Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Raleigh's charter. Johnny of Hazelgreen, The Fause Knight Upon the Road, Robin Hood and the Tinker, Robin Hood and the Potter, Beyonce's Run the World, Aqua's Barbie Girl, or Monopoly.

Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically).

AN: Thank you for your reviews and well-wishes! I had a great, fun birthday and here's a little fun to share with you! And fear no longer, unicorn-worrier.

Chapter 39: He's Like A Vowel

Alistair winced along with Rhys because if there was anyone their brother didn't want to be in a lineup with...it was her. Funny, how even Osha got an edge up because of that ol' minger.

"No, you're not," Alfred replied simply.

Arthur audibly counted out loud and then asked, "That song hurts me. To hear it from you…" He released an unsteady breath. "Do you understand why that song hurts me?"

The bairn nodded. "It's a sad song."

Arthur shook his head.

"I was a little flat at the beginning."

Arthur was trying very hard to calm down. "No."

"…it makes you think of Sarah."

A vein in Arthur's jaw twitched and he was obviously trying not to snarl. "It does. It also makes me think YOU think I'm like Sarah."

Alfred blinked and cocked his head to the side. "You're not like Sarah. Sarah would hold my hand to get me to follow her somewhere or drag me out of people's way. You hold my hand just cuz you want to."

"That's…true. We have A LOT of differences."

"Yeah. She lucked out that you weren't there."

Arthur's hands clenched. No doubt, agitated by yet another poke at his supposed "abandonment" of his offspring.

"You…you wouldn't have let her…" The edges of Alfred's mouth smiled and his eyes were distant. "You would've been so angry-"

That didn't begin to cover it. Arthur would've rent her limb from limb. Sometimes Alistair wasn't sure if his nephew realized the whole "Gentleman" bit was a recent phase of Arthur's.

For a very long time, Albion hadn't given a damn about propriety…it was all about power and punishment.

Granted, Arthur was a good deal tamer and more refined by the time he came to settle the New World. Some of the more gruesome punishments for treason were being ruled out when he threw on a morion and declared himself an explorer. Even so, he'd still displayed heads on London Bridge until 1678.

Though…if Alistair recalled correctly…his brother took great care in transporting his son in ways that shielded him from the sights of quartered bodies and rail thin prisoners in cages; either by deliberately taking alternate routes or bringing him over at night in a carriage with shutters.

In light of that, it might have even been a little comical that Arthur was so injured by the lyrics of a song implying he was violent.

He was.

Undoubtedly.

He just…wouldn't hurt Alfred.

"…Did you sing it on purpose?" Arthur's voice broke a little. "To…hurt me?"

Alfred didn't react. He just continued staring with wide, unblinking blue eyes.

Arthur's mouth trembled a little, "If you say, it's just song and I'm looking too deeply-"

"It's a song I'm good at. Tex says so."

"And that's why you sang it?"

"…yeah."

Arthur pursed his lips and nodded.

Alistair let out a disbelieving huff. The little liar.

Bloodshot green eyes gave him a warning glare before they swiveled their attention back to Alfred. "Very well, I-I will take your word then. I'm sorry I…reacted so strongly and misunderstood your intentions."

Alfred shifted uneasily.

He started to move towards his father and then hesitated, crossing one leg behind him to scratch the other.

He took another step and then rocked on his feet.

He was...waiting for an invitation.

The graveness in Arthur's face lessened and he made a welcoming gesture.

Alfred ran over then, taking care to skirt around Alistair who wanted to give him a well-deserved wallop for causing such an upset and then lying about it, and struggled to climb into his father's lap with violin and bow in either hand—only succeeding because Arthur wouldn't let him fall.

"I know you're not like her," he assured all honey and sugar.

Arthur sucked air between his teeth before cupping the boy's face in his hands, "I would never do that to you."

"Never," Alfred agreed softly. "It's just a sad song. Most of the ballads I know are like that. They've got ghosts and murders and stuff. We didn't have radio then, remember? What I knew was what I heard. People sang and did chores."

Arthur nodded tensely.

"Dad...w-who's 'she'? The 'she' you mentioned?"

Arthur swallowed audibly, but did make answer: "Elizabeth…my queen."

"Oh."

Maybe it was the softness in the tone...like the laddie knew he couldn't compete with one of England's most beloved rulers that prompted Arthur's rather desperate cry of, "I would have come for you!"

Alfred nodded but didn't make eye contact, instead mumbling, "...when did they tell you to seek me? Was it when Holland almost caught me?"

"They didn't," Arthur growled. "I was urged to the New World by James, but it was Finland and France that led me to knowing about you."

"I guess…I-I guess that...explains why you adopted me as your brother. I mean, I kinda knew you were my dad, like my Bio dad, from the get-go. But on meeting you, it was clear you had to warm up to the idea. Which was...fine. I mean, I'd already waited that long. I mean, I got you to...eventually, so that was straightened out. But then when I got big you wanted to go back to being called-"

Arthur sighed, "Alfie."

"Well, sorry, but it was weird for me! And it wasn't like I could prove it. And by then, I knew enough about bloodlines to realize I was…" Alfred looked back at Tex, "W-what song, did we have planned next?"

Green eyes sharpened and he prompted Alfred with a hard poke to continue his original train of thought, "You realized you were...?"

"...I was…I just kinda happened on the fly."

"..."

"Which is...fine. I'm in good company. Tex was the surprise behind Door Number One. I was the prize behind Door Number-"

"That is not true! Elizabeth granted a charter to Raleigh to seek out new lands 'to have, hold, occupy, and enjoy.' You were nothing less than planned! I just wasn't informed of having succeeded!"

"…right. Anyways-"

"After...after I made my return to England, following the crusades... and there was so much death then...it felt like everything that was good and innocent would never again…"

Alistair half-wondered if Arthur would mention Outremer, the memory was on his face and Alistair himself felt a stab of regret for the poor doomed little nation who'd been some form of cousin to them…closer to France and Germany, but family nonetheless.

He'd had the family eyebrows.

Arthur swallowed, "…had to develop new means of carrying on. The clock and new agricultural technologies meant surpluses since we were now a smaller population. This led to more trade opportunities and prosperity. I grew to have enough time and wealth, I aged to adulthood and new ideas of legacy bloomed. What was a daydream turned to a desire, I began to long for a child. I…years passed and later I...I told her how much I...and given that Spain was having success in the New World…"

"He should've let you babysit...that would've cured you," Puerto Rico asserted and got an ear tweaked for it.

"But she didn't tell you about me." Alfred plucked a string on his instrument.

"She probably wanted England with her because she had all those assassination plots, right?" Mathieu mused.

"She had no right to make that decision!" Arthur hissed.

Mathieu looked a little taken aback at the venom.

Alistair sighed.

So then, that wound was still weeping as much as it had been in December.

The Briton pinched the bridge of his nose and then looked over at Mathieu. "I'm sorry, Mathieu."

"Well...at least you didn't get hurt by wendigo," Alfred shrugged.

Arthur looked sharply at him.

But Alfred was tracing the "K" on his violin, "That would've really sucked. All the spells I did to get you to hear me on the breeze. If you'd have come and gotten eaten-"

"I'd have found a way to have rescued you, and solidified our settlement, and eliminated our enemies. I'd have found a way!"

Alfred raised an eyebrow.

But Arthur's eyes were gleaming and Alistair didn't doubt he'd have gladly summoned a demon or contracted with a banshee to carry out his bidding if it had come to that.

Alistair suppressed a shudder. His brother was dangerous that way.

Now that he thought about it, it was obvious that Alfred was similar. All caution was thrown to the wind given the right motivation.

"I would have come for you." Arthur's tone was resolute.

Alfred nodded.

Arthur than gently moved Alfred to sit between himself and Mathieu while motioning for him to hand over the violin and bow.

"It's the one you gave me. I kept good care of it."

Arthur nodded and dropped a short kiss on the blond head.

Arthur gave several practice strokes, which put on full display that he wasn't anywhere as proficient as he'd once been in years where months at sea necessitated the pursuit of such hobbies, let alone near Alfred's level (despite the boy's earlier protests that he was badly out of practice...which was a load of shite).

Still, Arthur managed to sing and play Johnny of Hazelgreen.

And Reilley, in a surprising show of fraternity, took the instrument up and accompanied Arthur in his next selections.

Alistair briefly made eye contact with Reilley and Rhys. Aye, Arthur had botched plenty o' things between now and then. But he hadn't earned that damning song. The lot of them could agree on that at least.

And if he had to stay to prevent his nephew from pulling such a stunt again, so be it.

His smoke break would have to wait.

Rhys moved his chair closer to Arthur and the boys.

The sea was a well-known tempter, so it wasn't terribly surprising Arthur's water powers had seen fit to grant him siren songs of persuasion.

But he hadn't entertained the notion of Alfred inheriting it.

An oversight on his part...America had long perpetuated the idea that he was to be hailed as the golden land of opportunity and the notion certainly had and continued to draw immigrants toward him.

That was more deliberate propaganda than this though.

For he didn't seem entirely aware that he slipped magic into his singing.

There had been some genuine surprise on the child's face as they reacted with horror.

He'd been intent on sharing something, but what it was, precisely, remained a mystery.

There was contempt, disappointed hopes, betrayal…

Was he pushing forward his frustrations?

When he blighted last December, his main focus was making Arthur understand, at least emotionally, the turmoil Alfred had felt in the aftermath of 1812.

He'd been manipulated into that by Grym.

His feelings had been raw and sincere, if misguided.

He wanted to say his nephew's intentions were similarly innocent this time as well but…

Given the way the little one ducked back behind Arthur when he noticed Rhys's gaze on him, suggested otherwise.

With Reilley providing accompaniment, Arthur was able to pull Alfred back onto his lap and snake an arm around Mathieu to draw him nearer.

It was nostalgic to see the three of them so close.

He knew Arthur had enjoyed caring for the two of them in the 1760s, brief as it had ultimately been.

"They could nearly pass for twins," Arthur whispered while stroking the sleeping children's fair hair.

Rhys closed his book of fairy tales and set it on the nearby shelf beside more books brimming with rhymes.

Nearly.

Mathieu's shade had more sunrise orange in it. And the children's eye colors differed spectacularly: violet and blue.

But the shape of their faces made it clear they shared blood.

Arthur carefully spread another quilt over the two and lovingly tucked the brothers in.

Arthur's contentment with his current situation was palpable; he kept smiling between verses; his earlier anguish seemingly forgotten.

Alistair posted himself near Tex, who looked more than a bit rebellious as he slammed the fallboard of his piano, grumbling that he hadn't expected him and Al's concert to be commandeered.

"Really, all y'all had ALL the concerts yeh wanted at yer fancy parties through the ages, and ya can't let us have one of our own in our own house?" He turned to Mr. Gray. "I wanted ya to have an American-"

Mr. Gray assured him that he was quite entertained.

That it was a true treat.

It was, since Arthur didn't sing much anymore. Parties and get-togethers just didn't call for such talents unless the ones involved were the artsy elite...or Japan wanted to do karaoke.

With the right amount of alcohol and plenty of 80s music to choose from, Japan and England could sing into the wee hours of the morning.

Rhys never enjoyed carrying them back to their hotel; they were heavier than they appeared.

Reilley's fiddling brought him back to the moment. He wasn't a match for Alfred but he had an ease borne of years spent in halls and taverns.

It was fascinating seeing his brothers work together rather than compete.

Reilley was easily the superior bard, his skill for composing pieces, his careful collecting of stories, and his dynamic voice for storytelling made it easy for viewers to lose track of time in his company. He felt like a friend and he was able to support Arthur and step in when his explanation on the introduction of a piece sagged or turned wooden.

Arthur's silver tongue paired with his golden vocal chords made him enchanting as a piece was played. People would sigh with contentment as he hit notes with grace and ease. He was a performer, he gave life, he resuscitated old words.

It was usually a point of contention between the two. Reilley begrudged Arthur for his raw talent and Arthur envied Reilley's easy rapport with an audience (Arthur could shock and awe but he had trouble endearing himself. It was best for him to perform and then leave.).

What Rhys hadn't accounted for was how the two were more similar than different. Each depended on making their listeners feel compelled to stay and hear more.

They gave pleasure.

It made Alfred stand out all the more.

Alfred lacked Reilley's charming enthusiasm.

He was bereft of Arthur's crystal clear sound.

And yet, Rhys couldn't deny his nephew's performance left him with goosebumps.

He wasn't a singer.

He wasn't friendly.

He wasn't enchanting.

He was...bewitching.

Yes, Alfred was bewitching.

He would be heard and not forgotten.

He was the chord that sent a shiver down your spine.

Tex groaned in exasperation and then whined, "You guys get to hear this stuff" gesturing to England and his brothers "All the time."

Rhys was tempted to tell him that Al's song was really one of Alba's but…

His nephew had sung it to great effect...though, it'd be a greater boon to never hear it again.

He set his phone to record.

The Fause Knight Upon the Road was a rollicking beat and Arthur bounced the little one on his knee to it.

Now, that the entertainer was the entertained Alfred was startled out of whatever strange mood he'd been in.

Every bounce and clever quip made the edges of his mouth perk into an unready smile.

He'd really never heard any of these.

Sir Orfeo followed and afterwards Alistair reluctantly acknowledged that he might need to accompany a future performance of this one with his bagpipes.

When Arthur dryly asked what venue he was imagining for such a show, Alistair gruffly mentioned a few hours at a Scottish festival was well within his rights to demand.

As Arthur owed him.

Rhys's lips curved, "I'll come with you, Alba."

"Didnae ask you."

Reilley caught Rhys's eye and glinted with mischief, "O Alis, don't be shy now. We can all come and paint ourselves blue like the ol' days and watch you lose at caber tossing-"

"I don't lose! Tha's mah best event. Yeh'd know if yeh ever bothered to co-" he broke off, face turning as red as his hair.

"Oi! Sounds like an invitation to me, boys," Reilley grinned.

"I'm noting it on my phone," Rhys stated.

The banter piqued Alfred's interest in attending one and he announced that his nation held various heritage festivals; Celtic, Scottish, Irish, and he wasn't sure about Welsh.

"I dunno if we're allowed to do British."

Which was an odd way to phrase it but he then burst out, "But we could have a tea party. If you wanted us too. And-er-it wouldn't be…like…Boston."

"Good to know."

Alfred's mouth opened and shut like he wanted to say more. And he twisted his hands into Arthur's shirt but nothing more came.

More kindly, Arthur repeated himself and nuzzled their noses. "Good to know."

Midway through Robin Hood and the Tinker, Texas grumbled again about being shuffled out of the lineup.

Alfred put a finger to his lips. "Shhh!"

"O, I know, you didn't just shush me."

"Tex," he entreated in a loud whisper. "Stop."

"I KNOW you didn't just shush me-"

"Please," Alfred waved his hands desperately. "I never heard these before. Who knows when I'll get to aga-"

Arthur stopped mid-note looking for all the world like he'd been struck and the wind was knocked from him.

Alfred looked devastated and grimaced when Reilley's playing went to a jarring stop.

Arthur took in a steadying breath, turned to Reilley, and they both made a gesture to signal they'd repeat the measure.

Rhys had a feeling they would repeat it as many times as needed for Alfred to feel reassured.

That no...no, Arthur wasn't going anywhere.

None of them were.

Tex resigned himself to his fate only when Alistair sat down on the piano bench beside him effectively ending his commentary since the Scotsman looked ready to call him out for a rematch if he pressed his luck.

Arthur was hitting his stride by the time he settled into Robin Hood and the Potter.

The only problem was…if they let their brother settle into Robin Hood ballads (and he did look far too comfortable to be reciting one at his leisure before an adoring child), they'd be here all night.

Rhys cleared his throat as it finished, "The hour grows late and-"

"Some o' us gotta drive tomorrow," Alistair barked.

"A wonderful evening, thank you all," Mr. Gray smiled. "And a special thanks to my hosts." He nodded at Tex, who tipped his hat, and then rested a gentle hand on Alfred's head.

Arthur let him.

"Thank you, young master."

"You're a good Starburst, Mr. Gray," Alfred told him solemnly. "I've dealt with a lot of yellows and oranges. You were…really great to happen upon."

"High praise?" Reilley questioned.

"Al's tired. I'll put it like this," Tex walked over. "You're one of the only humans who ever showed up on our doorstep totally unexpected that Al was…actually happy to see. So, that makes four. I've known him since the early 1800s. Four. You're the fourth. Congratulations."

Rhys pursed his lips. So, Alfred had a long and troubled history interacting with humans. They'd been operating under the impression that they were dealing with a couple of sporadic episodes of outright cruel figures and a few centuries of bad governmental policies but...if most of his relations with people weren't particularly good…

It certainly explained his leeriness at accepting therapy. He just...genuinely didn't trust them as a whole.

He saw them as a responsibility and a group he needed to save in times of trouble.

But...when he didn't have to involve himself in their affairs...he didn't.

Alfred rubbed his eyes and focused back on Arthur. "I never knew any of these…they aren't sad."

"Oho? What's this? Father might just still know a few things?" Arthur raised a large eyebrow.

Alfred laughed.

Arthur carefully set him down on his feet so he could stand and stretch. Rhys had been privately impressed he'd managed to last thus.

Having Alfred's weight fully on him and Mathieu's weight pressing into his side, had to have made it difficult to get the breath he needed to sing.

And yet…

"Come now, boys, we've a full day ahead of us," he gestured for Mathieu to follow and began to take up Alfred's hand but Alfred wriggled it away.

He reached up and scrunched his fingers in a supplication to be carried.

It was too much for Alistair.

"After everythin' yeh pulled this night, and now yer expecting spoiling?! The gall!"

Rhys frowned. "Alistair-"

"Ack, don't Rhys. Arthur, no, Arthur don't-"

Arthur gave him such a flat look right then and if only to spite him, stooped to hoist the child back into his arms and held him rather possessively.

Still, with the child's arms wrapped tight about his neck and having the refrain of Sir Orfeo hummed inexpertly in his ear, their brother did look content.

Texas tried to appear confident as morning sunshine filtered into the room and made his choice of clothing even more conspicuous than it had been an hour earlier when everyone had been too tired and lethargic to care as they rushed around packing the cars.

Spain looked him up and down, "Mijo, do you know something I don't?"

Tex blinked.

Antonio crossed his arms, "Are we heading into battle?"

"Noooo. Why do you ask?" Tex tried to channel Feliciano's innocence.

It didn't work. Not even a little bit.

"Because you are in combat clothes."

"..."

"Did you dress in the dark?"

"Al, tell him he's crazy."

"Spain, he's crazy."

"Al!"

Alfred flashed a grin, "No worries, Spain. He sometimes gets on a Rambo kick."

Okay, so he maybe he went a little overboard by dressing in fatigues and combat boots. He just wanted this mission to go right!

Spain conceded, "I suppose it is better than what you wore last time we went-"

"I wasn't prepared that time! It doesn't count."

Spain gave a thumbs up for Tex's footwear choice. "Much better. Is it a military campground?"

"No...and we usually qualify for a hell of a discount. I mean, yeah, there's me, Hawaii, Rico, and I think...sometimes Canada counts...he's like a vowel…but that might be hotels...I dunno. But Al, doesn't look his rank right now and we've got a ton of guests."

"Don't tell me all that, it burns," Al complained.

"Sorry."

Antonio scratched his head. "Soooo you are dressed because?"

"I just...feel like wearing...this stuff."

Puerto Rico guffawed as he entered the room and stood beside him, elbowing him. "Oye, what is this? Battlestation time? Zombie attack so soon?"

"I just wanted-"

"I heard you." His older brother leaned in and lowered his voice. "And I say it is bullshit."

Tex froze.

"..."

Rico's eyes narrowed and lost their humor. "Bullshit. And it stinks, mi hermanito. What are you up to?"

Dammit! He had to do somethin' fast or risk the whole operation being uncovered. Unfortunately, that only left a real a low-down move up his sleeve.

But it was Rico, he deserved it.

"Papi!" he whined. "Papi, he's breathing my air and it's making me uncomfortable. His breath kills!"

"Rico! Don't breathe his air."

"P-papi?!"

"Don't make me come over there, mijo. Go, brush your teeth."

"Pa-"

"Teeth! Brush them."

Alfred wished he could have a window seat, but Arthur was adamant about the kiddie seat staying in the middle of the vehicle.

"Heaven forbid that something should happen, I...I need you to be safe, Sweet."

There was always something in the sound of Arthur's desperation that cowed him and he let Arthur buckle him in and check and test the restraints to his satisfaction.

He kinda wished Mr. Gray was coming. He was so calm and zen-like. Considering Alfred had already witnessed eight arguments that morning about how to best pack the vans...their trip would have benefitted from a sage-like presence.

Mr. Gray wished them all a safe trip as Stuart pulled into the driveway in a sleek black Ford Mustang.

And even though Alfred had promised himself he wouldn't get all emotional and he'd send Gray off with a smile and a saucy salute…he ended up clinging to his legs and giving incomprehensible gibberish as a goodbye.

Arthur picked him up and settled him on his hip. "Thank you for your help, Sherwin. You're indispensable."

The man smiled and gave Alfred a soft hug and patted his back. "Now, now, young master. You'll see me soon, I trust? We've another Winter Holiday to plan."

"That's right, poppet," Arthur joined in. "And now that you're on the mend, there's far more to do if you like. Caroling-"

"There's are quite a few carriage rides-"

"Ballet and concerts and-"

"Oh and there's Santa. I know quite a few spots that do a bangup job-"

Arthur nodded enthusiastically, "Doesn't that sound fun, love?"

Alfred had spluttered and nodded because he knew damn well how ridiculous he was being and he didn't want to be causing a scene.

It was only with Stuart's entrance into the house that he was able to collect himself.

Maybe it was because Stuart's shoes were well-polished and his suit was pressed, that a sense of business and responsibility oozed off him.

That put Alfred's butt back in gear and he was able to get ahold of himself.

His aide gave him a rundown of three new projects being implemented, a manilla folder labeled TOP SECRET (because Alfred liked all his stuff to say that...it made him feel important...and cool...like James Bond), and an update on his other pets.

Agent Louis had a special affinity for dealing with the more exotic creatures in Alfred's care. Melville the whale was still his sweet self, but apparently his unicorn, Miss GlimmerGlam, kept peeling wallpaper off the walls of the dude's cottage.

Alfred suggested using a spray bottle as a deterrent and popcorn as a reward for good behavior.

Arthur begged to differ and demanded said agent's number so he could list the "proper" nutrients for a young unicorn and methods of training her "correctly."

Alfred frowned. "Is she my unicorn or not?"

"...when I gifted her, I thought you were old enough for such a respons-"

"Oh, so you wouldn't have given her to me if you'd known-"

"I would have scheduled time to make sure you understood how best to care for her rather than assume you would read the packet I gave you."

Alfred felt his face warm up because...he knew where the packet was...he just...hadn't read beyond Page 3 because…it was 40 pages. And he just...could not read Page 4. Something in him would just say, Nay.

Arthur shook his head.

"It was too long of instructions," he squeaked. It was bad when the alternative of reading stenographer notes about congressional cases was more fun.

"You've written me contracts that made Encyclopedia Britannica look as slim as a drink coaster."

"..."

"I'll let Agent Louis know my methods. And on our return, I'll show you them. I think a more hands-on approach would be more interesting, yes?"

"Y-yeah."

And even though Arthur had swiftly settled into a bossy mood, he couldn't really challenge it because he...kinda owed him even before that.

It was hard starting off the day owing somebody. The old man had kinda come to his rescue earlier when Tex wasn't going to indulge him.

He'd had music on the brain when he woke up so he started stockpiling CDs for the trip over as well as the camp site.

"You ain't packing all this crap," Tex declared, even going so far as to mime drawing a line in the sand.

Worse, Hawaii was on his side. "Baby, this is how we ended up with ice cream machines on our ships in WWII. Isn't it?"

"But-but-but-"

"No way, General, we're callin' you out. And what's this?" Tex pointed to a heap of stuffed animals and plastic action figures.

"..."

"Honey, we've got playlists on our phones and do you really need all these toys?"

When Arthur first intervened, Tex snarled, "You ain't the one bunking with all his crap."

Which was true...Tex usually did suffer when Al packed to his heart's content.

Arthur delivered back. "You won't be. Alfred and I often share spaces during campaigns."

Which was...also true...when he was abroad.

Arthur leveled a hard look at Texas and then turned to Alfred. "Pack what you need most, Sweet. I want you to be comfortable. We can make room."

So, Hop and Woolly made the cut and Alfred agreed to limit his CD hoard to five...because yeah...everybody did have playlists.

Still, it sounded like Texas suffered near immediate cosmic retribution, because he'd texted: Rico & Papi r n charge of the radio. We sound like a taco truck.

Alfred typed back: Yum. Karma.

He was dealing with enough subtle groans from his fellow passengers to spend too much sympathy on his bro.

Honestly, it shouldn't have been terribly surprising that Hawaii enjoyed driving to Beyonce's Run The World and pretty much anything that was fast-paced, loud, and empowering for women.

And if Al sang along, it was because he was very secure in his masculinity, thank you. There was a reason Susan B. Anthony was featured on his specialty coins.

Besides...tch, Tex knew the lyrics, too. He memorized any song that mentioned him.

Yeah, maybe knowing all the lyrics to Barbie Girl might've raised some eyebrows, but he had nothing but love for her. He didn't get the haters. She was a self-made entrepreneur and he told them so.

She worked her way from being a model to a fashion magazine editor all the way to the Olympics and the moon! But even with her degrees for being a doctor in all kinds of medical fields (and a veterinarian and lawyer!), she wasn't too snobby to work at McDonald's when the economy crashed and stuff.

Because she had sisters to support.

And her absentee deadbeat parents and Ken just couldn't be depended on.

The way Alfred saw it, after dealing with the curve balls life kept throwing at her, if she wanted a handbag and matching shoes, hell yes, she should have it.

Work demands reward.

Cuz capitalism! Entrepreneurship! Economy! It-it-it makes everything better. Dammit, Alexander Hamilton was better at explaining it.

Hawaii interjected a "Hallelujah!" as he finished. "That's why my baby wins Monopoly.Got dollars and cents on the brain. Always."

"I like your view of her," Mathieu smiled. "Your interpretation is-"

"Martyr Barbie," Arthur snarked.

Rhys choked and couldn't hold back his sniggers.

Alfred huffed but Arthur reached over to tickle him under his chin and he squealed with laughter.

Okay, so philosophical leanings and music tastes aside, it wasn't too bad in here.

Technically, they all could've fit in either Ford Transit…except they packed a lot of crap.

Alistair was driving Van One with Antonio riding shotgun to monitor the speedometer so Uncle Al didn't, as Antonio cheerfully put it, "kill them all in a fiery, high-speed crash."

Tex had been very upset to be separated and stuck between Puerto Rico and Northern Ireland. He used their walkie-talkies more than was strictly necessary to check in.

The fact that there were always voices bickering in the background whenever Tex called over made their ride in Van Two seem boring.

Without any epic argument, it was agreed that Hawaii was driving the first leg of the journey, then it would go to Rhys, then Mathieu, then Arthur.

He wished he could drive. It was easier not to think when you had to drive or fly; you had to stay in the moment.

Alfred moved restlessly.

The more peaceful the ride became, the more the other night was starting to weigh on him. It was like when wind changed direction and blew smoke from a fire in the distance. And the smell and feel grew impossible to ignore.

It was stupid because Arthur had let it go and wasn't acting weird or anything. He was looking forward to their trip.

It kinda made it worse.

"If you say, it's just song and I'm looking too deeply...I-I will take your word then.

I'm sorry I…reacted so strongly and misunderstood your intentions."

His honor was being tarnished.

It made the hero squirm.

And the worst part was...not even he knew exactly what his intentions had been.

It was just a song, right?

Even if it spoke to him in ways that other songs didn't which made him able to sing it with feeling.

Because even if Arthur hadn't meant to leave him…

Arthur…

Osha...

Sarah…

It didn't change that…

He twitched hard—feeling suddenly trapped.

Arthur looked up from where he'd started playing some puzzle game on his phone. He paused it and reached over to where Alfred's hand was scrabbling frantically over the seam of his booster seat.

Alfred's hand was held very gently and he was asked in a soft voice if they needed to pull the car to the side of the road while his panic attack eased.

No, he mused, Sarah had never held his hand that way. Osha never spoke like that even at her tenderest.

Arthur never let him sleep anywhere cold or hard...even in the trenches...he'd made sure it was his back that blocked the wind…

Though America had dismissed it more as a matter of pride rather than...

Maybe that was why…

"Throw yehself on his mercy!"

Watching his father laugh and feast while his world burned…

The realization in that instant...that without him.

Without Father…

A life without Father meant...

That there were no soft places left.

There were no safe places left.

There were no safe people left.

He had to burn the softness out of himself.

And forget Spring.

Read & Review Please : D