Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or the Lenape Legend of Rainbow Crow. Or Peter Pan.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Alfred and Arthur centric chap. Drama. Feels. Angst. Roller Disco.
AN: I know, I know. I really need to update Sirena, but I've got to track down my notes for it XD. I'm in the calm before the next storm, so I cranked this chap out for you guys. Thanks for sticking with me! Geez, this has been a rough semester! Thank you for your reviews! I check them at school a lot to brighten my day : DDD
Hope you enjoy!
Chapter 23: Tangled Like A Butterfly
Alfred blankly stared at the sun and watched the light ripple on the surface of the water as he sank.
Crap.
Fly! Fly dammit! But he'd flown a lot earlier and the magic he needed, eddied at his internal reach instead of jumping to his command.
Crap!
Old-fashioned way it is! He thought desperately as he struggled to swim. But his body was heavy and sore and the cold!
Goddammit, the cold! Needle-sharp and everywhere.
Time seemed to stretch…
And it was so dark here...
Nonono, he needed to react now! He had between three and five minutes to get the fuck out of here before his muscles failed him.
He struggled to move up, but his clothes and his skates were weighing him down.
Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.
He was running out of air and time.
He stared down at his shoes and the skates. Maybe if he could get them off?
He blinked when Dwr_ swam under him and carefully grasped the blades in her webbed hands and used them to push him up.
Her silvery fish eyes were determined and she gave him a nod of "I-Got-This" and then he felt a hand grab the back of his shirt.
He stared up and-and-and-
...saw...Mathieu?
His brother wrapped an arm around him, and swam them up to the hole in the ice.
They broke the surface and then Round Two of Try-To-Survive began.
"We-we gotta," He spluttered.
"It's alright," Mathieu breathed. "It's alright, Al. I got ya." He began moving them to the edge of the ice. "I'm going to get you...on the edge. Don't stand, eh? That's important. Don't stand. Roll. You'll roll instead. Otherwise, you could fall through. Again."
"R-r-right," Alfred chattered. "I-I-I-"
"Al, I'm going to...lift you. Now."
Another set of arms immediately got ahold of him. "Good God. Is he alright? Is he-he? Are you alright?"
Alfred stared at Arthur. Whoa...when did he get there?
How long was he under?
Over at the edge of the pond, Alistair and Texas were waiting to pull them all to safety.
When did they all get there? He wondered dazedly.
Arthur gruffly ordered Alfred to hold onto his back.
Soooo bossy.
The Briton turned to Mathieu. "Alright, lad. You next."
"Arthur, I know how to get out." He exhaled, gripped the edge, and then hefted himself up.
"Arf. Arf. L-l-like a sssss-ss-sseal," Alfred noted.
Mathieu looked to Arthur, "I think he's getting hypothermia, you'd better-"
"In a moment," Arthur growled.
"Ar-"
"Damnation! I'm saving you both. Take my hands this bloody instant!"
Mathieu offered both hands and Arthur gripped him by his forearms.
Arthur gave a piercing whistle and then they were sliding across the ice.
Alfred reminisced about how sailors used to do the rope work at theaters in ages past and how it felt to be suspended by wires for certain pieces.
"W-woooo-h-hoo," Alfred murmured softly. "I-I w-wanted an ad-advent-ure."
"And you got it bro, yippee kay yay," Tex replied soothingly as he unzipped Alfred's wet coat and removed it from before he pulled off his own shearling long jacket. He wrapped the dry garment around Alfred before picking him up. "I gotcha. Let's get ya in."
Texas hurried into the house with Alfred in his arms.
Baby brother was looking pretty baby blue.
Plus, he always got that slightly sad and confused look whenever he began dying from exposure. Like he just couldn't quite accept that his body was letting him down.
It was better when he got shot. He at least knew what the hell was going on most of the time.
Tex blinked as Alistair went stockstill.
"The hell is he...doing?"
Unsure if this was a trick question, Tex shrugged, "Uh, I think he's gonna ice dance or something? He does that sometimes."
Tex seldom joined him—he just didn't have the talent for that sort of thing. Roller skates neither. God, he was so glad Roller Disco was out.
Scotland's gray eyes were wide. "...I dunno if it'll hold him…"
"Huh?"
He cursed violently in Gaelic or whatever as Alfred disappeared under the ice.
"Grab a rope from m'shed and meet me there!" Alistair ordered as he loped through the snow towards the pond.
When Tex arrived with rope in hand, he found Mathieu sprawled out on the ice—edging toward the break and that Alistair had Arthur by the arm.
"Fer Chrissakes hold on a minute!" the Scotsman growled.
Arthur was frantic. "Release me! They're both-"
Alistair noticed Tex then, took the rope, and tied it around Arthur. "Go now."
He was off like a shot.
"I-I-I feel like a-a-a t-t-tool," Alfred sniffled as he shivered.
"Nah, not you. This stuff happens," Tex muttered, looking around and trying to remember which room to head to.
"We have the fire going over here," Rhys barked from further down the hall.
Tex hurried toward him.
The Welshman looked around. "Where's Mathieu? My brothers?!"
"They're still outside. They'll be comin' quick."
Sure enough, he and Al were just entering the room when—
"Arthur, I'm okay," Mathieu assured as Arthur manhandled him toward the fireplace. "I go kayaking in January, Arth-"
"Mr. Gray is fetching them clothes," Rhys reported.
Arthur nodded.
Mathieu pulled his wet sweater and shirt off and stood near the fire and sighed. He looked over at Alfred and Texas and smiled, "I'm glad you're alright, Al."
Texas and Alfred shared a look. He was so damn nonchalant about it all.
That got Al's goat. Bad.
"Y-yeah, I-I-I'm good. F-fine. I can-can-" Al struggled to get out of his and Tex's jackets with what had to be numb fingers. His hands weren't clenching right.
Arthur plucked him out of Tex's arms and sat down near the fire. He then unceremoniously began undressing Al before he "bloody freezed" to death.
"Hey!" Tex's brother squawked as he was stripped down. "D-d-don't I g-get s-s-s-s-some d-dignity?"
"No," Arthur replied tersely.
"Here you go, Alfie-boy," Reilley bundled him into a soft fleece blanket. "Ere ya freeze yer jewels off."
Arthur turned to Texas, "Go get towels."
Tex nodded, "Right."
He raided the downstairs bathrooms and returned with armfuls in time to see Mr. Gray was was white with anxiety as he hurried in with clothes for his brothers.
Aoife came in pushing a rolling cart full of steaming refreshments. "Alright, let's get yeh all warmed up. Here ya go, lovey." She passed Alfred a mug which Arthur helped him hold.
Alfred frowned down at the contents and wrinkled his nose. "Ew, t-t-t-this isssss tea. I-I-I don't-"
"Drink your tea," Arthur growled, and in such an abide-or-else deep octave that Tex jolted.
Alfred obediently took a sip.
Arthur took one of Tex's proffered towels and began drying Alfred's hair. "I don't know what the devil you were thinking. Going out there when-"
"I called Nancy," Reilley stated to the tense room. "She's on her way."
Alfred groaned. "N-n-nooo, I'm f-f-f-fine."
"What? Nancy?!" Arthur turned—incredulous. "We need an ambulance! He was under for-for-God...six, seven minutes?"
"Less than three," Scotland murmured. "Just...felt longer."
"Nancy will decide if we need to take him to hospital," Reilley frowned.
"B-b-b-b-butttt-"
"Are meant for sitting." Reilley forced a smile as he started to come over, at least until Arthur gave him more things to do.
When Al was allowed to be dressed, he was given a hot water bottle to hold between layers.
"I can heat up some more, if it pleases Your Worship," Reilley glared at Arthur who didn't appreciate it.
He nodded tiredly, "At least three more."
When Reilley returned with the next batch, Mathieu was amused as he accepted his hot water bottle, "It's not that cold for me." He began reminiscing aloud about his own geography until Tex interrupted him.
"I got deserts in my backyard. So it's freaking cold here to me. Gimme one of those." He sighed in relief as Reilley tossed him one. "Ohhh yeah, c'mere, you," He hugged it close.
Being out in the elements everyday for training had been doing a number on him, and then carrying Al-the-icecube hadn't really helped.
He looked over to where his little brother was getting restless. Which was good, it meant he was gonna snap out of this.
Still, Arthur was being pretty rigid with him—ignoring Al's desires to get up and go. Instead, he rewrapped the blanket—swaddling him tightly.
Tch. Idgit.
Restriction made Al cranky.
Sure enough, creases began to appear in his face; first, between the eyebrows, next at the edges of his eyes, and then came a fierce frown.
Tex fished out a deck of cards so he could play memory with Al. He'd point to one and then the next whenever it was Al's turn.
Which got him to lighten up.
"This one?"
"Nope," Alfred replied.
"Ohh, that one?"
"No," he giggled.
"How about this one here?" Tex smiled.
"No!"
And it was a relief as time passed and Al warmed up enough to start playing better. His blue eyes lit up with thought as memorization became easier.
Arthur chewed on a knuckle as he paced. His insides were coiled in a tight knot of anxiety. And he'd sprained his ankle following Mathieu's route down from the balcony. He'd landed awkwardly in the snow. While Nancy had given him a lookover after the boys and confirmed that nothing was broken, she warned him to rest it.
He could feel her gaze on it, as he limped back and forth.
Tex clicked his tongue. "Soooo Nancy-the-Nurse-Lady, Al checks out?"
She gave the young man a wry smile, "Yes, but keep him warm."
"Will do."
"And Mathieu?" Arthur demanded.
"Also healthy."
Arthur watched her face closely. "And Alfred's healthy?"
"The lady just said-"
"He's still underweight, isn't he?"
She sighed, "...yes, he still seems a little underweight. But he's small for his age, so that's a factor."
It was hard not to take that personally—to wonder if he'd been able to raise his son since infancy whether he'd be like this...or if he was to blame...was it the nature of Roanoke's founding that Alfred had been born prematurely?
Against his will, he glanced at Texas and felt a harsh sting of resentment for Spain who'd been fortunate enough to have been present for his own colony's birth….and the lad had grown up to be healthy. All the misadventures they'd had this past year and nary an illness or injury (save what Arthur had inflicted on him in moments of temper).
"You'll stay? To monitor their health?" Arthur demanded.
"Yes," she agreed.
"Good." He turned on his heel to return to his boys.
And he wasn't a moment too soon.
Mathieu was wide eyed and immediately pointed him to where Alfred stood ringed by his uncles.
His small form, still huddled in a blanket by the hearth (where Arthur had hesitantly left him), was tense with anger and insolence smoldered in his bright blue eyes.
Perfect.
Just what Arthur wanted to deal with.
"I didn't know I had to inform everybody and their grandma on my whereabouts," Alfred spat sullenly.
"Yeah, you do," Alistair growled as he crossed his arms.
"But Uncle Al!"
"No, don't 'Uncle Al' me on this. Yeh shoulda checked with me. Yeh shoulda told somebody. And yeh shoulda had somebody come with yeh."
"We're not in the city! You said-you said, and I paraphrase: I had to follow rules there cuz humans would think Dad was bad if they saw me doing my own thing. But we're out in the middle of nowhere. I can do whatever I want again."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. Well, he'd definitely need to nip that notion in the bud.
"Whatever you want?" Alistair started to laugh. "Is that what you think? That you can just-"
"I used to be able to go off whenever I wanted," Alfred argued. "Wherever I wanted, when I became independent. Nobody cared."
Arthur flinched.
Alistair started laughing harder, "Yeh really believe that? That it was just a matter of sovereignty and looking like you hit your majority that-"
Alfred frowned, "I made my own way-"
"Alfie-boy...don't," Reilley murmured tiredly.
"I did!" Alfred insisted shrilly. "I made my own way and I never asked for anything! No silk cushions for me! I worked for everything and I-"
"Don't ya think it was ever a wee bit odd that you could always find work?" Reilley muttered. "That sooo many docks and shops could always be in need of you? No matter what time of year?"
"Huh? No, I'm...I'm a hardworker. I'm sincere. It shows in my face that I'm of a good character. Trustworthy, dependa-"
Reilley raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Or that you could hunt and fish wherever you damn well fancied without ever being subjected to laws of trespassing? That lords and barons and earls or their sons would just happen to cross your path and invite you in?"
"Wha...whaddya mean? H-how do you know that? I mean, I'm friendly! I know you all think I've got no manners, but I'm friendly! Plenty of people think I'm good company-"
"That no layman, no lord, and no king even, ever dared to try yeh in court for anythin'?"
Blue eyes went wide. "...what?"
"The fights you were in, the trouble you caused, that train you knocked over in 18-"
Arthur elbowed Reilley and Alistair out of his way. "For Christ's sake, you're just trying to upset him, now."
"Oi, the anklebiter had this coming!" Scotland muttered and started to pull out a cigarette. "Like we didn't keep tabs on him."
"Don't you dare light that here," Rhys stated darkly. "Have you no concern for the dangers of secondhand smoke? And there are children here."
Arthur took his place between them and his son. "Off with you lot! Now!"
The redheads reluctantly backed up, but Rhys lingered, unimpressed.
Green eyes narrowed, but hazel eyes held them unflinchingly.
The contest was broken with—
"Did you know, too?" Alfred looked up at him—devastated.
Arthur pointed to the ceramic bowl sitting to Alfred's right on the hearth before the fire; it was still terribly full. Trust his brothers to lecture when his son needed nourishment. Scolding came after wellbeing. "You need to eat that broth before it goes cold and does you no good."
"Did you...know?" Alfred repeated. The blanket began to slide down off his shoulders. "That I hunted and fished and made camps and-and-and…?"
Arthur didn't answer; he pulled the blanket back up, and pointed to the bowl again. "Eat."
Did he know? Of course he did.
And he'd nursed a private pain that his child would rather glean a meal from the wilderness than sit at his table in the comforts of a home and dine with him, but he was a father. His duty, stripped of all romantic notions, was to provide food, shelter, and an education. So long as one of his children was within his borders, they'd be cared for...even if it couldn't be done by him personally. Alfred wanted to hunt his meals? Fine. Let no hunters or fences or the rules of royal forests deter him.
A small hand tugged at his trousers, "It wasn't stealing! It was living off your land, but it wasn't stealing. When I killed something, I used all of it. And I always let you hunt on my land, too. Remember? So it was fair." The child insisted desperately. "That made it fair."
For a moment Arthur could only stare at him and then spluttered sharply, "Of course it wasn't stealing. Of course not."
And Arthur glared harder at his brothers, who looked chagrined, and he hoped for their sakes—that wasn't the point they were trying to impress on their nephew.
"Of course not," He forced a smile. "Now, come sup with me, love."
Alfred craned his head to look up at Uncle Rhys, who'd fallen asleep. Sure, he'd had to endure back-to-back scoldings (first from Arthur and then from Rhys) about poor judgment and the importance of getting second opinions...but it kinda equalled out; they'd spent the morning marathoning fairytales which made Nancy's checkup of him more bearable. He never liked being poked and prodded, but having distant mystical lands described...and the fact that Arthur would gladly answer any of his questions while Rhys waited to continue. Or that Rhys seemed to be cottoning on that he wasn't trying to be rude, he just...really wanted to know.
He'd admitted after Arthur went into great detail describing the Seelie Court and its fountains and indoor stream and loops of flora and sparkling drapes that he...kinda wanted to see it. If...if maybe...Arthur could be there, too. Because…
Alfred gently touched the skin beneath the eye that had been taken. Sure, he'd grown it back but…
If that was a normal fae interaction...he definitely wasn't waltzing in there by himself.
Arthur promised he would before he left for a phone conference with Parliament. Rhys continued on through a stack of stories with a fervor that was a little worrying.
His dad and his uncles had been freaked since yesterday. Since after…his… disastrous icecapade.
Alfred carefully extracted himself from the older man's hold and pulled the quilt they'd been sharing, higher up on the Welshman.
As he wandered down the hallway in three pairs of socks, because Arthur panicked when he'd seen that he kicked them off in bed last night, he tried to think ahead.
About what groceries he and Tex would need to pick up once they were back in the states tomorrow. What diner to visit when they driving home from the airport...whether he'd have breakfast with a smiley face pancake or a full on meal, like a burger and fries and onion rings and a milkshake with sprinkles and extra whipped cream…
He blinked hard…
That stuff was supposed to make him feel happy…
He looked around at the paintings in the hallway and his eyes paused on the double doors to the left.
He heard people talking in the library…
He gave it a leery look—the place definitely gave him foreboding feelings following his panic attack there.
"It's a simple question," Mr. Gray stated seriously. "Did you see him go out there?"
"..."
"He's seven years old, Wynn."
"I...thought he was America...America's like...old, right? Like England."
"He's seven."
"But-"
"I don't care you've read in history books. He's only seven. Did you see him go out there? In the snow? By himself? How did he know where the antique skates were, Wynn?"
Alfred peered in to see Wyn was pale and nervous.
"I dunno!" the boy blurted.
"I found them last December when I hid out in a shed!" Alfred answered from the doorway. "I...I didn't tell anyone what I was planning. That's what Alistair chewed my butt out for."
"Oh," Mr. Gray gasped and looked over at him. He put a hand to his heart. "Goodness, gave me such a start. Oh, I should probably run your bath, now."
Alfred watched the teen slowly slink from his chair to an opposite pair of doors in the library.
"Yeah, a bath sounds good," Alfred replied—giving the kid time to make his escape.
Wynn eased the doors open and as he left, gave him a look torn between gratitude and guilt.
Alfred shrugged and gave a smile, it was just an accident.
"Lots of bubbles, okay?" Sometimes it was good to play up the little kid card.
Mr. Gray nodded attentively, "Of course, of course." He noticed distractedly that Wynn was gone and shook his head slightly in irritation before slipping back into his butler-y persona. "Now, the Admiral asked me if I would draw one for you before lunch, but I'd like to ask Nancy first. Make sure it's safe for you. That it won't give you a shock."
When they tracked her down, she gave them the green light, and the man asked where he'd prefer it.
"I like the one with the ships."
"Ah the master's quarters," the butler eyed him and smiled in amusement. "You would."
It seemed like the morning was shaping up, at least until, they passed a room with a door left ajar and he saw—
"Sir?" Mr. Gray asked.
Arthur embracing Mathieu…
"Thankyouthankyouthankyou. Thank God for you. You saved him. You did. I don't know what I would've-" was the steady stream of gratitude. "But God, when you went under too, I-"
"Sir?"
He turned away and continued walking.
He'd never get that. Hoped to get that during WWI. Expected it during WWII. But it never came. It never would.
"Young Master?" He looked to the room and then back to him.
"I always fuck stuff up," he admitted quietly. And Mattie was always the one that capitalized on it. Always the golden, goody-two-shoes...all he had to do was sit back and wait...Alfred was always bound to botch something...
Maybe it was for the best that he and Tex would be outta there by the next day. They attracted drama like magnets.
He waited for some kind of telling off for using such foul language. But it didn't come. In fact, he couldn't even tell if the elderly man was frowning because the world was so blurry.
It was a little surprising when he was picked up. "I'm certain that isn't the case. And I think I can prove that to you now, if we simply take a moment and talk it out with them-"
Alfred panicked at the thought of laying it all out. It was bad enough to carry it inside, the thought of having it known... "Nononono! I just...I want the bath. I smell gross. Please! Please..."
Gray sighed and very reluctantly agreed.
So he took a bath, or tried to, only half way through Arthur demanded the door be unlocked. And when Alfred called back that it was too late, he was in the tub. Arthur fetched the Master's set of keys and unlocked it himself. Then he kept knocking to check up on him and finally he just barged in to ask him what he wanted for lunch.
Alfred had looked up from the handful of bubbly foam he had in his hands and made his ire known. Seriously, yeah, he'd risked a drowning yesterday. But that was a lake and this was a bathtub. And he wasn't completely incompetent, thank you, and when he called the old man out on it, he went very stiff.
His jaw clenched and he went into a military stance that Alfred recognized too well from previous arguments. He left abruptly—closing the door hard behind him.
Later when Alfred was dressed, he entered the kiddie room—desperate for some Disney to lighten the mood—and found Arthur in the rocking chair. His knitting needles were working at a furious pace.
There was a hardness in his countenance. His green eyes were sharp. And it was all so familiar. It was one of the default expressions that was just for Alfred in the years following his Revolution...
They were backsliding to where they'd been before...
Alfred tried to swallow down the lump in his throat and couldn't, "Look, I know I messed up. I'm sorry. I know you're angry but-but it was an accident and I'm sorr-"
The needles stopped clacking. "-not angry."
"Huh?"
England dumped his crafting supplies into the basket beside his chair. "I'm not angry."
America frowned, "Yeah, you are. Y-you...you always get like this when you're angry. When I've ticked you off. And I just can't...deal with-with this right now. So can you just get it all out? And we'll get it over with?"
"I. Am. Not. Angry. At. You."
"Then what's with you!" he demanded—storming over to him—aware that his voice was overloud and rang with more power than he felt and he desperately wanted some feeling of control...some kind of foothold. "What is it you want from me? What do you want to hear? That I'm a clumsy screw-up? Tch! Like that's a secre-"
Arthur's hand cut the word off, "N-no, that's...not what I want to-to…No...not that..."
His voice was all wrong. Soft and hoarse.
"I'm frightened."
Alfred stared as his father's hand moved again and cupped his cheek.
"You frightened me. I can't lose you again," He answered in a strained voice. "I had never...lost one. Not whilst they were under my care. Or even when grown but in my sight. I was always careful. Even when I took them into battle with me. Never lost one then...Never as a child. Never. Until you…"
It took Alfred a minute to realize they weren't agonizing about quite the same thing.
December felt like forever ago...
Arthur's eyes were dull. "In a bag and they...didn't even clean you up...treated you like rubb...you, you," He traced Alfred's eyebrows with his thumbs and brushed his fingers over his features like he was some priceless sculpture. "How could they do that to you? Monsters. How could they? How could any of them do it? Your people or mine? When they know damn well how much I...I can't do that again. Ever. Do you understand me?" He pulled Alfred near.
"I…"
Months and months of not being able to find him and weeping alone in Alfred's bedroom.
When the surgery in Osha's cabin went wrong...and Arthur feared the worst…
A montage of images of Alfred—mostly ones where he was smiling, or young, or adequately defenseless and vulnerable to make Arthur feel needed.
Little hands plucking at Arthur's breeches to be picked up…
A little body snuggling underwing at storytime…
His little boy giving him childish kisses and declaring his undying admiration and affection.
Tucking him in as a child or fixing his cravat as a teenager before they entered a royal governor's abode.
And there was too much tenderness in the feelings for Alfred to feel embarrassed by them.
Holding the young man close as he vowed to heal and restore the lad's failing sight.
The past and the present bled together.
Arthur's hands carefully tended to bruises and scrapes, pet soft wheat hair, cupped Alfred's little face and playfully pinched his nose…
His hands brutally ripped at the parachute harness...
Because America was unresponsive and tangled in a tree.
Damn that Red Baron...
Alfred nodded. Yeah, that jackass...
"Is he even alive?" Eire asked. "They're getting close."
He'd seen their dogfight, the flashes of machinegun fire.
It was more than imprudent to linger when he had his own array of missions to complete.
But he just knew it was Alfred. Knew it. And he couldn't leave without knowing if the younger nation survived his encounter with Germany's ace-of-aces.
And when he'd gone down...
England would be damned if he left the boy for Germany to take prisoner.
And when he'd found him…
Like he'd give them the opportunity to shoot him where he was. Tangled like a butterfly in a web.
Neither Reilley nor Arthur had a knife on them anymore since their scuffle with the krauts earlier.
He climbed out further onto the tree branch—daring it to hold him, willing it to hold him, commanding it to hold him so he could work Alfred free.
The blood trickling down from Alfred was warm.
"Is he alive?" Reilley repeated. "They're coming. Goddamn it, they're coming. Albion!"
The parachute, the branches, the harness, they were all fighting him. And he had to keep one hand on the branch above to stay balanced.
"Coming…" Reilley breathed.
Damnation. One cord just wouldn't give. And he was weak. If he used his strength as a nation...he wouldn't be able to control it well. He could cause America more injury if he lost control.
Alfred groaned in pain.
Alive! Alivealivealivealive. He had to save him.
But he had no knife...he had no knife...but he had teeth. He grabbed the cord and ripped through it.
Their combined weight broke the branch beneath his feet.
But he had him. He had him!
"Oooh me, he's in bad shape. Maybe we should hide him? Come back later."
Arthur glared.
Abandon him?
Never...
He ripped the black body bag to pieces.
And he washed and combed the blood out of Alfred's hair. He cleaned it out from under his little fingernails. Arthur carefully scrubbed where it had dribbled down from Alfred's mouth and nose over his chin and throat to his chest and dried.
And he cradled the dead weight and pressed his lips to a cold forehead.
Alfred shuddered because while everything else had been sadness and desperation. The current under the latest grief was something else. Related to what had come before and yet...alien and strange...something deeper and darker than rage.
Like it didn't matter that the woman who'd hit him with her car had done so on accident...or that the people who delivered him to the motel were just following orders.
"I want to go flying!" Alfred blurted. "I want you to come with me!"
Where the sky was fresh and new despite being ancient, and if there was any hope for anything it was up there.
Arthur shook his head gravely, "No, Sweet."
"Come on, come on, come on, pleeeeease?"
"Alfie…"
And he could feel that his old man just wanted to hole up inside the manor. And Alfred hazily picked up memories of great stone halls during bitter winters. Torches and hearths and flickering shadows. A sanctuary where wounds could be licked and strategies planned.
And yes, outside was harsh. He'd spent winters in it. How many, he couldn't say...they were before he could count. They blended into one long memory of ice and cold. And yes, the air up high was doubly so, but it was beautiful and when light flashed on the icicles in trees...
"Daddy, please! For me..."
Arthur reluctantly moved out into the snow. He was loathe to have his child out so soon after the lake incident. And everything out here looked like a creeping danger to his tired, father-eyes. But Alfred was insistent and if he didn't make concessions now, he'd have to spend the rest of the day paranoid about Alfred striking out on his own without any supervision.
Fifteen minutes. That was his maximum for this excursion. Fifteen minutes and not a second more. He had the timer on his phone set.
The child tugged him forward and swung their arms playfully.
"It'll be fun!" He gave Arthur's hand a squeeze.
"Only for a little bit," Arthur murmured. "Then we head back in, alright?"
Alfred abruptly stopped and pulled his hand away.
"Alfie..."
Alfred used his teeth to help him get his gloves off and shoved them in his pocket.
"Alfred!"
The child then reached over and pulled Arthur's gloves off as well.
"What're you-"
He then grabbed Arthur's hands, "I told you I wanted to take you flying!"
England felt his stomach swoop as his feet left the snowy ground, "Alfred, Alfred, wait. Ahhh!"
America giggled and squeezed his hands. He understood now why Alfred didn't want either of them wearing gloves for this.
The boy's scarf tickled at Arthur's nose at that precise moment and he sneezed, "Alfred, no, I really don't think this is-"
The child let out an aggravated whine, "O come on, it's not like I'd deliberately drop you."
So...if he was dropped it'd be by accident. How reassuring.
Arthur nervously cleared his throat, "Let's-ahhh" the boy's flight dipped. "Let's go inside.
We'll practice with cushions!"
Alfred's cheeks puffed, "Rhys was a much better sport."
Arthur's jaw dropped in shock and then he glowered, "You practiced with Rhys before me?!"
Alfred looked away as he blushed, "I wanted to work some kinks out before I took you."
"Humph!"
Alfred sighed, "Cuz I knew you were gonna be a killjoy like this!"
"A killjoy!?" He rasped indignantly. "Because I'm a smidge concerned about watching my legs dangle in the breeze?"
"We're barely three feet up!" Alfred argued. "God, I knew it'd be like carriage driving practice. You freaking out cuz I'm the one holding the reigns!"
Arthur felt his heart skip a beat, "I was calmer than Reilley or Rhys, if you remember?"
Alfred blinked and laughed suddenly, "I DO remember. It came down to you and Uncle Al teaching me!"
Arthur smiled, "That's right."
His memories were returning. Arthur felt his eyes sting a bit. He was so happy. The child was remembering.
Only it seemed to boost his confidence, and Alfred levitated higher and higher.
Arthur swallowed nervously, "Alfie?! S'good practice. Let's float down now. Nice and easy and slooow."
"Where's your Peter Pan spirit?" Alfred crowed—swinging him in a lazy circle. "Where's your crow's nest calm?"
It was highly discomfiting seeing treetops whirl beneath him.
"Eeep."
He watched one wellie (because honestly he had not expected anything strenuous) slip off his foot and fall from the fatal height.
"O God."
He took a deep breath and endeavored to look up at Alfred instead.
Alfred gasped and Arthur's stomach plummeted.
"I just remembered! Oh, oh, when I was Roanoke. I'd sometimes use a stick so I could more easily magick Ginnie into the air with me. We'd both sit on it, and I'd make it rise and-" A curious look passed over Alfred's face, "Hey Daddy, do you think New England still has witches?"
Where in the world had that come from?
"I...I couldn't say…"
"Oh…" Alfred looked thoughtful as he lowered them down.
Arthur didn't even mind the cold that seeped in through his sock as they landed. Arthur reeled his son into his arms and settled him on his hip.
"Did you like it?" Alfred asked abruptly. "I know it was super short, but…"
"Hmm?"
"The way the light glistened and the breeze rustled and the birdsongs in the branches-"
"Birdsong?" He looked over to where crows were rasping and back to his child. "Birdsong?"
He shuddered at the sight of them; they were an omen of death...scavengers of the battlefield.
"Don't you know the story of the 'Many Colored Crow?' All those other stories you guys know...and you don't know this one? The Lenape told me."
Arthur leant down to retrieve his wellie and jerk it onto his foot. "Well, don't leave me in suspense, darlingheart."
After Arthur straightened back up and made for the house (carefully, because his ankle was starting to smart but he didn't want to draw Alfred's attention to it), Alfred rested his head against Arthur's shoulder and began, "Many seasons ago, when the world was new and green, the Creator made a Snow Spirit who covered all in sleet and ice. The animals were troubled and assembled to decide who must travel to heaven and ask the Creator for help. Turtle was too slow, Owl's sight was too poor, Coyote was too insincere to successfully get aid. All this, they decided before Rainbow Crow, most beautiful and colorful, the sweetest of songbirds, volunteered to make the great journey..."
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