Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Brooks & Dunn's Boot Scootin' Boogie. Or McDonald's. Or Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.
Warning: Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Flashbacks. Nightmare. Questionable bar. Leather does require upkeep. Potholes are a silent, lurking menace. Third-Wheelness. Sirs-not-appearing in this chap: Canada, Scotland, Northern Ireland, Wales. They'll be in the next one. For this chapter, be warned: There WILL be angst. In which Arthur cannot follow Rhys's advice...because he's Arthur. Spain needs to catch a break.
AN: So I'm in a random Spring Break that doesn't connect to Easter D: And my professors assigned triple the usual homework...because there's evil among us. I'm just like, "Why hast thou done this to me?" To one reviewer: More like Pessi. And Pissa. There was even an old commercial I saw on Youtube poking fun at it. To castanedabanesa2014, I'd say they've had fatherly influences now and then but they both went kinda wild without Spain and England to throw the brakes on. And they learned to thrive in the eye of the storm. Thank you to FlowerFoxWings for Spanish translations. Thank you all for your awesome reviews and kudos! They keep me very motivated! : D I love hearing what you take away from the familial dysfunction.
AN/Philosophical Tangent: Thank you, Liv, I try to stay objective while handling the characters. Like another guest pointed out, events seldom happen in a vacuum so I try to stay open to multiple views. I also like exploring the resilience/limitations of love and where it hits hard into obstacles. A lot of times in shows/books love and forgiveness and reconciliation are pretty much boring things that "good" characters do abruptly because "good" is dumb and shallow. I'm like...no story...linger there...cuz if it was easy, we'd all have it made. Also, when I noticed all the villains/morally gray characters of various works getting accolades for having more characterization, I thought, well there you are writers. Give heroes of all walks some character depth...and decent lines. I throw that gauntlet to all my fellow writers. The challenge: Give "Good" some depth.
I hope you all enjoy this chap!
Chapter 32: You Weren't There
England only meant to sit down for a moment. Just to rest his ankle a bit and consider how best to thwart this night's outing without doing more harm than good.
His bond with Alfred was raw and strained, that much was obvious. Remembering more of 1812 was having a detrimental effect on how he viewed Arthur and yet…
It was neither new or unexpected.
Oddly enough, he was reminded once more of Red when—
Emotion lanced through him like high voltage.
Rage…
Pain…
Fear…
Frustration...
Betrayal…
Humiliation…
Disillusionment…
Grief…
The feeling of loss was overwhelming in its intensity.
Pride…
Resolve…
Spite...
Loneliness…
Nostalgia…
And then it spiraled back into grief...with a rising sense of anger and pain and fear...
Which now seemed well-founded.
If anything, it was a very understandable...very human reaction…to a disaster that affected him on all levels.
Before the hex and Blue tried to stamp it down...and implore America to exist mainly on his nation-half—
That sent a shudder through him…
The idea of trying to carve the humanity out of a personification…
How cold and efficient…
Working on instincts about economy and politics and war that were inhuman…
Was that what Alfred had wished for? An actual division between the two sides?
Was 1812 the reason?
Rhys had warned him against delving further into it. His brother had done his best to pass on the experience verbally. But Arthur had known he was getting a censored version.
Yes, Alfred had gotten disillusioned about...everything. England. All of them...their family.
Which stung, naturally, even though he'd been expecting it.
The fluctuations of biting anger, indifference, and contempt Alfred was exhibiting right now...Arthur could take. The "humiliation" involved with being loved against Alfred's better judgment...well...he could take that too.
If anything it just helped illuminate the aspect of Blue all the better...who was a defensive presence who...never forgot...or forgave those who caused injury. Though it pained England to be set anywhere near that damnable woman...Sarah…or Osha or any of the other abusers Alfred had endured.
What concerned England most was the grief he sensed.
A grief that the child was trying so hard to suppress.
Sometimes he'd look Arthur's way and under the anger there was something so fragile.
"You were supposed to adore me…"
"I just thought you didn't love me anymore."
England wasn't sure when he closed his eyes but he found himself staring sullenly at the train of Elizabeth's gown as she and her advisers swept down the halls.
She'd kept them apart.
She'd known. She'd known full well how much he'd longed for a child.
She knew...how much their colony needed his father…
And she'd kept them apart.
He wasn't sure if he could ever forgive her for it.
She'd kept them apart.
They'd lost so much because of it…
So many tender moments they could have had.
So many ill events he could've circumvented…
He fantasized without restraint: about discovering the little one, stabilizing the colony, exterminating the Wendigo threat and removing all of their enemies, and taking his baby home.
Home to where every castle garden would be a playpen for the infant's magic. And they'd rest among sprawling daffodils and roses. Arthur would sit against a tree, thinking leisurely how best to foil the latest court conspiracy while his sweetling teethed on a fine coral dummy...its silver bells twinkling with every movement.
Maybe then…
If they could have had that…
Maybe then...they wouldn't have...
"I will choose liberty after all. I'm no longer your child, nor your baby brother. From now on, I'm independent…"
Arthur's breathing turned shallow.
The garden was gone. His arms were weighed down with a bayonet instead of a baby.
No...No… he hated this nightmare...this damned nightmare.
No. It wasn't real.
Even though he swore he tasted gunpowder in the air and felt stinging rain on his skin.
And he was helpless to change the cycle.
Lightning flashed and lit up the uniform England hated...A uniform gifted to America by France no less! That the boy would gladly make alliances with his enemies?! Compounding betrayal upon betrayal!?
"I won't allow it!" he hissed as he charged, moving with more speed, striking with more force.
No. Stop.
Because this time he wanted to make the landing blow rattle America's arms. To test the boy's mettle.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
Force the youth to acknowledge that if the Empire wanted to, he was powerful enough that he could send for more troops and end this rebellion (the cost and the unpopularity of the war effort be damned).
God NO! You fool! You imbecile! You arrogant, pigheaded—
America raised his gun to block the strike...a fraction too late...
England awoke with a strangled cry.
Alfred, who was in the middle of tucking a Western print quilt around Arthur, stared. "D-dad?"
Arthur pulled the child into his shaky arms.
Safe.
Just a nightmare.
He pet the dry, clean, wheat colored hair that smelled of meadows and flora.
Safe. Safe. Safe.
He'd have never forgiven himself if—
He choked back his horror.
"Um, a-are you...okay?" was mumbled into his chest.
Breathe, Arthur ol' boy, breathe. He buried his face into the child's soft hair and nodded because he didn't trust himself to speak.
Damned nightmare always left him so…
His arms tightened.
Alfred indulged him quietly for a few moments and then haltingly forced out in a bland slightly resentful tone. "You...you...rescued me. I'm...out of Osha's clutches. It's gonna be alright."
Arthur pulled back. That was not the nightmare he'd been suffering from but he was surprised that Alfred had caught on to that particular one.
The boy cleared his throat and tried to resume a confident air. "S-so, I've left you instructions on how to microwave the pizza bread I made you in the fridge. Do not delineate. I repeat do NOT delineate from the time I specified. Now, Gray has full command of the kitchen cuz I trust him and if he feels like cooking for you, he can. But I also told him that here in America he can refuse. I've written down the password so you can connect your phone to our wifi and I've left my laptop out so you can watch your boring news, but if you try to go through my history, I will know. I. Will. Know. And you will pay-"
"I'm coming with you," he cut in hoarsely.
The only thing worse than not being able to stop the harebrained scheme, was being left behind.
What if they gave Puerto Rico the slip and disappeared? That sent a dizzying thrill of terror through him that would've seemed horribly out of proportion to the situation except…
He was so afraid of falling into another estrangement. And what if something, someone, like Osha? like Grym? Like cruel superiors? Preyed on his child? Without Arthur there to protect him?
His embrace tightened and he kissed the child's temple like a dying man to his dearest attendants as he felt the shadow of the end looming over him—desperate for that love to find purchase, like ivy, and stay. Stay. Stay. Stay. And spread and never be pulled loose.
Alfred's nose wrinkled. "Dude? I'm gonna be brutal. You're...kinda...not at your...your freshest. Even for a European." Alfred gave him a glance up and down. "I mean, your bad dream...kinda made you sweat and...you're kinda," He ran an impudent hand over Arthur's jawline, "needing a shave. And your eyes are...bloodshot and you've got major bags under them. Take five, man."
Alfred maneuvered himself out of Arthur's hold over the side of the armchair and dropped down.
Arthur forced himself to stand.
"And your ankle's bothering you again," Alfred observed, face conflicted.
It was clear he wanted to keep up a charade of distance and agitation to maintain and express his anger and hurt over 1812.
And Arthur knew full well whom he'd learnt such behavior from and was aping and yet…
Much like when he'd shown off his dramatic reading as Claudius...
There was a certain lack of skill and delivery because there was a potent earnestness in Alfred's being that always shone through.
The hero just couldn't play the villain convincingly.
He cared too much.
His blue eyes stayed on Arthur's ankle even while the rest of him tried to school itself into a posture of indifference.
Arthur cupped the child's cheek. "It's no matter, Sweet. Old Crusades wound. Nothing to worry over."
"'Cept that's the same one that broke at Christmas, right?" he pointed out shrewdly.
"Allie, c'mon!" Tex called.
The younger boy startled and took a step back, away from Arthur.
Tex adjusted his hat. "Al, we gotta skedaddle if we're gon—oh. Hey Arthur, guns are everywhere. Grab whatever you need for if you get burglarized or there's coyotes or whatever. Same goes for you, Gray! Good luck!"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," the elderly man replied while he sat at the kitchen table, consulting a calendar and circling dates.
Arthur followed them out.
No. No, he needed to find some way to ensure inclusion. He didn't let the truck's passenger door close.
Tex blinked over at him from the driver's seat, "Uh, there ain't enough room, cowpoke. Sorry!"
America crawled over Puerto Rico to the middle seat of the truck bench which, to England's horror, was not fitted with a booster seat and Puerto Rico closed the door in his face and the three zoomed away.
What if they were in a crash? What if they went somewhere dangerous? What if Alfred, who wasn't completely better, relapsed? Should Texas even be driving with that fever?
The vehicle was just out of sight when he heard another vehicle approach.
He turned.
Spain rolled down his driver's side window and unlocked the doors with a button.
"Get in, pirata."
Alfred was too proud to dial his dad even though he was totally the third wheel of this adventure.
He wasn't jealous per se of Puerto Rico's ability to shoot pool and drink and elbow Tex in the ribs during a joke...he was just...aware.
Very aware that he couldn't really participate in a lot of the old standby bro-activities he used to enjoy with Tex. And every hour that passed really drove it home.
Cuz he wasn't...big anymore and there were certain changes to their dynamic now.
Way under age and unable to drink and only allowed admittance because Tex had slipped several bills to cover him, his night was shaping up to be a total wash. There just wasn't much for him to do. Maybe he should've just let them go out with the promise that they'd catch an Uber lift home.
Technically, he had a baseball bat stashed behind the seats in the truck and he could use it to reach the pedals to drive them all home later, but a cab would be the more legit way to end the night.
His feet ached but he resolutely went out on the dance floor as the jukebox played Boot Scootin' Boogie even though it was getting late and the denizens of the bar (clientele and workers) were getting progressively shadier as the hours passed.
He danced in tribute to the neon lights and the letters that were missing on one sign: S, T, A...and made it read LONE...R instead of LONESTAR...and tried not to think of how poetically fitting it was.
He was pretty sure he had blisters at the least. But it was impossible to complain when Texas, who was getting steadily redder from exertion, fever, and alcohol, looked positively ecstatic to be there.
He wanted to be a part of that. And sometimes when Tex looked over and noticed him doing the electric slide, he would come out and join him.
His heels stung.
It was his own fault, really. He'd seen and swiped a pair of Molossia's super old kiddie cowboy boots from one of the boxes, rather than just wearing his sneakers.
Without working to soften them up with repeated soakings and dryings and the use of vaseline, they were so friggin hard.
They didn't flex and they pinched and chafed his feet something awful.
Ugh, he'd dropped the ball by not getting himself a pair of cowboy boots. And this was the price he paid.
He spun and clapped and went heel toe, heel toe.
C'mon little mermaid, dance! Dance for—
Blue eyes stared as the door opened and its bell rang and then it shut and...
No...way…
Even in the dimness of the bar, he'd know those eyebrows anywhere.
And they knew him...like a compass needle, Arthur made a beeline straight for him.
And Alfred half-considered ducking under a pool table.
He'd rigged all their cellphones so they couldn't be traced.
The truck didn't have nav so that couldn't be tracked either.
He'd been careful not to let any of their trio tweet, update, or post anything to any social cyber platform.
Arthur came to a stop just in front of him and it was the moment where Alfred was supposed to laugh and say something catchy.
Instead, he rather lamely allowed himself to be escorted off the dancefloor over to the sidelines.
"You're limping," Arthur observed.
"You're in good company."
Arthur gave him a sharp look.
They both sat down on old 90's wooden chairs that were heavy and sturdy and square.
Alfred tapped his fingers against the peeling varnish of the table.
He was hungry and tired and achy.
Tex and Rico mostly just ordered chips and guacamole while they'd been there. And while they shared with him, he wasn't getting the calorie kick from alcohol that they were. Yeah, they'd also split between them some fries and buffalo wings but it just wasn't cutting it.
And he'd forgotten his wallet at home. Otherwise, he'd have dropped by a Mom-and-Pop shop and grabbed something.
"I've been calling you," Arthur stated, eerily calm. His hands were resting on the table, fingers laced. It was a bad sign.
"..."
"You didn't answer my calls or texts."
"I turned off my phone...we were coming back. You just had to wait. You didn't have to come out here, bounty hunter style."
"Oh, but we did."
That sent alarm bells through his head. "We?"
Arthur nodded over at who'd accompanied him.
"Crap."
How the freak they managed to get over their skirmish in Walmart and become allies so fast, he'd never know.
But there Spain was...stalking predatorily over to where his sons were standing and clinking beer bottles and flirting with the lady bartender. And he had no qualms about walking through various dance formations and couples to get to them.
Puerto Rico must've had a better internal radar for survival because he noticeably experienced a shiver down his spine and turned.
His jaw dropped and he reached an arm out to tug at Texas and get him to turn around too.
Tex, who'd never been a super quiet person as long as he'd known him (unless he was sulking) was even louder when he was drunk.
"¡MUY BUENOS! ¿¡Qué pasa?!"
Spain grabbed them both by the upper arms and began dragging them out.
Alfred ignored his stinging feet and his rumbling belly and raced after them. "Dude! You can't just barge in here and-"
"Allie!" Tex exclaimed happily. "I got throwed, thrown, up er...out! I didn't know he was a part-time bouncer, did you?" He turned to Puerto Rico and in a loud whisper went: "I didn't even see her signal him. I thought she liked us. Aw well," he took another swig of his drink.
Alfred's eyebrows twitched because that was not what had just happened right now. "Eyeeah, bro, think we're headin' home."
"No way, one more round! One. More. Round. One. More-"
"No more rounds," Spain snapped.
Tejas tried to pull away and Spain tugged him back.
His brother seemed to think that was a good time to get in the older man's face. "You are NOT the boss of me...anymore! Is he Al?"
Alfred's eyebrow twitched again and looked away. "This is just...not gonna go well."
"Is he Al?"
"Nope!" He called back loyally. If they were going down, they were going down together.
"HA!" Texas laughed triumphantly.
Yeah, still up in Spain's face. A muscle ticked in Spain's jaw and all the good cheer that was usually in abundance there...was long gone.
Rico gasped dramatically. "You...are sooooo dead, hermanito. Hic. Guess Día de Muertos is back on. Hic. Cuz he's gonna kiiiiiii-hic-iill you!"
Spain gave his older son a look that said SHUT UP. Which he did somewhat. Though it seemed to make his hiccups louder.
Spain tried to take a calming breath and began with, "Toni-"
"Nope!"
"Antonio F-"
"DENIED! Cashier collect that hot card!" He sniggered at his own joke.
"You are not 21," Spain growled, releasing Puerto Rico to snatch the beer bottle out of Tex's grasp.
"Uh...hey?"
"How are you drinking when you are not 21?"
"...I paid for that," he whined, making 'gimme' fingers at it.
Spain didn't grace that with a response and rather coldly tossed it into a trashcan where it shattered.
"There was a quarter left!"
"You are not overseas on a base. Or in a host country where the age is lower. Rico knows he'd be in big trouble because you are NOT at his place and if he did buy you a drink here-"
"I, hic, didn't, Papi!"
"I grew a beard!" Tex grinned and showed off his wallet ID's photo "And I haven't shaved since waaaaay early this morning." He rubbed his stubble proudly. "Makes me look older."
Spain faked an "Ohhh" of being impressed before giving a short "Gracias" and pocketing Tex's wallet and his fake ID.
Tex stared at his empty hand. "I have been pickpocketed-ed-ed. Aaaaal. Call the card companies."
"I'm on it," Al lied as he moved out in front, trying not to limp too obviously.
There was a shuffling sound of feet on the gravel walkway leading up to the bar behind him and once he turned a haggard looking Hawaii came into view and hailed him. "Alfred! Alfie! Spain! Spain's on his...Oooh, he's here."
"Hola, Señora," he growled in a low tone.
"Yeah," Alfred muttered. "He's here."
"I called your phone but you didn't pick up." She looked pretty pissed off.
Double crap.
Tex beamed and greeted her. "Aloooooha! Hava' ii!"
Hawaii smiled a bit wearily, "Aloha, Pearl Baby."
"S'up, s'up, Mamá?" Tex returned.
Spain raised an eyebrow. "Mamá?"
She put a hand on her hip and her glare dared him to try and argue it down.
He shook his head, amused. "Mamá, come help Papi get the niños to the car."
"Watch and learn, ku'u ipo." Hawaii accepted the challenge and slung Tex's free arm over her shoulders. "Baby, is that a new shirt?"
"It is!" Tex replied cheerfully.
"Ooh. You just look so handsome in it."
"...Gracias. I know flores is sometimes a risk, but I like them and Allie's so good at makin' 'em and I am mucho macho. So I thought, yes. Yes, Tejas, it may be the twenty-first century, but you can pull this off still. Like chaps. Me veo muy sexy en chaparreras."
"Oh, baby, you pull the flowers off. Doesn't he, Papi?"
Spain was wrangling Puerto Rico back close and gave a distracted grunt of a "yes."
"He never pays attention to me when I want him to pay attention to-"
Hawaii reached over whacked the back of Spain's head and didn't flinch an inch at his snarl.
"Doesn't Tejas look nice in his new shirt?"
Spain gave him a look over and muttered, "Sí. Sí. Sí. Muy guapo."
Tex sighed.
Hawaii glared. "Spain. Engage."
"S'alittle hard right now when Rico is finding every pothole in this parking lot."
"Perdóname, Papi, lo siento. No lo vuelvo hacer." He promptly tripped.
Spain didn't let him fall and pulled him near, giving him a quick kiss on the head. "Lo sé, mijo. Nunca estuviste ligero de pies."
With the attention off him, Alfred began to fall behind. He limped along unsure of where he fit into this moment at least until two hands grabbed him under the armpits and he was settled on Arthur's hip.
"An excellent job on those flowers."
Alfred turned bright red.
Because nobody...NOBODY except Texas and Molossia were supposed to know he could embroider things.
Alfred rested his head against the cool window of the passenger side and watched his breath fog against the glass.
Puerto Rico had been buckled into Hawaii's sedan and with a slew of compliments Tex was corralled into Spain's rental. Alfred had wanted to go with Tex but Spain had fished Tex's keys out of the cowboy's pocket and thrown them to England with a stern, "You ruin his truck, I kill you."
And considering Tex couldn't afford another insurance hike if something did befall the automobile, he reluctantly stayed with Arthur to supervise.
Unfortunately, that meant...riding with Arthur...
"You don't seem like you had a grand time of it all, poppet." The endearment was said in such a harsh, clipped tone, it didn't sound affectionate at all.
Alfred longed to turn on some music and stall the argument but didn't dare reach for the knob. Memories of having his hand swatted hard floated up.
"I said, you don't seem like you had a grand time," Arthur repeated.
Alfred swallowed and shook his head as he agreed, "No."
Arthur made a sound not quite of approval but he followed it up with, "I could've come and gotten you sooner, you know?"
"No."
"Why not?" Arthur gripped the steering wheel tightly.
"I...I've always prided myself…"
"About what? Your penchant for misplaced nobility in matters-"
Alfred's eyes flashed and he whipped his head to deliver a glare. "That I never had to be that 3 am call!"
Not that it was 3 am. It was just a little past 11 pm. But the sentiment held!
He wasn't like Jett or Jake or Mattie or any of the man's other wards.
Whatever scrape he got himself into, he got himself out of.
Unbidden, he remembered staggering through the forest after breaking out of the cabin and Arthur's arms catching him before he fell.
Until...that…
Then he remembered Arthur's magic keeping that magic mirror from shattering over him…
Or that.
Then he remembered what Arthur had shared involving a rescue during WWI that the old man never lorded over his head or even mentioned.
Arthur was quiet for a while.
The harsh tone Alfred was expecting, planning to rail against, was noticeably absent when Arthur finally said, "Alfie, I want you to call me. If you have the choice of suffering or calling me, damnation, boy, I want that phone call. I don't care what unGodly hour it comes at."
"...but...but we're fighting...right now…I can't ask you for help when..." Even he didn't have that kind of gall.
"The hell you can't," was murmured softly. "Would you hesitate to call Texas if you were in a spot of trouble? Excluding this night of course. Just because you were having a row?"
"...he's different."
"Wrong."
"...he's different. He doesn't think I'm stupid and-and reckless and-"
"You want to prove to me you're responsible and mature? Know when you need help and ask for it." He leveled a look before staring back out the windshield. "...You're always welcome to ask me for it."
Alfred crossed his arms in frustration. "...it's different when it has to be you."
"It should be the best thing when it's me."
"Why?"
"Because I'm the one who'll always fret about whether you've eaten. And can hear your stomach growl a kilometer away."
A grainy voice asked for their order.
Alfred was gobsmacked, he hadn't realized they were pulling up to a McDonald's drive-thru.
"Now, what toy do you want me to ask for?" Arthur asked him kindly.
Arthur parked in an empty space and they ate their meal talking quietly about how to better navigate their disagreements in the future.
Because, damn it all, no, he didn't want America to feel trapped by choices that England thought he ought to make.
Though honestly...not wanting his young son languishing the night away in a seedy bar with an ill brother didn't seem unreasonable at all!
And Alfred's appeals that it wasn't about either of them, it was about Texas, made Arthur more frustrated.
Because Alfred was following a model that advocated complete liberty.
By that dogma, Texas or America could essentially do whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted.
When he pointed out the dangers of such excess, he was countered with a 'they were willing to abide by the consequences.'
So it was liberty with accountability but it lacked foresight and caution.
No sense of moderation.
For God's sake where was the compromise?
He got a bewildered look when he introduced that.
During their mad drive all over town, bursting into bars in search of their offspring, England used Bing to uncover Texas' rules regarding alcohol.
By Texas' own laws, if he wanted to drink at home or even in public, he just needed Spain's consent and presence!
"W-well, yeah," Alfred nibbled a chip. "But...darts and games...and..."
"We could've gone to a restaurant or a sports bar and grill. That...actually would make for a very nice evening out, provided he was well," Arthur mused.
"You don't...that's not the point…"
"Is it all about exercising your freedom, even when you don't have a good time?"
"It wasn't about you or me, it was about Texas!"
"I don't understand." It took effort not to raise his voice in kind, but he was proud to say it was getting easier.
"I need him to know I'm behind him 212 percent. Always. Non-negotiable. And sometimes it means being in the trenches of a dumb idea."
Arthur nodded. "Loyalty, then."
"Yes!" he agreed in exasperation. "He's always got my back. Dude, he gave you a clear pass. He didn't have to, you know? He could've-could've and I'd...Can't you let this slide?"
Arthur blinked. "Sweet, I'm not angry at either of you. I'm concerned. There needs to be-" He didn't dare say boundaries "-a means of measuring what is and is not reasonable."
"..."
Careful, Arthur, treacherous ground here.
"Sometimes, people make poor decisions because they're not in a good position to make a choice."
Alfred stiffened at the blasphemy of suggesting such a thing.
Drunk people seldom made the soundest decisions. But before he could repeat that aloud—
"Texas isn't dumb! He works with NASA! And he does our taxes!"
He would not have guessed that but still, "That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying, he's sick with a very high fever and what he chooses to do and what he should do might not line up. And it's the job of the person who cares about him to-"
"Well, yeah, that's why I went to make sure nothing happened-"
"To talk them out of the poor idea."
Alfred finished off his chips and crumbled up the paper bag they came in.
Arthur offered him the rest of his own and Alfred's expression softened at the gesture and accepted.
Arthur took the quiet to be an agree-to-disagree truce and was about to turn the engine back on when—
"...sometimes I dunno how."
The honesty and hurt in that, stalled Arthur's hand.
Alfred scurried across the truck's bench to sit on Arthur's lap and have a cuddle.
It was a rather tight spot for such gestures (this truck's cabin was smaller than the previous model they'd spent Halloween in during that Wendigo fiasco) and the child admitted as much when he babbled that it was probably only because he'd shared close spaces in tanks that he didn't feel "uber" claustrophobic right now.
Apparently, it was easier to say that than own up to the reality that Alfred trusted him enough to be so close...despite his failings and whatever terrible things the boy remembered.
If that was what his ego needed for him to accept comforting, so be it. He smoothed the fringe back away from the child's forehead.
The horn honked when Alfred moved his elbow and Arthur adjusted the seat further back (though there wasn't too much room).
He eyed the digital clock, it was nearing midnight. He really needed to get them home.
"Did you really miss me?"
The drive could wait.
"Love," He kissed the child's temple. "I spent the whole night searching for-"
"After! After! When we were...apart...you wouldn't always see me...and when you did…"
He was often an arse, Arthur thought miserably.
"-was like you didn't want to know me anymore so there just wasn't much point in meeting with you if it wasn't for business."
The knife in his heart twisted.
"Of course I missed you. Why do you think I was so goddamn bitter?"
"...I know something of bitterness, too."
It was 1836 and the casket lowered and his last founding father was gone.
Cemeteries...they ate up his meadows and swallowed his friends...and they were breeding grounds for ghosts...
He shivered thinking about it and resolved not to; it made it even harder to stand here alone.
He'd had to stand far and away where he could only hear snatches of the sermon because his nonaging form would cause alarm.
It wasn't unusual by now to be ordered thus. And he waited until the grave diggers were at work to say his goodbyes...to the man...to this chapter of his life.
Between the clods of dirt falling he mused that there would be no more parties or family gatherings that he was invited to for kindness's sake.
And there would be no gifts to purchase or expect on holidays.
His teapots and accessories would go into storage because he wasn't fond of tea and there wouldn't be anyone to entertain anymore.
He was set to be promoted to First Lieutenant and they'd been asking how many seats they should reserve for him at the ceremony; he usually requested a few...for those he wished would come and those that actually did.
But now, that time had ended. The humans who loved him best were gone. The nations who knew him still wouldn't appreciate such a summons...he'd learnt that at last.
There was no one to come. There was no one to invite. There was no need to grant him tickets for guests...anymore.
But he'd chosen this, so there could be no regrets and returned to the cabin where it was as cold and still as where he'd been.
Where there was no one waiting...
Where no one would ever be waiting again...
And in the dark, empty place with its one lit candle, one, because more would be wasteful when it was just him there, he scribbled his acceptance of bounty hunting missions that would drive him west into the wilderness.
For the promise of new, unexplored geography, for the distraction of new, unknown adventure…
And if that weren't enough there was Texas, that curious New Republic, to consider and whether to catalogue him more definitively as an ally or enemy for America's people and government.
His people and government...because he'd outgrown allies and enemies...it was a waste of time and energy to view things personally.
He blew the candle out.
It wasn't bitterness and he was quick to tell the child so. There wasn't resentment in it...just weary resignation.
It was quiet sadness and he was sorry for it. He shared that too and that he would've attended those ceremonies if given half the chance.
He kept mum on how it would've been grudging at first (because he was the suspicious sort and would've seen it as his child flaunting his newfound adulthood in his face). Then there would've been a point of realization that it was his son's way of trying to bridge their differences by having him present for these milestones and he would've been deeply touched. And because he was a creature of habit and sentimental by nature, he would come to expect an invitation to every advancement in Alfred's military career and been grossly, comically, offended if he wasn't alerted and included.
"Did you really miss me?" was mumbled again, doubtfully.
He tightened his embrace and sent back memories of...
Counting out seats, planning meals, perusing shops...Alfred would like that...Alfred wouldn't like that...Alfred probably needs that...
Stalks of grain, birds, meadows, a bonnie blue sky, a bright red ribbon held tightly between his fingers as he marked a half colored illustration of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight because it was the 4th of July and his health on this date just didn't permit him to make the trip...again.
There wasn't a day where he wasn't reminded of...
Organize another event for science and medicine and technology and write out an invitation.
Watch eyes that used to light up when he entered a room or disembarked from a ship, brighten for strangers' names on a pamphlet…because they knew the latest innovation...
Resent them because they have the knowledge he wants and you don't and you've tried to master those new areas but you don't have a head for that kind of figuring.
Staring hard at the shoulder of a second hand suit angry because why? Why can't swordsmanship and medieval literature and the things he could do no longer fascinate?
Walking along unable to follow the conversation as it turned to electrons and energy. He was just getting learned up on trains, and they were already off further down a rabbit hole of scientific theories and Arthur didn't know how to catch up.
He had a strong enough stomach to be present during dissections and he was always open to learning whatever could help him save the lives of civilians and soldiers but…
He wasn't inquisitive in this field. He accepted the methods the doctors proscribed and applied them. He didn't know what to think when Alfred's arm kept raising to ask questions. At first, he was embarrassed and wanted him to stop. Until, he understood that it didn't bother the instructors to be interrupted because Alfred was on the verge of something great and he could see excitement in their eyes. And they invited him to luncheons and into other lecture halls.
Getting further and further away from him...and yet he dutifully arranged more meetings with great minds who would ensure the chasm between them grew because learning new things made those blue eyes glow. And what wouldn't he do to see that?
He'd overheard some of those great, learned men and women remark about how they could always tell when his son had grasped some new concept. How epiphanies would light up his son's eyes. They'd tease he could power a row of Edison's bulbs easily.
It had to be excused and forgiven...that they thought so much of those embers of coal.
He remembered when those eyes shined with the brilliance of stars. Alas, epiphany was a poor substitute for joy.
Even still, he worked for those sparks...those pale echoes...
The boy smiled inanely, civilly, at him from across the table as they dined at a gentlemen's club, Arthur's treat.
He sipped at his wineglass as he contemplated the dull eyes across from him and wished the child was happy to be there with him.
Maybe tomorrow…
And when it failed.
The next…
And that too…
His next trip here.
What? Busy? No, send another letter. Arrange for more geniuses. Make it irresistible. Make it foolhardy not to attend.
And over and over like a prayer:
Please, please, come home to me.
"I tried! You weren't there! You weren't there!" was the hysterical shriek that blasted his eardrums.
And it was like having Red in his arms, though this time he wasn't muted...wasn't...restrained by Blue anymore.
Arthur was assaulted by chaotic glimpses of the ornate K key of Kirkland Hall, new and polished, being wrapped in a silk cloth. Alfred being turned away even though he could hear Father through the door; he had the key in his pocket. Don't turn him away. Don't turn him away. How dare he turn him-
He slapped his hand against the frame, "Father? Oh, Father! Damnation, don't be so churlish-"
"You weren't there!"
Dashing off the letter because he needed Father's guidance desperately. He was a very inexperienced practitioner of the occult. He could injure himself if he wasn't cautious. If they could all just agree not to involve magic of any sort into this war, then perhaps his government could rest easy.
It was a naive hope because the truth was out: Alfred F. Kirkland was a witch...and his father and uncles as well. And how could it be assumed that they weren't even now using their powers against them?
He was their nation. They wanted him to do more. If he was a witch, prove to be one of merit.
"You weren't there, anymore!"
And he was afraid. So afraid of everything. How terribly it could all fall out...He began to panic. Father! Father, where are you? Help me! I know not who else I can turn to-
"You weren't there, Daddy!"
England was dining with his men at the fallen White House...and every hope and expectation tied to him...to Arthur...to Father...winked out.
"How could you leave me?!"
And to the child, despair was worse than dying.
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