Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Where's Wally?/Where's Waldo? Or Star Wars' Sith practices. Or Texas, Our Texas by William J. Marsh (1924). Or America The Beautiful.
Warning: Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). More family drama and angst! Very brief references to UK assault laws.
AN: I'm back from visiting my family and enduring Wifi-less environments. The horror! XD Thanks for your patience and your reviews and here you go! Gotta run to work now! Enjoy!
Chapter 12: Darth Killjoy
Alistair shrugged. "All I'm saying is, we didn't have these issues until you showed up."
"It's not my fault," Reilley contested hotly.
Alistair shook his head slowly. "Bad luck of the Irish."
"It. Is. NOT. My. Fault."
Alistair dug a hand into the semi-warm plastic bag of takeout on the counter and handed an eggroll to his nephew, who was still sitting on the crepe paper of an examination table.
Save a few shallow scratches and a good scare, he'd been deemed unharmed. The doctor had left to try and track down England. In the meanwhile, Alfred decided to phone his brother.
Alfred switched his cell to his other hand to accept his uncle's offering of food. "Stop laughing, Tex. I'm gonna have to, like, bathe in tea tree oil to get all the toner off."
Rhys glanced over and jotted that down. "I can go by the store," he volunteered.
Alistair shifted restlessly; the medical office was a cramped room to begin with and with three adult males and a half-pint in it—it felt even smaller.
It was silently agreed that the examination table was the safest spot for Alfred and any time he left it, Reilley picked him up, gave him a whimsical whirl and set him back there.
Not wanting to suffer Arthur's wrath, all three men were weary of letting their nephew get underfoot, Alistair in particular; he was easily the most muscular of the lot and as a result, the heaviest. He'd flatten the laddie if he tripped on him.
Alistair's frame was usually something that made him proud, but in circumstances like this; his slimmer brothers had it easier; Rhys was long and lean, Reilley was wiry, and Arthur (when he joined them) would be similarly scrappy in build.
Alistair was the odd one out and his broad shoulders kept brushing against various pamphlets and supplies in the cluttered space.
There was more room over in the corner where the counter ended but...he just didn't feel like leaning against a poster with a graphic bisection of a pregnant woman.
And he wouldn't feel right leaving for the hallway either.
There was something about Alfred's torn shirt. The back had split all the way up to the collar and so the front kept sagging down—exposing his small shoulders. And Alfred didn't want to put his coat on for fear of staining it with ink. But he wouldn't just remove the shirt either…
For America...being undressed made him feel vulnerable…
Alba often took jokes about his wardrobe or lack thereof in battle, but it didn't mean he was unsympathetic when it came to such matters…
When being dressed or undressed wasn't a choice...that...well, that changed everything...
A nervous, frustrated, angry, ten-year-old Alba sucked in a breath through his teeth: it was so hard walking past naked fair haired children (the reds and golds of their people) for sale. But he only had the grit, the supplies, and the nerve to try and rescue one. And Cymru had already warned him repeatedly that they may still fail...
He shook the memory off.
"Cuz I feel bad, Tex!" Alfred snapped as he polished off the eggroll and licked his fingers. "I know Arthur's getting royally chewed out-"
"Now, laddie," Alistair tugged the boy's shirt back up to cover him better. "Don't feel bad. We all know it's Eire's fault-"
"Ye poxbottle!"
"I just… NO...yes...stop laughing!" Alfred frowned and then looked at his relatives. "He's saying it's like the Juke Box Incident of '54. But it's not. That was just my arm." At their blank stares, he continued: "I was being a good Samaritan! I was trying to stop a fight between Preps and Greasers and then it just-it all went-ugh and my hand went through. Anyways, I wasn't trapped in it. Though...I did have to take it with me."
"Wot?"
Alfred shrugged. "I had a meeting at the White House! Those are a pain to reschedule."
Angry voices outside the room turned the atmosphere sour.
Alfred quipped a quick "Love you, bye!," pocketed his phone, and jumped down from the table.
Before they could stop him, he slipped out into the hall.
They clambered after him:
"Laddie!"
"Boyo!"
"Un bach!"
"Mr. Kirkland," Mr. Porter, a gray-haired senior advisor, addressed their youngest brother (who was white-faced and furious...though holding it in admirably well). "You have to understand the severity of your actions and-"
"Watch the tapes again, he had no right confronting my son like that-" Arthur was startled out of his heated rebuttal when Alfred wrapped his arms around his left leg. The child's shirt sagged even further—sliding down his arms to the elbows. Arthur made a sympathetic sound and immediately took off his rumpled business jacket to lay it over Alfred's shoulders.
The human shifted uncomfortably. Whether it was at the display of paternal concern from the often professionally-stoic England or the reality that America had been mistreated and that was terrible for international diplomacy, Alistair couldn't tell.
"My poor lamb," Arthur crooned and picked the child up. He glowered at the man and his control began to crack. "You see? You see this?! That brute-"
The man sighed. "It's still going to be viewed as ABH and Alistair will also likely face charges-"
Scotland scoffed. If anything his government would be surprised that he went so long without incident. They kept a whiteboard marking days since his last scuffle.
"Not if I say I was assaulted first!" Alfred butted into the conversation. "That dude didn't have my consent and he totally wasn't my parent. So...Dad was trying to 'prevent' a crime," Alfred offered over the shoulderpad of his newly acquired jacket.
Mr. Porter frowned. "That was not 'reasonable force,' Mr. Jones; it was excessive. He left in a neck brace."
Alfred wrinkled his nose. "I'm also a public servant and international diplomat and this is a damaging altercation that casts a bad light over US and UK relations."
And when his nephew decided to talk "grown up," he knew just what to say.
"I mean, if this is how you treat me, how well are you treating my citizens when they visit?"
And how to strike while the iron was hot.
Arthur shook his head tiredly. "Alfred, I will handle this-"
"No, let him think about that! I was attacked!"
Mr. Porter straightened his tie as a muscle in his cheek ticked. "You were not attacked. The incident, while regrettable, was an accident-"
Alistair crossed his arms and cut in. "Fact is, the idgit put his hands on the bairn."
"I concede that he should not have done that, however-"
"Could've been a pedo," Reilley piped up. Alistair turned to his Irish brother. Reilley winked. Alistair had to turn more fully to try and hide his smile from the human. God Almighty, sometimes Reilley was just his favorite. The things he dared to say…
Alistair composed himself and looked back.
Mr. Porter was visibly ruffled now. "Mr. Walters did not intend-"
"Ah, but we don't know that, do we?" Reilley countered.
"That isn't-"
"A strange man put his hands on our nephew, England's son," Reilley mused. "It was going to provoke strong protective feelings—usually violent-"
Alistair joined in, "Who knows what ill plot could've-"
"You're twisting-"
"I won't press charges, if he won't," Alfred interrupted.
The man was getting frustrated. "You don't understand our laws-"
"Otherwise, I'll sue," Alfred finished with relish.
The man faltered, "You-"
Alfred leaned forward. "O, I'll do it. If somebody in my land can sue for coffee being hot, you can bet your ass goodbye that I'll sue that jackass if he doesn't play nice with us-"
Arthur looked overwhelmed. "Alfred-"
"That bloke," Alfred amended. "And then I'll sue you-" He studied the human's name tag. "Porter. For lacking appropriate concern and a civil response. Then I'll sue Parliament for embarrassing me with such blatant disrespect." Hard blue eyes blazed and his tone darkened. "Oh! And BTW, I'm not a 'Mr.' I'm a General."
Mr. Porter paled.
Alfred's face contorted angrily. "I haven't endured such shocking ineptitude and offensive impudence since the 1790s. Which I endured then for obvious unequal-power-related reasons, but-" The child's voice turned frighteningly adult and full of doom when he hissed: "As a Superpower today, I suggest you find a way to placate me. I urge you to find it FAST."
What followed was a tense phone call from Mr. Porter to his associates and then the hall flooded with various representatives from the House of Lords and the House of Commons. He was nearly stampeded by various sycophants repeatedly assuring that they wanted no trouble with America and that his welfare and satisfaction mattered greatly.
"Our deepest apologies General Jones-"
"Such a horrid incident-"
"We most definitely do not wish to damage relations with you and your nation-"
Even thirty minutes later, Alistair was impressed with how on edge they all remained. Even while Alfred had clearly cooled off; he was playing hopscotch on the tile floor of the entry way for Chrissake! They remained wary. They seemed to recognize how close America had come to the brink of throwing a nasty temper tantrum.
It was meted out that Arthur would not be arrested but was now on "Mandatory Stress Leave" and had to agree to a full course on Anger Management.
Alfred had wanted less and had been poised to demand it (and Alistair wished for popcorn since he was sure the fireworks were really about to start) when Arthur ruined the whole thing by telling him in quiet tones that they were embarrassing him by making such a spectacle.
Which had dampened the boy's spirits a bit until he revitalized himself with hopscotch.
Alistair watched his nephew bend down to touch his toes and then jump to another square. While he did so, Alfred also listened to messages on his phone on loudspeaker. Five were from Texas. Two were from Hawaii. One was from Japan and the most desperate...was from Canada.
"Alfred! I'm so sorry. I just realized-I-can understand how it might've sounded the other day-but that wasn't what-I-I your eye-er-I meant! I meant that I was glad that you're healing quickly!"
Alfred scowled and before the message even finished—he deleted it.
Alistair reached over and flicked him hard on the forehead.
"Uncle Al!" the child protested.
"Stop being an idgit. Yer not Reilley, so yeh can't claim that you're just being yourself."
"HEY!"
Scotland smirked at the hard looks he got from Wales and Eire.
"I just don't feel like talking to him right now!" Alfred pouted. "Or this week."
Alistair grabbed his nephew around the waist and held him upside down and shook him. "I had three brothers and we lived in a one-room hut."
"And you all walked miles and miles in the snow!" Alfred giggled shrilly.
"Barefoot."
"In a blizzard!" Alfred embellished.
"Uphill both ways on broken glass," Alistair added as he spun the child lazily.
Arthur looked over from where he was signing paperwork and choked. "What the devil are you doing?"
"Astronaut training," Alistair quipped.
"There will be NO astronaut training," Arthur snapped—marching over and rescuing his offspring. He turned the child rightside up and set him on his feet. "NASA is defunded."
Alfred sighed and looked over at his uncle. "I call him Dad, but his Sith name is Darth Dreamsquisher."
Arthur flinched.
Alistair snorted heartily and received a swat from Rhys. The Scotsman gestured to his older brother. "I call him Darth Killjoy."
Alfred crawled onto the trampoline in the middle of the family room and laid down—hearing the steel springs compensate for his weight.
He'd already taken three baths and still had ink stains.
He closed his eyes and tried to push the day's events from his mind since they made him feel heavy. If he was going to levitate, it was important to feel light.
He willed himself to lift off the synthetic fibers but-
Embarrassed him…
Arthur said he'd embarrassed him…
Until then, he'd thought he was doing well. Arguing down Arthur's sentence and protecting him the way a hero should! Only…
Arthur hadn't been grateful or relieved.
He'd just been quiet. That hard-eyed, disapproving quiet where he pressed his lips together so hard they turned white.
And Alfred knew he was all alone in the moment.
He remembered various times during the World Wars where he'd share a meal with England and the Commonwealth Nations who were sometimes present. England would raise his glass and praise Australia and New Zealand for their bravery or Canada for his steadfastness or-or-
Alfred turned on his side.
There was a never a 'Cheers' for America and he was forced to talk himself up; the kills he'd managed, the missions he'd completed, the brilliance of his own audacity. But Father was never impressed.
He'd just stand there and watch and when America trailed off into uncertainty, he'd ask: "Are you quite through?"
Alfred flicked his fingers against the fibers and listened to the thrum; He wished he could practice tumbles and flips and stuff. That would've tired him out and then he wouldn't have to think any more. He'd just be tired and then he'd just sleep and tomorrow could start.
But Arthur had warned them all when they set it up, that the ceiling was too low, so there'd be no jumping...which kind of leached the fun out of having a trampoline.
He released a whoosh of disappointed breath and tried to clear his mind.
He imagined the tops of trees, the chilling breeze of air enveloping him, the squawking cries of birds, the rushing of air in his ears, and the boundless freedom the sky always promised and delivered.
He was doing it. He was levitating.
It threw him for an absolute loop when two hands came on either side of his tummy and tickled him.
He immediately fell from the air and bounced.
He was shocked to see a smugly victorious Arthur looking down at him. Especially when he'd pretty much resigned himself to a depressingly downer day where Arthur would keep to himself in his office and his uncles would tip toe about on eggshells.
Arthur tickled him again and he tried to retaliate—sending squirmy fingers to tender places: the neck, the elbows, the armpits. But there was no effect!
Arthur released a melodramatic evil overlord laugh. "I had three older brothers, Alfred. Three. Plus, Australia and New Zealand. I'm all tickled out."
Alfred squealed and tried to get away. "Nooooo! Ahhh! Hahahaha!"
When Alfred's face ached from grinning, and his stomach hurt from laughing, Arthur finally released him.
"That's better." The Briton smiled. "You've been melancholy all afternoon."
Alfred's cheeks puffed and before he could swallow it down it came out: "You said I was an embarrassment!"
Green eyes widened. "Wot? I never said-"
"I embarrassed you."
"I said,'the spectacle was embarrassing me.' You were hardly alone in the endeavor. Those clowns I call brothers-"
"I read between the lines and you meant-"
Arthur reclined next to him. "I meant nothing more or less than what I said. Please don't put words in my mouth."
"I just wanted to help!" Alfred snapped.
"I know, love. But I don't need you to intervene on my behalf and in the future, I'd appreciate it better if you'd-"
"You do it! You do it all the time!" Alfred pointed out.
Arthur's eyebrows twitched guiltily. "That's...a bit different."
Alfred's face puckered. "Nuh-uh."
"I'm quite a bit older than you, dear, when I have a concern it comes from a place of experience and-"
"There you go! You're trying to pull the 'Age' card and I'm telling you that at this cashier stand—it's denied."
"Your heart was in the right place and I do appreciate your intentions, truly. I'm sorry if I hurt you with my phrasing. I only meant-"
Angry that Arthur just didn't get it, he burst: "I didn't want them to take you away! So I used my clout. Why's that a bad thing? You've used it before in world meetings and stuff. I used yours plenty of times before I was... It's the Special Relationship! What's it there for, if we can't use it like an ace up the sleeve now and then?"
Arthur sighed and tried to tug him near.
"No," Alfred mumbled. "I don't want a hug if you're angry at me."
Arthur manhandled him over and-and-
"I'm not the one who's angry," Arthur stated calmly.
Alfred realized with a start, as he listened to a steady heartbeat, that the old man was right.
"That's all you, dear."
The American released a hard breath through his nose "...it's my fault. If I'd just stopped when he touched me-"
Arthur shook his head. "No, he had no right to-"
"But now you're in trouble and you can't go to work and you have stupid counseling and you're gonna be stuck at home stressing and-"
"Oh hush, this just means I get to spend more time with you."
"H-huh?"
Arthur nuzzled their noses and repeated. "I get to spend more time with you now. That's always a good thing to me. Perhaps, it didn't unfold the way I'd wish it to, but...results are results."
Alfred blinked...he...hadn't thought of it that way.
Tired green eyes smiled. "We'll get the office set up to accommodate us both. We'll...we'll get you a nice, new shirt."
Alfred slowly brightened as he recalculated his plans for the next few weeks and ways he could make it up to Arthur. "We can get you new grout, and maybe even new tiles for the counter in your bathroom and I can reseal them for you and it'll increase your property value?"
England stared.
"...I wasn't just a baker. I've also been a contractor for...well, just about everything since forever—well okay, since I age-shifted to sixteen. What can I say? I was a strapping young man, people liked putting me to work. What I mean is, we could do home repairs, if you want. During these next few weeks? It'll...get me all practiced up in a safe environment before I go after the Hall...?"
He wasn't quite willing to completely release the Hall-Fixer-Upper Plan. All he needed was a spark...some teensy bit of agreement...of Arthur caving...
"...er...uh..." Arthur got that nauseous look again and Alfred knew he had to ease him into that scheme gently.
"Baby powder would fix that creaking floorboard downstairs near the guest rooms," Alfred offered.
"You won't be touching that floorboard. That floorboard alerts me to when my young guests enter or exit my house after curfew."
Alfred's jaw dropped. "You-you...sneaky fiend."
Arthur laughed and soon another round of tickling commenced.
Arthur sank against the tweed couch. He could sleep. He could sleep right here, right now. He'd spent the past few days assuring Alfred that his counseling sessions were perfectly safe and that no danger would befall him, but nothing was enough.
Arthur had received several packets and filled out various questionnaires.
"They made me do all that stuff, too," Alfred had mumbled anxiously when it arrived in the post.
He'd tried to lessen the child's fears by setting him on his lap while he read through a few.
He'd even gone so far as to indulge the child by letting him wait out in the lobby for today's first appointment because he'd started having terrors again.
If England's own nightmares hadn't been enough to contend with, now his child was suffering once more. His heart broke in new ways with every "No!" And "Please!" and "Stop!" he overheard as his child's slumber was spoiled.
When he'd sought out Rhys to give more insight and means of providing comfort, his brother disappointed him.
"There's not much more you can do, Arthur. The rest depends on him. Until he seeks out assistance and opportunities to share his pain…"
Arthur scowled. "There has to be more. Can't you hear him?"
"This...this is your best chance to convince him. Be the role model. Take the courses seriously. Show him you're safe in these sessions, show him that you're benefiting from them, and perhaps he'll follow."
Which was...irritating. Because he was a private man and being asked to put himself fully into a situation that made him vulnerable…
But...wasn't that exactly what he was asking Alfred to do?
And if Alfred did watch him so very closely...and he showed reluctance…
Dammit, his brother had a point.
He couldn't just pay lip service.
He had to do this. He had to do it right. For Alfred.
To think, months back he'd waited almost eagerly for Alfred to start working through his traumatic experience with Osha—convinced that if they could overcome that, their bond would heal up as a natural result.
Fool that he was…
This was...more than difficult…it was horrific.
The nauseous feelings he'd endured during America's capture were returning as Alfred subconsciously tugged at him for help and began reliving segments of his captivity. Only this time the nausea and vertigo were amplified by his close proximity.
And sometimes their dreams even bled together. Alfred had slipped into one of his about the plague a while back and now Arthur sometimes found himself sharing the child's experience: the claustrophobic sense of being utterly, hopelessly trapped in body, spirit, and mind.
Where glimmers of blue sky from a window on the side of a room he couldn't reach, were a constant torment.
And interwoven through it all was the crushing sense of failure and guilt that he couldn't rescue himself.
The few attempts Arthur had made to discuss that were shut down.
Until this point, he didn't think his hatred for Osha could possibly increase, but...
America…
His America…
His freedom-obsessed little colony who became a liberty-worshipping nation…
Whose magic well-represented him through the untamable spirit of wild flora and the uncatchable quality of the ever unfettered sky.
Caged.
His America had been caged.
England had been captured before. Imprisoned. Enslaved. He'd bided his time before; been broken out or bartered for or managed to escape with a serendipitous changing of the guards.
For Arthur it was a matter of bitter patience, at-the-ready ingenuity, and steady strength employed against a sturdy opposition. It was something that could be planned against.
For Alfred it was something more…some kind of cruel evil thing that couldn't be fully understood but was instinctively, desperately hated and feared and raged at.
It was the panic of wings battering themselves bloody against bars...and then not even his mind was safe as she reached in…and his rebellious soul was pinned down further.
It was an attack on soul: an effort to break him.
Arthur's hatred for that woman strengthened a hundred fold.
"This will be a mixture of one-on-one and group sessions," Dr. Hargreaves explained.
Arthur nodded and then frowned at the name placard on the desk. That last name… "Hargreaves...Royal Fusiliers? City of London regiment?"
The man's graying eyebrows went up. "Yes, my great-great-grandfather."
"Good man."
"Thank you."
"I think I remember him. He was. A good man." More often than he'd liked, Arthur had had to lie about such things before. It was good when he could legitimately pay a compliment.
"He had plenty to say about you, Admiral."
"I see how you left that open. I won't argue the point; I'm quite sure that not all of it was good."
Both men laughed good-naturedly. Well, at least he wouldn't need to edit his life's details. The doctor knew exactly who and what he was. He'd been told that through paperwork, but it was nice to sense it through their interactions.
Still, he couldn't shake off the odd feeling that Alfred was much closer than the waiting room and he wondered if this was proof that the past week was getting to him.
It was confirmed when Wales knocked on the door a few minutes later, rather pink-faced and demanded that America show himself.
At first, Arthur thought he was off his rocker and then...the bottom cabinet doors slowly opened.
How in the world he managed that...Arthur wasn't sure he wanted to know.
Arthur felt his face flush. "I-I'm terribly sorry, he-Alfred get out from there!"
"I just wanted to make sure you were safe! And that he wasn't a weirdo!" the boy cried. "They tricked me! They tricked me and they could trick you, too! Being clever isn't enough!"
Rhys squared his shoulder and made to reach for his nephew.
"That's not necessary," Dr. Hargreaves stated. "I've been made aware of your...experience at...Calm Waters Clinic, General Jones and your concerns are very understandable."
"So my government blabbed to you about me," America spat.
"I was given a general explanation of what happened to you. Which is...horrible, and as a psychologist and a father...I'm very upset for you and I can only hope that you won't think of everyone in our profession as similarly untrustworthy."
Alfred went pale at that but still forced out, "It's still a breach of my privacy…"
"At this time, I'm the only one who was told. It was background information from my government and yours to help me assist your father and to be in a position that if you expressed any interest in receiving counselling, I could arrange a suitable professional to meet with you. I guarantee you that all matters discussed will be kept confidential. We would coordinate your sessions to the same dates that Arthur comes in. If you wanted him or security or anyone to be present, I would completely understand and make sure that your counselor abided-"
"And would you keep that info on file?" Alfred demanded.
"Well, yes-"
"Then it's not private! You can be hacked!"
"Or we can record it on paper-"
"Stolen!"
Arthur shifted uncomfortably at the child's angry paranoia and reached with gentle hands for him. The boy moved beyond his reach.
To his surprise, Dr. Hargreaves smiled. "It can be strictly verbal. If you don't want anything written down. That's fine. You don't have to give any details. If you want different counselors each time, we can work that out, too. One of the most critical jobs of a counselor is to give you an environment where you can work out major life changes in a healthy manner."
Alfred shuffled back then and used Arthur to block the man's view of him.
Dr. Hargreaves continued smiling, but his eyes were sad. "In short, we must make a place where you can feel safe."
Tucked against Arthur's right side, Alfred scoffed, "Safety's a delusion we tell ourselves so we can fall asleep at night."
Arthur cleared his throat in the awkward silence that uncoiled after that dark statement. "Dearheart, I will be an hour or so longer. I will meet you in the lobby and then we can go by the shops for that new shirt like I promised."
Rhys opened the door and Alfred reluctantly withdrew. From the way he lingered, it was clear he was giving Arthur every opportunity to bail out.
Several beats after the door shut and Arthur sensed his magic signature distancing itself, he sighed. "I-I am terribly sorry."
The man turned to him as if surprised by the apology.
"I-I-"
"You don't need to take responsibility for someone else's feelings."
He felt a protective surge of emotion for his child and he bit out defensively, "It isn't his fault. He's been treated horribly."
The man nodded. "I read what they were willing to share. He has…" His face twitched a bit like he wanted to say more but professionalism kept him muzzled. "VERY valid reasons to feel that way."
"Do...do you want me start there or…"
"You can talk over whatever comes to mind."
"I thought…this was about my anger…?"
"Anger is often erroneously assigned as an outcome of frustration. It can stem from many places: anxiety, fear, stress, helplessness, injustice, emotional or physical pain, disappointment-"
Arthur sighed.
"Guilt."
He fidgeted.
"Anger isn't a "bad" emotion. It often surfaces when we feel threatened and we feel forced to act-"
"They sent you the incident report as well, I trust?"
"Ah, yes. A man grabbed young Alfred and they bumped into a copy machine."
"Through a copy machine," Arthur clarified and used his phone to show pictures of the damages.
The man's light green eyes widened. "And you reacted?"
"Strongly."
Rather than charging into the incident, the rest of the talk was mainly about what Arthur hoped to get out of the session and he surprised himself by blurting out that what he really wanted to prove was that this was a perfectly respectable way for Alfred to heal himself.
The doctor looked to the door and murmured, "I hope to prove that too."
When the timer went off, the counselor accompanied him to the waiting room.
Rhys sighed in relief and set his book down on his lap.
Alfred was sitting rigidly in a chair by a ficus, staring at his feet. His watch went off and he sprang to action with a look of determination on his face. He gasped lightly when he noticed Arthur already standing there. He smiled sheepishly and then bounded over.
Arthur gripped the back of Rhys's chair to steady himself as Alfred slammed into his legs. He felt his weakened ankle twinge. It was no use; he'd have to have a talk with the boy about being too rough with him. He just wasn't an Empire anymore and could only take so much.
The child rested his face against the leg. "You came back."
The scolding died in his throat.
England yawned and checked his watch. If the sign was correct, Texas's flight had arrived.
Wales was solving a crossword puzzle with America's help until the boy received a phone call from Texas.
"Howdy partner!" Alfred greeted eagerly. "Ready to raise some Cain? Yeah! We're waitin' on you, Big Bro!"
It had been rather endearing how Alfred had counted down the days until his Southwestern brother arrived with a paper chain. The morning of his arrival was filled with such infectious cheer, and after several consecutive nights of terror...it filled Arthur with hope.
He reached over to pet that wheat colored hair and was rewarded with a bright smile. He adjusted the child's scarf.
"We're gonna have to keep our eyes peeled. Tex's phone just gave out," Alfred explained.
"Well, we'll have to do it the old fashioned Where's-Wally-Way?"
"Huh?"
"I believe you call him 'Waldo,'" Arthur stated. Considering Tex's usual state of dress, it shouldn't have been terribly difficult.
They walked around a few times, but the crowd thickened to the point, that Arthur wasn't sure they'd be able to spot him quickly.
"Don't worry, Dad. I got this."
Alfred cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice and began belting:
"Texas, Our Texas! all hail the mighty State!
Texas, Our Texas! so wonderful so great!
Boldest and grandest, withstanding ev'ry test
O Empire wide and glorious, you stand supremely blest."
England felt his eye twitch and his face grow hot as his child (and by association, himself) attracted stares. And then there was the lyrics...
"So that's his state song…" Rhys raised an eyebrow. "Humble."
"Texas, O Texas! Your freeborn single star,
Sends out its radiance to nations near and far,
Emblem of Freedom! it set our hearts aglow,
With thoughts of San Jacinto and glorious Alamo.
Texas, dear Texas! from tyrant grip now free,
Shines forth in splendor, your star of destiny!
Mother of heroes, we come your children true,
Proclaiming our allegiance, our faith, our love for you.
God bless you Texas! And keep you brave and strong,
That you may grow in power and worth, throughout the ages long.
God bless you Texas! And keep you brave and strong,
That you may grow in power and worth, throughout the ages long."
England sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose when an enthusiastic answering serenade (complete with guitar accompaniment) of America The Beautiful played out.
From his spot on the couch, Texas propped his feet up on the trampoline. He'd noticed earlier that the room had been cleared of everything save the trampoline.
Which was just...a NO in his book.
He'd taken one look at it all and told his brother: "I ain't sittin' on the floor" and "I worked too hard for too long not to have a good-sized T.V."
With Al's help, he heaved the furniture piece back into the room and got that glorious flat screen back up on that there wall.
Arthur made several unnecessary comments about possible property damage that Tex rebuffed with comments about hospitality. It was the 21st Century, some amenities were now staples. Plus, he'd made do with a laptop screen for long enough.
Arthur argued that it was a training room for Alfred and that he removed those objects to "better guarantee safety" and "promote ease of concentration." Tex had to set him straight; that he was going about it all wrong. Al loved T.V. They had to use that to their advantage, not punt it away. That sure got the ol' limey's goat.
Angry eyebrows went down like a door barricade bar: "Enlighten me."
God, he was so overbearing sometimes—especially when it came to Al. Like he knew him better than Tex did! Like Tex and Al's years together didn't count! Even if he subtracted the Civil War, they still had, like, 160 unified years together and that wasn't even taking into account how chummy they were in the early 1800s (especially the 1830s—America had been very supportive of him after the Alamo). Round it on up, it was two centuries and considering their ages—practically half of their lives!
Tex frowned; he probably should've taken a week off before crashing here to get himself in order and chill the hell out. But...Al was acting weird. He was deviating from their rules and he wanted to know what was up. He also kinda...wanted to see if he could spirit Al away for a bit. Then they could figure out, whatever it was, Al's final plan for maintaining independence despite his downsizing.
In the meanwhile, Tex needed to show England up.
He flipped through T.V. channels on the hunt for something brightly colored and kiddie. Something that would get Al's attention; it seemed like as good a bet as any that if something was real interesting, Al's flying abilities would spark and he'd have motivation to float on over.
"C'mon Ally!" Tex gestured with the remote.
"I can't do it," Alfred whined as he bobbed in the air. "My emergency brakes have been left on and I don't know to tap the gas."
"Well, put your back into it!" Alistair ordered.
"What?! How?!"
"Figure it out," was the Scotsman's response.
"Gah!"
Arthur brushed past Texas (forcing him to lower his legs to let him by) and marched several feet further away and then turned. "Come to Daddy!"
"Uh…"
The Kirkland Brothers and Texas stared at him in disbelief.
"Come now, sweet. Come here, now." He opened his arms wide as if waiting for a hug.
Alfred turned a deep shade of pink.
"Tha's not going to work," Alistair scoffed.
"Sweetling!"
Alistair frowned and crossed his arms. "Tha's just not gonna work, you idgit. Now yer just embarrassin' him! And me!"
Texas had to agree.
"Bad form," Reilley muttered.
Rhys observed it all and took notes.
England ignored them.
"Come here. Come here, my darling heart." He beckoned the child with a warm smile.
Tex snickered. Maybe when Hell froze over!
Alfred fidgeted and then slowly began to glide nearer.
It was a cold day down there.
"Very good! You're doing so well!"
Al faltered several times but eventually made it into Arthur's embrace.
Arthur whirled him around in delight. "Brilliant! You were absolutely brilliant!"
Alfred turned even redder, but he seemed pleased.
They practiced like that several times over, and unwilling to be outdone, Texas sprang to his feet. Making sure his voice brimmed with excitement and joy, he called out: "C'mere, Baby Bro!"
Alfred grinned and zoomed over to him.
Oh yeah, two could play at this game.
"Positive reinforcement," Rhys announced as he scrawled it all down in his hand sized notebook.
Hours later, when Al was tuckered out and the day had ended and the ol' folks were squabbling over which news station to watch, Tex found a new source of agitation: Alfred was comparing bedfellows.
Alfred looked over at Arthur who was standing in his pajamas, robe, and slippers. Then to Tex who was in his hat and flannels. Then back to Arthur and then to Tex.
He slowly shuffled over to stand beside Tex.
Arthur accepted the decision but remarked that his door would remain open. And he still accompanied them to their room and...tucked Al in.
Which…
He totally understood a while ago, when Al was still fresh from the Wendigo crisis and new to his downsizing, and that, for whatever reason, Al was in need of a little babying from the mothership. But it was March now! And he needed to shake it off.
And maybe...just maybe, Tex was a little...sensitive...that Al had to think hard about who to choose. Really, after so much time apart, it shouldn't have even been a question.
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