Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Snake-A-way. Or Applebee's. Or Nascar. Or FIFA. Or Hooked on Phonics.
Warning: Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). FIFA. Multi-Family drama. Some feels. Some fluff. Some squabbling.
AN: Look who managed to finish a chap between all the insanity of my semester's wrap-up? Thank you for your reviews and your patience. One. Week. Left. I'm still four essays away from freedom D: Gah! But enjoy this! XD
Chapter 35: Nobody Escapes the Spanish Fam-ada
Arthur stared up at the pinks, golds, and purples of dusk from his spot on a blanket—having shaken enough Snake-A-way repellent pellets in a wide enough, dense enough, radius that he felt confident enough to recline here and assured that his offspring was equally safe a few paces away. The soft whispering of grasses by his ears and his child humming as he approached felt surreal after two weeks of abject misery.
This...calm…he scarcely dreamed of attaining a calmness like this.
Especially after...
It was only a glimpse…
What Alfred had shared in the car…
Only a glimpse in a moment of temper and hurt and yet…
Arthur had always been blessed with an obstinate, begrudging nature that he realized now made him resistant to real despair even in his most vulnerable and fragile states of mind—maybe it was his sense of spite, his mercurial moods, his quick frustrations, his need for vengeance to address wrongs and hurts of degrees...that he was ever keeping score of those sorts of things…that kept him going in moments of trouble.
He'd mourned deeply when Mother died and cursed the Romans to the best of his young ability. Had raged and cried and felt utterly discontented with his lot in life but he'd plotted constantly while he was their prisoner.
Had visited Elizabeth's grave more times than he cared to count as he lamented her passing and made his plans on how best to continue her legacy and take their nation to new and glorious heights.
Had despised barbed wire and bombings and cried for all the lives lost under bricks and in gutters...and worked to help rescue whoever he could find...
When he'd thought Alfred dead on that operating table, grief like he'd never known in his life seized him with such a weight he thought he'd be crushed into nothingness.
Yet, it still wasn't despair.
He knew sadness.
He knew loss.
God, did he know regret.
But...
Despair was something else.
A betrayal of such magnitude...
Like the world itself was chipping away underneath his shoes and flaking from beyond his fingertips.
Often he'd heard people describe such feelings in movies and plays as falling…
That wasn't how Alfred had experienced it at all.
It was like being forcibly unmade...every fiber and sinew unwoven, drenched in kerosene and set alight, and even the blaze never disturbed, never lightened even a degree of that smothering darkness.
There was no freedom there.
The darkness bled into everything.
"How could you leave me?!"
How could you leave me...there…?
In that…?
He'd had nightmares about it since.
Him...a grown man who'd never even experienced the full brunt of it or the side of an estrangement that seemed to confirm all the most terrible fears one could harbor about family…
In his heart of hearts, Arthur had never doubted his child's love. He'd been at war with the boy's pride...and his own…
And Alfred had been battling something far more sinister.
Maybe that was the horror of it all. The monstrous, cruel unfairness…
That he was the adult...the father...and Alfred was the child…
And the Cosmos didn't single him out for punishment on their behalf.
It just wasn't fair.
"I tried! You weren't there! You weren't there!"
And he couldn't change it.
The worst part was knowing full well that under all that suffering...Alfred had still loved him.
That was a marvel.
And it made him understand Blue better. Because...from that angle...yes, from that one...he was something truly awful, plague-like, irredeemable, heartless…
"I just thought you didn't love me anymore…"
The world as Alfred had known it...ended…and he struggled through the debris of his former hopes and expectations.
He still came...to meetings and trade negotiations...to ballrooms he hated…
And he laughed and was laughed at and smiled and made jokes and blithely ignored, or seemed to ignore, Arthur's barbs.
And love was muddied with distrust and disappointment as Arthur's clay feet and personal pettiness undermined any efforts he did undertake to bridge the gap between them...
Even though the events and the fullness of the despair had been blocked out by the hex (which was slowly seeming like a cure-all Alfred had applied to himself in an understandable moment of desperation and vulnerability), the aftermath...the skittishness had remained...Blue remembered the circumstances even if the rest of Alfred's conscience was locked out of the loop.
"I was always the one that knew better. I knew from the start you were a liar."
Red remembered the disillusion and the pain...and he seemed to be floating nearer and nearer to the surface all the time.
"You weren't there, anymore! You weren't there, Daddy!"
He wasn't there, not the way he needed to be.
The boy was right.
And the fact that he...that he had...tried to...to...come home…
Arthur braced himself with a breath; he'd fucked up. Royally.
What he'd construed as the boy coming to him to gloat was actually him trying to reconnect…
Such an idiot...all it would've taken was one afternoon where he kept his mouth shut and listened.
If that was the case...then America had been rejected multiple times...before...before…giving up.
A headshot and a hex convinced him to move on...though he dragged the past behind him.
And it weighed him down.
Needed him.
To shoulder it now.
The sun lit the edges of clouds as it sank.
He'd always tried to assure himself that he was needed. This past year he'd done nothing but try to prove he was needed...that he could still fit into his son's life. That his affection and concern and attention had worth...could be put to use.
But somehow hearing it aloud…
It wasn't simply, "I need you," that he'd heard...
No…
In it was...
"I love you...still…"
And that kind of forgiveness...steadfastness…love…
And the admittance that carrying all of their past had made him tired and he needed someone strong…
Of course Arthur was strong enough to do it.
When he'd had so much of a hand in it…
When it meant his son could let go.
Alfred sat down beside him with an armful of flowers and then deemed himself too far away and wriggled over until he was leaning against his father.
He watched small fingers twisting the stems and linking them together, braiding spaces between the flowers with long meadow grasses.
Of course he was strong enough.
Arthur stroked the wheat hair, glinting in the sunset, and tucked some of that fringe behind a soft ear.
Alfred settled his weight more firmly against him.
His strength was meant to be relied on this way...trusted in…
Alfred was still learning about strength. He recognized it most easily in its brutish forms—showy displays of might. He didn't see it in spiritual resilience, in kindness, in affection, in peacemaking. He didn't perceive it when someone identified their limits and asked for assistance.
And the most criminal of all...he didn't understand how integral, how deeply ingrained it was in forgiveness.
When Alfred finished his floral labor, he carefully set it on Arthur's brow.
And the Briton fought against a lump in his throat.
He'd known circlets like these for millennia and yet being crowned by those hands…
Ones that had bestowed flowers on him so generously in centuries past...that he'd stopped seeing them as gifts but as tribute…
He'd stopped deserving them...and they stopped coming…
Arthur sat up halfway, resting on his elbows and shared stories about woods Alfred would never know. Woods whose absence he'd thought he'd accepted...and grieved anew because—
Blue eyes met his unsurely.
"Oh pet, I wish I could take you there, but...those trees...are gone now."
"Oh," the boy didn't quite understand, though he sensed through their bond that he was just starting to.
He knew plenty about loss.
More than Arthur could ever want him to.
But he didn't quite feel time as heavily as England did.
He'd had enough to deal with without marking passages of time.
"Do you miss it?" the child asked, blue eyes watching.
It's an obvious statement, but he knows the boy isn't trying to be flippant. His expression is too open; a dry reply that would mask Arthur's feelings would do injury to his.
"Sometimes."
Alfred snuggled closer with instinctive compassion.
And it was the most bittersweet feeling that filled him.
Because he did. At times. The simplicity. The magic that pulsated between realms so freely. The way life made sense to him in his youth. With his exuberant certainty and enviable overconfidence…
So much was gone. Felled. Paved over. Forgotten. So much had passed and was finished and there could be no return.
And even so…
Even though a younger version of himself would likely berate him for his present caution, his current domesticity, the loss of his Round Table, the sunset on his dreams for empires grander than Rome's...
And sometimes that smarted.
To be "old," experienced, worn...
But he knew he wouldn't trade this meadow, this moment, for that forest. For that time. Ever. Not when—
Little fingers unabashedly reached back over to adjust the flower crown on Arthur's head. All the child personifications he'd cared for in empires past...
Arthur laid back down.
Far too steep a price. There was doom in just the whisper of it. Morgana would've laughed at how he flinched..he turned away to hide his expression until the shiver through his soul passed.
Little cheeks puffed, "Hey...you're mussing it up, I worked-"
He looked back on Alfred and gripped the child under the arms and lifted him up into the air and the boy laughed with startled delight.
Arthur gave him a teasing shake and swayed him from side to side—earning more laughter.
He lowered him close and then raised him back up. He did this several times before setting the child on his chest and wrapping his arms around him and planting a comical kiss on the child's cheek as the little one wriggled half-heartedly to be freed.
Whenever Alfred did "get loose," he was rather easily and immediately re-captured and this went on until Arthur tickled the child breathless and he collapsed on top of Arthur's chest.
"Ooomphf," Arthur winced at receiving his child's weight like that. Still, the rather sweet hug he got after more than made up for it.
Alfred sighed contentedly, "I can hear your heart."
"Oho?"
There was a nod. "When I was a ba-smaller and younger and you fell asleep before I did, I'd count the beats until I couldn't count that high...I...I can count a lot higher now though...of course."
"Of course. You're very smart. Very talented at maths." He dropped a kiss on the golden head.
Alfred looked up, looking a bit disoriented at the compliment...and that was wounding.
He knew now he'd praised the child's looks far too often during their years together. So much had been focused on appearance that whenever his was damaged, the blow to his ego was devastating. And he had other fine attributes.
Arthur continued, "All those mathematicians and scientists and engineer and doctors I scheduled to meet with you…they all told me what a bright young man you are."
"What did you say?"
"I'd say, 'Of course he is, why the devil did you think I asked you here?'"
"No, you didn't."
"Yes, I did," England insisted. "Such an uppity lot. Thinking they were doing you a favor. They were all like that initially, you know. And by the end they were thanking me for introducing them to you."
"Nuh-uh."
"All true."
"Then why'd you never tell me that stuff before?"
Arthur laughed a bit ruefully. "I think I was afraid you'd ask what they thought of me. Many of my reviews weren't quite so glowing."
Alfred sighed and didn't look at him. "...you're good at words...languages...I barely remember any Oneida. English was easier. Or maybe it was because your people talked to me more."
Arthur nodded.
"You talked to me way more than Osha did. It seemed like you were always talking. I remember being surprised by that when I first met you."
Arthur tried not to take it that Alfred was calling him a chatterbox. Though he knew it was true.
Still, it surprised him how much...easier it was...hearing about Osha now.
He knew he was needed…
Wasn't going to be cast aside or have his place usurped...
Granted, he still hated her with a passion that would likely last for eternity but...she wasn't as threatening a figure anymore.
How much of that was the direct result of Arthur overcoming his insecurities laid to rest or Alfred being more critical of her (proving that the Stockholm Syndrome he'd been under was ebbing), was difficult to say.
"You taught me rhymes and songs. And you'd read aloud stories and plays and poems and recipes and you were always asking me things. That was all new and different. Osha told me things. She decided what and when I learned things. She didn't like questions. You just had to accept. Information was a treasure meant for the elders to hold. They dispersed it when they wanted to. She never asked me anything. Cuz I was young and couldn't know anything. She liked it when I was quiet and obedient. She didn't like Greensleeves. Said I was noisy and that I sang songs of lands that weren't mine….that was bad. That made her and Sky Mother sad."
Arthur frowned.
"And you kept information right there in your books on shelves. And I could read them whenever I wanted, granted I could figure out what the new words I came across meant."
"Different cultures," Arthur answered softly. Though...if he could do things over he might've taken more care over which books had lined those shelves.
"Yeah. The shuffle back and forth was hard. I mean, I...I couldn't do this with her."
"Do what? Talk?"
"Yeah, and...ya know," He gave Arthur a hug as a demonstration. "She was never real big on PDA. But then again…"
That hurt to hear, because a toddler aged America had been terribly affectionate…
No…
Alfred was still very affectionate. Just more guarded.
He gave the boy a squeeze and immediately received one back.
"I mean, she loves me…"
Arthur let that alone; he still had very strong feelings regarding that statement...but he knew to leave it be. For now.
"But..."
Arthur waited on tenterhooks.
"She was always pretty upfront that she thought I was oooogly."
Arthur's lips pursed and his body tensed.
"It's kinda funny cuz I remember now..." he laughed a little "One time I really let her have it. And I just went up and down about how beautiful you thought I was. She thought we were both-" he laughed again.
Arthur held him tightly.
"S'okay. It wasn't so bad when I saw others like me. Europeans...European nations. You thought my eyes were great. I wish I'd known about Mattie and Tex...I just didn't."
He rubbed circles into the child's back.
"But you think I'm handsome?"
"I think you're selling yourself woefully short if looks-"
"You do, right?" There was an edge of expectation and desperation in the tone. Osha had hurt him there.
"You're more than your face, but it is a handsome one to be sure." This was something that had to be carefully unknotted.
Satisfied with the answer, Alfred tapped at his breast pocket,"What's in there?"
Arthur obliged and pulled out the portrait miniature he'd reclaimed from Alfred's snowman supplies.
"You...you're...you're wearing it again?"
"Naturally," he gave it and then its real-life counterpart a kiss before tucking the beloved trinket back into its pocket and buttoning it to keep it safe.
Alfred blinked, "But it's so old."
Arthur hmmed at that, "Yes, I do need a proper wallet photo of you. But you've been so camera shy as of late, it's been difficult."
Alfred pondered over that, "Does it have to be me now? It can't be older me?"
"I could take one of each," he conceded.
"I just...I don't want you to forget how tough I am...even if I look different now."
"You're very strong. I know that. Right here," He tapped the boy's chest, indicating his heart "hasn't changed. My lionhearted lad."
Alfred, who'd been poised to argue the point, settled back down and accepted another cuddle.
The sky was darkening into the indigo of night.
He turned when he heard footsteps approach and smiled at Mathieu. "Look who's come to join us, Sweet?"
Alfred turned his head to see.
It was the abrupt lack of feeling between them that alarmed the Briton.
He distractedly welcomed his other child who hesitantly sat down on the corner of the blanket.
Arthur glanced down at the little one in his arms.
There was nothing sour in the cherubic face at it looked over at the Canadian. There was nothing off in his voice as he greeted the other.
And yet…
Their bond should not have-have...shorted out? It was nothing compared to a-a death, thank God, but...it was like a cord had been tied around a limb in such a tourniquet…
It was bloody unbearable.
He stroked fringe away from the boy's face and asked concernedly, "Are you alright?"
"Yes."
"Alfie…" Was the loss from Arthur's end? Was he blocking without meaning to? He was still a novice at it. Rhys had shared some techniques the previous week but it had never interfered with his sensing Alfred.
"What?"
"..." No, it couldn't be from his side. He kept reaching out. The child was recoiling. "Dearheart?"
"I'm fine," Alfred chirped.
But he pushed away from Arthur then and left them both for more flower gathering.
"But it's dark now," Arthur declared after him. "There's tomorrow. We'll continue this tomorrow. We can all have a picnic."
He didn't receive an answer and he tried not to panic when Alfred ducked down into the grasses.
And out of visibility and without their bond to send him assurance, it was like he vanished.
Scotland cursed under his breath as he slammed the nondescript black van's door shut and squinted in the sharp sunlight of the afternoon.
"Aye," Eire agreed, as he slung a small satchel with what few clothes they'd bought themselves in the meanwhile. "The gravy train has ended at last."
They both heaved another, deeper sigh.
After getting to live the high life in a penthouse suite for several weeks, government officials finally forced them out and dropped them off in front of Tex's driveway.
Arthur and Rhys were on the porch drinking tea on a porch swing that hadn't been there the last time they visited.
When Alistair gestured to it, Rhys answered, "Storage shed."
"God almighty, they have so much sh-"
"Shh!" Arthur growled, setting his tea down on a side table. "Can't you see he's sleeping?"
Alistair blinked and looked down to his nephew who was draped over their laps, costumed in the heavy cloak Arthur had given the boy last Yule...which was impressive given the heat.
Alistair watched his younger brother stroke strands of golden hair, hand hovering near the ear in case he needed to cover it.
"Arthur, he's heard far worse from me on the battlefront."
Arthur frowned, "Well, he was an enlisted teenager then. Does he look like one now?"
"..."
"Soooo, you get the feet?" Reilley observed, looking at Rhys.
"And you get nothing," the Welshman quipped.
"...Alfie boy, just didn't know to expect me...you haven't surpassed me yet. I treated him to lots of meals and trinkets and nice hotel rooms on the frontier. He remembers."
"..."
"You just wait."
"..."
"I survived the golf buggy ride of DOOM with him at the helm! Sweet Mary of-"
Alistair rolled his eyes; they were welcome to fight over second place. He kept on walking and made his way through the house.
He was surprised to find so much of the mess had been cleared out. There were still boxes here and there but…
He looked around with a more scrutinizing eye.
There were photos and paintings and decorations nailed on the walls.
Tables had runners. Counters and mantels and shelves had actual art pieces rather than plastic figurines.
From the living room, Spain called softly, "Oh, Escocia, you two finally bothered to come back, hmm? Trying to avoid the cleaning and lifting, huh? Well, we still have a few trips to the dump left, mi amigo. I tell them you volunteer."
He looked over to where Spain had both arms stretched over the back of the new couch which not so incidentally allowed him to have both sons within his wingspan with Puerto Rico on the right and Texas on the left and from the sounds of the telly, football was on.
Alistair subconsciously moved closer.
Tex seemed less than enthralled with the match though; his eyelids kept sliding down. He kept groggily asking questions about the rules which Spain diligently answered...even when they repeated.
"Shut up!" Puerto Rico hissed and Scotland agreed. He needed to belt up.
Tex blinked and yawned, looked blearily up at Scotland's sour expression, then over at Spain's longsuffering one, and realized belatedly, "I...I already asked this stuff, huh?"'
"You are tired," Spain shrugged, he moved his arm to drape it over the boy's shoulders who yawned but didn't shake him off. Spain looked pleased as he gently reeled the lad in, under the guise of softly repeating the rules of the game again. Tex ended up assisting him—leaning in to better hear and when Spain realized that...he capitalized on it and lowered his voice more. Texas soon dozed off against his shoulder and Spain gently removed the boy's hat and tossed it with a spin on the table, probably so it wouldn't press into him anymore.
"He'd learn the rules if he stayed awake," Ricardo remarked flatly, reaching over to poke him.
"Rico," Spain scolded under his breath, lest his younger son be disturbed.
His older one pouted, "There was a deal. We watch Nascar with him, he has to watch football with us. He's not holding his end of the bargain. He got what he wanted already-"
"Rico."
"He put me in the scary taxidermy bedroom!"
Spain sighed.
"Family," Alistair summed up, but Spain didn't seem to share his sentiments on the matter and gave him a withering look.
Alistair didn't press his luck and moved on; being a Scotsman and loving a good fight he'd had plenty of skirmishes with all sorts of nations sometimes on behalf of others. He'd battled with the Spaniard before.
England had lucked out in the grocery store to fight the other man as he did.
The man was shite at fistfighting but if he'd had his axe...or a sword or spear...
That would've left a far more gruesome cleanup in the aisle.
And there were some semi-ornamental swords decorating this room now...
Texas had to admit there was somethin' not quite right about a man that volunteers for a taxidermy infested room.
Puerto Rico had been overjoyed to relinquish the space to the Scotsman and before Tex could assign him the bedroom with the creepy bush that scratched the window late at night, Spain had already invited him into the room he was staying in—ending Tex's hijinks and giving him a look that dared him to try and intervene.
Which...nope...he knew how to choose his battles. Hawaii had already gotten on him twice for giving Puerto Rico this room.
"Baby, if you're trying to reconcile...this isn't the way to do it."
Tex had frowned back, "You don't understand how brothers work."
She put a hand on her hip in a sassy 'Oh really?' stance.
"Brothers...like him...they sit on your head when you're small and have outargued them with logic and they just want to be mean. When you go swimming, they take your clothes. I learned to ride rough horses because Rico always liked the tame ones Papi brought me and when you're a snitch and tell Papi then! Then the whole family gangs up on you. And that's never...you never wanna deal with...can't trust nuthin'...And-and-and when you grow up, they stiff you with the bill and tell pretty girls embarrassing stories about you...which they're responsible for! He earned that taxidermy!"
Sure, there were a few bona fide hunting trophies in there but a majority were purchases he'd made from struggling families back in the day...and they were pretty creepy.
He scuffed a boot on the ground, uncertainly, "I can move some o' this out..."
Scotland glared. "Don't yeh dare, else one o' them idgits I call kin will invite themselves in."
Okay, so there was a strategy involved. Apparently, Scotland wanted it because nobody would disturb him.
Tex stared at a beaver with its open mouth and yellowed teeth.
He left the Scotsman to settle and walked around the house—reminding himself through a headcount how much meat he'd need to set out for a barbecue; it was still kinda weird having so many people at his place at once.
Since he'd moved the flatscreen into the den to better accommodate his guests, their video game hot spot was now a parlor again. He'd set Alfred's oval picture in there as the new commanding centerpiece on, what them interior decorators called, the feature wall.
Arthur had some kind of magnetic fascination with it. He often caught the Brit staring at it.
Like he was now.
"It's a good one," Tex agreed, pleased someone else also appreciated it. Usually, folks commented that it was an unusual expression on his little brother's face.
Arthur raised an eyebrow.
He leaned against the wall. "I remember saving up for it. And I had to plan it just right. Oh, Al was so mad. Madder than a puffed toad. That there were a million other things the money would've been better spent on...but nope. It was my money and that's what I wanted."
He smiled up at the portrait.
"It was plum luck, he ended up smiling. I mean, you remember how long photos back then used to take? And then there was the fact that he wasn't exactly thrilled to be doing it and he wasn't a really…"
"..." Arthur looked at him expectantly.
"Well...he wasn't a really smiley person...then…"
Arthur frowned.
"Yeah, he smiled a lot but...that there was a real smile and I got it on film! And-and-w-well you don't know it...how could you but…" He pointed at Alfred's eyes in the photo and gestured to where they'd been focused. He grinned. "He was looking at me."
Alfred took a deep breath, they were out for a night at AppleBee's.
He didn't rebel against the booster seat on the ride over or the kiddie menu and crayons that were placed before him at the restaurant.
It was supposed to be the right set up. A celebratory meal for all the help their families had given in straightening out Tex's house, and boy had everyone sorted through a lot of stuff since Tex and Alfred's main method of storage was: keep everything, we'll sort it out...someday.
It was weird watching curators peruse their castoffs and pay top dollar for them.
And how Spain and the U.K. clan watched those people like hawks and allowed no swindling. Wales and Northern Ireland seemed to be born appraisers and knew the price ranges of everything, which they'd whisper in Scotland's ear because he genuinely enjoyed haggling. And whenever they were lowballed, England sneered and Spain cheerfully bid them goodbye because the other bidders would be there soon...even when no one else was scheduled...or at least until England made more calls and drummed up interest.
It was awkward asking them if they could...maybe help him with that stuff again in his other estates. You know, until he got the hang of it. Because...this wasn't like a garage sale...where you were just trying to get rid of stuff...this was more...business-like.
It was also kinda hard bagging up stuff that was deemed straight up garbage; "Alfie boy, these are old, rough hewn shelves to a cabin you admit doesn't exist anymore...and that ya never particularly liked them. And they're rotting and cracked. Can't we let them go?"
Dad wanted to help him sort and file all their papers (they'd managed to gather all of them into eight plastic storage bins and they were hodgepodge of official business, letters, newspapers, and sometimes advertisements.)
"Love, you'd be surprised what vintage advertisements sell for," Arthur had remarked as he looked over an old shoe polish ad from the 1800s.
After a heavy spread of appetizers and two rounds of beer which worked for making his family more mellow and margaritas which made Tex's family more cheerful, America announced their plans and tried to avoid Hawaii's suspicious glances his way. She'd been pretty quiet lately...which was dangerous. It meant she was biding her time….plotting. He just needed to skirt around her for a little while longer.
"Soooo...we've got our May Day trip planned." There were cheers at that and Alfred smiled and continued with, "And Tex and I decided we wanna leave a bit earlier for it. Just the two of us. Ya know? For our bro-bond. And then we can get down there and set stuff up for when you arrive."
"It's been ages since we had a good ol' fashioned Americana road trip," Tex recited. They'd written out a short script to get the gist of their plan down before they put it in action. The delivery was a little wooden but he flashed a grin to Al—pleased that he'd remembered his line word for word.
He gave him a nod of approval because it usually took Tex a day to memorize things and he'd only had two hours before show time.
But seriously, time was moving against them if they were going to figure out where the gate was, have a brotherly adventure, and then enjoy a family camping trip (which would probably be a high-stress, culture-clashing event).
Tex's smile was worth it though, they really did need a little breathing room. Considering all the drama, Alfred and his dad could probably use a little time apart—Arthur had to be exhausted. Plus, it was clear Canada wanted bonding time with the old man and (tired of being shown up beside the goody two shoes) it would be easier for Alfred to be absent for it.
Not to mention...
He could better understand Tex's side now when he'd voiced his concerns about Alfred sinking into the U.K. clan. It was hella weird walking into a room where a rapid-fire Spanish conversation was underway between Spain, Puerto Rico, and Tex...and Tex was laughing at a joke Alfred couldn't understand. And then, when he turned and noticed him, he'd rattle something off and remember only half-way through that his younger brother couldn't make heads or tails of what he'd said.
He'd been spoiled. Tex had always acted as a guide and interpreter for him and he'd never bothered to learn for himself.
America looked down the table and gauged its inhabitants. There weren't any immediate barks of dismay or condemnation...which meant it was being well-received until—
"¡Oye! What about us?" Ricardo demanded, jerking a thumb to himself and then over Mathieu's way. "We chopped liver? What about our brotherly bonds?"
Alfred glanced over and with a fixed smile announced, "Rico, I give my full blessing for you to brotherly bond with Canada. Though I warn you Canadian rage is NOT a myth."
"And Canadian bacon ain't as good," Tex threw in.
"That's not what I'm saying!"
"You're not speakin' American," Texas butt in.
"I AM speaking American English, you dumbass."
"Don't understand a word outta his mouth," Tex sighed. "Gotta get him some of that Hooked on Phonics. And at his age too. It's so sad."
"I wanna go on the road trip!" Ricardo clarified.
Tex turned to him. "Because no."
"I wanna go."
"Nope."
"Come on, Alfred. We never spend time together: me, you, and that burro."
Tex rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, that convinces me. Now, it's hell no."
"Mathieu, you want to go too, right?" Rico demanded.
"I...I wouldn't mind going," Mathieu murmured. "If...Al doesn't mind."
Plan D: Prove Why You'd Be Bad Company.
"Tex clogs drains with hair," Alfred announced.
"I do."
"He will eat 98 percent of the jerky."
"Yup."
"He snores and he picks fights with the locals and he'll choose dives along the way which will make Tums your new bread and butter."
Texas pushed aside his margarita to pour the pitcher of beer into a spare glass for himself and shrugged. "It's all true."
"I mean, and then there's me...and I rule the radio dial and I-"
Puerto Rico set his drink down hard. "Alfred, I already know what chilling with you guys is like. He's a big, whiny crybaby and you're a massive control freak."
"..."
"Run for the hills," Tex growled. "Run. They're that way." He pointed.
Puerto Rico used Spain, who was seated between them, as a shield to duck behind.
Spain obliged. "Tejas, temper."
Reilley scratched his chin. "Ooooh, I have been taking off a lot of work to deal with you boys..."
America pounced on the opportunity. "Exactly! This is time for you guys all to get caught up on stuff. We've really...taken advantage of y'all-"
"You're so cute when you say, 'y'all,'" Tex gushed.
"-We're sorry about that and we can leave you keys to lock up and see about discounted plane tickets-"
"I could do with a road trip meself. Ya boys wouldnae mind if I came along? Laddie? Yeh got room fer your favorite uncle?" Scotland asked.
America choked because…
It was so rare for Scotland to ever ask him for anything.
And the fact that his uncle had done so much for him over the years.
How could he possibly say no? Without looking like the most ungrateful jerkface imaginable?
"Tejas, tu hermano-"
"But Papi, I don't waaaant Rico to come," Tex whined.
"I have to break you in," Puerto Rico stated.
"What?"
"I have to break you in. Mejico told me how Christmas went. You didn't even stay for the whole thing. Lovi said Papi was depressed all January."
"No, he wasn't," Tex announced belligerently without looking at Spain.
"I was a little bit," Spain admitted. "I know you are teenager and I have to be giving you space. But I really had been hoping you would spend Fiesta de Los tres Reyes Mages with me. I was all prepared. I had all those extra sweets and then you weren't with me...and seeing them reminded me of you."
"Uh...oh. I just…" Tex ran a hand through his hair "...it was probably good stuff, huh? W-w-wait, break me in for what?"
"Well, you know Papi's going to be inviting you to stuff now," Rico replied in a 'duh' manner.
Tex looked back over at Spain who smiled and nodded and said, "FIFA."
"What-a?"
Spain's face twitched a bit. "FIFA?"
"I ain't understandin' you."
"Football-er-Soccer!" Puerto Rico reached over and gave him a hard poke in the arm.
Tex scratched his chin. "Ohhhh, soccer. Huh. I don't know all the rules of soccer, if I'm honest. And sometimes the uniforms look so similar."
Spain laughed, "Oh I know, mijo. You proved that in December and when we were watching the other day. But I think you would enjoy the event. Big screen. Lots and lots of food. Sometimes at my casa sometimes I rent a meeting room. You know, depending on how many of you can come and celebrate with me."
"Look at Papi's face. C'mon, say yes," Puerto Rico instructed.
Texas crossed his arms. "No. If I go to that then I'll have to go to other stuff, too. Won't I?"
Puerto Rico got up from his chair and walked over to where Tex was seated and set a hand on the back of his chair. He then reached over and stole a quesadilla from Tex's plate.
"This is why I hate all of you and have disowned your asses."
Spain immediately set another quesadilla slice from his own plate onto his younger son's.
And when Puerto Rico very deliberately reached for that one, Spain slapped his hand away.
Puerto shook his hand out and then leaned down. "I helped you while I could, I gave you extra time. But it is over now. Columbus came back, you have been rediscovered, mi hermanito. I am sorry but your reign of freedom ends now. Nobody escapes the Spanish fam-ada. Nobody."
"Is that a threat?"
"Sports events. Concerts. Fireworks. If there's bleachers, ya know what this means? Papi can cram us all into the space."
"I don't wanna go. Papi, you wouldn't make me, right? If I didn't want to...right?"
Spain gave a dejected look. "You would not want to see tauromaquia?"
"Well, yeah I wanna see but-"
"Good, you come. Seville. I tell you when. We can plan for the whole fam-"
"Whoa! Whooooaa!"
"Why whoa? They are familia," Spain frowned.
"They're loco."
"Mijo, that is not nice. You know everybody will be happy to see you."
Tex gave a skeptical look up at Puerto Rico, who shrugged, "Maybe."
Spain was not amused.
"Maybe?! Rico! Of course they are glad. Everyone is glad. Everyone, Toni."
Puerto Rico then gave several nods, "Everyone, Tex. Everyone." He hissed, "Spanish Fam-ada" as he returned to his seat.
Tex was silent for a few beats and then griped loudly, "I don't wanna be in the Spanish Fam-ada. I'm an American. My papers say so. Aaaal, tell them."
By then, Spain seemed to take a liking to the name and remarked in amusement, "I must be the flagship, then! Okay, then I say, we go on road trip. Family bonding. Plan for FIFA, plan for festivals, maybe go to lucha libre for Mejico-"
"I never said 'Yes!' Al, help!"
"I've already been zoomed," Alfred muttered because while Tex's family had been squabbling, his own meted out their terms.
Tex looked back over and squawked, "What?"
"Alistair's coming because...he's well, Bro, he's epic and he wants to hang and being in his proximity raises our own cool factor exponentially, so yeah... Rhys is coming since Alistair needs someone to monitor his cholesterol cuz we're not gonna do it. Reilley's coming because Rhys needs someone to get him to lighten the hell up. Arthur's coming because Reilley's not a competent adult. And Mathieu insists on coming because he wants to show off his rafting skills."
"I thought you enjoyed rafting with me!" Mathieu gasped sounding shocked and a bit hurt.
"Sooo, it seems like everybody's going except Mr. Gray. Because he's the only sane one here."
"That seems to be the consensus, sir," the man noted wryly from the far end of the table.
"I wanna stay with you and the quiet house," Tex replied.
"Oh no you don't," Alfred growled. "You gotta wrangle with them, you've only got two to deal with-"
"But there's more of them! They're like the two scouting ants. More will come, Al."
Alfred was losing his patience, "So everybody wants to come then, huh?"
"Hands!" Momilani called loudly as she held hers high.
Unison cries of "Yea!" answered.
Alfred stared numbly.
Momilani smirked, "Sorry, baby, you've been outvoted. Democracy."
She got him.
Direct hit.
Right in the Liberty Bells.
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