Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Or Portal 2.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable
inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Teensy Reference to Easter Rising in Ireland. More references to strained relations with Native American tribes prior to the formation of the U.S. and afterwards. When a cactus has offspring, you call them pups XD.
Special Warning: Super long block of an author's note/rant to vent feelings & unsolicited advice.
AN: Whelp. Change of plans. Had to drop that online course because the overpriced merchandise was faulty and the Prof was in denial and would not help with troubleshooting. I dunno folks, but when you click on the quiz link...and it doesn't take you to a quiz...to me, that signals there's a problem XD. Euripides contends that "A bad beginning makes for a bad ending" so I got the heck outta dodge! I share this in the hopes that if other people find themselves in a similar predicament, to be proactive—you do not have to just deal with it. When Life gives you lemons… "demand to see Life's manager" -Cave Johnson, Portal 2 (and get a refund :) because it's the American way...just know that you will have to jump through tons of bureaucratic hoops over the following weeks. The trick is to not flinch at all the forms and ask for the higher up's contact info. It's a game of chicken, don't balk.
In other news, my regular Spring Semester starts today and this time I've got...26 books...o_O to read….O_O for school O_O to succeed. So, you know, it'll be...interesting (coughpainful) trying to find a balance between all of that and writing this. Here's to hoping I find a way! : DD
Chapter 27: Hexes and Headshots
Arthur stared...and stared...and stared...before shakily reaching for the frame on the "tomb" and pulling it free. It cracked off easily enough and Arthur realized it had only been fastened by a glob of hot glue.
"Yeah," Alfred slurped at his noodles. "I thought it was kinda creepy that they dressed us. I mean, it was still kinda creepy that you dressed me when I...But, ya know, less cuz...you're my dad and you gave me baths when I was a baby and stuff…"
Arthur studied the aged sepia toned picture; there was a solemnity in their young faces and an awkwardness to their slumping forms that alerted one at once that they weren't sleeping.
Arthur took the now empty barstool seat beside Alfred. He swallowed hard and set the picture on the counter.
"...you're...not gonna be weird about this, right?" Alfred asked tiredly and peered into the sink to make sure all of Antonio's sickness had been washed away before turning off the faucet.
Arthur sucked in a breath and turned to look at the boy.
Alfred blinked. "I mean, it's just...there's...there's really nothing you can do about it...so...freaking out won't-"
Stiff upper lip. Stiff upper lip. Stiff-
Bugger.
His lips trembled.
Alfred patted his arm and cooed, "S'okay. It's okay. Don't be sad. It was just a fight. We just lost is all. We came back later."
The tone was sympathetic but there...just wasn't real understanding in his eyes. He was too desensitized.
But with time…
If Arthur could find a way to limit his overexposure to violence…
Over time...he could recover...
Arthur looked over to Rhys who was frowning deeply. Reilley bustled about the kitchen—louder and clumsier than was his usual wont.
At present, all Arthur could do was try and communicate how it made him feel. Overcoming his own reserve was difficult but vital if he was going to model healthier communication methods for the boy to emulate, since Alfred was very reserved in some areas, outright desensitized in others, and often left without words or instructions on how to convey things he'd experienced.
"It makes me...very sad," Arthur forced out around the lump in his throat. "I...I don't like thinking...that your government just...sent you boys out...so...so carelessly." Ruthlessly, more like.
The child's head tilted in confusion. "...but we always come back. So it makes sense to send-"
Arthur slammed a fist on the counter. "It does NOT!"
Blue eyes went wide with alarm. "..."
Control, Arthur. Control. He'd definitely need to attend a cyber session with his counselor for...anger management. That is, if Parliament didn't deem him a lost cause after the Walmart incident. He took a steadying breath. "Sweet...yes, sending us can-can, er...bolster the vigor of our troops at times-"
He saw the boy nod enthusiastically.
"But it can be dangerous, should we die," Arthur continued. "Deaths...can affect your memory."
Alfred frowned. "I thought only hexes and headshots-"
"Too many deaths can influence how much you remember of an event," he forced out tightly.
It was frightening. It was positively horrifying to think of how many deaths the boys had endured. It gave rise to a new possibility (or complication) beyond the hex as to why Alfred had difficulty remembering things.
Alfred filled his spoon and then drained it back into the bowl. "Really?"
"Yes," Arthur replied grimly.
"Oh…" The boy swallowed a little nervously and then deliberately shrugged. "Oh well."
"A-alfred?!" This child was going to give him heart palpitations.
The American wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Can't do anything about it now...maybe I'll never get back all of 1812...maybe it's for the bes-"
"What about Texas?" Arthur asked sharply as he fished out a handkerchief for the boy. "Has Texas shown any signs of-"
"It don't matter," Tex growled as he re-entered the room. "And you're in my seat."
Arthur frowned at the lad and then looked back to his son. It was such a slight movement, but Arthur wasn't fooled; a nod.
So then, Texas had some memory problems, too.
He'd need to tell Antonio.
God, no wonder Alfred had long accepted that some memories were out of reach. While less obviously afflicted (by virtue of fewer years and missions or perhaps, more social savvy in maneuvering around the gaps), Texas was also a passenger of the same boat. And at the helm, they reassured one another that all was well and normal and refused to see they were taking on water.
It was a few hours later that Antonio, with conspicuously bloodshot eyes that likely matched his own, appeared. It was hard to stay angry at him when he reflected what Arthur was feeling so acutely.
He was still beyond furious that Spain caused him such trouble in that store and that the two of them would be banned from that particular location for the next twelve years or until enough staff changeover had occurred. And then there was the matter of the expense of the damages...
But...was it reasonable to expect that Spain would stand by while England took Texas to task? Though it was for, well, it was for kidnapping! But...but…
He knew that look of horror in the other's eyes on bringing, Arthur looked down at the "grave," that in.
He looked over at the boys who were on their bean bag chairs playing video games and chatting while Americat wandered the perimeter of the room—rubbing against the walls and purring. Despite needing tons of tissues, Alfred looked happy. He watched Texas reach over and ruffle the blond hair. Alfred laughed.
He couldn't afford to stay angry with the older boy. Alfred had said as much. Rejecting Texas outright would damage his relationship with his Alfred. Though accepting the Texan came with just as many perils because of his mercurial moods...a tornado indeed.
But if he could get Spain to take charge…get him to use the weight of his paternal authority and throw it over the lad...like a net of...security?
He didn't want to think of it as "restricting" him. That aroused all manner of unfortunate memories of asylums, but something definitely had to be done to settle him down.
Well, first off. He needed to get the man up to speed.
Arthur cleared his throat as he faced the other man. "I...I don't know if there's any good way to say-"
"Just say it," Antonio replied gruffly.
"You're aware that many successive deaths can cause...memory issues."
"Aware...heh, I know it...when Rome conquered me," he nodded tiredly.
Arthur flinched at the bluntness of that. Damnation, they had more in common than he often liked admitting. "Well, the boys have endured-"
Spain glared. "Yes, I know. I am the one who found the graves. You, forget?"
Arthur grit his teeth and let that by. "Well, we've known for a while now that Alfred has memory issues. But...in light of...this-"
Spain waited.
"I thought you ought to know that Texas has some too."
"He said this?"
"Alfred did."
Antonio struggled. "Do you...do you know...what parts he is missing? Do we need books or historians to talk with them? What should I...who should I…? There has to be something I can...Do you know what he is missing? If I have to go and bring someone back, I will, just...you stay and make sure he stays and I will go and-"
"...no...no, I…" Arthur spoke uncertainly, "I…" Good Lord, did he look like that when he was worrying over Alfred? More gently than he intended, he murmured, "I'm afraid not. I don't know what to do for him that would help..."
He looked away from a grief that was too familiar.
Alfred and Texas were playing Portal 2 when Antonio abruptly crossed the room and stood in front of the big screen.
Both boys groaned and Alfred paused the game.
"Dude! You're in-"
"Mijo, do you have trouble with remembering events?" Antonio demanded.
Wow. Alfred's jaw dropped. He just...there was no beating around the bush with this guy. He looked over his shoulder and saw Arthur. Whellp, that explained it; Arthur must've told him just then. And rather than try to find an appropriate moment to take Tex aside, he just...charged over.
It was almost amusing; his bro had never been a super subtle guy...and this made it kinda obvious who he got that from. In comparison, he was kinda tame.
Tex looked at Alfred and then back to his father. "Look, I didn't know there was gonna be a quiz. I mean, just cuz I can't give exact historical dates on things doesn't mean I've got some big, soap opera-y amnesia-"
Alfred set his controller down and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "Thanks, Bro."
Tex flinched. "Love you, Bro."
"But you should," Antonio stated passionately. "In, now this one's tough because we weren't really recording dates yet, but around 5th Century B.C. your tío," His expression soured as he said, "Portugal," and then lightened again, "-and I were young and we were just starting to mint coins. When Isabella gave birth to John, Prince of Asturias, it was the 30th of June, 1478. In 1936, during my Civil War, the Spanish Legion executed civilians alongside combatants-"
"Uh, Papi? TMI."
He then jumped forward and began rattling off EU trade agreements that his country was contemplating for that year and the two Americans shared a glance.
Creepy specific.
He was...creepily specific about a lot of stuff. And was more than willing to share the spectrum—good or bad.
"Good for you," Tex pointed with his controller "You got a good memory for remembering all your...ya know, life's highlights. Woohoo for you. Please move-"
Spain shook his head in agitation. "I don't have to remember. I wonder and the date comes to me. It...it floats up, natural, yes?"
"Huh?"
Arthur joined Antonio in front of the screen. "As personifications of the land, dates are supposed to be easy for us to know. It's in the land, the land knows….I imagine you two remember only certain dates then?"
Alfred chewed at his bottom lip, he remembered a lot of his formative years the best, even with the hex censoring a lot of his warm and fuzzy memories. He'd never really thought about it but...maybe Arthur was onto something. His Roanoke years, and his earliest wandering years, and the hex-censoring aside, from the time Arthur had started watching over him until 1812...he hadn't undergone a single death. Injuries, yes. But...death? No.
Tex wasn't super reminiscent about his years under Spain's wing or Mexico's so Alfred couldn't say 100 percent that the same was true for him. But, Alfred knew Tex botched dates from the time they were together.
He constantly mixed up Civil War battles. He knew the geography and the officers and the outcomes. But exactly who was serving beside him, how they died, how he died, all that stuff was a coin flip and you never heard the same story twice.
Meanwhile, Tex was adamant that his last visit to London, before he had to represent in the 2015 meeting, was with Al in 1890. Which was partially right. They'd arrived in mid-December and stayed nearly three months or so in London. Tex remembered it as one though. He remembered the mission they'd been given and how Parliament had paid through the nose for their services and since they'd already been touring with Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show and Bill couldn't really afford to anger the U.S. government by re-negotiating their contracts and by extension not providing them alibis—the trip had been an interesting blend of sleuthing and performing and...doing what must be done. And yeah, they totally made bank on that trip. But there were more than a few bits that were hazy for his brother.
It usually worked out in their favor that he messed that date up. If he remembered the correct date and blurted it out, Al's family would figure out pretty damn fast what they'd been called over to handle.
And considering their families' reactions to ill fated military campaigns, he couldn't see them taking other...darker, specialty missions too well.
"..."
"..."
Arthur's arms were crossed and his feet were planted. "Or do you simply, how do you say, 'ballpark' the years? Do they all...do all the conflicts simply...bleed togethe?. You remember the war and...stitch together the order of events? Because at least if you have the order, if not the dates, then you...remember enough?"
"I gotta mow the lawn." Tex abruptly left his beanbag chair.
"I gotta, I gotta...do...things...too." Alfred scampered to his bedroom and tried not to hear both of their parents sighing as they made their escapes.
Reilley was reclining on a stiff mattress in what he dubbed the "bunk bed barracks." He could afford to take a little rest while the slow cooker was simmering on the counter for the next few hours. He was hoping beef stew could give a strong dose of edible coziness to make him feel more at home here. Or at least more relaxed.
Getting America back hadn't really eased the situation. Texas was still...agitated? And England was cracked. Spain was cracking.
Aye, the deaths were...unsettling. How had no one told them the importance of staying alive? It was usually standard procedure that if one personification captured another, some form of ransoming would take place. You didn't want your present prisoner to forget that you treated them well in future reversals. Sometimes it even opened up into later alliances.
How had no one taught them that?
Or…
He thought of his nephew's capture by Iroquois where she tried to force him back into her clan…
And then he thought of America's methods of forcing his people's ways on various First Nations…
But then, earlier, there'd been countless raids where his nephew's settlers and their children were forced into tribal life and killed if they resisted.
It was a brutal tug of war between cultures.
If you killed the personification, was it easier to assimilate the people of one side into the other during the "death?"
Texas and America had "died" or "lost," as Alfred had said, many times. What about when they "won?"
He shivered.
Well, that was a theory for another time. Tomorrow was Easter. They'd need to do something festive. Maybe he'd take pity on Texas, and take Spain to Mass himself—a little Catholic solidarity might settle the hyper Spaniard down a bit.
There was still the problem of furniture though. It'd be a better holiday all around if they could move some pieces back in.
If they got Stuart involved and played the drama up...greased the wheels, they might not even have to pay for a moving truck...which would delight Alistair.
He stretched and then went hunting for Texas and wound up on the front porch. The boyo must've relieved Spain from yard duty. That was probably for the best. How the hell Antonio had planned to steer a riding lawn mower with only one hand...Reilley had been morbidly curious to observe…
But the grass was all trimmed now.
He was about to call out to the youth but Canada beat him to it.
Mathieu walked out onto the lawn just as the latter was coiling up the cord for a lawn edger.
Something in his gait suggested confrontation.
Reilley's eyebrows twitched. O great. Just what they needed. More drama. As if Arthur and Antonio hadn't indulged in enough for everybody yesterday.
Mathieu crossed his arms and remarked, "You know...you made my little brother cry, eh? In a Walmart. And I got arrested. In a Walmart, eh?"
"Did you cry too, EH?" Tex sneered.
Mathieu colored a little bit but planted his feet and glared.
Texas held his brother's gaze and then shrugged. "...fine. Whatever. Deck me. One for him. One for you. Get it over with."
Mathieu uncrossed his arms and fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves. "I don't deny...no...I won't deny that our family's...really dysfunctional and it might be fitting that we were the ones causing mayhem there that day...but…" He shook his head. "What I mean is, given all of our histories, I can see how that would make anyone leery of just trusting anybody's intentions...I mean, every branch of this tree has...issues. But...after what you said there...I'm worried...why do you want to believe in the worst of Arthur?"
"..."
"I mean, caution, I understand. There's bad blood between all of us but...this is something else. I...I know he's made mistakes...I...I've made mistakes, too. You know that already. But...it's like you...want him to fail."
"..."
"But you seemed okay with them bonding before? During Christmas? What makes it different now?"
"...he's rushing into things," Tex grumbled.
"You're afraid he's going to be exploited? I get that." Then Mathieu's violet eyes turned calculating. "But how long is Arthur supposed to wait before he's 'approved' by you?"
"..."
"Weeks? Years? Decades? As long as it took you to get in Al's good graces? Do I have to wait that long too?"
"...hit me. I made him cry."
"It would be far more cathartic for me to have some kind of answer instead. I think I'd know better where Arthur...and myself stand."
The brim of Tex's hat hid his eyes. "...hit me."
"What do you think England would do? America's always followed his own direction. You can't think he'd be that influenced? I know he and I have had...problems lately. Mostly because of...me...I...I haven't been the greatest older brother-"
Texas snorted, "Understatement."
Violet eyes narrowed. "But I know America. He's never been weak willed. Never. So you can't think that. And if you do...it's...well, it's an insult that I-I-I won't allow."
"..."
Mathieu took a step forward. "Or am I...am I way off base? Does it have less to do with him? And more to do with you? I mean, it's so easy to blame Alfred for melodrama; especially when it always seems like it's coming from his direction. But maybe it's just slightly over a few steps. Cuz you're always standing right next to him. What? You...you don't trust your father so Alfred's not allowed to trust his?"
Reilley released a low, soft whistle. Mathieu was always the observant one. He watched Texas shift his weight onto his back leg and lean back.
The Texan tossed the edger tool aside. "Look, I ain't gonna stand here all day. You want your hit? Well, now's the time, Princess Pancakes. Land one. Or I'm walking."
"What's so terrible about Spain anyway? He's only done everything he can possibly do just to be a satellite of your life! Do you know what I would give for that? My real father is dead. I will never have that! Never!"
"Be glad!" Texas spat. "You never knew him, you lucky bastard! He can be whatever you dream him to be! You're not stuck with him the way that he is! He can be a great hero! He can be a good man! He can be smart and respectable! He can be…" his voice filled with grief, "...perfecto."
"...you just...don't understand," Mathieu swallowed painfully, "...at least he's here-"
Brown eyes flashed. "...O, I understand. You got too much wrapped up in the idea. You think if he was here now, he'd be at your beck and call. And he'd just think the world of you and he'd always be kind and good. That he'd be something you could be proud of. Or that you'd be something special to him, HA! You're better off than you know."
He stalked away, leaving Mathieu pale.
Reilley blew out a long breath.
Ooh me.
Not sure which boy to console first.
Tex stormed over to the porch and glared at Reilley.
"H-hey there, boyo," the Irishman greeted.
In reply the Texan hissed, "God, my house is crawling with people. Can't get a goddamn, single minute to mysel-"
Okay, maybe not that one. Maybe Canada was the safer option.
"I am sorry I am not perfect," Spain mumbled—making Reilley jump. He barely held back the instinctive scream. Hadn't even realized he'd crept up!
Texas' lips curled into a snarl. "Frickin' eavesdroppers EVERYWHERE." He entered the house and slammed the door hard behind him. Not even bothering to close the screen door which squeaked in the breeze.
Reilley winced. Now really, that was just nasty.
Antonio still followed after the boy though. The second he was through the door he argued, "I might not be all those things you want, Tejas. But I AM here! And you ARE special to me, mijo."
When there was no response, he called louder, "You ARE special to me!"
"..."
"¡ERES MUY ESPECIAL!"
"Well, ain't this all goin' swell?" Alistair snarked from above—tossing down a hefty bag of leaves he'd swept from the roof's gutters, crooks, and crannies. "Whaddya think, will there be a 'Rising' tomorrow?"
Reilley sighed, "Do you have Stuart's number?"
"As if I'm not busy right now?! Up here? On the roof? Here, let me be a magician and just pull it right out of my ars-"
Rhys noted, as he walked around the storage unit, that it was much larger than he expected. Reilley had orchestrated through Stuart the means into organizing a trip to the storage facility for furnishings.
Arthur and Mathieu had opted to stay behind and care for Alfred, who'd seemed rather devastated that he was missing out on an adventure. But he was in the oozing stage and unfit for travel.
A very reluctant Texas was only coerced into accompanying them by fear of property damage.
Tex huffed, "Didn't even invite y'all and I'm stuck playin' host."
Reilley shrugged, "Give us the key and we'll-"
"Hell no. Don't want you breakin' our stuff just cuz you won't go to a hotel."
"You got room," was Scotland's ominous answer. "Be hospitable...or else."
Rhys was pleasantly surprised to find that most of the contents of the storage facility was not nearly as tacky as what was in Texas's house now.
There were heavy dark wood dressers and a fine dining table that still had its purchase tags. There were coffee tables, bed frames of wood as well as brass, outdoor furniture, a porch swing, and various trunks that functioned as storage and seating.
However, the overall style of everything was quite different from Alfred's Virginia Manor.
"What do yeh think of this?" Alistair motioned to an antler adorned chandelier. The redhead's mouth twitched with amusement.
Rhys frowned. "It's…"
"Masculine," Spain cheerfully completed.
Rhys hastily agreed.
"I like this, too!" Spain lifted a Spanish Colonial hanging lamp.
The plan was to just go for essentials.
But Spain kept getting sidetracked and was so...enthusiastic to be there…
Rhys's brothers had informed him about Texas's row with Mathieu in the garden on the subject of fathers...and how Antonio, unlucky fellow, heard every word.
However, rather than being discouraged, as any normal person might have been, Antonio seemed more determined than ever to be as paternally supportive as possible.
Earlier, when they'd been walking toward the unit and Rhys had commented on it, Antonio replied with surprising upbeatness: "I came to fix our problems. I wish he said them to me, instead of Canadá, but at least he said them. Maybe I cannot be every single thing he wishes me to be. That part is hard. But I think am a good man. Perfect? No. I know that. Good? Yes. I will prove that. He will see. I do think the world of all mis hijos and I am trying to be more attentive. He IS special to me. So," Spain concluded rather triumphantly, "I have those parts already! All the rest, wellll, we can work on it."
"Mijo, ¿lo tocas?" Spain indicated to an old piano.
If Rhys recalled right, from Arthur's explorations of Alfred's property, his nephew had a piano as well. Given that Alfred didn't express any talent for it, it stood to reason that—
Tex fidgeted. "...yeah."
"¡Fantástico! Stuuuuuuuuart! We want the piano too!"
Four men came over and began moving items to facilitate rolling it out.
Reilley had been pleased that one call to Stuart and a verbal, if begrudging, request from Texas signalling he needed aid was all that was required for two huge moving trucks and an assortment of workers to be sent out to assist.
"I can't believe all these guys got shipped over," Tex muttered.
Stuart shrugged, "Rumor has it that there are...big fears that you or, more likely, your parents will make a case against the government over child abu-"
"What?!"
"-so they very much want you to be settled and content."
"That a fact?"
"In fact, if you want the entire unit emptied and transported, I doubt you'll get any resistance."
"That is an option?" Spain asked excitedly as he juggled an assortment of Colonial Era odds and ends.
Texas shook his head. "This place closes in an hour."
"I doubt," Stuart repeated with emphasis, "you'll get any resistance from anyone."
"Empty it. We get you all moved in," Spain insisted. "Nice and settled. Like a happy, potted cactus pup."
Tex flushed. "Papi-"
"All in favor!" Reilley threw in. Reilley, Alistair, Antonio, and himself raised their hands. "You're outvoted, boyo. Democracy."
"But, but, but-" he spluttered. "Fine! But I ain't doin' all the heavy lifting once it gets home!"
"That is okay. Papi does not want you to hurt yourself-"
"-I ain't delicate, dammit!"
While the lad fumed, Rhys and his brothers inspected various hunting trophies. Perhaps, they should've requested that the taxidermy stayed.
Still, they did not find a sofa.
Rhys's eyebrows twitched. Was he so averse to company he wouldn't make any attempt? Rhys was avoidant himself in many ways. But when he had to host others he tried to at least provide the proper minimum of equipment necessary for social interaction. When the Welshman demanded satisfaction with an explanation, Texas paled and very haltingly explained:
"...kinda had an accident...fell asleep...I thought I had extinguished my cigarette...I didn't. Windows were open and the wind blew it out of the ashtray...Landed on the rug. Rug caught. Sofa caught. I put it out. Cuz I have a fire extinguisher. I put it out. So the rest of the house is fine. But neither Al or I could fix the sofa."
"..." Which wasn't the answer Rhys expected at all.
"But I quit!" Tex stated proudly. "Went cold turkey after that. Been on the straight and narrow for almost fifteen years now."
Spain's smile was painfully forced, "You...you smoked?"
"Well, cigarettes. And I mean, not always. I have quit before...and then ya know, started again cuz...stress...but...fifteen years! That's...that's the longest consecutive streak I've had!"
Spain nodded slowly and then more vigorously, "I am proud of you."
Tex rolled eyes.
"I am," Spain continued with difficulty, "I...I know how hard that can be...I...I know that addictive habits can be-"
Tex walked outside to talk to the drivers of the moving trucks.
"-Inherited." Spain murmured as he watched him go. "...Lovi and I watched a documentary about it when we were visiting Feliciano and Ludwig...I'm sorry...you got that from me..."
"Wait." Rhys frowned. "He hasn't had a sofa in fifteen years? Has it been fifteen years since they emptied this unit?"
Spain looked around suspiciously and then called out, "Everyone, watch out for 'critters!'"
Arthur set the medicine down and Mathieu immediately offered Alfred a sip of juice to wash down the bitter flavor. Alfred had seemed a little wary of having his brother tend him at first, given their interactions lately, but after two hours and no malicious mishaps, he finally seemed to relax.
Arthur himself still had some reservations (even after the ice pond rescue) and had quietly asked more than once if Mathieu was certain he wanted to assist with this. The lad could very easily fall ill himself. But the Canadian was determined.
Mathieu was pouring grape juice into a plastic Spiderman decorated glass when he countered, "I didn't know how to help with the wendigo...or the faerie court...but when he was out on the ice and in trouble. I knew what to do. I knew. And I know how to do this."
He was currently laying down next to Alfred. When Alfred coughed, Mathieu would rub his back and shoulders consolingly.
Arthur made sure the Kleenex box was stationed within reach on Alfred's bedside table before stretching out on the bed on Alfred's other side.
Thankfully, the child's fever had broken a while earlier, which made Americat's warm bulk more bearable. The cat was determined to smother his owner with affection.
"My pretty kitty," Alfred crooned as his pet butted his face.
"Now where did we leave off?" Arthur asked, pulling Alfred's laptop over; Alfred had a digital copy of Alice in Wonderland.
"Tea Party," Alfred answered at once as he scratched behind Americat's ears.
"Ah, yes," Arthur smiled.
Alfred loved that he adopted different voices for the characters and giggled at the especially silly ones, as Arthur hoped he would.
It seemed that being sick made him less reserved and he stared up at Arthur rather adoringly as the man entertained him.
It didn't escape Arthur's notice though, that this all occurred when Texas was far out of sight and earshot.
He wasn't quite sure how to broach that with Alfred though...not without sounding hypercritical of the boy's brother.
And he didn't want to spoil the mood.
It hadn't been easy combatting Alfred's disappointment over his inability to accompany Texas to their storage unit.
Arthur had to pull out all the stops to make himself excellent company. He made sure there were crazy straws for Alfred's drinks, that Reilley's stew was served in a Superman bowl, that all of Alfred's stuffed animals were accounted for; they were currently sitting on two cushions beneath a dresser drawer that had been pulled out and had a blanket draped over it—fashioning it into a makeshift tent or curtain. It reminded Arthur a bit of maharaja tents. And he tried not to imagine how amused Shakespeare would've been to have seen Arthur perform in front of an audience of toys.
Still…
He looked down into Alfred's blue eyes that were happy, if tired, and knew he could endure any teasing for this little one's sake.
A few chapters later, he tucked the sleeping child in snugly, patted Americat fondly when he curled up near Alfred, plugged in the tacky lava lamp, dimmed the rest of the lights, and Mathieu came with him to the kitchen to wash dishes.
There they discussed some of Margaret Atwood's books, CETA, the importance of opera, and finally, Texas.
"So, you two had a row?"
Mathieu nodded. "I...I started it. I know I've been really...focused on me, lately."
"Not a crime by any stretch," Arthur assured as he washed and Mathieu dried. "You have to help yourself before helping others."
"But I feel bad. It wasn't even until we were half-way through that I realized...and then I...feel bad now that it took me so long to realize that...he's off. He's definitely off."
Arthur sighed.
"I mean, everything with Alfred has been pretty stressful."
Green eyes flashed with warning.
"I'm not blaming Al for it! I'm just saying, you'd think it'd be a comfort to Tex to have everyone stepping in? To-to help? That he doesn't have to assure Alfred all by himself. Except-"
"He very much wanted that and was more than willing to force such a situation when he coerced Alfred to leave us. And was trying to plan a celebration when we intercepted them?"
"Uh...yes. This was...Tex's plan. Not Al's. I mean, I wasn't sure at first. Because Al's flighty. Sometimes he just leaves in the middle of one of our weekends. I always thought it was just his nature but..."
"You know, when Alfred left with Grym for that McDonald's disaster?"
Mathieu nodded.
"Texas was dragged along too. Right before though...right before it all went arseways, Alfred went on and on about the two of them having an adventure in the Ether. Lad was unconscious then like the rest of you. And it didn't seem to matter to Alfred. And then, when Texas woke up in that take-away restaurant. He...hardly seemed surprised at all."
"..."
"And now Texas dragged Alfred here. Regardless of his reluctance or even his illness," Green eyes narrowed in dawning comprehension. "They're used to treating each other like that."
"You just don't get it!
We didn't need the Sun!" Alfred hissed.
"We became the Sun. Suns. Like Tatooine!
We had each other…didn't need...any of you.
We found each other after you left us in the dark!
When you Empires grow bored, you throw us away
...like broken playthings..."
"Like ragdolls," Arthur murmured.
"It'll be great Tex. Just you and me again.
It's simpler that way. I'm sorry I got greedy.
You're more than enough."
Arthur shuddered; it was more than unsettling to realize that...that was precisely how Texas would've wanted it.
Around 9:40pm while Arthur and Mathieu were watching the news, the front door opened and Tex began barking orders to the men behind him on where to set things.
Arthur stared as men unloaded box after box into nooks and corners...and then came the furniture. Apparently, everything was bigger in Texas—the spaciousness of the abode was quickly being swallowed up.
Arthur struggled to get out of a bean bag chair. "You said you were just getting necessities! Did you decide to unload the whole bloody-" he eyed a taxidermy owl with trepidation.
"Yes!" Spain declared almost breathless with delight. "We're getting him all moved in and comfy!"
Two solemn faced men in business suits were accompanying the movers and went to talk to Stuart several times. They were equipped with professional earbuds and clipboards and on noticing the discoloration of the ceiling, pointed it out to each other. Realizing they were government agents, Arthur and Antonio pounced on the opportunity to make demands.
A safety inspection! Lawn service and sprinkler system check! Fumigators! Deep carpet cleaning! Wood floor refinishing! Tile resealing! Roof re-tiling on the far end!
And both men finished with a complaint about the sliding glass door on the far side of the courtyard that had a crack and needed replacement.
When the agents looked a little overwhelmed and began suggesting that they could compile a list of repairmen America and Texas could hire, each nation gave testimonials that his government always made sure his living arrangements were up to code free of cost; didn't the U.S. do the same for their personifications? Certain funds were set aside for England's use, whether it was for his home, travel expenses, or miscellaneous needs. Cnut had put that into practice to encourage England's cooperation centuries ago. William of Normandy continued it. By this point, England damn well expected it. He gave his government valuable insight into the political climate of the masses, provided knowledge of the land's resources, and was a deep well of historical wisdom—to name but a few skills.
"We may need to team up more often," Arthur admitted after the men went to make a phone call on the matter. "America could use our supp-"
"No. This time for Tejas," Spain cut in.
"Wot?"
"I have already helped you! I helped you rescue your son. I got America out of the park even though my son was still in danger. I helped fight all the wendigo. Helped protect your brothers from wendigo. Before that, I helped you with chores for your son's house while he was gone. After that, my son left Christmas with me, early, to help your son. Your son calls my son from me. You go somewhere. Your son goes to you. My son follows when there's trouble. Mijo is loyal. Mijo makes sacrifices. Mijo needs the care and the attention now. You need to help me this time!"
"W-well I…" England felt his face heat up. Because...Spain had a point.
Spain's green eyes narrowed and his voice lowered dangerously, "You owe me."
Arthur forced himself to stand up straight and not be cowed. "Very well. How might I be of assistance?"
"I read your Facebook post, Inglaterra. May Day. I want in."
"W-well, it's really the boys' trip. They invited us-"
"I want IN, pirata. You make this happen."
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