Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or The Enchanted Grouse and the Little Locked Box. Or Fatima's Deliverance. Or The Three Wondrous Fishes. Or Google. Or Skype.

Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Some drama, some fluff, some angsty stuff.

AN: Thank you for your reviews and your patience. I know it's been a while since I updated; in RL my work's been running me ragged. But it's my birthday and I'll post if I want to XDD

Chapter 17: Do That Voodoo You Do

Arthur began to pace. Where was his boy? He'd paused the lesson so Alfred wouldn't be left too far behind. He should've returned ages ago.

Rhys and Mathieu's conversation about magical safety had gone off on a tangent about gnomes. It was drowned out by his growing concern over Alfred's absence. When five minutes became fifteen became twenty, he decided to seek him out.

"I'll return," He announced shortly.

It really was fascinating how simple it was to track Alfred down now.

As their relationship continued to heal and their connection deepened, their bond became a brightly dyed yarn strand over snow—easy to follow. If Britannia had possessed a similar ability it explained why she could always find all her sons so easily when it was time to turn in for the night.

Arthur sighed. There were so many things he wished he could ask her. Tips she used to manage her magically gifted children. Signs she looked for on when to impart certain lessons. Ways she encouraged their different gifts. If she could handle four students of differing talents, alone...shouldn't Arthur be able to manage Alfred and Mathieu?

If only he could have had more years with her, he knew he'd be a far more powerful practitioner. That he'd have more to offer his children…

He just had to hope that with his brothers' aid, his instruction would be enough.

And that Alistair didn't ruthlessly exploit the moment to sabotage Arthur.

Alfred's signature led Arthur to the kitchen and his worry began to dissipate. It was very close to lunch; perhaps, Arthur should've had them break early or asked if the child was hungry.

Only…

He'd said he needed the loo.

Arthur frowned.

Now, that he thought about it. Alfred often used the loo as a means to escape, knowing that there were few who would question or delay him about it.

Aoife waved as Arthur entered, she gestured with an icing bag. "Watchin' my new favorite soap."

Arthur looked over and took in...some sort of cooking channel instruction gone wrong. The kitchen was a mess...no...the kitchen was disorganized...Spain...Spain was a mess.

"¿Por qué me haces esto?" A distraught Spain pleaded.

Good Lord, what in the world had happened?

Tex had a hand on his hip as he drawled. "Do I add the lemon juice, yet?"

A tentative Alfred was watching the spectacle with wide blue eyes. "Texxx…?"

Arthur frowned. Had Texas texted his brother to come down and support him during a fallout? But Antonio was desperate to mend ties with his offspring. It was hard to believe he'd jeopardize it for anything.

The Briton moved closer. Arthur couldn't understand everything his rival was saying, as he was talking very fast and seemed on the brink of hyperventilating, but—

"-estás perdido-"

It sounded along the lines of: You are lost and confused and I blame myself. A father should be a role model and the pillar of spirituality in his household. You suffered in my absence and went astray but—

"Estoy aquí por ti-"

"Welllllp, I'm headin' into a tunnel," Tex snapped and signed off—closing his laptop.

"Tex?!" Alfred's jaw dropped.

"What? You heard him. He was goin' loco." Tex shrugged as he stirred the contents of his saucepan.

"Bro...harsh."

"Hey, it was your bright idea to tell him."

"And it was your job to reassure him!" Alfred countered.

Tex stared. "What?"

Alfred fidgeted and his face colored. "Ya know, the whole 'it doesn't change our relationship' and 'we'll get through it together' and be supportive and communicate your needs and-"

"You're going to self-help sites, now?" Tex guessed.

"NO!...yes, I've been to...a couple. I just…I mean...I know this is...big and you guys are...eh...with your...backstory and...while Dad and I are, ya know. And we're really, yeah. And I want that for you."

Arthur frowned as he tried to decipher that. He needn't have bothered for Texas spelled it out.

"Al. We aren't gonna hold hands and frolic through a meadow like you and your dad."

Arthur eyebrows shot up. Alfred wanted his brother to enjoy a repaired bond with his own father. That Alfred was promoting it…

The room blurred a bit and Arthur felt sure his heart was fit to burst.

"...We don't frolic," Alfred pouted.

"Soooo you just...hold hands and walk through a meadow?" Texas sneered.

Alfred's cheeks puffed. "I don't think I like your tone and your disapproval of tall grassed fields. And no, genius, we haven't. It's not spring, yet. You can't frolic through snow. You can bound. But you can't— Dude, what's with you? You're so tense, lately. If you need time to decompress after your mission, I get it. Go. I'll cover for you."

"That's not…" The older boy lowered his voice. "Al...I need you to…"

"You need me to what?" Alfred snapped.

Texas glared hard at his brother as he gave his meal a vigorous stir. "To just…wake up and realize…"

"Realize what?! Texas? Tell me? Whatever it is. Dude, lay it out."

It was very possible that if Arthur had stayed silent he could've learned something valuable and yet…for the sake of Alfred's trust...the Englishman cleared his throat and made his presence known.

If Alfred wanted him to know more...Alfred would tell him.

Both boys jumped.

"Y-you-when?"

"Dad!?"

Arthur strode forward. "Is everything alright? You were gone for some time, and I thought it prudent to seek you out."

"We're peachy," Texas growled and he set his pan of food down hard.

Alfred looked away.

Arthur frowned and determinedly moved closer.

Alfred sighed. "It's nothing."

Arthur gently pet his child's hair.

Texas made a derisive sound.

"It's nothing, Dad." Alfred pushed his hand away and didn't make eye contact.

Arthur knelt down. "Al-"

"God! Give him some space. I swear you geezers are making us goddamn claustrophobic!"

Green eyes narrowed. "If something is wrong, I need to be informed immediately."

Alfred still wouldn't look at him. "I didn't realize we had to report to you, Admiral!"

Arthur flinched and leaned back and as he did so, he noticed a predatory grin on Texas's face.

Alfred sucked in a breath through his teeth, squared his shoulders, and looked ready to tack something more on but...

"Dad…just…" Alfred shook his head slightly and his eyes betrayed him—looking from him to Texas and then back.

Arthur's hurt dissipated. This was a show of bravado.

He turned to the one it was for. "Texas, are you alright? I don't pretend to know what that was all about just now but-"

"It's none of your damn business. We're dealing with it. Back off."

He would've been well within his rights to challenge such disrespect under his roof "..."

But…

Alfred pressed against his leg. "Hey...I think I'm...gonna finish up my lesson."

Texas straightened his hat. "Right. I'll Google the endgame of this recipe and see you in a bit."

"Kay...I love you."

That eased the teenager's shoulders and he smiled. "Love you too, Baby Bro. Have fun with your witchcrafting. Do that voodoo you do."

Alfred forced a lighthearted laugh and discreetly tugged Arthur's trouser leg—motioning for him to follow.

On the walk back to the classroom, Arthur watched his son closely. The child sighed and stopped. Arthur paused alongside him in the hallway.

Blue eyes stayed focused straight ahead. "I...I'm sorry Tex...talked to you...like that. I'll let him know that's not cool. He'll take it better if we're alone when I tell him."

"May I ask?"

"..."

Arthur nodded. "I understand, it's not my place. I'm simply...concerned for you both. I know...I...you two...don't like hearing that you're young. And I...I understand that it...it's difficult after...so much time apart to...to come forward for help from geezers like us when...when it's obvious that we've made tremendous mistakes. But...I want you to know that I am here. I am. And if Texas needs me to talk on his behalf to his father, I will. If that would be easier I can-"

"..." Alfred released a long, hard breath.

"I understand." Arthur grudgingly accepted that they needed privacy on the matter. "I think we'll finish the Powerpoint and reconvene later tonight. Take the afternoon off. Do something enjoyable. Perhaps we can-"

"I just want him to have what we have!" Alfred burst in low tones. "I dunno how to share it! I would if I could but I...I…"

Arthur knelt down and pulled him into a hug. Small arms wrapped around his neck.

"...I just want him to have...this" was breathed in Arthur's ear.

Arthur's hold tightened.

He'd call Antonio in a few hours. Give the man time to calm down and then ask him what the bloody hell he was thinking losing himself like that?! Didn't he want reconciliation?! Damnation! Didn't he want this?! Because Arthur had pined for this for so long. It was inconceivable that any father would pass it by.

"Wait!" Arthur commanded futilely as he tried to tie the child's scarf as the American rushed out the door.

"Snowman!"

"Now remember, 20 minute intervals!"

"Snowman!"

"And your gloves stay on. And if you're feet tingle, you let me know the moment-"

"Snowman!"

"Yes, yes, yes, we'll make one."

"Eeee!"

They gathered snow with Arthur forming the base and Alfred making the middle.

Lunch had been odd to say the least. Throughout the meal, Texas repeatedly turned down phone calls from his father and was unmoved when Mr. Gray mentioned the Spaniard's "palpable distress" on the line.

Unkind as it was, considering he'd been in the man's spot, Arthur found his sympathy for the other father eroded by disdain. Antonio needed to improve himself; his skills and his manner. He needed to better adapt himself to his child's needs and temperament.

"I just want him to have what we have!"

It replayed itself over and over. Each time shining light into far corners of his soul. While there was still much to improve in his opinion…the foundation! The foundation was stable at last! And knowing that granted him an inner strength. What had started as fragile hope was now steadfast conviction; not only would their bond heal but it'd be something strong and unshakable this time.

Being thus distracted by euphoria, it took him a while to realize Alistair and Rhys appeared to be quarreling. The Scotsman was so certain that their magic lessons were doomed that when he learnt that Alfred had cut out briefly, he seized upon it as proof of the American's disinterest. Which angered the Welshman (who'd painstakingly structured most of today's lesson to accommodate both students).

The argument widened with Reilley's entry and his desire to lead a lesson and how he railed against submitting a planned outline for review.

And Mathieu…

Mathieu was worryingly quiet. He'd thanked Texas for the meal and his mentors for today's class, but…

He turned down Arthur's invitation to afternoon snowman-building (before the sky darkened into another gloomy evening). Said he had a scheduled session over the phone with his counselor.

Texas, despite seeming less than enthused about the task, had been ready to join them in the elements except Hawaii had called.

Arthur looked around at the pristine landscape.

It was probably very uncomfortable for the Southwestern personification. Spain, despite having a few ski resorts and snow-capped mountains, wasn't that fond of the cold—often reveling in his Mediterranean climate and boasting about it to his rival. So England could only imagine his offspring (whose lands didn't experience snowfall at all) would feel.

Sure, he'd seen the teen engage in snowball fights with his younger brother. But it was the way he dashed in, huddled near an electric heater, and sighed a 'Hallelujah' for electricity whenever they finished, that bespoke his real feelings.

Arthur set the lower segments together and smiled at his boy, "You seem happy."

"I am!" Alfred grinned and dusted snow from his gloves.

That was good to hear. Arthur had been nigh desperate to restore his son's spirits after his reaction to Antonio and Texas's fallout. He had such a big heart. In a way...Arthur could almost understand now how the Hex had been useful to the boy. A big heart was a terrible target. A great glass thing...and yet...

Alfred glanced up at the sky and then at him.

And yet...

All that glass let in a wondrous amount of light.

Blue eyes sparkled.

Arthur chuckled. "And Texas told me you don't really like snow."

"I don't!" He affirmed cheerily.

Arthur stared. "W-well then, we don't need to be out-"

"Roll the head, you're good at making it round."

"Alfred-"

"Doooo it. Please?"

Arthur warily did as commanded—setting the head with the practiced ease of countless other winters. "Sweet. If you don't like being out here-"

"Up!"

"Huh?"

Alfred held his arms up and while not much of his face was visible (Arthur might have gone overboard in bundling him up) what flesh he could see was pink.

He obligingly set the child on his hip.

"I brought this over special." Alfred fished out a small rough bag from his coat. He reached in for odds and ends to decorate the face. "Tex and I...we use a lot of the pieces each year..."

"I see he inherited the family eyebrows." Rectangular magnets were serving the role well.

Alfred giggled hard and nodded.

"Still, he makes a rather stern fellow, are you certain we don't want to give him a smile and soften that countenance…?" Arthur blinked. Wait a tic. Those eyes. Those bright silver ey-those weren't cheap buttons!

"My cufflinks!" He exclaimed—digging them out with his fingers. "Alfred, these are my cufflinks."

And they'd been missing for over two centuries.

"Yeah, they always make good eyes. Tex and I-"

"Nononono. These are Daddy's cufflinks. And they're solid silver." He frowned. "We don't just leave such things in a snowman's face!"

Blue eyes stared through the gap between hood and scarf. "Why not? You didn't want them anymore. You left 'em. You never asked for 'em back. I'm surprised you even recognize them...I'm sure you've got gobs. You gouged out his eyes...put 'em back."

Arthur frowned. Like he'd forget these! These were a special pair Alfred had "helped" Arthur pick out in the early 1700s as his Christmas present to his father.

"There! Those! You must have them." The toddler's breath fogged the jeweler's case.

"O must I?"

"For Chwissmas."

"Perhaps another year, dear." When his finances were steadier.

"But I want to give you something good!" The child pouted.

"Aw, but how will you afford me? I seem so expensive." Arthur was touched at the sentiment; but winced at the price. A few handkerchiefs would be far more practical and if Alfred sang one of his adorable songs for him, his holiday would be complete.

The toddler frowned hard in concentration "...maybe...a twade?"

Thoroughly amused now, and curious as to what his babe would consider worthy of the cufflinks, Arthur nuzzled their noses. "What will you trade with the merchant?"

"...I have a mouse."

"Er. Wot?"

"I have a mouse. I found him earlier when you were dewivering your papers at the hall." Sure enough he pulled the vermin from his coat's pocket. "He's fwiendly and he wants to be warm."

"Good God!"

The clerk was similarly distressed.

"Daddy, hush, you will fwighten him."

He ended up buying the cufflinks more as a peace offering to the jeweler for such a scene and its risk of infestation and as they walked home, he and his child had a very thorough conversation about what animal friends Alfred was allowed to keep.

He opened his mouth to scold but...

"You left 'em behind…"

You left me behind…

"Tex and I…"

Texas and I...

We use these castoffs...because we, too, were left behind...

Arthur's hand tightened around the old gift. "I would very much like them back, please."

Alfred sighed "...kay" and the child dug deeper into his bag and pulled out two wooden buttons. "His eyes aren't gonna be the same size though...now…"

Arthur slipped his cufflinks into a zippable pocket on his sleeve. "In fact, if there are any more items of mine, in your storage. I should like to take a look."

Alfred's mouth twisted a bit as he nodded and then handed over the bag.

When the shock passed, Arthur abruptly sat down in the snow, uncaring of the cold that began seeping into his clothes. He was far too intent on seeing what other treasures Alfred was content to toss around without so much as a mention.

The child moved off his lap, but Arthur snaked an arm around him to keep him close.

Alfred sighed again and leaned into his side.

Arthur found quill nibs, a rusty chain, some more buttons, antique safety pins, a gear, two brooches that would be worth mentioning to Antonio, and…

And...

"Oh!" He felt such a rush of emotion. "O, I thought I lost this." He murmured as he kissed the portrait miniature. "I thought it was gone forever."

Alfred fidgeted. "It...it fell through the floorboards...when, we were renovating the cabin...I found it."

"When did you renovate?" Arthur demanded.

"Um...uh, it was the first time so...70s?"

Arthur nodded. "1970s?"

"Er, no. 1870s."

"...You've had it this whole time!?" He kissed the small circular pendant again and slipped it into his inner pocket and for a moment just held it against his breast.

It was the first painting he'd had commissioned of Alfred. His cherubic toddler against a soft blue background that brought out his eyes. And he'd carried it everywhere until their falling out.

It was such an established piece of his wardrobe, often residing safely in his inner pockets, that by the time he'd discovered it missing...he had to accept that it could've been anywhere on the East Coast. The loss took on a metaphorical meaning and the bitterness it sowed...

"Yes…" He repeated. "I very much need to see what other treasures of mine you still have in your home."

Alfred pushed off against him and marched a few paces in the snow. He began compulsively straightening his coat.

"Alfred?"

"Okay, alright. But…" He pointed a finger. "You can't get mad if they're not in tiptop shape, okay?"

"...alright. That's alright."

Arthur checked his watch. A few minutes more and then they'd head inside for a reprieve. He was taking no chances; the last thing he wanted was for Alfred to fall ill or suffer frostbite. And he desperately wanted another look at the pendant. If it needed touching up, he'd ask Wales to contact a refurbishing artist in Beddgelert.

"Pet, I have my phone. Do you want me to take a picture of you with...what shall we name him?" He looked the snowman over. Yes...there was quite a...discrepancy in eye size now. "Mr. Buttons?" He looked around. "Love?"

Alone.

It was hard pressing down that instinctive squeeze of panic. Children could move out of sight so fast.

"Alfred?"

He heard laughter. He moved toward it and around the blind corner of the house.

Alfred was at the edge of the pond, making silly faces at the Asrai, who was happily making them back beneath the ice.

Arthur released a shuddery breath and approached. It was tough work swallowing down the habitual stern 'Don't run off.' Alfred was a unique case because...he had been allowed free reign to wander wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, for so very long. And he was such an independent boy, if Arthur came on too strongly...was too authoritarian…it would sound like Arthur wanted him to ask "permission."

When all he wanted, was some kernel of courtesy; a tug on the trouser leg and a pointing hand and a "Father, I'm going over there. I'll be safe."

He had to go at it from a different angle; perhaps...make it about feelings instead. Alfred had been more open to that avenue as of late.

"I worried when I didn't see you," Arthur murmured softly.

"Oh…" The child looked at him blankly like he still had trouble reconciling the inverse relationship his vanishing and Arthur's blood pressure had with each other. "I...I came over here. I was wondering about the ice. Can we go ice skating? You said-you-you said at Thanksgiving that-that we could. Could we?"

"Alfred, if you don't enjoy being out of doors in this weather, I can't imagine why you would force yourself-"

"I don't...hate it. I just…" He looked hard at Arthur as if willing him to know the reason without his needing to say it.

"Alfie…"

He didn't need the child to prove his affection by enduring something he disliked.

Alfred crossed his arms. "Can we skate, or not?"

Arthur looked over the frozen body of water and frowned. "I don't know, Sweet. Alistair and I would need to check it over."

He'd ask his brother the next day. He was not quite willing to give this one over to the Scotsman. Once his brother entered the picture, he'd likely find himself pushed to the eaves. The brute could handle cold well and would be able to romp through the snow with more ease and grace than Arthur could manage.

Building snowmen would lose its appeal, when sledding and snowball fighting became options. Because if Alfred was willing to suffer snow for bonding time with Arthur, there was no telling what he'd do to impress Alistair.

"It seems okay."

Arthur choked as he noticed the boy standing on the ice bold as brass! "Alfred!"

To his horror, the child jumped. "See? Nothing."

Arthur sucked in air, squashed down his fear and anger, and gripped the child gently (but firmly) under the armpits and lifted him off.

He set the little one back on the bank beside him.

Alfred pouted. "It's safe! Where do you keep the skates? You've gotta have some. You're, like, prepared for everything!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"The ice is solid enough. It is!" He insisted. "It's fine."

Without breaking eye contact, Arthur set one foot down.

CRACK.

And he immediately moved it away.

Big blue eyes widened to the size of saucers. "...oops. My bad."

Arthur sighed. "Please, trust in me or Alistair to tell you when it's safe."

He received a rather subdued, "Yes. I just wanted to play with Door."

"Dŵr?"

"That's what I said."

"Dŵr."

"Do-er?"

Arthur's lips twitched in a smile. "That...that's...a very admirable try."

Before Alfred could try again, Arthur's watch beeped.

"Awww."

"Awww?" Arthur echoed in mock scandal. "I thought you wanted peppermint hot cocoa and ginger snaps and all manner of tooth-rotting delicacies?"

A little mittened hand snatched at his and began tugging him back towards the house.

"Bye Do-er! Dad and I got stuff to do!"

The water sprite waved before descending out of sight.

Arthur shook his head.

"C'mon, Dad! This is the point! You get cold so you can get warmed up with cocoa! It's, like, the best part! And then we can read! And the fireplace! O! And the chair! And c'mon, come ooooon-"

Arthur smiled.

Alfred watched his father take laps around the library—selecting titles.

"I want the best!" Alfred called out as he sat on the table with his legs swinging excitedly. "I want-I want a pile as tall as me!"

"Doesn't sound too challenging," Arthur called over his shoulder, his green eyes were bright.

Alfred's cheeks puffed. "As tall as I used to be!"

Arthur laughed and continued along. Soon the table was being covered in fairy tales from all over the world. Once they gathered them all, Alfred was determined to carry as many as he could upstairs to the rocking chair and Mr. Gray would bring them the much anticipated cocoa.

"How about The Enchanted Grouse and the Little Locked Box?" Arthur asked.

"Yes!"

"Fatima's Deliverance?"

"Yes!

"And The Three Wondrous Fishes?"

"Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes! All of 'em!"

Arthur laughed and lifted him up for a spin before setting him down.

The quest for stories gave way to a game of chase.

Now this was what holidays were s'posed to be like! His cheeks were starting to ache from grinning.

He almost cornered the man, but Arthur doubled back and hopped over a chair. Maybe it was cuz Dad was usually so dignified, that seeing him break all sorts of house rules in the name of fun just tickled him.

The only bad part was that laughing so hard was getting Alfred out of breath.

Wow, maybe he really did need some kind of exercise regimen.

As the bookshelves whirred past while he ran, the grandfather clock began to ring, and Alfred got gooseflesh.

"Alfred? You won't catch me at that pace!"

He turned and tried to pursue him but...his pulse started to race.

There was smoke in the air. People running past. The laughter of unwelcome diners in his hall.

Abruptly, Alfred stopped and stared up at his and Arthur's old painting.

Father...

Alfred hung the painting in Father's room. It took him a few attempts to center it correctly upon the wall. He eyed the chandelier hanging in the Master Bedroom. Why, with some lavish drapes, he may yet reach the level of opulence the Empire was growing so accustomed to.

Just imagining his father's delight that he managed it, made him smile. He'd deliver the key when next they met.

While he was distracted, his father snuck tickling fingers at his neck.

Only, instead of eliciting giggles, Alfred felt a harsh flash of alarm as the vulnerable spot was touched.

He was slammed against the wall by the neck. "Are you? Are you truly?!"

There was no give in the hand's harsh grip. It pressed hard against his adam's apple and made him gag.

And he tripped over his feet and backed up hard into bookshelves—causing a few titles to fall to the floor.

Not all of the books landed in the crates and trunks and at this point he no longer cared.

He no longer cared.

He no longer cared.

...no longer cared because...

"Alfred, dearheart, what's wrong?"

A flash flood of terror swept through him and he turned his face up to look at Arthur and find some kind of relief but—

They may as well have been on the battlefield.

Unbidden a voice echoed in his ears with a dreadful certainty: "You'll never best him with a sword."

"Never…"

And he'd never needed to before this moment. Because he'd never really thought it could come to pass.

He'd been so certain.

So very certain.

They cursed him for the fool he was.

And there was no pity anywhere to be had.

"I'm doing all that I can..." He mumbled.

"Are you? Are you truly?!"

"Alfred? Alfred! Sweet, tell Daddy what's-"

"What more can I...give…?" Alfred asked.

"Alfred?!"

"These men have given all they had and more..."

Alfred reached out blindly for something, someone, to catch him.

"Are yeh sure ya know what yer doin'?" The old man asked from the darkness. He almost sounded afraid, "What yer askin' me for?"

Alfred knew exactly what he was asking. And he knew what he desperately needed: Courage. To follow through. To do what must be done. For his nation. For his people. For himself. And for them too. He'd pay the hideous price and finally be free. They all would.

"My soul enters a Winter from which I will not escape. This, I accept. For them all, I submit. For myself, I only ask…that my Heart forgets Spring. Make me forget."

"Breathe! You must breathe! You must! In, two, three! Out, two, three!"

Breathe?

Ever since the war started, it felt like he'd stopped breathing. That he was waiting for a moment where he could start again.

"Go to your Father, throw yehself on his mercy. He might be able to shield you from most of it."

His mercy?

Ha!

His mercy was like his love...it was like all the air in this here room...it was gone. Smoke spiralled out into the night.

Throw yourself on a nonexistent mercy?

Grovel for that which wouldn't be given?

Never.

With every heartbeat the room flickered between where he was and where he had been that fateful night as D.C. burned.

BANG!

And he was falling...falling...falling…

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