Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Netflix. Or Facebook.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Deliberate use of Hermano rather than Hermana for dramatic, comedic effect. More fluff, more drama, and of course, more angst. Texas being Texas. Awkward phone call, Rhys FTW as operator.
AN: : DDD Happy Solar Eclipse! Be careful as you...stare at the sun, this day. Thank you for your reviews, they keep me excited to write this. Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 18: Knee Deep In It Now
Alfred stared dully at Father's room. He had done so much to make it comfortable. He looked over the ornate furnishings, at the overpriced rug, at the polished floor. He briefly rested a hand against his bandaged chest. Even two weeks later, he could scarcely believe…
The wound throbbed.
He understood when they fought to repel him from invading Canada's lands but…
On his own soil...and when he'd been so outnumbered…
Had it truly been necessary for Uncle Rhys to…
He touched the healing spot again. Harder this time, as if rebuking the weakened area.
He thought of harp melodies and moonlit dances and whimsical stories and palm reading and soothing walks through forests and fields...all amounting to nothing.
Blood stained the tips of his white gloved fingers.
If being family wasn't enough…
He looked around the room again—his gaze sliding over the trimmings to the crystal chandelier to the flag by the window.
His best things. The best his labor and his finances and his hopes could secure. And his best seemed cheap then. His best was nothing compared to villas and manors and castles an ocean away. And what an idiot he'd been to think otherwise.
Everything seemed small. Vulgar. Breakable. Arranged. Like he was standing in a crude dollhouse of his own design playing out an afternoon's whimsy.
Deluding himself.
If being family wasn't enough...
It begat a horrible creeping dread; a realization he wished never to undertake or understand. One that made the future yawn forth like a terrible chasm.
One that made his soul tremble and his heart…
His heart...which he'd always cast so much faith in…
Depended on for its steadiness and reveled in its strength…
Faltered…
As it never had before.
"...To me…"
What? America thought distractedly.
"Come back to me."
And where was that?
"Alfred, come back to me...Please."
He was given a hard shake and began coughing. It came again and startled him into sucking in a rough breath.
"Good. Come now, breathe again." Came a familiar, stern voice.
He wearily opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the ceiling, cradled in Arthur's arms.
Green eyes were wide with worry and unblinkingly fixed on him and his voice was as hard as his hold was soft.
"Breathe" was the imperious order.
Alfred tried to reassure that the moment had passed and he was okay now but...totally coughed right in his face instead.
Arthur didn't react. "Now in, two, three. Out two, three, good. That's a good lad."
Rhys's face came into view, "I came as soon as I sensed-Is he alright?"
"I've texted Katherine," was Arthur's terse reply.
"Good."
"Do you think you can calm him?" Arthur asked.
"I can try."
"Help him. If you can help him, help him. Please, help. Please-"
"Albion-"
"Anything, if there's anything you can do to-"
Alfred blinked sluggishly; his emotions. His emotions had gotten the better of him. He needed to manage them. He envisioned ice freezing blooms of pain before they could flower.
"No chwb."
Alfred stared up into hazel eyes.
"We're not handling it that way."
Instead, his pains and fears were spread out like puzzle pieces on a floor.
"Do you remember what caused this?"
"...I-I-"
"Shhh. It's alright. Just breathe." And Arthur started counting again.
"-B-b-but-" It was the job of the hero to alleviate panic...not instigate it.
"NO. Your job, your only job right now: is breathing. So breathe." Rhys commanded. "Answer me in here." He tapped his head in demonstration "Or better, answer me. Here." He rested his hand over Alfred's heart.
It was startling when more of Rhys's spirit? Aura? Magic? Settled over him.
Neither warm nor cool...just weight that wrapped around him...and kept him together.
"Why are you nervous?"
He thought of the burning building. The aggressive man who'd choked him. The uncertainty and the chaos and the feeling of being alone to face it all.
"I see. Why are you sad?"
That caught him off guard; and he realized Rhys was picking out the emotions to examine them...like puzzle pieces, like elements of a bouquet, like petri dishes.
That one was hard to explain.
"Try, chwb."
There was the sadness of being at odds with his family…
Of letting them, his people, his government...down...
And it shifted into bitterness at places but then…
There was that feeling at the library….
He shivered; that was something else, something more, something scary.
It was related to the hollow feeling he'd started to get in Father's room but a trillion times worse...charged with...something...
It startled him when Rhys touched his face and brushed away a tear.
"I'm sorry. I would never want you to feel that…"
Blue eyes widened. He knew! He knew what those feelings were! That filled him with hope; this wasn't uncharted territory. Rhys knew it. Maybe it was like magic, maybe if Alfred had their names, he could have power over them!
Rhys took his hand.
He looked at the man expectantly.
"The lesser is Disillusionment. And the other…" His eyebrows drew together. "The other is…"
"S'the...bad one," Alfred whispered helpfully.
Something flitted across his uncle's face before he composed himself and squeezed Alfred's hand. "Yes. Quite right. It's Despair."
Despair?
Despair…
He'd read about it in countless books but it never seemed to last more than half a chapter for protagonists. He'd seen it in the eyes of soldiers who wouldn't march on with the rest of them; who sat and waited for oblivion. He heard it often in conversation because people, especially eloquent ones, bandied it about wantonly. Because it rolled off the tongue so well...
But he was the Hero…
Heroes could be realistic; they could accept when situations called for the ultimate price or when retreat was vital. They could be disappointed or wistful or bitter.
But…
Despair.
They weren't supposed to really feel that one. They could be discouraged. That usually made for a dramatic moment in the storylines of stage plays but...they always had to find their nerve. For the sake of the story and the audience! Otherwise they bowed out of the plot and that was lame.
Still, it was such a surprise revelation; he found himself prodding at it like a child with a stick. Because (terrible as it was) it was something wholly new and that was fascinating.
When his breathing sounded more regular and less...like wheezy rattles of oncoming death, Arthur carried him upstairs.
Stationed in the middle of Arthur's bed, watching Mr. Gray pacing the floor at the foot of it, gave Alfred unpleasant flashbacks to his previous visit.
Only this time, Arthur and Rhys were seated in chairs on either side of the bed.
"I...I'm feeling...better now." He half-lied, because technically, he was. Just not by that much. "You can...call her off."
"Absolutely not," Arthur replied seriously. He gripped the arms of his chair tightly.
Alfred turned on his side to face him and was amazed at how much effort that took. It also made him hella woozy and even shakier.
Arthur reached over and maneuvered him back into his original position (which admittedly was better). But that wasn't what he really wanted.
He seized one of Arthur's his arms, but couldn't muster up a lot of strength; dammit, he had a bad case of jellyfish arms.
Arthur humored him anyway; he moved from sitting in the chair to sitting with him and let Alfred rest his head on his lap.
That was what he was after. He sighed contentedly as Arthur threaded his fingers through his hair. Which probably wasn't too fun to do as, Alfred belatedly realized, he'd suffered a serious cold sweat during the whole incident and was clammy and gross.
He plucked at his shirt.
His father interpreted his need. "Mr. Gray? Could you fetch Alfred a change of clothes from the next room?"
"Of course."
But their tones!
Geez. Like this was a life and death military operation. How seriously they were taking this made him feel embarrassed.
Arthur helped him change into pajamas and kept him from falling flat on his face.
He was just so damn shaky.
He wanted to be upset at it (He was an ace gunfighter, he was supposed to have control!) but Arthur's soothing hands didn't let his ball into fists. And eventually the soft words and ministrations led him down into a doze.
He woke up when something wet landed on his face and he watched with an almost morbid fascination as Arthur's shoulders shook.
Rhys was saying something and Arthur nodded.
Alfred determinedly reached up.
Arthur was understandably bewildered but when he realized what the clumsy hands were trying to do, he kissed the fingers and then set Alfred's hands back down to rest comfortably.
"Shh. Just rest, love."
Alfred frowned.
"Please, just rest." His hands were given a warm squeeze.
Some time later, Mr. Gray brought up a glass of water for Alfred and then...stayed as Katherine arrived to examine him.
He felt lame as he read the small print on her name tag. She was an RN or GP, or whatever they called it here, from a medical center nearby. His episode and whatever ties that bound her to the Kirkland Estate dragged her out here to answer Arthur's emergency call rather than stay with humans who really needed her services.
She checked his pulse, his ears, nose, and throat as she asked, "Another fainting spell?"
"Yes. Along with breathing difficulties," Arthur added from his vigil in the chair beside the bed. He'd moved back there when the woman arrived. "He had one a few months back. I haven't ruled out asthma."
The woman hmm'ed at that, tucked a short strand of brown hair behind her ear, and continued looking Alfred over.
Arthur helped him sit up and the woman pressed a cold stethoscope to Alfred's back.
"Now you had in his file, that he has a history of recurrent pneumonia." She moved the stethoscope to different places. "There could be scarring and sensitivity and he'll have a special susceptibility to the illness for the rest of his li-."
"Yes, I know. I'm…" Arthur swallowed hard. "I'm deeply concerned."
"S-sss'not that," Alfred grumbled. Damn. He was still breathless. But it wasn't the onset of pneumonia.
"Alfred, are you nervous? Your heartbeat's very fast." Katherine asked.
"...y-yes," He admitted.
The scent of smoke and ash still lingered in his nose and his heart still hurt from... and now that Arthur had moved away...he swore he saw flecks of embers.
Arthur's brows furrowed tightly together and he gently pulled at Alfred to get him to lie back down and patted his hand soothingly.
There was something so tragic in the old man's expression that it riled him up.
"D-dude, I...I'm not...dying!" I'm freaking out, but I'm not dying.
"Of course not!" It was snapped so fiercely it seemed like Arthur wouldn't even allow for the possibility, like swatting a basketball away from the hoop with so much gusto it went sailing out of bounds.
"Is there a tightness in your chest? Any wheezing?" She asked.
"Listen! It's not...physical...All...all of 'em ARE related! What...what Arthur's remembering, and what you helped me with earlier, and what happened now...they're all..."
All the adults leaned in.
"It's whenever I start remembering the sacking...of D.C." Except that now...it was expanding outward to moments leading up to it.
Arthur lips pursed together and he nodded.
She shared a look with the Briton and nodded slowly. "It's likely some manner of stress reaction. PTSD can manifest itself in episodes like—"
"Yeah," Alfred nodded reluctantly. "That's what I'm…" It matched up with website symptoms. "It's the fire...it's...the fire in the library...it's...the bookcases...it's...the bookcases they...remind me of...that's why I seldom decorate with those...that library...Without the hex...I have to remember..."
For a brief moment he saw the library around him and the most irrepressible sense of terror and thrill and-and-something-something else-so great and terrible and overwhelming as it crashed over him—
DESPAIR.
He gasped in horror and Arthur's arms snaked around him and the feeling stole away like a shadow.
"Shhh. It's alright. I'm here" was whispered in his ear several times.
To his surprise he'd noticed, Rhys had left his chair as well, and the bed was dipping down with the weight of two adults on either side of him.
Katherine watched him solemnly. "I can get a list of professionals for you to discuss 1812 with and a psychiatrist may be able to prescribe you some medication to-"
"No. I don't wanna talk to them!" Alfred hissed—upset that this whole thing was happening to him and he couldn't man up and shake it off.
Arthur laid down on the bed beside him—draping an arm over him. "Who would you like to talk to, Sweet?"
"Nobody! I just wanna remember! I just wanna remember so it'll stop! It's in the way." He could feel it! It was blocking him from something important. "I wanna remember...so I can remember the other stuff...for you."
Because that other stuff...made Arthur happy...
Green eyes widened. "No. Nononono. If it causes you pain, then No. No, I don't want you to-"
Alfred felt more than a little dismayed at the abrupt turnabout; months ago, every little fragment had delighted Arthur. Now he'd gone a greenish gray.
What about all he'd said about sharing the sad stuff, so Arthur could tell him the happy stuff?
"But-I thought...that's….what you wanted for me?" Alfred stated, feeling at a loss.
"I want you to be healthy, safe, and happy. That's all," Arthur stated. "That's all."
Ugh. He was so fickle.
"I don't get it. The hex is gone, right? Why is it...so hard to remember now?"
"The mind tries to protect itself." Katherine supplied. "It might even have reason to keep you away until it deems you ready. Therapy sessions-"
"I SAID NO!" Alfred hissed and his nose wrinkled. "Don't make me repeat myself again!"
The woman's gray eyes widened.
Arthur sighed and then murmured his name.
Embarrassed, overwrought, and not quite willing to take responsibility, Alfred muttered, "...this is your fault…"
Arthur's face wore a ghost of a smile. "How do you figure?"
"You never show me any kind of deference, so your people don't either."
"Aha, is that what I'm supposed to do? Because….? Wot? GDP? Military Strength? Science? Wot?"
Because he was a hero...though Arthur hardly ever acknowledged it...and that was...a huge problem…
Feeling vindictive at the slight, he struck back. "...I want my own room." Where he could throw them all out.
"Do you really?" Arthur arched an eyebrow.
No. He was still uberly creeped out by his misadventures with Grym and what could've happened to him if he hadn't been so close to Arthur during the holiday. The monster would've kidnapped him easy...but…but his pride!
"Y-yes!" He lied and sniffled.
Arthur thumbed a tear away. "Is that because you truly want a separate room, or because you're angry with me right now?"
When nothing intelligent came out of his mouth...heck nothing that could even qualify as English came out...Arthur nodded knowingly. "I see. Katherine, you can leave us for now. I won't subject you to this. You can come back to check on him when he's more agreeable."
Her eyes were on Arthur. "I didn't mean to overstep-"
"You've simply tread on a sensitive nerve."
"Don't speak over me like I'm not here!" Alfred howled.
"Shhhhhh."
"No!"
"Dearheart, please-"
"No!"
The nurse left the room. The butler, however, stayed. And it hurt that he now looked even more concerned, "Sirs?"
"Just a little temper tantrum," Arthur remarked. "He's overtired and distraught."
Alfred was sure his blood was boiling following that dismissive comment. He had half a mind to shove the man off the bed hard enough to send him several feet. But when he moved his arms, Arthur simply intercepted them and used them to pull him into his lap so he could rock him.
Arthur chuckled tiredly, "Don't think I didn't sense that. You naughty thing."
"Don't laugh at me," Dammit his voice cracked and the room blurred.
Arthur sobered. "Never. You're hurting. And I know you're private. She's left. It's simply me, Gray, and Rhys. And I'm certain if you wish it, they-"
"S'not fair."
"Son-"
"No, I mean. I...you changed sides!" He whined. "First, you wanted me to remember and NOW, you don't. You-"
"I want you to remember if YOU want to remember-"
"I wished it! I want things to make sense! I want...I want...the puzzle to click and..."
"I know, Love." He was held tightly.
"Order. If there was...some kind of order or reason..." Even if it hurt...
"Hmm."
Arthur didn't talk for a while after that, just pet Alfred's hair and made soothing sounds. Rhys rubbed his shoulder down to his wrist and back up to his shoulder, again and again.
He lost track of time as he decompressed.
It was kinda...weird...usually a flurry of activity like angry cleaning or visiting a gun range calmed him down. But this...this worked too.
"I lost my temper," Alfred noted miserably. "She probably doesn't like me anymore."
Arthur gave a small smile and shrugged, "I'm certain that isn't so."
"Indeed, Master Alfred."
They both turned to look at Mr. Gray, who didn't quite make eye contact as he declared. "It may be impertinent to suggest this, but I daresay you flatter yourself if you believe that to have been a 'fit of temper' in this household."
Arthur's eyebrows twitched and his voice hardened. "Oh?"
Alfred snorted and rubbed his face against his arm. "Thanks. Though...I'm sure you'll agree my vine-tastic display last December has to rank pretty high on your top ten of freakouts-"
To his surprise, they all argued against that—stating that Grym and the UnSeelies were to blame and that Alfred's reaction was understandable.
"You were being manipulated," Arthur insisted. What he didn't say, and what Alfred knew now...it just wasn't by him.
Alfred turned to the butler. "Can you give Katherine my apologies? I think I can do the check up now without being a jerk."
The man's face softened. "Of course."
Arthur ought to draw the boy a bath; a nice bath always helped and a cuppa. But since Alfred didn't like tea, a bath would have to suffice. He'd make sure there was an absurd amount of bubbles and toys and...if he wanted music or candles or squirt guns or whatever…
Afterwards, he'd see to it the boy got his cocoa and stories and whatever else he wanted.
Whatever he wanted…
Just wanted to smother him with affection until all negative feelings were stamped out.
Despair…
Learnt during the War of 1812 and at such a tender age…
Damnation. He swallowed down the lump in his throat.
And then his thoughts circled back and he remembered the fine afternoon they'd had until this point. It was all the more painful for how happy they'd been just before. Arthur couldn't help but wonder if it was some last sputter of the Hex...punishing them for daring to find joy in each other's company.
Except, if what Alfred had said was true, that the library was a trigger, it explained his bizarre method of organizing books into piles; he was keeping his living spaces from resembling the library.
God, it was so awful. He'd seen his boy go pale and then white and then gray.
Thankfully, he'd been close when the child crumpled and he kept him from hitting the hard edge of a chair arm. But then he'd suffered breathing problems which just...frightened England. Returned him to the trenches where New Zealand was suffering from mustard gas and he had to carry him off to safety.
Only for America there was no safe place to bring him. Couldn't separate him from the torment.
Alfred burrowed deeper against his side. "M'okay, now."
If only he could believe that.
Arthur released a long sigh. He needed to be positive. All of the websites he'd frequented throughout the months stated that healing would bring issues to the forefront.
So in the grand scheme, outbursts were...good. It meant he felt safe enough to have them, to start moving forward in his healing to confront what he'd endured.
And Alfred...he'd sounded like a child...reacted like a child…wanted comfort as a child would.
And that was healthy. Far more healthy than many of his reactions this past year when dealing with such things.
It was just...that helplessness...that want of guidance and relief...plunged Arthur's paternal instincts into a frenzy. He hardly dared to leave his side, morbidly certain something terrible would befall him during his absence.
The rest of Katherine's examination went far more smoothly.
While Alfred didn't agree to therapy, he was open to receiving books on the subject. Which was...something. It was definitely something and he'd mouthed a truly grateful, 'Thank you' to Katherine.
When the occupants of the room dispersed (Katherine returned to her clinic, Mr. Gray to his duties, Rhys to...wherever he went), Alfred became more chatty.
Out from under the scrutiny and with his breathing back under control, he babbled away about what shows they ought to watch tonight.
"I need to get you set up with netflix. Netflix, would really…"Alfred chewed at his bottom lip and abruptly changed the subject. "Do I hafta move out, now?"
"Hmm?" To be honest, he hadn't even entertained the idea. "Do you wish to?"
Alfred grew very still and then gave the slightest headshake no.
A sad realization bloomed in his breast. "Did you fear I'd hold you to that?"
The child squirmed a little and then gave the slightest shake yes.
"Of course not. You're always welcome here with me."
The child sagged in relief and then rested his head on Arthur's chest. "I mean, eventually I should probably find a room and stuff. But...right now...I...I like that you're...I mean, if another Grym enters the picture, it makes me feel safer to know...not that I can't handle stuff myself but...I-I like…"
Arthur kissed the top of that wheat blond head.
It could've easily segued into a lesson about the dangers of speaking in anger but...he knew exactly who Alfred inherited that unfortunate trait from. And it was far more important to prove that foolish words could be taken back.
"I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, talking with Katherine without consulting you. It provoked you."
"...I'm sorry...too...I guess, I...I was just trying to make you mad."
"I accept your apology…" And then he frowned. "May I ask why?"
Alfred sighed. "I dunno...sometimes it's just easier to get a handle on myself if...if I'm by myself and then I can just...force myself to get over it. You know? If I could've just cleared the room, maybe I could clear my head."
"Ah."
Small fingers traced seams of the stitching on Arthur's shoulder seam. "It used to work."
Arthur felt his heart contract. Well...it wouldn't anymore.
Alfred flopped backwards onto a pillow. "I...I'm sorry I kinda ruined the day."
"Wot? No."
"We were having fun...and I just...ruined it."
"Not at all. Nothing is ruined. We'll salvage the evening, you'll see."
Alfred gave him a look of disbelief.
They chose to have an easy dinner there, with cheese toasties and soup. They tried several games, but with Alfred wanting to be just underwing...
"This isn't really working, is it?" Alfred mumbled as it was obvious they could both see each other's cards.
The deck was set aside.
He wanted a cuddle; which was perfectly welcome in Arthur's book.
"Despair's a really scary feeling. It felt worse than dying," The child mumbled.
It was very likely it was what he'd felt as the Hex settled over him—cutting him off from from his magic and his memories—destroying his Sight and awareness of the supernatural realm.
Having his soul drawn and quartered...with pieces dragged off into darkness and forgotten.
Arthur shuddered.
"I know, right? That was bad. It was real bad."
Arthur's hold tightened. "I wish you'd have just confronted me. In that hall."
"Yeah...that's kinda looking like...it would've been the smarter thing to do. But it's that Choose Your Own Adventure thing...and I went to page 65."
Arthur's mouth turned downward "...you don't need to make light of it for my sake."
Alfred mulled that over and then admitted, "...I didn't trust you to help me."
Arthur closed his eyes and nodded. "I'm sorry."
And he was...more than the child could ever know.
"Nah, that's on me. I got crazy paranoid."
"No," Arthur argued. "It's on me."
"I was-"
"It's on me." He repeated—his voice cracked.
"Geez. Fine, ya wanna share it? We'll share it. You got your dream journal handy?"
"Huh?"
"Mine's all the way over there." He gestured to the far side of the room. "Yours is here, right? And we're...we're sharing, right? And a vision's kinda like a dream, right?"
Arthur immediately leaned over, opened the drawer of his bedside table and pulled out his journal and pen.
Alfred curled against him and stared at the ceiling with glazed eyes. "Hallways. Rushing people carrying stuff. Library. Books. Putting books in boxes. Smoke. Unwelcome diners in my hall. See them through the crack of the door by the hinges."
Arthur nodded and wrote out the stream of consciousness at furious breakneck speed.
"You. Your brothers. Mathieu. Soldiers. Library. Smoke. The room's catching. Books missing as I pitch them at boxes. They fall to the floor. The grandfather clock chimes. Embers. The room's catching. BANG. The End."
Arthur finished up and blinked hard.
"I remembered some other stuff too."
Arthur braced himself and nodded—determined to help.
"Grabbed me." He gestured at his throat. "He...He..."
Alfred pressed hard against his side and the memory bled into Arthur's consciousness with all it's violence.
The suddenness of being slammed against a wall by the throat. And the heartbreaking reality that for all his rough and tumble youth, and even his battle experience in the Revolution...he'd never been treated thus. And never by an ally. America, with all his strength, had frozen and not known what to do. Young, scared, confused, and cowering at the man's spontaneous rage. It happened so fast. They'd been talking. A private word. Taken him aside for a private word. They'd just been talking and suddenly! And the man ended his rant with a cruel upper cut to the teen's gut that left him sinking against the wall.
He was left gasping as he watched the other leave.
He was supposed to be a respectable man...his superior officer…
He was supposed to be trustworthy.
Was he the one in the right? If he told...if he told...would they say he deserved worse?
"I remembered that."
"It's that man," Arthur growled.
"Huh?"
"The one that entered your house with Samuel the Witch-Hater."
Alfred blinked and straightened up. "You're right. That IS him. Dude...who are you? And we didn't even have pictures then...so...I can't just look him up."
"There might be a registry of names though. Perhaps if we went through them-"
"That could work," Alfred nodded. "How old do you think he is? We might be able to streamline our results if-"
It took a lot to govern his temper after such an awful memory.
His eyes narrowed and the hand's hold tightened. "You'll never best him with a sword. Can't even best a man." The teenager doubled over at the brutal punch.
Arthur's teeth gnashed.
Him?
Him…
Him.
It had taken a lot to raise a musket…all those years ago.
And even then, he'd never thought of drawing his sword.
There was something too…
He thought of battles against France, Spain, the Middle East.
Good Lord, he wasn't sure he could even lift a sword in his child's direction for the sake of instructing him.
Even an accidental scratch would…
He thought of the mannequin he'd skewered by mistake and the horror he'd felt seeing the uniform.
BAM!
The doors to his bedroom burst open and he clutched his child close as he reached for the mace behind the headboard of his bed.
"Daddy? S'just Texas."
Arthur fought against the adrenaline pumping through his veins and let the metal weapon drop back down into place.
"What. The. Hell?!" The brunet crossed his arms and his spurs clanged as he moved.
Alfred tried to pull away but Arthur's arm stayed tight around him, anchoring him.
"Can we help you?" England asked coldly.
"Ain't talking to you."
Alfred wriggled.
"Whatever it is, you'll do it from here, where he can rest," Arthur snapped.
"Fine, I need to say my piece." He jerked his head out to the hall as Arthur's cue to leave.
England had been very tolerating as of late. But he wouldn't have this. No. No, he would not.
"Are you telling me to leave? My bedroom, in my house?" Arthur asked—his voice low and silky and lethal.
Alfred tried to slip between them.
"I ain't got time to play nice with you-"
"Texas!"
"I've had it up to here, Al! I learned from the butler. From the frickin' butler that you collapsed. Hours ago! What the fuck?! I AM your emergency contact, what the hell is up with you?!"
"I'm sorry. I didn't think-"
"That's plain to see, you-"
"You will lower your voice," Arthur ordered.
"Ohhh, we ain't playin' that your lordship." Brown eyes glared.
"Sounds like I need to level that hubris again."
That made the teenager flush with anger. "Those were lucky shots! Both when I was caught off-guard; once when I was drunk, the other while I was distracted and thought we were allies. Ya goddamned frenemy!"
"You punched him a second time?! Daddy, why?!"
Arthur struggled to explain, "I thought he was part of the plot against you! He was the Confederacy!"
"So you punched him again?!"
"Actually, he tried to knife me," Texas explained.
"OMG, for real? DAD?!"
Arthur faltered. "I...I…"
At a loss of how to explain the frame of mind he'd been in then.
"Alistair and I held him back," Rhys stated from the doorway with a basket full of fairytales from the library. "Now, I believe, from what Antonio said; you did receive an apology."
"Coerced," Tex scoffed. "And wait. How do you know, anyway?"
Rhys set the basket down and pulled out his phone. He fiddled with the device and then handed it over.
"Facebook?" Tex cried. And then he read aloud. "Status: Proud of myself. Defended mi chiquitín…" Texas shook his head as his face flamed. "Lordie. Defended my honor? For real. Dammit Papi, gawd, you're so embarrassing." He began looking more intently at the screen. "He has it on Public. He has it on Public, doesn't he? Cuz he's got no sense! Damn you Papi! Nooo! Awww crap. Of course Venezuela commented on it."
He twitched when the phone rang and he shoved it back at Wales.
Rhys answered it. "Hello. Yes. Yes, he is. I will do that. It's your sister. I'm putting her on speaker phone."
Texas and Alfred flinched with identical looks of distress. "What? NO!"
"¡Idiota! What did you do?! He won't stop calling me!" Mexico shrieked.
"You know he's crazy! It's not my fault!" Texas yelled back.
"What is this even about? This, 'you're not Catholic' business? Of course you're Catholic. You came to Mass with us. We're all Catholic. If I have to do it, you have to do it-"
"Nuh-uh!"
"No one is getting out of this. We ALL suffer together-"
"Nuh uh. Don't even. You're not a real Catholic. You were cracking folks open like eggs for an omelette for the Sun God or somethin.'"
"...You following my footsteps?" Mexico asked sounding amused.
"Hell no. I'm Protestant."
"Tch. Yeah, I bet that went over well."
Texas scratched at his chin. "Yeah actually, we...didn't even get to that part." He waited a beat. "Maybe you should tell him."
"Oho, I'm your secretary now? No me jodas. Cagaste y saltaste-"
"Oh come on," Texas wheedled. "You like upsetting him. Be the doomsday messenger-"
"Be a messenger?! Tch...You be a man! Tell him yourself!"
"You just do it so much better, mi hermano," Texas sneered.
"...Ugh...¡Qué llorón!"
"Look, I don't need this. This is why disownment makes the world a better pl-"
"Dios, you are dumb. Spain is not disowning you! Nobody is saying that. Where are you hearing this? He's just-"
"NO, I have disowned HIM," Texas clarified to the room's collective horror.
Arthur felt his jaw drop. Good God, he needed to contact Antonio.
"..."
"Hell, I disowned ALL y'all. Really, why did you think I kept under the radar all these years? Cuz I was shy? I was done with you. All of you. I AM done with all of you. Been done."
"..."
"Tell Papi that!" Texas crowed triumphantly.
"...I will. And you prepare yourself, hermanito. The ten plagues of Egypt will seem like a PICNIC DAY! After the WHOLE family descends on your head! AND HAULS YOUR ASS TO THERAPY!"
The phone call ended.
"Whellp. I'm knee deep in it now, Al. Dammit. She just...always riles me up." Tex looked over at Alfred. "We still got that bomb shelter? I might uh...need to...ride this one out."
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