Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. Or the Newark Liberty International Airport. Or Harry Potter. Or Aqua Globe. Or Pinterest. Or Facebook. Or The Haunting of Helena. Or the Terror Trilogy. Or Malleus Maleficarum.

Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). ATC stands for Air Traffic Control. EU referendum. Maltesers, the British (and supposedly superior) version of Milk Duds. Breakfast tea. Because...the U.K. and tea. So much tea. George Washington's false teeth...they weren't wooden: they possessed human teeth that he purchased, ivory, porcelain, and holes for his remaining ones to go through.

AN: Thank you for your patience, yeah...recovering from a sinus infection, school's been having unrealistic expectations—aka- "only class" syndrome, and my dog had to be put down…yeah...Real Life's taking shots below the belt since I last updated. And there's more rough water ahead: an essay, a midterm, a writing assignment all due Monday, Tuesday. And then the next week: Three Midterms and a 16 page Response Log (single spaced). So...I'm thinking there's going to be another long stretch before I can upload again. Wish me luck, I'll need it.

Chapter 21: Daddy Issues

Alfred tiptoed out of his room and past Arthur's bed. Mint was cuddled up on one pillow with her wings beating gently now and then. His old man was snoring lightly and then coughed.

Alfred froze.

Arthur muttered something that sounded like, "Damn Frog, you make the EU an even greater pain in the arse...just through your breathing…you wanker...I can so hold a referendum, if I want to...and I will..."

Alfred turned the knob and held his breath and carefully closed the door behind him.

He raced through the house to the kiddie room and found Alistair and Reilley clinking their bottles of beer and sniggering in Gaelic.

"I'm here!" he announced.

Reilley offered him a handful from a bag of maltesers.

"Alright, laddie, rules," Alistair insisted.

Alfred chewed some sweets and nodded.

"If I put this in..." He shook the DVD case. "Yeh aren't allowed to go cryin' about it to Arthur later."

"Right."

"Yeh aren't allowed to sneak into my or Eire's bed tonight."

"Kay." Rhys was still an option. Ha! Oversight on their part!

"Yeh aren't allowed to post everywhere on social media that you're watchin' this and we made you and whatever sob story blah blah blah."

Alfred's cheeks puffed. "Fine."

"Alright then."

Tex arrived not much later with a nagging Canada on his heels.

"We have class tomorrow morning," Mathieu admonished the Texan. On seeing Alfred on the couch, his frown deepened and he redoubled his efforts. "Alfred, you're going to stay up, too? Does Arthur know?"

"Yeah, I'm staying up. And no, he doesn't. You gonna sniiiitch? Like always?" Alfred snapped.

Violet eyes widened and he had the audacity to look hurt.

"Easy lads," Alistair mediated. "You," He pointed to Alfred. "Don't be mouthy. You," He moved onto Mathieu. "You disapprove? Get to bed, then."

The Canadian got a little flustered at being shoed away, "I just...I think Rhys said...there's going to be a quiz…"

"And no scolding," Reilley tacked on.

"Get to gettin'!" Tex added as he turned up the volume with the remote.

Mathieu muttered something French (and likely derogatory) before he turned and walked out.

"He's gonna tell," Alfred grumbled.

"No, he's not," Alistair hit 'play.'

"I know him," Alfred pouted.

"He ain't gonna spill all," Reilley refuted.

Tex grinned as he accepted a beer and sat down. "Don't even have to show my military ID. Cuz it's 16 here. Al, we gotta lower it back home."

Alfred looked longingly at the drink in Tex's hand.

"You remember our deal?" Reilley reminded in a sing-song voice.

Alfred sighed and nodded.

He was presented with a soda...that was in a bottle, so he could "clink" with them.

That was the highlight of the night. The rest was...well...

The Haunting of Helena was way too scary for the likes of him.

He watched from between his fingers. Darn you, Italian horror...and your gross visceral special effects! He thought.

Texas shook his head in exasperation, "Dagnabbit, baseball bat people. Whack that ghosty bit-"

"S'a ghost, ya bampot," Alistair scoffed. "A bat ain't goin' ta help."

Reilley set his beer down. "Holy water could be something-"

Alistair nodded and scratched at his chin. "Now, he's on a better track-"

Reilley stried not to look too pleased at the praise. "Aye well, ya know, I've run into these matters here and again and oof-easy with the squeezin' Alfie. I ain't a tube a' toothpaste!"

Yeah, he was cuddling way too hard into Reilley's side. It was just...he swore he heard something. But he didn't see anything in the darkened hallway, so he turned back to the screen. "Oh my God, noooo."

Reilley snorted and gave him a light squeeze back before a wicked grin crept over him. "You've still got your tooth, right? Arthur mentioned you didn't make the hand off to Fi-"

Alistair lowered his drink. "Huh? Wha's that?"

"Rhys didn't relay it to you? Alfie-boy lost his first tooth at that February meeting."

"I knew he lost it, that damn straw foolery he keeps doing, but…" A dark red eyebrow twitched. "You still have it?"

"...aye, cuz it didnae go so well. Or so's I was led to believe."

Both men turned to him.

Alfred shrugged a shoulder and tried not to flinch as the main characters were harassed on the screen. "Sh-she's scary...looms over you-"

Reilley snorted, "Fifi loomed over you?"

"Rye." Alistair shook his head. "She comes upon yeh in the dark while yer sleepin'-"

"Thank you! It's creepy," Alfred asserted.

"She's soooo wee!" Reilley indicated with his finger and thumb.

"Size means nothing!" Alfred refuted. "The Zuni warrior doll from the Terror Trilogy was-"

Tex smirked and then made stabbing motions while making the doll's warrior cry, "Yi yi yi yi yi...yi!"

"Knock it off, Bro! That thing was hella creepy!"

Tex grinned. "It was admirable. That lil' sucker was this big and yet he wielded a knife so adeptly-"

"Stopitstopitstop-" Alfred gave his brother a sharp nudge with his foot. Then he gasped as he watched the screen where bloody teeth were raining from the ceiling. "Oh. My. God."

Nightmares... Nightmares would come this night for him, he could feel it!

Alistair looked uneasily at the screen and then at Alfred.

"Wot is this?!" An angry voice demanded.

Alfred jumped, Texas dropped the remote, and Reilley screamed.

"Hey Arthur," Alistair nodded.

The Briton shuffled into view in slippers and a house robe with his hair even messier than usual.

"What is this?" Arthur snatched up the DVD case and squinted at the back cover. "No. Just-no." He turned the movie off amidst a cacophony of complaints.

Alfred sunk into the cushion with relief. Maybe he'd finish it during the daytime and get a sense of resolution...or just read a summary of it from Wikipedia.

Arthur than arbitrarily put on Season 1 of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic which cleared the room pretty fast.

Arthur sat down into the rocking chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

He stretched and then looked over to where Alfred was. "Well?"

Before he could think of a more eloquent, subtle way to ask, it was out: "Did Mathieu snitch?"

"Wot?"

Alfred frowned. "It's just...He just...was all...there's a quiz tomorrow and...you should...sleep. But he was snooty about it!"

"And you though he 'snitched' to me and that's why I appeared?" Arthur deduced.

"Yeah, well...I know he likes to be on your good side…and it's double the points if it makes me look like a dope when he does it."

Arthur sighed through his nose."...Alfred, please don't think the worst of your brother. I don't think he's actively plotting against you in his spare moments. Though I don't deny you've been a target of his frustration and I thoroughly disapprove...He's...going through a difficult phase...regarding his own origins. He's discovered the identity of his father and the reality that...Scandinavia is deceased and there's no opportunity to pursue a bond...That's...a-a-a hard hope to put to rest and...I think...our relationship...you and I...it sometimes injures him and-"

Against his will he felt a flash of hurt for his brother before he smothered it. "Well that's not my fault, is it?"

"No," Arthur replied steadily but he sounded annoyed "But a little empathy would serve us well in assuring him that he has a place here with u-"

So Mattie was upset that Alfred had a biological parent and he didn't…

Except...

Mattie had a dad. Two of them that were still alive and kicking! That the loss of a theoretical third, who was more shadow than substance...and he was bellyaching over that!

And the there was the fact that Uncle Rhys…

He remembered how the Welshman always softened whenever his brother's name cropped up.

It just...Just. Pissed. Him. Off. Majorly.

"So?!"

Green eyes flashed. "Petulant thing! Wring some compassion!"

"No, if he can't see how good he's got it, I-"

"Alfred!"

"I know him! He'll do his goody two shoes act and you and Rhys, you'll fawn all over him-"

"Alfred, come here."

"And you're just gonna sit back and watch the encore of Geography Class 2.0 and-"

"Now!"

Alfred angrily stormed over to his father and hoisted himself up on the chair arm to be closer to eye level as he hissed, "Well, I'm not up for it! I'm not playing Cain to his Abel. Tex is jumping ship, and so can I. So can-"

He was wholly unprepared to be gently pulled into the man's arms. The chair rocked steadily.

"You...are in no danger. My love for you is in no way determined by your scores on tests or answers to questions. It's not affected by reports of mischief. And it's never diminished when I give love or attention to others. Do you understand?" The last bit was whispered very solemnly. "When I 'fawn' over someone, it's not at your expense. It's not...some inverse relationship where...affection for one means the other...it's not like that." Alfred was held tighter. "God, I wish I could make you...know that...down to your bones I..."

And he wanted to believe that too, but…he buried his face against the soft fabric of the robe. Arthur pet his hair to soothe him.

They watched a few episodes and then retired to bed.

Only dread lurked in every dark corner and the ceiling now seemed a sinister part of the decor.

Arthur appeared in the doorway and yawned, "Alfie...your anxiety won't give me reprieve."

"I can't help it. The movie! I-" He clapped a hand over his own mouth.

Arthur frowned. "The movie? That cinematic drivel? What of it?"

He shook his head. He gave his word. He wouldn't betray the agreement.

Only...his feelings bled into their bond and Arthur guessed: "What? You aren't supposed to talk about it with me?"

"...crying to you…" He admitted very reluctantly.

"Aha, so you aren't supposed to come crying to me, then? Hmm? Well, you didn't. You're not crying and I came to you," Arthur reasoned.

Alfred mulled that over. "Technically…"

"You've violated no part of whatever vow they wrangled from y-"

"Well, I think they meant-"

"But that's what they stated. Literally. You can't be bound to what they implied, only what's stated."

He had a point.

"Sweetling, what is-"

"I'm scared the tooth fairy's gonna eat me!" He blurted.

"..." To his surprise, Arthur burst out laughing. "Wot? What? That's just..absurd. Fifi would never…"

He sat down on the bed beside him. "Love, you did get some look at her, didn't you?" He gestured with his hand. "She's only this big."

Reilley unscrewed his thermos and looked down at the reddish Breakfast tea. He took a gulp and savored the strong flavor. He then leaned back in his lawn chair. He adjusted his blanket and gave Mint a fond scratch behind the ears.

She stretched and then curled up. "I don't get why you don't just take him to the Seelie Court. They'd love to give him lessons. And he's a wingless flyer, those are always a treat to see. He'll be able to do more tricks once he gets going."

He didn't doubt that, but he couldn't see Arthur lessening his hold on the reins anytime soon, especially given how Alfie's adventure with the UnSeelies went. Plus, the Faerie Courts' entertainment would be the furthest thing from his mind.

Arthur was carrying a thermos of his own as he watched impatiently on the sidelines. After retying his scarf several times, pacing several times, and checking his phone repeatedly, he couldn't contain himself. "Rhys, let me-"

"No." Rhys replied as he set out weights.

"I just think-"

"No." He tied different colored helium balloons to them as part of a color coding system to denote how heavy each weight was.

"I don't understand why you won't let me be more involved," Arthur groused.

Damn, but it was entertaining; Arthur's irritation and Rhys's hard headedness. And while the first was caused by the latter (Arthur always had trouble relinquishing authority in any area he deemed himself more qualified) the latter's thorn of contention was but a few spans away.

Alistair moved aggressively—stretching his arms overhead as he barked out, "Down. Up. Down. Up."

Tex made no complaint as he did press-ups.

Hell, boy hadn't whined a bit when Alistair made him shovel snow and clear an area for them to train in that morning.

Rhys's hazel eyes flickered over to where their Scottish brother was and narrowed.

Reilley was rather impressed; it took a lot to rouse Rhys's sense of competition. Usually, it was archery and only if there was a real braggart on the field in need of humbling. He'd always had such a soft spot for Alistair and the Welshman didn't want to be viewed as a rival, that it was rare for him to go head-to-head with the Scotsman. But there was something in Alfred's sigh of admiration as he watched Alistair do some practice swings with his claymore as he walked...

Aye, that seemed to do the trick.

"Alfred." Rhys didn't look at him as he tied the final balloon.

"Yeah?"

"Our lesson is over here."

"Yeah...I know..."

"Get your blood going. Run there and back. Move!" Alistair boomed.

Texas was off like a shot—bounding through the snow as fast as he could.

Alfred plucked at all the layers he was wearing in comparison to his brother. "Their training is more badass than ours. Isn't it?"

Reilley nodded, couldn't argue with fact.

"Effectiveness is our priority," Rhys countered.

"But-"

"Sweetling, how about some cocoa before you start?" Arthur cut in. "Flying takes calories."

"Cocoa fuel! Okay!" He scrambled over.

"Now, you're certain you want to do this? Right now? Because we can postpone it to the afternoon when the day's a bit warmer," Arthur asked.

"I'm sure." Alfred's voice echoed a bit in the metal thermos.

"Arthur," Rhys muttered tersely. "I believe there are plenty of tasks involving our three remaining Magical Safety Lessons that could benefit from your attention."

"I'm sure there are," Arthur replied airily. "And they'll wait."

Alfred handed the thermos back. "Thanks."

"Of course. I don't want you to freeze out here." Arthur began smoothing the child's coat and repositioning Alfred's ear muffs so they wouldn't fall off.

"Aw duuuude, they get to fight with weapons?!" Alfred cried out indignantly as he watched Alistair set out swords, spears, shields, staffs, and other equipment in a large circle while Tex was running.

"Alfred," Rhys frowned.

"But, but, but, but-"

Intrigued, Reilley turned his sights more fully onto Alistair's training regime.

When Texas returned to their clearing, Alistair instructed him to choose the weapon that felt "right."

"First things, first," Alistair instructed. "Don't think. Feel. One o' these'll stand out. Might not make sense. Don't worry about it. Just choose it."

"Alrighty." The teen walked around inspecting—picking some up and then setting them back down, shaking his head.

When he made his selection, Reilley knew he wasn't the only one whose curiosity was piqued.

The side of Alistair's mouth was twitching up. "Bone knife? ...Interesting."

Texas watched from the doorway as Alistair assembled a swingset in the ballroom. Tex had helped lay out tarps and cardboard so the floor wouldn't get scratched up.

Ugh. He was sore. And the worst part was, he knew the Scotsman had been pulling his strikes.

After he'd chosen the knife, Alistair matched him with a knife of his own and they sparred.

"You've got to get familiar with it. And then you gotta trust it. And the fastest way to go about it. Is fightin' where ya gotta rely on it, or else."

Which made sense and still appealed to Tex over endless stacks of paper. Three hours of training and not a writing assignment in sight. Good trade. Though he'd gotten nagging messages from Spain asking if he needed anything else translated because Papi was going by the market and he could take the long way round and visit a University if need be.

The sound of Alistair cursing as his knees cracked on rising, brought him back to the moment.

Arthur had insisted during lunch that part of Alfred's flying lessons needed to be indoors or Al would be "stricken with illness." And somehow that translated into him ordering Alistair to do the heavy lifting of his plan.

Despite lots of grumbling, Alistair went along.

When Tex flat out asked why, the man shrugged: "Better I know this thing was made right than worry every time Alfred's on it."

Which touched Tex more than he liked to let on. He would've offered more help but his arms were still (to quote Al) "Noodle-y." And the next day promised to be even more exhausting than the first.

Alistair claimed that he needed to exhaust him to bring him closer to his "limit."

"You weren't raised up with magic," Alistair remarked as he hefted a gym bag onto his shoulder.

Tex nodded, "I never knew I'd need to-"

"Oi Laddie, I don't need a lament. S'fine. Just means that you learnt to handle whatever shit cropped up with your mind and your body. And it became habit. That's what we're gonna work on. It's where the mind and body fails, that's where your magic comes in. That's the starting point. Everything is got by degrees."

"Yeah?" Texas wiped his glasses off on his sleeve.

"Aye."

"And I'll be able to use magic, like Al or you?"

"Why not? You See easy enough, right?"

Tex blinked.

Alistair went on, "You got bad eyesight but you've got great-"

Tex bristled as that dragged up memories of folks doubting his gunmanship or roping on account of his specs.

"Easy now. I don't mean anything bad by it. I mean that, your eyes had problems. And your magic seeped in. You've got strong Sight."

"Yeah but y'all got Sight too and-"

"I saw you at the McDonald's. Didn't strike me till later, but...you saw that bodach. Even in the darkness, you saw it. Yeh saw it well."

"Well yeah, but the bastard was fast. If I coulda had a gun then…"

When the swingset was assembled and Alistair was checking the chains, Arthur arrived with linens, quilts, pillows, and cushions. And he began staging them strategically for "falls."

Alistair attached weights to the bottoms of the poles so the whole thing wouldn't flip over.

Once Arthur was satisfied with the project, he called Alfred on his phone. "Come quick, love! Daddy's nearly all set for your next flying lesson in the ballroom."

It was kinda weird. He'd gotten used to Arthur being the rain-on-your-parade-wet-blanket-sort of authority that seeing him so excited was jarring.

Not long after Alfred rushed into the room and looked it all over with delight. Then Reilley. Then Rhys brought in a stereo.

Arthur nodded approvingly. "Yes, good. Thank you. Did you set in the CD I asked?"

"Yes." Rhys answered.

"Good. Set it over there. Right. Alright, poppet. Here's what we'll do."

It turned out that Arthur's big plan was a variation of musical chairs. When the music stopped Alfred had to stop—often mid-swing and high in the air.

Tex watched as a grinning Arthur pushed Alfred on the swing. His brother shrieked with laughter as they played; especially, when Arthur yanked the chains back and used the moment to tickle him.

Rhys and Reilley alternated on who stopped the music. And sometimes the latter lobbed light cushions at Alfred supposedly to train him against "distractions"—though the amount that hit Arthur revealed who was the real target.

"I hate to admit it," Tex sighed as Alistair joined him at the edge of the room. "But the limey had a good idea."

"Aye, he has them now and again. It's what keeps him insufferable."

Sure enough, the man had a smug expression.

Alfred noticed him looking their way then and gave him a zealous wave from where he was hovering in the air.

Tex returned it and tried to shove down the worry rising up in his gut. Cuz Al was only s'posed to look that happy...with him.

"Tex!" Alfred sped over to him.

"Hey, Al."

Dude, he looked tired.

Alfred was more than a little spent himself considering he'd had morning flying lessons, regular magic lessons, and another flying lesson. But it was the good kind of drained; like he'd had a major workout. Flying was like…swimming in a way—it used your whole body. But it was so awesome! Even the exhaustion was worth it!

"Sooo? Uncle Al trains like Prussia, huh?" He still got shudders when he reminisced too hard about the early years of the Revolution. It was kinda like when he thought too much about Washington's teeth near the end there…with the real ones, and the purchased ones, and the porcelain…NO! Stop! Better to just not…think..about…that…

Tex flopped onto the couch.

Al pulled his brother's boots off. "Otherwise Dad'll-"

"Al?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't wanna hear about Dads right now."

Blue eyes widened.

Tex took his hat off and lobbed it onto the coffee table.

Alfred grabbed the remote and chattered away as he changed channels—trying to keep his spirits afloat. Because…he'd had…such a good time with Father today…and he would've liked to discuss it...to relive it through conversation but...

Something more must've happened with Spain. He'd let his brother bring it up. And in the meantime, he'd set his happiness on a backburner.

It was a real shame though; he'd wanted to ask his brother to help out with his flying lessons the next day because if there was anyone who'd be a good sport as he figured out the logistics of carrying a person while flying, it was Tex.

But now…

Knowing that his brother was in a mood…

And that he just wasn't in a place right now where he could handle parent-bashing, Alfred deliberately went off in the wrong direction: "Are you still sore about that Helena movie? I'll watch it now."

That put a smirk on his brother's face and he pounced on it. "Not gonna wuss out?"

"Nope!"

"You suuuuuure?"

He flushed. "Nuh uh. Bring it!"

Sleep! Ha! He didn't need to sleep tonight! He'd apologize to Dad later.

He set the movie back in and let Tex find the right scene. He then group-texted his uncles. It was more a formality than anything. He fully expected Uncle Al to reply first cuz he needed someone to volunteer as his "plane passenger" for tomorrow and who was more rough and tumble ready than him?

He stared at the message he received.

I thought we agreed, that I was your Flight Training Instructor?

Naturally, I'm willing to fly with you.

Thankfully, he recovered enough to write Rhys back: Ok, just checking. I didn't know if you wanted to be ATC or onboard. :)

Hopefully, the smiley face would deflect any hurt feelings.

And then he marveled at that. Just a few months ago, he'd been dead certain that Rhys was an unreachable ice king. And now...it was looking like...just a careless word could bruise him like a peach.

Arthur poured himself some tea and looked over to where Alistair was seated.

His brother was flipping through pages of a gramarye; the hag's book from December. Technically, it was Alfred's by right as he was the one who'd dispatched her, but...the child wasn't trained up enough to know that. Which was for the best. The last thing they needed was a child running around with an artifact of possible doom.

It abruptly reminded him of how Alfred had literally done so; with the arrowhead of the Wendigo Summoner trapped in his flesh. He shuddered and tried to push it from his mind.

"Do we have plans for Easter?" Arthur asked—surprising even himself by...being open to input. "Egg-painting is a given, but if Antonio is going to be here…"

"I'm not going to a Catholic Mass," Alistair muttered without looking up.

"I can take him," Reilley offered around a large slice of porter cake.

"Going to leave any for the rest of us?" Rhys raised an eyebrow.

Reilley scrunched his nose at him.

Rhys pulled out a book for note taking. "We'll need to blend a menu for breakfast, lunch, and dinner so there are pleasing options available to everyone."

"O! Before I forget," Reilley swallowed. "Gray needs to bring his grandson tomorrow."

"The troublesome one?" Rhys asked sharply.

"Think so."

"If he doesn't mind himself, he's gettin' a thrashing," Alistair promised.

"Alistair," Arthur frowned.

"We're in Generation Snowflake. The Gentle Touch is why."

"No," Arthur argued. "He is not one of ours, disciplining isn't up to us. In fact, I forbid corporal pun-"

"Now, now. He's older now, I'm sure he...I'm sure…" Reilley trailed off.

"-from this point on."

"I'm sure he's still a pain in the arse," Alistair growled.

"Did Gray mention why the boy needs to come?"

"No. Seemed embarrassed."

Which sent a jolt of concern through Arthur; for all the things his butler had put up with through the years, they could easily survive one day with his grandson at the estate. Right?

Alistair dog eared a page to hold his place and set his book down on the table.

"Please keep that away from where Alfred could find it," Arthur murmured.

Alistair's lips thinned and he looked ready to argue until their eyes met.

Arthur's absolute dread must've shown through because the Scotsman sighed, "Alright."

"Where are the boys?" Reilley asked.

"Canada is reviewing a copy of Malleus Maleficarum that I lent him. Texas and Alfred are in the movie room," Rhys answered. "Mint's in the pantry-"

There was a collective groan.

"Eating us out of house and home," he finished.

"She has a weakness for animal cookies," Arthur sighed as he went to collect her before she made herself ill.

The pantry door was open, "Mint!"

The flying bunny dropped the box of cookies. "O-oh, hello?"

"Mint...why are you here? Rather, why are you really here?"

She licked at some crumbs on her paws. "Actually, I'm not here for you."

Arthur stilled for a moment and then glowered. "Alfred is NOT going to a Court for Beltane's Day!"

She moved back. "Eek! That's not why-"

"Oh! S-sorry," He shifted a little guiltily as he calmed down.

"I'm here to ask when he plans to pursue the Gate Opening. Think they wanted to give him some kind of map or something."

Arthur stiffened, "He doesn't have the training for such a feat, yet. Just because he agreed to aid them doesn't mean he intends it right away."

The strain would be horrific for someone so inexperienced. It was a shock he'd managed something like that once. It'd be a tempting of fate to go solo once more. No, he'd need his family there with him. It wouldn't hurt to invite Norway and Romania as well when the time neared.

"Both courts know that, that's why they're offering resources to speed up the process."

"Hmmph."

"No strings!" Mint insisted.

"Riiight." That never happened. Fae were petty and greedy by nature.

"They seem to think he'll need them...and to borrow a royal signet. They didn't say why."

Arthur frowned and raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know, Alby. The Seelie Queen seemed kinda embarrassed and nervous though. And she really wants to meet Alfred to 'prepare him' whatever that means."

Arthur thought back to the shrine the UnSeelies had made for his son. Were the Seelies as creepily fond as well? "I'm sure she does. Everyone seems to-"

"No...not everyone. The Three want nothing to do with him."

England was surprised to hear that. Sure the old girls were never that hospitable but...they'd answered questions for him now and again through the ages.

Curiosity got the better of him. "Why?"

"They say he's dangerous."

"Pfft. Dangerous, we're all dangerous. Nations-"

"They don't want you to reveal their cave to him. I was asked by the Queen to relay that."

A flash of hurt and indignation made his face burn. He gritted his teeth. "Fine."

"Don't be like that. They've no quarrel with you! They just want him to stay away."

"Was there anything else?" He asked—aware that his tone had darkened but his anger on behalf of the snub to his child was too great for him to recover his composure.

"Ummmm….well? I think Old Man Lome's still hoping for you to forgive him his part in 18-"

"Ha! You must be joking."

"Oooookay, I'll tell him you still need more time. Maybe a millennia. Maybe three."

Before they could speak more on the subject, Texas and Alfred appeared.

The former was giving the latter a piggyback ride, though—

"Dammit Al, you're holding too tight!"

"That was horrible. It was horrible. Horrible!"

"Don't be a big baby."

"Horrible...she's gonna eat me! She's gonna eat me!"

Arthur's face soured. "Alfred, did you finish that movie?"

His son's expression betrayed him.

"Alfred!?"

The child stuck his arms out and reached for him. "Don't let the monsters get me."

Arthur sighed as he walked over.

"You," He pulled the child into his arms. "You…"

"I know, I know." Alfred rested his face near Arthur's ear and whispered. "Tex is crabby. I had to do something."

He looked over to where the lad was irritably checking bags of crisps and muttering, "Baked? Baked...nobody likes baked."

"I see." He lowered his voice. "Do you think you'll be alright, tonight?"

"No," the child answered miserably. "But I had to try. It's bad enough Mattie's having 'Daddy Issues' I don't wanna lose Tex too. It's like it's contagious. And I'm the only one that's immune."

That brought a soft smile to Arthur's face and he nuzzled their noses. It was a relief to know that they'd come so far in the past few months. He was also pleased that his words last night had sunk in to some extent and that Alfred's jealousy was laid to rest...at least for the moment.

He'd worked hard this day to try and show Alfred that he valued the boy's flying just as much as he valued Mathieu's knowledge. Both were great talents. Both made him proud. His next task would be to see to it that Mathieu understood that as well. There were several times during their mid morning lesson where the Canadian had seemed ready to goad the young American. England needed to put his foot down hard on that.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Sweet?"

"Did you have a Dad?"

"Err...um...er...no...but…Mother..."

"And that's why skirts and stockings were such a thing on your side of the family!" Tex crowed.

"Wot? Spain wore hose, if he's claimed otherwise, it's a falsehood-"

"It's a kilt!" Alistair sniped as he passed through the kitchen—hunting for a snack.

"Man-skirt," Tex grumbled.

"I will box yer ears."

Arthur glared at the threat.

"Do it," Alfred grinned. "I dare you."

"Alfred?!"

"You are asking for it,too, Laddie! I got two hands, I can do a double."

"I'll wax your leg while you sleep."

"Like I'd sleep through that without noticing."

Alfred blinked as if he hadn't considered that.

"Numpty," Alistair chuckled affectionately.

"It'd work if you were Tex, he could sleep through it."

"Al?! Don't give him ideas!"

"Sorry! Take backsies! I-hey!" Alfred perked up. "What book is that?"

His elder brother blanched and his hold on the gramarye tightened.

Arthur seethed as he noticed it.

"Haggis cookbook," Alistair answered.

Alfred choked, "My soul shrivels to know that there's that many recipes."

"Ack, well, I wouldn't expect a Yank to appreciate the finer regional differences."

Alistair ducked out of the room pretty quickly after that and Arthur received a text: Sorry.

Arthur stared at the word until Alfred's wriggling brought him to. The two boys chattered about the movie and he gave them a half-hearted scolding. He set Alfred down and followed as the boys went to choose a board game.

...Sorry…

It almost haunted him because...because...when was Alistair ever sorry for anything?

Read, Review, Relax : D