Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or William Shakespeare's Hamlet.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Texas sayings peppered for taste. Muppet: an adorable UK slang term for idiot. Various American Revolutionary War details regarding British perspective as well as mentioning American towns that were torched. Also, lightly explores England's strategical values and how he'd maneuver through things. And dipping toes into the reality that how adults and children view things can be very different; usually with the latter seeing things with less dimension and butterfly-effect-consequence. Family Drama. Family Fluff. Family Angst. Everyone knows someone who wanted to the be either the school lead or the Big Bad and just wasn't cut out for it-but you cheered them on at that audition anyway! XD Emotional Baggage Pileup is becoming imminent! D : Dun Dun Dun!
AN: Thank you for your reviews! I've been reading and re-reading them as I've prepared this chapter. Hope you enjoy! : DD
Chapter 14: Tricky As All Get-Out
Thunder and lightning flashed overhead and Arthur felt his eyebrow twitch. How very melodramatic of the boy.
Like England relished the war...
It just went to show America never bothered researching texts on the British view of it. It was more than simply unpopular—it required increasing taxes on his people on everything; even ink and rabbit hair. And despite the heavy feeling of resentment the British felt (for a colony they felt was indebted to them for years of protection and coddling) there were still pockets of sympathizers here and there—moved by the philosophies of the Enlightenment.
And what America just...didn't seem to understand was that…
England never thought he would lose. Arrogant as it sounded, while the boy was out scrambling to try and find ammunition (which wasn't manufactured in his lands), England was already meting out terms to his generals on how to handle the rebellious colony after it was back underwing.
They'd have to make it clear that the colonists needed to pay back what the war had cost their fatherland. And of course there'd be some manner of probation necessary to convince them and his colonists in other territories not to cause trouble.
Yes; there probably would've been some necessary executions but…
He knew damn well there had to be incentives to replant loyalty. Otherwise, France could've made his resentful colony a willing theater for an even bloodier conflict later. Imagining Napoleon there was...
Arthur shuddered.
And then there was Alfred himself.
He'd heard more than one officer murmur in exasperation (when they thought he wasn't in earshot) that they may as well make a rule not to shoot blond teenagers or the Ol' Sea Serpent would have a meal of the offenders.
And it was testament to his own grief that he half-considered the idea...ludicrous as it was. He'd lost track of how often he'd nervously scouted the battlefield following a victory; green eyes were constantly searching for a familiar, though fallen, form.
Another hard wave of rain blew into his face and then he glimpsed his son.
An ashen faced Alfred peered through the iron grate of the public gaol. His hands jangled with heavy manacles as he made to grab the bars.
"Alfred!" Arthur immediately rushed over, cursed the mud trying to swallow up his feet, and tried to free him. "Blast. Stand back! I'll kick down the door."
But the teenager stared through him, droplets of water streamed from his hair and Nantucket was drooping. Arthur glared up at the wooden planks of the jail; they were leaking enough that the boy was soaked to his skin. And the stains that were visible on the wet fabric signalled he'd been stabbed or worse.
"Mercy," the American demanded hoarsely. He had a spitty, rattling cough, and Arthur knew immediately that it was pneumonia; a certified death sentence in that year if he wasn't attended to meticulously.
"A French word." A third voice commented. "Trying to annoy me, are we?"
Arthur turned and was startled to see himself advance with such a spring in his step. He eyed the 1770s garb; his double's red coat whipped in the stormy weather.
He blinked. There was no way his hat would've stayed on in that.
"For my men," Alfred replied gallantly.
"For who's left, you mean."
The bodies swung ominously in the background.
Alfred's head bowed and he forced out, "Please."
Arthur's eyebrows twitched; it was unfolding like a poorly written one act stage play.
"But I thought you meant to all hang together! Give us a moment now to reset the stage." England smiled wickedly and gestured to the scaffolds with an unnecessary flourish.
Well then, it appeared England was firmly in the villain's role here, and...hamming it up. It was highly embarrassing to behold.
"Alfred, you don't actually believe this rot?" Arthur demanded. "Or that I am this flamboyant?"
There was no acknowledgment.
Arthur leaned against the door and reached a hand through the bars to rest it on a narrow shoulder.
"Let's imagine for one moment, shall we? That I wasn't absurdly fond of you. And in a fit of...tyrannical derangement took nothing but sadistic pleasure in seeing you starved, dirty, ill, injured, and clapped in irons. And yet…" He scrutinized the boy's state of ruined dress and plucked at the fabric. "-allowed you to stay in the blue uniform that vexes me? Then I would waste the time, money, and resources to haul over war criminals? Here?! To a remote village with poor security that would have great difficulty housing us all? For nothing more than nostalgia? To ruin any of your remaining good memories of our times together in Massachusetts? And then I set fire to the community for no discernable reason? Even though I'm using the town!?"
Arthur swatted the boy's head. "Why the devil would I do that?!"
The boy didn't look up at him, but began listing, "Falmouth, Norfolk, Fairfield-"
"Nonono. We were at war then!" Arthur snapped. "This is AFTER I've won! Why would I set fire to my own land? Burn the spoils of war?! And-and-and this is a small village!? When you torch, you aim for symbols of power, places that can cause you trouble! This is a tiny little town. You think I'd be threatened by this and-what is that!?" He flung a hand at the scaffold. "No plea deals? No recruitments for the sake of espionage or through blackmail? I just executed them all across the board with no worries about skill sets or political use? I didn't feel like stabilizing my thirteen colonies and using familiar well-respected figures to placate ruffled communities? I just happily created gobs of martyrs for a future insurrection?!"
The boy looked up at him curiously—eyes sliding away from Dream-England to focus on the the real one instead.
Arthur was breathing hard. "Yes. Let's say for one moment, that somehow there were no fatherly feelings involved for me whatsoever. As an Empire...as a bloody Empire who, as you often remind me, reaped the benefits of mercantilism...Yes...let's explore that. Mercantilism: where empires thrive off colonies through goods and money and trade. Which means they have to be successful, they have to be protected, they have to be sheltered from enemies and from the elements and have crops to eat to stay alive. If all the colonists are DEAD and all the towns are sacked and burnt to the ground! THEN YOU DON'T HAVE A COLONY ANYMORE! You have ravaged land and it'll be a fucking fortune to restore it!"
Alfred's jaw dropped and he shifted a little nervously.
Arthur's chest heaved and he ripped the door off its hinges, but to his shock...the prisoner's cell was empty!
"Alfred? Alfred!?" He called into the space.
His doppelganger grabbed his shoulder in a steely white gloved grip.
In no mood for him, Arthur shoved him away. "Don't touch me, you!"
It was the high pitch of the resulting "oof" that made England turn back around.
He blinked as he took in the crumpled form: his seven-year-old son groaned as he sat up; the adult-sized red coat dwarfed him.
Arthur stared. They...had both been Alfred...Some macabre version of role-playing?
Unsettled by the twist, and what it might mean for how Alfred viewed him, he crouched down in the mud beside the child and immediately set about helping the child out of the overlarge garment.
He was...just...so unsure...how to handle this. Was it a mockery? A morbid tribute of admiration? A fear that he'd grow up into a shade of his father and inherit the worst in him?
The child frowned up at him as his collar was straightened.
He made to help the child rise to his feet but Alfred pushed his hands away.
"Alfred?"
"You're ruining everything," Alfred grumbled.
He tried to ignore the jab and attempted to use humor to diffuse the situation. "I'm...spoiling your nightmare? Hmm? You're welcome?"
Angry blue eyes narrowed. "You don't get it. I need this!"
"I don't understand."
"It helps me focus!"
"Being terrified of me, helps you focus?"
Alfred crossed his arms. "I wasn't terrified. I was-was aware of how bad things could've turned out. And that-I have to be vigilant if I'm going to stay free."
Arthur's smile faded and he asked solemnly, "You think I want to take away your freedom?"
"Why wouldn't you? You never wanted me to have it!"
That 'England' was a defense mechanism then…
A wall...erected to keep him from trusting too much.
A deliberately made, psychological, bogeyman...a...a "Dreamsquisher" who exploited vulnerability in order to toughen Alfred up.
Maybe there was some small place for that in the grand scheme of things. If it kept Alfred from blurting tender secrets to untrustworthy adults.
But Arthur wasn't going to let his face be its mask anymore.
He crossed his arms. "O yes, not wanting to lose a young, inexperienced colony is the same as locking him up and delighting in ways to degrade him over his passion for liberty. Did you really believe I was going to snap my fingers-" He made the motion and the child flinched. "-and ever expect you to obey me like a dog?"
The child's mouth trembled, for that was often the terminology he used whenever they argued about obedience. "..."
Arthur continued. "You think your pain would thrill me? Enlighten me, boy, what in your experience of the past few months has led to this misconception?"
"..."
"By all means tell me. Because if it was so, I should be overdosed in ecstasy by now and instead my heart's in a waste disposer."
Alfred faltered. "...I don't...wanna...talk about this anymore…"
"I don't deny it would've been a very difficult transition for us. But I think you know...deep down…" He cupped the child's face, looked around their dismal surroundings, and then gazed steadily into the blue eyes. "It wouldn't have been like this…"
The boy glared at him stubbornly for several beats and then slowly, slowly, slowly lost his confrontational air.
Arthur had to endure a few more obstinate moments as he allowed Alfred's pride its space and then...the child leaned into the soft touch.
"I don't like how this complicates things though," the child muttered. "Stark as this is, at least this isn't muddied and confusi-"
"Whatever are you talking about? It's painfully simple."
The boy raised an eyebrow.
Arthur answered: "I love you. See? Simple. And I love money: equally simple. I would not have allowed any of this to spiral into such a stupid, melodramatic waste of funds-"
"And what about everyone else? You really think your army and the Crown would've just let me go? A willow whip to my knuckles and I'd be on my way?"
He wasn't going to make this easy, was he? Fine. "No."
"See!?" the boy cried out triumphantly.
"They'd want some fitting punishment and they'd probably scare you with harsh talk of it and then you'd probably cry-"
"Nuh-uh! I'm a rock!"
"-being the poor lamb you are and believing them. And I'd be furious and I'd create such a spectacle that your little outburst at Parliament last week would look like a soap bubble popping. And I'd take you to the countryside, probably Bath, and we'd argue and lose our tempers with one another, but eventually come to an understanding. And you'd tell me about that cannonball to your leg and...and I'd...probably do things to that person when I tracked them down. And we'd have learned of your magical maladies sooner and treated you then. I'd have fixed your grasp on spelling and language and life would go on."
"..."
"It always does." If there was anything England had learned through his long life, it was that.
"I'm s'posed to buy that!? Like-like, just like that, and it'd all be water under the bridge? And you wouldn't dredge it up to everybody at every dinner all the time or whenever you dr-"
Time to break this somber mood once and for all.
"I know, I know! I should be more strict. But I've such a soft spot for my Alfie!" Feeling rather wicked, he planted an affectionate, long lasting kiss to the child's cheek. "My sweet little Roanoke, who, even now, has trouble keeping his shoes on his feet like a big boy. I could never stay angr-"
The boy's face heated up and he pushed Arthur away spluttering in embarrassment. Thoroughly amused now, Arthur couldn't stop smiling.
Alfred was bright red as he pointed a finger. "You-you! I'm serious here! This is a bonafide nightmare and you're making light of it!"
He gestured around but, now that the narrative of the dream had been interrupted, the dream residents were just wandering around aimlessly. Some bumped into things. Arthur snorted.
"Father!" the boy admonished.
"I immediately resumed trade with you and protected you from Old World powers for years. What does that tell you?" He tucked a blonde lock of hair behind the child's ear. "My bark was worse than my bite by far-"
"I-I know that but-"
"And I decorated that room you're in, special. Just for you, pet. An interesting pastime for a British villain of liberty-hating-"
"Hey! Everybody knows villains can decorate! That's why they've got lairs. I just...but yeah...I-I know. I-I-I figured that out. Kirkland Manor has rooms for everybody and mine's just...over here. You've got blue and gold and white, and the woods's cherry. So...red. It's just...you downplayed the red. But you don't have any stars in it!"
"You want stars in your room?"
"Well, yeah." He tugged at Arthur's sleeve. "I'm...I'm...spangled, remember?"
"Then by Jove, we'll get you some." Arthur smiled and gave the little cheek a teasing poke. "And for the record, I do not flourish my hands like your evil admiral does when I gesture at things. France does. Poland does. Not me. I'm not flamboyant like that."
"...I don't think a dude in tights should be telling me he's not flamboyant. Nice lace, Ol' Man." He plucked at Arthur's collar.
"I was having an Elizabethan dream before I was shanghaied here! It was the style then! And the lines you gave Evil!Me were cliché. As was the delivery!"
"Geez. Everybody's a critic. Ugh, you remind me of a director I had. He never thought I could pull off a leading antagonist, either. Always made me Rosencrantz."
Arthur felt his lips twist. "...You wanted to be Claudius?"
"Stop smirking. I could've been great...stop it."
Arthur pulled the child close and pressed his cheek against the child's. "...My darling can be whatever he wants to be...He's a free country."
"Now, you're patronizing me."
"Yes. Now, I am. I fear you often can't tell the difference. Well dear, that's what it sounds like."
"There has GOT to be a way to evict people from your dreams."
Texas stretched his arms overhead. He walked his hands up the headboard until they met the wall. His elbows cracked and he relaxed.
His brother wasn't around which wasn't unusual—once Al got going, he could be a whirlwind.
He whistled as he checked his phone for the time (for some weird reason Al's room didn't have a clock) and found the day escaping him: It was nearly noon!
When he was showered and dressed, he scouted around for his brother and found him on the trampoline with Arthur.
The Briton was laying down with a pillow under his head while Alfred was using him as his own pillow.
They had matching Shakespeare books in hand and were reading aloud lines.
Alfred looked over and grinned. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty!" He wordlessly asked England to hold his copy of Hamlet.
"We have a third copy!" Alfred bounced over to the edge on his knees. "Someone has to be the girl!"
Tch. No gracias. "Think I'll pass."
North rushed by trying to tie on one shoe while walking, he had a folder with URGENT stamped across it...in his mouth.
"Reilley?" Arthur smirked as he called out. "We have a role which suits y-"
His Irish brother gave a one finger salute. When he straightened and removed the folder from his mouth, he griped, "Even if I wasn't extremely busy and important and on my way out. Alfie-boy's got the highest voice. He'd be the girl, that's how it went in the old days with Willie-"
He shut up after getting a dark look from Arthur.
Arthur's green eyes were dark as he shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, we needed someone highly dramatic and good at whining. Naturally, you sprang to mind."
Northern Ireland flushed with anger but before he could do much, Alistair (sporting an impressive bedhead) wandered in.
Well, at least Tex wasn't the only one who slept in. Plus, Tex was dressed.
"Yeh both are already fighting? I feel a wee bit left out." He dug his hand into a box of cereal.
This earned him consternation from all but the Americans. On their most desperate mornings they both took a handful of cereal and a deep gulp from their carton of milk, grabbed their keys and ran.
They were always careful not to tell Hawaii, if it happened while they were residing with her. The cereal part would be fine. It was the milk. She seemed to think they were germ factories and would spoil it with backwash.
Alistair cracked his neck. "So what's all this about?"
"I'm Claudius," Alfred explained. "And I need a Gertrude for this scene. Father's being Hamlet."
Tex was pretty sure Alistair was Alfred's hands-down-favorite-uncle and that he could've staked down that spot forever if he'd been willing to sacrifice some macho-ness. But it became clear as the seconds ticked by that he wasn't going to volunteer.
Alfred's cheeks puffed. "Do you think Rhys would do it?"
"Al...can I talk to you a minute?" Tex beckoned him back over.
"Huh? Uh, okay." He looked over his shoulder. "Dad! Find a Gertrude!"
Except getting to a private space ended up being hard. Every time they found a good one, one Kirkland or more would ruin it.
Finally, they ended up in a downright weird place.
"Dude, the light's gotta be on if I'm gonna make it."
Tex obliged and flicked the coat closet light switch. "Sooo, you and Art seem even cozier now. Am I missing something?"
Alfred got a rather bashful look and twisted the hem of his shirt. "Well, I kinda had one of my bad Revolutionary dreams…"
Tex winced; those usually got his brother down in the dumps. Except...he didn't seem too upset this go around.
"But Dad and I talked some stuff out! And...he wasn't weird about it like I thought he'd be and we're kinda...m-moving into a...pretty good spot, I think. I mean, it's not perfect and we've still got enough baggage to need several bellboys, but I think-"
"Al?! What part of 'watch yer back' did you take to mean 'gab more' to that guy?!"
"He's not just some guy! He's my father! He's..." He took a deep breath. "I think you're wrong."
"..."
"You can say 'I toldja so' later, but right now…" Alfred bit his lip.
Tex sighed and knelt down (which was hard to do cuz European closets were friggin' small) "If that's how you wanna play it, fine."
Blue eyes looked up at him pensively—worried that he was angry.
Maybe it was cuz Tex wasn't the scholarly type. Maybe his tumultuous childhood and the tyrants in charge of it got him used to being wrong. Maybe it was cuz America was always so goddamn optimistic and sometimes...sometimes, he did manage to pull off the impossible...that he never liked crushing the sparkle in those blue eyes.
And he'd held his tongue plenty of times before when America was rushing around preparing for a meeting here or across the Atlantic, wondering aloud if this would be the one where England would be impressed with him. His scientists had had another breakthrough in agriculture! He had a train that could reach from East to West! Wasn't the zipper a fascinating addition to fashion?!
Tex just...never felt the need to be "right," especially when it meant driving away someone he really cared for.
He opened his arms and Al rushed into the hug.
"But," Tex added as he gave his brother a squeeze. "I reserve the right to wallop him, if he hurts you."
Alfred's laugh was loud in his ear. "I'll give you that."
Texas pressed his face into his brother's shoulder and hoped his fears were stupid and wrong. That Al wasn't going too fast too soon, and giving Arthur too much credit.
But he was determined that if this thing did turn out to be one big, drawn out, disappointment...he'd be there. For Al's sake. And if that meant shutting up for the moment, so be it.
The brotherly bonding moment ended when Reilley abruptly opened the door to grab his coat and they accidentally gave him a scare.
"AAAAH! Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Get outta there, yeh muppets!"
Arthur bookmarked his copy of Hamlet. Following several scenes with Alfred, who had a lot of enthusiasm for his role but couldn't quite pin down the malevolence necessary for it, they decided to take a break.
The boy had sighed after they were finished: "I'm just not quite good enough, am I?"
If he were ranked among children, he would've been phenomenal (why, Arthur was already fantasizing about sending the boy into a few local pageants. They could say he was home schooled. Arthur could already see himself video-recording it and shushing all the parents around him when it was his angel's turn on stage.) Only...he knew the boy was asking England as a veteran thespian and lover of the arts and wanted to be compared with adults.
Arthur had deflected it by turning to his brother. "It's just practice, isn't it, Rhys?"
Rhys, who'd read steadily (if not passionately) as the Queen of Denmark, blushed a bit. And Arthur had to admit, he was improving. There was a time (not terribly long ago), when Rhys only read English in a monotone.
While the Americans volunteered to make lunch, Rhys pulled Arthur aside to relay the "critical information" he'd been wanting to share.
"Come again?" Arthur blinked. He had to have heard wrong.
Rhys stared at him and repeated. "Texas doesn't believe you will remain steadfast in your attentions. That you will lose interest in America which warrants emotional distance and caution. He's sabotaging you."
"Oh."
And Arthur thought back to that pivotal night in June when Texas showed him up...simply by being open, earnest, and affectionate. He knew he was Alfred's most trusted confidante...and he knew how to throw his weight when he wanted to.
Rhys's disapproval was noticeable in the restless way he crossed and uncrossed his arms. "He voiced a similar distrust of Spain. He said...er...and I quote that 'Spain has the attention span of a gnat' and that he'd soon grow bored of Texas as well. It was, well, it was a rather unkind sentiment-"
Green eyes widened. So it wasn't just aimed at him?
"It's clear he sees their situations as very similar and considering the way they've dealt with matters for the past few centuries...He is very reluctant to allow others into their circle. It is...troublesome but...understandable...but it's toxic for Alfred who's just begun opening up to us."
Rhys looked to him expectantly for a reaction.
Yes, he felt a spark of frustration at the new obstacle but…maybe "sabotage" was too strong a word for it.
Texas had seemed genuinely pleased that Arthur had undergone the "gauntlet" of the hex. He'd been surprisingly tolerant of his stay at the Americans' home in November. He had no real reservations about Alfred learning magic from his relatives.
What was changing it now? What threat loomed unnoticed? Why was he doubting-
Abruptly, he thought of Blue's poor flattened shape and he remembered bits and pieces of Antonio's admission of a bad death in Tex's childhood.
Failed…
They'd both endured fathers who failed them...
It was hard to be indignant when...the doubt likely stemmed from...fear…an enduring sense of caution when an authority figure swept in and claimed to be the needed hero of the moment.
In his years of abandonment, Alfred subsisted on noble tales of legendary heroes to guide him. Did Texas have even that? Or...was Alfred, vulnerable and fallible as he was, the one hero who'd stayed and proven himself?
Arthur had identified Texas as an emotional support for Alfred but...it was becoming clear Alfred served a similar purpose for his brother.
Arthur wasn't prepared for the wave of sympathy, but it crashed over him all the same.
He was seeing a shadow of his child in the other boy and a longtime witness to unhappy moments.
Times England had let America down flashed through his mind. And who were all those unpleasant interactions shared with? Someone who survived from another fractured household.
Arthur had very likely nursed a healthy skepticism in the Texan through the years. But how to convince him that he fully intended to be a better role model and a fixed feature of Alfred's life from now on? If there was ever a family member (aside from Alfred) whose blessing he needed to pursue custody...It was Texas.
And then there was the matter of Antonio!
It didn't seem fair to leave the man in the dark about his son's insecurities.
"Shall we confront Texas about it?" Rhys asked in a hushed tone.
"No...not yet. I...I need to think. I have to assure him that I..."
Rhys blinked and his head cocked ever so slightly. "You're...not angry?"
Arthur chuckled mirthlessly, because it was like he was suddenly understanding the young man, when the boy had never been a mystery. And he didn't have it in him to be angry not when...
"...Devoted as a dog..."
"...I showed him I was the same..."
Not when...it was such a sad, lonely way for the two boys to have bonded.
"That's the thing...he's...afraid...He's afraid I'm going to hurt Alfred...that I'm going to disappoint him."
"Arthur-"
He gave a self-deprecating smile. "You know? He isn't wrong. I'm afraid, too. I couldn't protect him from Osha or Yamasee. I couldn't protect him from that bodoach or the UnSeelies or-or-or that bloody car, I-"
His chest heaved with emotion.
"Arth-"
"And those were the simple things. Things you could see...things you could fight. They aren't...stupid things my stupid mouth said at the most stupid of times!" He threw his copy of Hamlet on the floor.
It should've been something that Rhys grasped his shoulder and gave him a slight shake.
Arthur shook his head.
He'd told himself repeatedly through the years that it had to be Alfred who initiated their reconciliation. But what would it have hurt to have taken him aside...at-at anytime! And told him anything!
'Come see me, I miss you.'
'I love you. Are you well?'
'I'm worried for you. It hurts me to see you ill cared for.'
'Have you somewhere safe to stay? If you're unwell, if you're injured, if you're near, come to me! Please don't shut me out.'
He put his head in his hands.
'You're right, pet. I don't have a picture of us on my desk. Let's fix that.'
He swallowed hard. "That's all it would've taken. That's all. Just a little fucking effort."
Rhys's fingers were digging into his arm.
And then...maybe things wouldn't have devolved to this. Where his child had nightmares about him that he thought of as "necessary" or where he thought being dehumanized was a tactical advantage.
While he was trying to sort himself out, Alfred shrilly called for them to help set the table.
Tex knew well that the first thing to do when ya found yourself in a hole...was to stop digging. But Al wasn't real good at that and now it was time for Big Brother to try and find a way to step in.
Blue eyes were flashing a neon S.O.S. sign to him.
Still. Let Al squirm a bit. Just a little bit.
Texas chewed his mouthful slowly while he glowered at his little brother.
Said brother made a point not to look directly at him again while he fiddled with his spoon and missed his bowl.
They'd made pigs-in-a-blanket with tomato soup, figuring it would be a warm, fun meal. Alfred began peeling the dough off one of his plate's "pigs" nervously.
They were supposed to have lunch, drop Arthur off at his session, loiter in the lobby for him, and then they'd run by the store to grab Al a new shirt and jeans to replace the printer-ruined ones.
At no point was Alfred cleared to spring their plan. That was an end of the trip thing to tell them. Something to mention on their last two days. That way...by the time the ol' folks were giving their advice, they'd be able to put an ocean between them and ignore it!
To make matters worse, the whole thing was goin' sideways. Instead of phrasing it like it was a two-person brotherly bonding trip that was penciled in the books-
"Northeast woodlands...I don't know," Arthur murmured. "What about you lot? I'd say April would be a fair time for me."
Al had gone and accidentally made it sound like an invitation!
"I do owe yeh a hunt. I did promise," Alistair shrugged as he tugged the newspaper away from Arthur.
"Hunt?" The paper fell away from Arthur's numb fingers.
God, he was so dramatic about guns. Tex was bringing his rifle, end of story. Though, maybe it was something else. The Brit had been kinda quiet till America blurted the trip at him.
"Let me text Eire," Rhys murmured as he pulled out his phone. "Lest he'll feel neglected."
"Ask him if he remembers where his rabbit snares are," Alistair added around a mouthful.
"Not the rabbits," Alfred whimpered.
"Nothing was agreed on about hunting, you violent Jock! This is a camping trip. It's going to be quiet and leisurely." Arthur looked to Alfred for confirmation.
"Um, well...it's supposed to be...nice…"
Arthur nodded. "Precisely. So no rabbits are to be harmed or you're dis-invited!"
Alfred released a breath of relief.
The Brit continued with, "It's not like we'll be living off the land, that would hardly be conducive to relaxing. We'll be well-stocked with provisions so we can better enjoy the scenery. You can't enjoy nature properly when you're competing with it for survival."
Rhys tapped at the screen. "Making allowances for seasonal climates and weather disruptions whilst being out of doors...spring or summer would probably be best-Oh, Reilley's asking if it's during Beltane's Day?"
There was a beat of silence and then a loud buzz of agreement between all the Kirklands. Nods and murmurs and comments of:
"That would be best-"
"Weather should be-"
"Popular time of year so-"
"Yes, there ought to be plenty of other campers-"
"We all usually take time off then anyway so-"
"...Beltane's?" Alfred wondered.
"May Day Laddie, and ach, we heard from Canada that depressing bit about you and a tether pole-"
Alfred pointed his spoon. "Wait a minute, you guys ALL celebrate May Day? And you never post any family pics?"
That spoiled the cheer of the previous minute like a sour note on Tex's guitar.
"W-well, it's usually...we….er...it's...separate...celebrating, poppet."
Alfred frowned. "But I thought you guys told me that magic practitioners do best when they cast and partake in rituals as a group?"
There was a lot of squirming at that.
"W-well, pet," Arthur forced a smile. "That's why we take care to spend Yule together."
"So...not the other ones…?"
Tex saw his chance and took it. "I think it's a damn good idea to know how to do it all by your lonesome. I mean, ya don't wanna be dependent if you don't have to be?"
Rhys looked more than a little ruffled. "You don't want to learn it wrong, either."
"Al's always been a DIY guy."
"It's different for us," Alistair argued. "We know all the ins and outs of it. The bairn still needs supervision. He's got one notch in his belt; when he reaches triple digits then he can go off to wherever the hell he pleases, but-"
"I'm just saying, this could be a good solo flight for Al. You guys could write it all down, we'll make a checklist. And we'll call you to let you know how it goes. I mean, Al had Yule with y'all and he's a quick study."
Tex refused to buckle under the weight of the U.K.'s disapproval. The Kirklands were staring him down hard.
Alistair's gray eyes narrowed. "The Clan decides when the train-y wheels come off."
Tex tried a disarming smile. "I mean, it's not that we don't wanna hang with y'all. It's just this...was s'posed to be a relaxing trip. Gettin' bossed around by your elders doesn't make for tranquility, if ya follow my drift?"
There were some guilty glances at that. They were probably assuming Al had vented to Tex about them which...he did...pretty regularly.
It didn't help that Al hissed: "Texas!"
"Maybe there ought to be some overlap?" Rhys proposed. "Time spent there before the holiday—getting settled. And then some more time afterward? The rituals aren't supposed to feel...bothersome."
Yeah, there was some heaviness in the air at that.
"Yule didn't feel like that!" Alfred reassured hastily. "I liked it a lot! It was fun and exciting and I-I-I really...and everyone was there and...food...and fun...would-would this be like that too?"
"Of course, it's a springtime celebration welcoming in the summer," Arthur explained.
"It's just hard having lessons sometimes," Alfred admitted—as if finally getting it that Texas was giving him a way out. Tex had been starting to worry he'd have to deliver a sharp kick to the shins.
The chatter died away as they leaned in to listen.
Alfred studied his spoon. "I...I'm not always good at the stuff...I don't like sucking and letting you all down."
"Now, laddie, you jus' don't get it, yet. What will make yeh suck at certain subjects is what'll make yeh gifted at others."
Alfred briefly made eye contact with Tex who mouthed, 'Pop the balloon slowly. Sloooooowly.' He mimed the action as well. Too fast and there be a bang! Had to let the air out slowly.
Tex snapped his mouth shut as Arthur turned his way suspiciously.
Tex shrugged his shoulders and twiddled his thumbs.
Arthur frowned and turned his sights back to Alfred. The limey sensed who was the weak link and he knew just what to say. He rested a hand over Alfred's which was nervously gouging at the table's edge with his fingernails: "All magic aside, I'd very much like to have some better memories of that wilderness. With you."
From the way America stiffened, Tex knew it'd been a reference to either the American Revolution or 1812 or both.
"I…"
Come on, Al, shut him down.
"...I…"
Ally? This is your last chance! If you wanna stop this before it gets outta hand-
"Dad…I..."
Al?!
"...would like that...too."
Tex resisted slapping a hand to his forehead. Barely.
Arthur smiled brightly. "Then it's settled. I'll move around a few things in my calendar. Get it approv-"
"What about your sessions? We don't wanna mess around with those," Tex interrupted.
Arthur frowned. "I'm sure I can attend by phone or screen. I already plan to do so next week when Math-"
"Yeah, but 'in person' is always best, right?" Tex pressed on. "Or at least being on the right landmass-"
Arthur was forcibly positive and upbeat as he grit his teeth, wrangled his temper, smiled and said: "I'll manage."
Eep. Tex sidled his chair further away.
The Briton held Alfred's hand and squeezed it. "Now, do you already have a park in mind, or shall we help you review them for the size of our company?"
"Um...I've got a few places but...it's not set in stone."
Way to lose your backbone, Al!
Arthur pet Al's hair fondly. "Well, I think it'll be a smashing trip. A good way for us all to relax. Such a brilliant idea, my clever boy."
Going, going, and gone.
Al went off the deep end with that praise and left his chair to hover at Arthur's elbow and chatter at 90 miles a minute about campfire marshmallows, and ghost stories, and coffee, and could he wear his cloak?
Texas shook his head. Well, this was gonna make things tricky as all get-out.
He was about to take a drink when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and realized Rhys was watching him like a hawk.
Well, that wasn't good.
Al grabbed his sleeve, "Big Bro! It'll be fun, right? We'll make it work?"
Desperation shone in those cornflower eyes.
Tex forced a smile. "O' course. Course we'll make it work."
Alfred sagged in relief and hugged him hard.
Tex held in a sigh, Heaven, Hell, or Bust. Here we come.
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