Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Hunger Games.

Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Teensy Hunger Games joke. Family fluff, family drama, family angst...probably.

AN: Thank you for your reviews and your patience! Updating is probably going to be a bit more sporadic as I adapt to my new class schedule (5 classes this time and yeah...Week 1 completed...and I've already had 2 quizzes with a third waiting for me for this weekend XP. What have I gotten myself into? Answer: Madness.)

Chapter 19: Gonna Get The Horns

Tex huffed a frustrated sigh.

Damn his big fat mouth! Even if it was the truth.

"You're a dead man," Canada observed from the open doorway.

And he'd had an audience to boot, great.

Texas pointed a callused finger. "That. Is unhelpful."

"S'okay," Al assured in a clear voice—determination filling his face. "It'll be okay."

I have your back, was what he really said and immediately Tex felt relief. While Al made a big show of being the one to take charge, he didn't mind being the backup when it came to him. Even when his actions opened a can of worms.

"I imagine Spain will be contacting us soon," Wales commented and checked his watch.

Texas groaned and flopped down on the bed beside his younger brother. As if his father hadn't already been harassing them like a deranged telemarketer before his outburst. "T minus 20 min-"

"It'll be okay," Alfred repeated—soft and serious and sincere.

Brown eyes stared into blue; if only they could have a minute or two to themselves, but no one was budging.

Already, Rhys and Arthur were talking with Canada and explaining that an evening class was canned on account of Alfred being out of sorts.

Mathieu nodded dutifully but there was something in the stiff way his shoulders were held back...that...as a betting man, Tex would wager that he was privately pissed off that they were now half a day behind.

The oldies must've sensed it too, because they were quick to say that they had plenty of time to relay their knowledge.

He felt resentment build and what progress he'd made in befriending his Canadian brother to the north began chipping away.

Which was fine; the only person he'd ever really needed...

Using Mathieu's ire as a distraction, he turned to his brother and murmured very, very quietly, "Sorry Boss-man...I...I complicated things for us."

Alfred's tired blue eyes crinkled, "Dude, I think you've set the bar kinda low for yourself if ya think that qualifies against all the stuff in my corner lately."

"Yeah, but"...all that "stuff" was outside the realm of Alfred's control. This...this was just him having trouble putting a sock in it. Sometimes Al was just too nice to him when he screwed up. He never berated him like Mexico did or was somewhere between annoyed and entertained at his ignorance like Spain often was.

Last December, in Spain, Papi had scolded him constantly for not dressing to blend in or researching the tourist landscape and being targeted as a result.

When he wanted to treat the lot of them to dinner but didn't research the restaurant online, Papi gave him an amused smile and ruffled his hair.

"No, no, heh, mijo. That one's a tourist trap. The menu has no prices so they can charge whatever they want." And then there'd been that ol' Gypsy lady with the flower pins that Romano had to chase off. "Accept nothing from anyone, mijo. I know, I know, you're my sweet little bleeding heart-" Which he totally wasn't! He just...felt bad for little old war widows.

And then there'd been the fake police officer that Spain outed...and then intimidated…

Though he'd been considerably less cheerful about that one.

"You do not go with anyone, Toño! You understand? La policía do not approach you unless you are misbehaving. And they will only ask you for papers. That happens again, you demand to go to your embassy. You say-" Spain broke off and blew out a breath that ruffled his hair. "You know what? No, no. You...you just... you. Stay." Spain maneuvered Texas to his side. "Here."

"At your hip?" Texas raised an eyebrow. "Like a little kid?"

"El problema estaba resuelto," Spain grinned and draped an arm around him—crushing him into his side.

It was embarrassing and Mexico didn't let him live it down. Worse, she'd snapped a pic and put a heart outline around it and pasted it to Spain's timeline. He'd noticed that part the other night while he was scrolling through Spain's Facebook.

Denmark had "liked" it. Which made him frown; that bastard had been so hesitant about recognizing him during his brief independence—putting Mexico's welfare before his.

Texas kicked his boots off cuz he could tell they were getting on the ol' limey's nerves. The Briton''s gaze kept sliding over to him. Spite tempted him to drag a spur across the fabric, but Al's presence beside him wouldn't allow it be more than a fantasy.

Texas had long ago found that living with a "hero" rubbed off on you. He'd stopped to fix a lot of wagon wheels and (later) flat tires because he knew his baby brother would approve.

Al's lips twitched in a smirk and he quietly whispered, "Thanks. He was itching to complain over that." He then rested his head on Tex's shoulder. "I should've texted you. I'm sorry. My brain blanked."

"Yeah, you should've. These guys, they...they just don't keep me in the loop." He sent a glare to the Kirklands, which went unnoticed.

Alfred tilted his head back to look up at him. "It seems like whenever I start remembering 1812, I lose my head...and my feet. I just keel right over." He went over bits and pieces he remembered and what Rhys thought it meant. "Despair. Dude, how could I have fallen into despair? Me?!"

Texas thought back to fiestas where everyone was feuding and turrón and piñatas became the only reasons he showed up. Holidays that were celebrated by himself and whichever household staff was alive at the time.

No one was on his side. No one in his family thought he was marked for greatness or that there was anything above average about him at all. And he lived half-forgotten on the edge of an overextended empire. Interactions between him and his family diminished and he came to value that silence. It was better. Cold and quiet as it was, it was better.

It was like floating out to sea...gradually losing sight of the mainland...

He looked over at his brother and remembered various bar scene confessions.

It was so friggin' obvious to him what led up to it. Even with the limited knowledge he had of that war. They were two sides to that coin. Al's experience was just a little more...showy than his.

"Of course you did. Your whole family turned against you. Fought you. And you didn't know a home again...until me."

Alfred blinked hard. "Yeah…"

Tejas had spent years flirting with that edge—his friendship with the plucky American nation often being the lifeline that tugged him back.

He remembered the difficult transition from friendship to brotherhood because they'd both been scarred and for a long time the latter's title seemed like an insult.

Tex pulled him in for a hug and held onto him tightly. Alfred pressed in. Good. Now, he just needed to find an opportunity to leave the room.

And then it happened.

America turned in Texas's hold and reached for England's sleeve. The man immediately responded, ending his conversation with Mathieu. He made a big fuss over Al and his brother wriggled to be set loose.

Reluctantly, he let go; because he'd never hold him against his will. But it made him so damn unsure. Did he...did he want to be left alone with his...other (coughformercough) family more?

He started to move back but Alfred's hand clutched at the center of his shirt and his brother looked over with a "Whatcha doing?" expression.

He gave Tex a tug.

Sandwich.

He wanted to be sandwiched between them.

Yeah, Texas was known to initiate "Group Hugs" now and then, but…

"Texxxx," Al whined.

The things he did for his little brother. It surprised him when Arthur didn't object to them all being so mushy-gushy close.

If anything he looked a little amused.

Alfred smiled contentedly and began nodding off.

Arthur pet Alfred's hair fondly before looking over his head to Texas. "You do realize Spain will call? And I imagine...will be displeased."

Understatement of the century. Ding Ding, we have a winner!

"My plan is that nobody answers nuthin'" Texas replied.

Arthur scoffed and then, after looking at all the corners of the room, looked back at him with...with something in his face. Some feeling Tex couldn't decipher. "Did you really feign death as a means of ultimate estrangement?"

The truth was...a little dumber and more opportunistic than that...but...

"..."

"That's awful," Arthur condemned.

Tex rolled his eyes. "..."

"Spain was heartbroken."

Tex mulled that over. Maybe he was...for two minutes. "He is…"

Arthur went still as he listened.

"He is...not deep." The man was a puddle, not even a pond. "I am certain he was not moved as deeply as you say."

Green eyes went wide and then narrowed as two thick eyebrows came down to roost. "You do your father a grave disservice by thinking such."

Texas toyed with his hat. "Tch. What do you care? I thought you were enemies-"

"Rivals," Arthur corrected. "And it just means I'm a better judge of his character. He isn't clever. I'll agree with you on that. But to insinuate that he is incapable of caring in a meaningful way…" Arthur shook his head. "The moment Italy alerted him to your continued existence, he reached out. He sought you out. Supported you in that wendigo fiasco. Has wanted to reconnect. Does that mean nothing to you?"

Tex glared. "Oho...he helps save the day ONCE."

He and Al had survived an epic saga of adventures to this point. Really, comparing the like was just...stupid. Though the fact that he and Al didn't really broadcast all that, might explain why their fathers still thought of them like little kids. They'd gotten to swoop in last year for a rescue, and thought that was enough to win them back into their good graces.

Arthur frowned. "I'm not saying he hasn't made mistakes. Or that he isn't making them now. But he's...he's-" He struggled. "He's not clever. He's not going to magically deduce the reason you're upset with him. He's straightforward...and he's confrontational. You inherited that. He'll be on his way soon, if he's not on his way now."

It dawned on him then, that Arthur felt...bad for Papi. Here the two of them spent the 16th and 17th Centuries at each other's throats and now-

Now they were teaming up.

Slowly but surely, they were joining forces and working him and Al into a corner.

With them, their government, and the aftermath of Al's downsizing, everything was tightening around them like a noose.

Before he'd been trying to keep them away through force, but maybe he was goin' about this wrong?

He needed to find some slack. And at this point, the only way to get it was to let them move closer.

Tex wasn't a super cunning fellow himself, but he could commit to plans...and he could bluff...even when it risked the possibility of infuriating not only one but TWO ex-empires.

Arthur shook his head gravely. "I think it's terrible that you won't even entertain the thought of how he must've suffered under the shadow of your-"

"I'll talk to him."

Which surprised Arthur and the man moved faster than a prairie fire with a tail wind to grab his laptop. It seemed like Skype was logged into and the computer plonked in Tex's lap before Tex could even manage the breath it would take to go back on his word.

A confused Spain answered, "Inglate-Mijo! Mijo…"

They stared at one another.

"She call you?" Tex demanded—already knowing the answer from the man's expression.

"Yes." Spain looked grim. "Is it true?"

It was something that even now some glimmer of hope was shining in those green eyes that it was all a gross exaggeration.

Time to smother that.

"Yeah."

Spain's face darkened. "I see. If you do not want...to go to Mass...or celebrate Easter with me or...anything...I understand."

Good Lord, he was acting like he'd abandoned church-going altogether.

"But do not play 'teléfono' with me...with us. Do not make your hermana the messenger. You have grievances, I understand. You bring them to me, you do not...Please do not take your frustrations out on the family. If you are angry, be angry at me."

"I AM angry at you," Tex confessed readily.

Spain winced and gave a nod.

Tex fidgeted as an awkward pause stretched out.

Spain gave him a depressed look. "...disown your family...disown...Why did you say such hurtful things, mijo?"

Tex huffed and glowered. He had a lifetime of reasons.

Spain let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "I understand. You don't want to talk like this. Face to face is best. Of course! I'm just not thinking. It's been...hard to think since—I can come to you or you can come to me or we can meet somewhere. Belgium or Austria would let us-"

Yup. This was the part he'd been banking on. It was like Arthur had said: Antonio was straightforward...and he could sprint straight into a trap.

"I need time," Tex announced. "Cuz I do."

"You...are making a list?" Antonio guessed—not sounding too enthusiastic at the prospect.

Sure. Like he'd waste the time and effort.

"Mmhmm."

He sighed. "Alright. You need time-"

"Yup. Two weeks-"

Green eyes flashed. "Two days" Was Antonio's gruff counter. The darkness in that tone was more familiar. Sure, Papi was trying to pass himself off as a more friendly guy nowadays. But there was the man he knew better. The one he looked forward to sucker-punching.

"Week and a half-"

"Two days," Antonio argued and then softened. "...and a half."

"No sir! I need more time than that."

"How much could you need to complain about?" Spain wondered aloud, sounding genuinely confused. "You have not been alive long enough to accumulate so many grievanc-"

"I think our connection's breaking up-"

"Mi niño...I do not think I would need two weeks to list everything in my life that's been less than perfecto and the 1500s, let me tell you-"

Time to sell it! Time to drive it home!

"Papi!" He cried aghast. "This ain't about you!"

The Spaniard shut up.

And Al fancied himself the actor out of them.

"I need time!" And now to give it a little melodramatic peppering. It was a gamble. It was a definite risk—Al would've burst out laughing if he'd been awake to hear it. It took a lot of effort, but he made his voice go soft and meek—desperately trying to make it more like Feliciano's tone was naturally and Romano's was when he was truly butthurt over something. Because that worked for them and it might just work for him too. Way better than his real reaction when he was honestly hurt; which tended to be explosive and heated and violent (and he hated Spain for bequeathing that part to him). He murmured pitifully: "No te importa lo que me pase."

"¡No pueden decirlo, porque no es verdad!" Spain argued vehemently—slamming a fist down on his counter.

Texas gave a stony stare. "..."

Antonio's shoulders slowly sagged. "...have this week...I come get you...and we talk."

Alfred paused in the middle of brushing his hair to stare at his brother who was shaving nonchalantly.

They were sharing a sink and mirror because his brother texted him that morning with an urgent 'I'mmagonnaburstifIcan'ttellyounow' Plan.

"You're crazy." Alfred summed up flatly. "You're gonna get the horns."

"It'll work!" Texas insisted triumphantly as he carefully shaved the delicate nose-to-lip space. "We gotta use the melodraaaaama."

"I can't believe this. Dude...you're plannin' on standing him up?! Spain? The battle-ax guy? And getting away with it?!"

"Yup!" Tex replied cheerfully as he toweled off lingering flecks of shaving cream.

"Bro?!"

"And in the chaos, you and me'll pit stop at my place, get our gear and head on over to the next phase of our scheme: Magic Gate Adventure. Tha's a workin' title. You can come up with something better. Anyways, as I see it, we don't have to spend Easter with any of 'em and we'll probably be done by May Day cuz none of 'em will be underfoot. So's we can meet up then and smooth all the ruffled feathers."

"...You're gonna get the horns."

"I am NOT."

"You're messin' with the bull, dude!"

"Oh, he's not a power anymore, Al. He's dehorned. He ain't a threat. And he deserves it."

Alfred wetted his toothbrush under the faucet. "I'll remind you of that, when you're gored."

Tex rolled his eyes. "Besides, he thinks he pulled one over on me. One week. He wants to show up ON Easter. That's his plan. Stubborn burro."

"..."

Tex frowned. "Tell me why you're so against it. I mean, the way I see it. I'm hittin' all the targets. You get a few more magic lessons, we'll glean the most important bits by doubling the Q and A parts and then we'll-"

"Huh?" Alfred was too zealous with the toothpaste and washed his fingers off.

"O...I didn't mention that part yet."

Alfred waited with bated breath. Dude, I know most of this plan blows, but...dammit I gotta know what else this trainwreck has to offer.

"Go on, Bro." He started brushing his teeth and waited for the finer details of Tex's scheme.

"It's just...I got to thinking how most of our best work, we did out in the field...together. So...so why should magic be different?"

Wait a minute...was he suggesting what he thought he was? His jaw slowly dropped.

"Y'all are only one lesson in, right? So...I could catch up?"

"You...wanna join?"

"If you're alright with that?"

If he was alright with that?! With that?!

"O Texas, Texas, Texas! Do you mean it?" He beamed. Because being a magical duo with his big bro would be epic on a whole new level! Like an action fantasy sitcom! Like a blockbuster summer movie spectacular! "Eeeeeeee!"

"Well, that settles that."

"You're really gonna be a part of it?!" Al asked—with toothpaste dripping out of his mouth and stars shining in his eyes.

"Wild horses couldn't tear me away."

Alfred squealed again in delight and pulled his brother into a hug.

Arthur sighed and looked over at his eldest brother. Rhys's eyebrows were twitching because of the new addition to their class.

"Dammit Al, I thought you said your worksheets were easy?!" Texas hissed and kicked the leg of Alfred's chair.

"They ARE easy," Alfred insisted between giggles.

Texas read out: "If one retains equanimity through times of vic-vicissitude, they'll employ the multi-fari-ous nature of magic; perhaps using…"

"Fire messaging," Alfred supplied.

"...When they're in need of aid."

"The hell does this mean?" He went on to the next one "The company of...mend-mend-"

"Mendacious," Alfred offered as he drew an awen symbol. He noticed Arthur watching and lifted it up so Arthur could see. He smiled in approval. To be honest, he'd actually been rather reluctant about having Alfred back in class so soon, considering his health scare the previous day.

He approached the desk and oohed appreciatively—taking the moment to card his hand through Alfred's hair affectionately.

Alfred grinned.

Wales seemed particularly pleased that Alfred had chosen that sign for his assignment. It was hard to say who was more interested in Alfred's creative talents when Arthur had let slip that morning, as they set up, that Alfred had been a poet years earlier. His brother's interest was further piqued with the reveal that the song Alfred had sung last December during the UnSeelie invasion was of his own design. Being a bard and harper, Rhys was very attached to lyrical arts. No doubt, he inferred that Alfred (even at his saddest) could never compose lines quite as depressing and morbid as Reilley. Which would make him a joy to collaborate with.

Texas shook his head "...or pern-ic-ious fae may necess-i-tate absconding? Absconding...absconding?...in short order via a…"

"Natural magic boundary."

Texas looked over to Wales. "You guys are sick. Twisted. There's not even a word bank!"

Rhys's expression soured. "That would be an insult to Alfred. Perhaps, I should employ puppets for your benefit?"

Arthur massaged the bridge of his nose. This...was...going to be difficult.

"I need like, magical P.E." Texas groused and then blinked. He looked over at Arthur. "Is that a class option?"

Texas was a terrible pupil.

But when he'd tried to gently suggest that Texas might not be suited for the types of lessons that they'd outlined for Alfred and Mathieu, Alfred had stared him down. "All of us are beginners, right? If Mattie wants to learn magic and that's okay, why can't Texas?"

The fact of the matter was that both of his boys were substantially more...literate.

He was discreetly trying to text Spain for teaching tips—semi-hopeful that the man would know something about his child's preferred learning habits after informing him that Texas and his brothers were receiving lessons from him.

He received mixed results.

Spain wrote: He's a good boy. Perfect attendance. Always.

He doesn't seem to enjoy reading.

Which Antonio had shrugged: He has glasses. As if that was reason in and of itself for the aversion.

Austria has glasses. England typed back.

He received question marks and the assertion. He is not Austria.

Antonio was so…frustrating.

He was half-tempted to be horrifyingly frank and writing out: 'Your son is an idiot' but…

He remembered vividly Spain's battle ax resting dangerously near his flesh. And he could only imagine how unstable he was considering Texas's "disownment" of his family. While Arthur and Alfred had suffered an intense estrangement, he couldn't even imagine what he'd done if his child had feigned his death!

Already his mind was playing out horrific scenarios where Alfred didn't turn up after 1812. Just his absence for the decade after, had weighed heavily on his mind and driven him to desperation. He'd held trade agreements hostage until Alfred's government flushed him out of hiding. He should've just visited. Should've traveled incognito and found him out. So much could've been resolved sooner if he'd have come upon him then and tended to him.

He thought of Red's injuries, a reflection of what Alfred had suffered, and knew he'd have done all he could to tenderly nurse him back to health.

He couldn't help but want to believe Spain was similar. If he'd known earlier that Texas was still alive, that he'd have gone to him. That he'd have mended what unraveled.

Arthur sunk back into the fleeting, alternate fantasy where his Alfred was gone. To think of him...being gone...and the fact that they'd had no magical connection then…

If the American government had relayed news then, that Alfred was dead and no new personnification appeared...Arthur would've had to accept it as truth and…

He shuddered and tried desperately not to think of shattering clay bodies, and rundown hotel rooms, and bathtubs and body bags, and mother's feet deteriorating. And his child being lost to him forever and handed off to his mother and the two of them existing away in a world that he couldn't be part of!

He forced in a ragged breath and typed: Your son is struggling with my worksheets.

Send them to me, I'll translate them.

Arthur blinked. He was more than a little embarrassed that he hadn't even considered that English being his second or possibly third language, or more, could be what was holding him back.

And the fact that Spain picked it up so easily. That England hadn't even bothered to ask the Texan what language he wanted the work in. Or Canada for that matter.

He sent the Spaniard a digital copy of the documents.

Rhys patrolled the front of the room while he asked, "Please support your opinion on why fae are dangerous. Yes, Mathieu?"

"I think what makes fae so treacherous can be sorted into several broad categories," Canada theorized. "Ignorance of fae types; included but not limited to their specialty magic, their temperament, and their associated surroundings could be one. Another would be misunderstanding, as fae possess a different value system than ourselves and trade agreements or gift exchanges can result in very bizarre or dangerous demands. And a possible third, in my limited understanding anyway, would be out and out mischief, vengeance, or contracting."

England nodded—proud that Canada inferred so much. He'd always been such a bright boy. "That is a very wise way to view them."

Mathieu beamed.

"Tch," Tex scoffed. "Don't pat yourself on the back too hard, Johnny Canuck."

Alfred sniggered while Mathieu frowned.

Rhys and Arthur shared an annoyed look.

Good Lord, it was only Texas's first lesson and they already had to make use of one of the room's corners...which didn't really stop his heckling at all.

"If one is being pursued by sinister fae, how can you use your environment to your advantage and protect yourself?" Arthur asked.

"Pepper Spray! It works on everybody!" Tex shouted confidently.

"Use natural boundaries!"

"Please raise your hand."

Alfred sighed and did as asked.

"Yes, Alfred?"

The boy continued where he'd left off. "Streams, rivers, creeks, edges of woodlands or where land is in transition. And sometimes even times of day or manmade structures like bridges."

"Yes," Rhys nodded. "All of those can be utilized to great effect."

"Woooo! Go Al!"

Rhys was about to continue when he noticed Mathieu's hand raised. "Er, yes, Canada?"

"I believe hallowed ground is another safe place. Church bells can also ward off some kinds of fae."

"Very good, Mathieu. The protection of church bells is often forgotten in this era."

"If I may?"

"Go on."

"While I understand the question is framed as being in the moment and needing immediate respite, I'd argue that the best form of protection though...is prevention. Avoiding fairy mounds, favorite haunts, or trees with magical properties are some of the best means of bypassing them."

"Bravo." Arthur nodded vigorously, "Exactly so. And still relevant to my original question; if one IS being pursued, it's best not to stir additional fae onto the warpath by tromping through their habitats."

Rhys was also nodding.

Unfortunately, no sooner had the men congratulated the Canadian for his insights—

"Booooooooo! Hisssssssssssss!"

"Texas!" Arthur growled.

"SSSSSSSSS!"

"HAHAHAHAHA!" Alfred grinned at his brother.

"Seems to me" An welcome voice observed from the doorway, "Yeh just don't have what it takes to keep their kind at attention."

Just who he didn't want to see.

Green eyes flashed. "Bugger off, Scot-"

"Hi Uncle Al!" Alfred waved excitedly. "Um, hi! I mean, good morning? Is it your turn to lecture?"

"Lecture?" Alistair strode in. "Ack, have you poor laddies been stuck at a desk all lesson long?"

"Yup! And my butt's going flat," Alfred informed him.

Arthur and Rhys shared a look. Perhaps...they should incorporate exercising or recesses of some sort? Even just a mild, "stand up and stretch" order at the top of every hour could help.

"Me too! I hate the stool in the corner. It's exactly how I remember it in the 1600s," Tex grumbled and then added. "But smaller. It sucks."

Alistair clasped his hands behind his back and planted his feet."If only there was someone who could teach rambunctious lads what actually matters in a way, tha's actually interesting and-O WAIT! Me."

Both boys perked up.

"Holy crap," Alfred muttered. "You're an option?"

"So now you want them both?" Rhys raised an eyebrow. "Texas has considerably less magical tutelage than either Canada or America. He-"

"Ah, but I know Tex can take a beating."

Rhys and Arthur shared an indignant look. "..."

"Hell yeah, I can!" Tex agreed. "If it can get me outta this room and still teach me magic, I volunteer."

"As tribute," Mathieu completed sardonically.

All the boys snickered appreciatively at that. Or at least until Texas and Alfred remembered their grudge for Mathieu, and glared.

The Canadian sighed.

O dear...brotherly rivalry was in full force...all over.

"Alistair," Arthur growled.

"Aye?"

"What are you doing?" Rhys demanded—finishing the thought.

"Taking pity," The Scotsman grinned.

"Hallelujah!"

"Amen! We're saved!"

Alfred frowned as Rhys added a scarf to his outfit.

"Uncle Rhyssss," He whined as the man bundled him—tucking the tails of the scarf into Alfred's coat for extra warmth. And yeah, that would probably help him in the long run, but passing inspection was taking for friggin' ever!

The man frowned at him and then straightened Alfred's lapels. "If my negligence resulted in injury or illness for you...that would be…"

The catalyst that spun Arthur out?

"...distressing...for us all."

"Awww, it almost sounds like you care about me," Alfred smiled.

Rhys didn't smile back. "I DO care about you."

Alfred's face heated up. Yeah, he'd started sensing that through lots of nice little things he did, but...to be honest...considering how the rest of the Kirkland family was...he hadn't expected him to come out so bluntly with that.

He shuffled over to the door and opened it and tentatively reached a hand back.

Rhys accepted it and they moved outside.

After Alistair's interruption, Dad had called for a lunch break. And after that, Rhys told him to fetch his snow gear.

"Are you sure about this?" The American asked for the upteenth time. "You don't have to."

"Indeed. Your brother brought up a valuable point. Physical Education in magic is important. Particularly, with powers of your nature."

He couldn't help but wonder if that was an obtuse way of saying book smarts didn't matter in his field. So it was okay that he'd nose dived during class.

Mathieu had proven early on that he was ready and raring to kick Alfred's butt at this subject, too.

It wasn't enough to have reigned supreme through their childhood schooling…

No…

He had to take this too...

Jackass.

His brother made a habit to repeatedly engage Rhys and Arthur into deeper debates than anything he'd ever managed. It left him and Tex twiddling their thumbs (having lost the train of the conversation ten minutes earlier).

His teeth gnashed.

Always the goody two shoes over achiever. He'd overheard his brother admit to Arthur that he'd used his worksheets as starting points and did additional research to better understand the subject.

Dammit. Why didn't he think to do that? Especially with the power of the internet at his fingertips?!

"You're upset. Why?"

"Huh?"

"You're upset," Rhys repeated.

"...frustrated," He admitted.

"Why?"

"Lots of reasons."

"Enlighten me."

"I wish I could master my magic faster."

"Master? Hm. It would be arrogance for me to say that I've mastered mine. You'll continue to learn and improve for the rest of your life."

"But that means-means AGES!?"

"Yes."

There was no way in hell he'd survive a classroom setting with Mathieu for the REST OF HIS LIFE!

"Now where do you wish to train?" Rhys asked.

He wasn't sure why, but 'training' just sounded...weird coming from his Welsh uncle.

It shouldn't have. Training was just a more macho, typically calisthenic version of 'learning,' but there was an air of determination about his uncle that was unusual.

Something tougher and more aggressive and take charge than what he was used to. When he commented on it, Rhys seemed offended though.

Alfred hastily tried to clarify. "I just mean...you're...kinda someone who hangs back and gives advice or instructions or... I don't mean that like in a mean way-a-a wallflower way. I just mean, you bypass the chaos or step over it...you realize I'm not gonna be...perfect at this, right at the get-go...right?"

"I realize that. That's our purpose, is it not?"

Alfred had idly remarked to his uncle during lunch while they discussed why Alfred's answer to worksheet problem number 6 was wrong about how he wished he could take Arthur flying.

To his shock, his uncle took it as a request for training and volunteered.

"You don't have to. I'm sure Uncle Al could help me. Or if I paid Reilley, he'd last an hour or-"

That sparked something.

"I think you'll find I am as hearty and stalwart as Alistair in many ventures."

He didn't buy that for a second, because...Rhys was never "hearty." Like Uncle Al or even Uncle Reilley. Heck, Arthur could even be considered "hearty" on occasion. But the fact that his usually passively stoic uncle was visibly irritated by the idea that he wasn't...

"Kay...Let's look for somewhere with lots of soft snow-"

Rhys's lips thinned.

"For me!" Alfred blurted. "Cuz I don't wanna get all banged up. Dad would throw a hissy fit. And I don't wanna land bad on my feet cuz...magic casting limbs..."

Rhys relaxed. "Of course. Over there should work nicely."

"Kay I need some warm up time!"

He released a long slow breath watching his air mist in the cold. He focused on that mist, imagined he was like it.

Weightless.

Free.

Impossible to anchor.

He rose several inches and then looked skyward. The gray reminded him of polished steel and he lifted higher. Higher. Higher.

The wind tickled at him and he giggled.

"Wow. You're up in my territory, now. Those Dartmoor Pixies weren't fibbing. You are starting to fly."

Alfred gasped and lost his concentration.

With a shout of alarm, Rhys dove and caught him.

"S-sorry," He muttered to his uncle in embarrassment.

"Alfie! I'm so sorry." Flying Mint Bunny lowered until she was hovering just in front of them. "You were doing so good. A natural. I didn't think I'd distract you."

Alfred's cheeks puffed.

"Don't be like that," Mint whined. "I said I was sorry."

"I just...I have to get better. Or I won't ever convince Arthur to fly with me."

"Alby?"

"Ya know, so he can experience it in a non-life-or-death happy way. I mean, he only got to fly with me once and that wasn't leisurely. I want him to know how great it is. That it's-it's good and uplifting and-"

"Wondrous?" Rhys supplied as he rose to his feet and helped Alfred to his.

Alfred colored. "...yeah."

Mint blinked her little eyes in confusion. "Alfie...He's flown before. Faeries and sprites loved taking him around when he was young and even when he was older some would-"

The gears in his head screeched to a halt. "Oh."

So it was already something he'd done...and with those more experienced than himself.

It was so hard...finding avenues Arthur hadn't already explored…

His spirits plummeted, and his face burned. Of course. Of course, why hadn't he thought of it? All that magic all around him for centuries, there was probably nothing that Alfred did that was special to him...

While Rhys and Mint exchanged pleasantries, he took off for a lap around the estate.

Just a minute…

He just needed a minute to get himself back in order. Because he was overreacting. He knew he was overreacting but there was nothing to freeze the feelings back down into something manageable.

And it would've been humiliating to bawl over something so stupid out in the open in front of everybody. Like a snot-nosed little kid.

Flying seemed to come more naturally to him when he had a strong desire to leave. It gradually dawned on him that this was probably how he evaded wendigo and humans that wanted to hurt him when he was small.

With a deep sense of nostalgia or deja vu or something, he found a large tree to hide behind and settled down among its branches. He'd have preferred being with its roots but that would've required digging through the snow.

Safe…

The oak was large and strong and safe.

And he wanted to be close to the trunk.

Several small branches that would've scratched his face as he slid along, moved out of his way.

He'd have said it was the wind but they moved against it for his sake.

He pressed close to the bark and watched the branches move back into place. And when the wind picked up and he shivered, several large branches shifted slightly to block some of it.

He rubbed at his eyes and leaned against the tree—careful not to peel away its bark with careless movements.

"Thank you," He sniffled.

More branches moved to block the icy breeze and shelter him.

He just needed a minute before he flew back.

Arthur slid a hand along the banister rail with Reilley a few steps behind him—grousing in Gaelic.

The Irishman had begrudgingly approached him with a lesson plan. They descended the stairs in time to find Alistair manhandling Texas. He had the boy by the ear.

"Poor soul," Reilley murmured.

"Look, Aoife and Grey say they've been harassed all morning. It stopped when I told him yeh'd talk at 4." Alistair waited a beat. "It's 4." He pressed his phone against the ear he was holding captive. "Phone now, training after."

Texas glowered but nodded. "Papi, I thought we agreed I needed time. I-Yeah, I know I didn't say we couldn't have contact before then but...Yeah, but...It's kinda implied-I-How can you miss me? We just talked last n-"

"So," Reilley looked over at Arthur. "Scot wasn't pulling me leg? Tex tried to disown Spain?"

"I fear so."

"He's coming over, isn't he?"

Arthur released a long sigh. "I think it's unavoidable."

"Well, won't that be something? Anyways, as I was saying." Reilley made a tisking sound and then slapped the back of his hand against a manila folder. "Now tell me again, why I can't just start with rune divin-"

"Because they need to know what the symbols mean-"

"In medias res, is the best way to learn-"

"I emphatically disagree, I-Mint?!"

Mint was suddenly in front of his eyes.

"Hello, there, Minty," Reilley greeted.

"Um, hi, uh, um…"

"What is it? Has something happened?"

If the Courts were at war again, so help him-

"I think I hurt Alfie's feelings," She blurted.

"Wot?"

"I thought he knew that you and Morgana were fri-"

"Why would you bring her up?!" Arthur was convinced that she could ruin any conversation. The tendrils of her were toxic...any bit of her was dangerous.

"I didn't! I just-he thought you'd never gone flying before so I-wait a minute. Does he not know about her?" Her eyes widened. "Or you?"

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