at the prospect. But he didn't pounce on it!"

"Yer surprised that he didn't want you living off the grid in a forest estate that has no road near it, no hospitals, or fire station, or toilets, or...really anything?"

Alfred hadn't thought of it that way. "...do you think that stuff is influencing his decision?"

"Tch. Yeah, Al, I do. I think that stuff is big in Arthur's book."

"See? This is what I'm talking about. This-" He pointed at his brother. "Is your job. I was planning on being at the Hall and then when stuff settled down, heading up through the forests until I hit my marks. Only, I don't think they'll leave me be. I think my Dad and my uncles would be checking in on me a lot. And if they found the Hall empty with me...gone...that it could...be...not good."

Tex opened his mouth like he wanted to say something snarky. He closed it and buttoned up his uniform instead.

Alfred chewed at his lip. "I think...Dad might...freak...if that happened."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"So what do I do? What reason can I give for just randomly being up there?"

"Baby bro? You're overthinking it: camping."

"Camping?"

"Camping. You're asking for a reason to wander the woods. There doesn't have to be one if you're there for the wilderness."

"...I love you."

Tex grinned. "I love you, too."

"You think that would work?"

"Why wouldn't it work?"

Alfred straightened the collar of his shirt. "I don't know if they'd be cool with me camping out there."

"You wouldn't be alone. I'd be there. C'mon Al, it's Osha's plan. We gotta approach it with a healthy amount of 'This-Could-Still-Be-Shady'."

"True. Very true. I think, I should announce it soon though. Otherwise, if I spring the idea too suddenly, they'll try and shut me down."

"Agreed. In fact, try and throw it out there like you want their input on what month you should go. Old geezer nations like it when you ask 'em for advice. Like, the other day, I needed to get Spain off my back. So I told him I was fixing to schedule an optometrist visit for a new pair of glasses. And I asked him what style he thought would look good on me. He loved that."

Several hours, a hearty breakfast, and a long car drive later, found Alfred perched on the end of a Toys R Us cart. He smiled across to Arthur, who was pushing it. His old man still seemed kind of annoyed though. Earlier, his dad had been banished to the backseat with him because his eldest brothers wanted the front.

Scotland had demanded the right to drive so that they'd "get there that day" and Wales had joined him up there as the navigator, or as Alistair referred to him, the "Nag-igator."

Which earned him a hard look from the Welshman and an opportunistically motivated sharp seat-kicking from Reilley.

Still, they all survived...though none of them could agree on a radio station for more than two songs and Alistair ran a stop sign, which ticked Arthur off.

The aisles of the store brimmed with all sorts of fun toys in bright colored plastics. When Alfred pleaded for a full tour, Arthur indulged him.

He still hadn't told Alfred what his ultimate decision was for Alfred's plan and he got this...look...whenever Alfred hinted towards it. Like he was gonna freak or throw up or something...that the American had to drop it.

He couldn't rush him; Arthur liked to think things over. He'd always been that way. Plus, he was European; they always dragged their feet when it came to decision-making. Alfred had to respect that. Irritating and stupid as it was sometimes. They'd rather make no decision than a "bad" one and then whine when things spiraled out of hand. Sometimes they'd finally make a choice and find out that it was three years too late for it to work. They weren't like Alfred who just did something, right or wrong, and dealt with the fallout.

Clonk.

He swatted the foam sword away and frowned at Reilley and Alistair's wide grins.

He kept being repeatedly rapped on the head with plastic and foam swords from his ginger uncles which was funny the first few times.

He'd waved away Arthur's attempts to insert himself into the unfairly, lopsided battle because his dad could be a total wet blanket when it came to fun. Arthur's knuckles turned white, but he didn't interfere again. But by the second aisle, the whacking got real old, real fast. Worse, they seemed to get a greater kick out of it, the less fun he had. And while Rhys clearly disapproved, he seemed hesitant to get into the thick of it. Alfred had used to think that Arthur was just a spoiled sport and that having three older brothers would be fun…

But this...they were tag-teaming against him and-and-and-it was starting to hurt his feelings-

"Stoooooop," he whined as a hard hit clipped his ear.

And as if that was the cue Arthur had been waiting for, the man delivered a brutal knock to Reilley's ear with a plastic whiffle ball bat that cracked it's bright yellow plastic. He tossed the broken toy into the basket and ordered Alfred to come balance on the other end of the cart with Arthur's arms stationed securely on either side of him. Arthur's hands gripped the outer portion of the handlebar and Alfred had the middle.

Since he was way past done with his uncle's less than gentle horseplay, he didn't mind the fatherly fortified spot.

The rest of the Kirkland clan gave them a wide berth after that and Alfred...didn't really mind. He craned his head back to share a grin.

Tired green eyes smiled warmly at him and his head was pet gently.

They were walking down the Barbie aisle and Alfred was being dazzled by the plastic entrepreneur, cuz she could be anything she wanted to be and she had to have magnificent credit to buy that yacht, when Arthur's phone went off.

It turned out to be Canada and he wanted to video chat.

Arthur gazed downward. "Be good. Say hello to your brother, Alfred."

Maybe it was because the old man sounded so tired that he decided to humor him.

He stood up on tiptoes and Arthur leaned down so they'd appear together in the frame.

Alfred said "Hello" and tried to be pleasant and asked about Toronto and the snow and was given a gentle squeeze for his efforts. He found himself somewhere caught between being embarrassed and being glad that he'd thrown Arthur a bone..at least until his brother blinked and stated: "Your eye's almost back to normal."

"Almost" made him flinch because it meant it was still noticeable...just like he'd feared. Arthur had spent the better part of the morning assuring him that the difference in shade between the two was negligible and he didn't need sunglasses.

Arthur's frame tensed and though Alfred didn't look up, the Englishman's expression must've set off alarm bells because Mathieu hastily tacked on, "You-you look nice, Al. That's a nice sweater. You look cute."

And cute...wasn't handsome...or impressive...like he used to be...

Wales set a binder clip on a pile of assorted papers before slipping it into a folder. He'd need to have it interofficed to his own government. He watched the copy machine in the middle of the hall for an idle moment before he checked his watch, it was nearly time for lunch.

Rhys and his brothers had agreed that much needed to be accomplished before Texas came over and that it'd be best to alternate days of watching Alfred with days spent in the office. Arthur needed the help; physically, emotionally, spiritually.

Especially, because it seemed like Mathieu was expressing a continued interest in the occult and wanted to know their plans for Beltane's Day. There was a good chance he'd drop in at some point during the next few weeks and having all three North American brothers under one roof (when they weren't all getting along well) could be disastrous. And Alfred was still mastering flying.

The weekend had consisted largely of guiding Alfred through hula hoops and practicing over a trampoline. He'd honestly been shocked that Arthur had cleared the living room to set that up there.

"I know my boy...He's stubborn and impulsive. He's going to practice," the Briton had murmured wearily. "I can either accept that and plan around it. Or I can reject it, and pretend I'm not aware when he shows up with bruises...I can't pretend...not anymore. I shouldn't have...ever."

Rhys sighed. When an adult nation showed up injured to a meeting, it could be tasteful to ignore it...but when a child had wounds…

Rhys straightened his suit and then his papers. If he wasn't careful he'd be overwhelmed with stressors. What he needed to do was focus on the immediate issues at stake; he needed to find a way to broach the topic of the other night with Alfred. Arthur was taking it very hard. Very hard indeed.

Guardianship wasn't even in Alfred's line of sight as a solution for his predicament. While Rhys still felt his brother needed counseling to put himself in order, he had to agree with Arthur. There was no way they could endorse Alfred's plan to live in the woods in a ramshackle house. That would be madness! And it was a point in Arthur's favor...that Alfred needed a sensible parental figure to nip his crazier schemes in the bud.

And then in melodramatic fashion, Alfred had gone and threatened that his life would be "ruined" if Arthur didn't assist him. Like Arthur needed the additional stress! He was so close to a breaking point, Rhys was on edge. Because he didn't know how Arthur's frustration would vent itself and he was nearly certain he'd heard him crying in the loo that morning, though the faucet had been going. Arthur needed to decompress desperately.

If they could all lend a hand...prove that Alfred was safe and that Arthur needed to focus on himself, maybe they could prove the ominous feeling in Rhys's gut as unfounded.

He knocked on England's office and his brother appeared. Red rimmed eyes and violet bags made it clear, that he was still sleeping terribly and his waking life wasn't offering much consolation either.

The Prime Minister had announced that morning that there would be a referendum scheduled for June, but that the government would be in clear support of remaining part of the EU.

Arthur sighed and closed the door behind him and then he perked up.

Rhys sensed Alfred a beat later.

It was impressive how swiftly Arthur could sense his offspring now. Following the hex's removal, their father-child bond strengthened considerably. Rhys's bond had also improved; with fewer emotional mental defenses and the recovery of more amiable memories, he no longer cut such an intimidating figure. Alistair had laughed when Rhys had told him as much: "Your loss. You soften up too much, and you'll be a doormat like Albion and Eire...and I'll be the only one what can talk sense into him."

He'd rolled his eyes at that—knowing it was an action that irritated his brother and he wasn't disappointed. "Ack, listen to me, I know what I'm on about!"

No; Rhys did not want to be scary to the child. He wanted to be remembered fondly. He wanted to resume the better parts of their relationship...though remembering brought new challenges and he was reluctant to bring his own baggage regarding 1812 into light when the child and his brother had enough to deal with.

A paternal smile curled the edges of Arthur's lips and they soon spotted a golden haired child at the end of the hall.

Reilley and Alistair appeared two steps behind him, laden down with takeaway bags and drinks.

Apparently, Arthur and Rhys had been brought lunch and judging by the amount, the plan was for all the Kirklands to eat together.

He had a strong feeling that Reilley might've had the most to do with the meal and he made a note in his phone to spend more time with his younger brother, since he was clearly feeling left out.

Alfred took off his coat and threw it at Alistair, who barely managed to catch it and hold onto the food.

The Scotsman's face contorted and he likely rebuked the child for the inconsiderate action.

Alfred, judging by the body language, snapped something equally sassy back.

Arthur chuckled.

Alfred shook his head, abruptly turned away and, catching sight of his parent, beamed. He grinned so widely his missing bottom tooth was on display.

Rhys could feel Arthur's spirit soar. It was an instant mood booster to have someone he loved be so obviously ecstatic to see him.

The boy bounced on the balls of his feet and then (as if he couldn't stand one more moment apart) he hurtled with reckless abandon towards them.

Arthur laughed and gave a merry wave.

Alfred had been so close...only a few meters away when it happened.

Later, when his own indignation had cooled, Rhys would reason that the man had no doubt been startled by his nephew's breach of protocol.

That it was a natural response to a child running down the corridor.

But Alfred wasn't a human child and grabbing him by the elbow to chastise him didn't stop him.

And the fear and strength and resistance the man employed to try and keep himself from being pulled only triggered America to employ more force.

And the tagalong ruined Alfred's trajectory and they careened hard into the copy machine... which splintered on impact and tipped over.

The other humans sprang into action and unplugged the device. Several called for medical aid and more hovered around wanting to help but unsure how.

Arthur had shoved several out of the way to get to his child and reached right into the twisted mess.

Rhys helped break off larger sheets of plastic paneling.

His poor nephew. He was like one of those innocent baby animals in those horrid documentaries that condemn manmade waste products...except...he was tangled in a copy machine rather than six-pack soda rings.

The fact that he was thrashing and screeching in shock and discomfort made it worse.

"Shh, it's alright," Arthur soothed as he ripped out another cartridge and tossed it hard enough that it dented the parallel wall and frightened several aides away. "Daddy's here. Daddy'll get you out. Tell me where you're hurting."

"I'm gonna DIE in a printer!" Alfred wailed.

"NO, you're not!" Arthur hissed.

"My shirt's wet! It's wet! Am I bleeding? It's the adrenaline, I can't tell. Am I impaled?!"

Arthur shoved a hand deeper into the wreckage. A whoosh of breath escaped him. "No, baby, nononono it's just ink. See?" He showed his hand. "I'm getting covered in it, too."

"There's a wire around his neck," Rhys informed him quietly.

Arthur nodded. "I see it. Yes. Thank you. I see it, I've got it. There. There, we go."

Arthur pulled out a rotating drum and then there was finally room enough to wiggle Alfred out of the printer's remains.

Rhys moved back to give them space and looked up to see a concerned Reilley trying to balance all the food and drink.

Alistair, hands free of Chinese take out, was holding the man responsible for the whole mess against the wall. "Knobhead tried to bolt once he got loose!"

Arthur's chest was heaving as he set an ink splattered, ripped shirt, worse-for-wear Alfred into Rhys's arms.

He then stalked over to where Alistair was holding the man, reared back a fist, and decked that human.

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