Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Pancake Party restaurant.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). An unflattering angle of Quaker pacifism particularly from a British and military view.
AN: Hope everybody's getting stoked for All Hallow's Eve! And here's a chapter to help get you in the mood. Thank you for your reviews and continued interest :D You've probably noticed my helter-skelter updating lately. That's cuz I've been having internet issues and it sucks to pay absurd rates for what you aren't getting…sooo had to give a door slam to that. I'm currently in the market for a new provider and until I've got one…that means updating via public/café wifi while juggling work shifts. I guess this is all just a long way of saying, if it feels like it's taking me forever to cobble a chapter together…you're right. It is literally taking me more time. Sooo bear with me folks, I am having technical difficulties. But I have written an extra long chap sooo there is that! : D Enjoy : D Happy Early Halloween!
Chapter 42: Fun-stomping Troll People
Arthur was watching the trees speed by while Alfred babbled happily from topic to topic. The child had a hold of Arthur's hand and was playfully examining his fingers and gently testing their dexterity—bending and flexing the digits.
"Rhys says lots of things can be gleaned from people's hands. About their character and strengths and stuff-"
"Palmistry," Arthur agreed, lifting his hand to tickle under the child's chin and earning a giggle.
He returned to staring at a multitude of green foliage.
Green was always a soothing color to him; every hue was a shade of home.
Mother's eyes, the leaves of trees, grass, and the sea...
Not too long ago a sign announced that they'd entered Fayette County.
He felt a deep-seated relief at the sight of an old-growth forest.
Maybe he couldn't give Alfred what he'd grown up with, but there was an opportunity here to connect his child with ancient nature and the primary, elemental magic that sprang from it.
The United States had a fair amount of "virgin" remnants as they were sometimes referred to—trees and realms far older than his child.
He wondered idly if Alfred's magic and its tie to earth and plant life helped preserve all this wilderness and then frowned as he thought about this particular patch of earth.
Pennsylvania…
There was always something unruly about Pennsylvania.
Penn's woods...
Or maybe he was remembering all the troublesome Quakers...wasting his resources because he had to haul over his troops to protect them because they were pacifists at the most inconvenient moments and economic opportunists at all others. Even bodies of the slaughtered being brought to the council of the Friends failed to elicit a call to arms.
And then there was their refusing to pay taxes to raise militias and fund the people who'd be risking their necks to save their sorry ars-
Breathe, Arthur. The Quakers continued to be a thorn in the side of the following government as well.
But knowing Alfred had to deal with them even now didn't make him very happy either.
You're on holiday. Peaceful thoughts.
Alfred continued a one-man conversation like a steady motorboat; first, he was on about the historic site, then to 1700s fashion and his love-hate relationship with stockings and how much cooler Arthur's boots had been over his, and then to how fascinating he found the art of toffee and candy cane-making.
"It has to be soooo big to make such a teeny, tiny design-"
Arthur could see the brakelights of Van 2 ahead of them. Antonio and Rico had returned to the other vehicle after an early dinner at the Latin Mango Bistro. Tex did not accompany them despite Spain's complaints that the lad was "breaking formation."
There had been a fair amount of jockeying positions all throughout the trip, save for him and Alfred...he just needed them to stay together.
Alfred seemed to feel the same; he never asked to be moved. Arthur caught the child's hand and stroked his thumb over the small knuckles.
It was good to be so near.
It was just...good.
He frowned lightly. He'd need to give the little fingernails a trim. Perhaps, tonight after they were settled?
Arthur looked over to the companion on Alfred's other side. He was surprised Rhys didn't punctuate the conversation with remarks here and there or at least expressions of amusement, puzzlement, or disagreement. Particularly, when he'd been almost curiously insistent that he be with Alfred on the ride up to the campgrounds; he'd been visibly agitated when it seemed that no one was willing to budge.
Thankfully, Antonio granted him his spot. Though Rico jumping ship meant they got Hawaii back and "Team U.S.A." was reunited.
Honestly, did they have to chant that every time they met up? Rico looked annoyed at hearing it and had remarked "I'm part of that too!" as he'd opened the door to the other van.
Arthur had assumed he was going to read a story on the way up (as he wasn't afflicted by motion sickeness), but he just spent the time texting at a rapid fire speed. Rhys had been making multiple phone calls over the past few weeks. If he had so much business to take care of, it was a wonder he'd agreed to the trip at all.
Alfred's tone turned shrewd, "And then I would make you an apron labeled 'Dear Mother England.' Would you like that?"
Arthur smirked. Alfred always assumed Arthur wasn't listening when he didn't make constant affirming chatter, eye contact, or nods.
It seemed the boy honestly believed that unless he was being as loud and obnoxious and upfront as possible, he would sometimes go unnoticed. He looked over his shoulder, "Yes, I'd like that as long as I might make you one in return, 'Sweet Baby Colony.'"
He inwardly cursed tacking on the last word because "colony" tended to be an insult to the child.
But Alfred just turned red, "I-I...I walked into that one."
"You did." He gave Alfred's nose a gentle, teasing tweak. "I'm still listening, darlingheart."
"What's on your Game Plan?"
"Come again?"
"Your plan for this trip? I...I wanna make sure you get to check off your must-have's."
Arthur chuckled at the seriousness. "Oh, hmmm. I dunno, I'm pretty cream crackered to be thinking on it." But Alfred's big blue eyes were on him. He had to come up with something. "Oh, let's see. Take in the scenery and a photo or two, read, knit...maybe crochet or bird watch, prepare for Beltane's Day?"
Alfred gave a firm nod to each answer Arthur gave.
Arthur noticed that the child's seat restraint had twisted and he set it to rights so his son might be more comfortable.
"What about you, pet?"
"Umm...look around at the...uh…trees and stuff...er…walks?"
"Heh, I think we can work some hiking in."
It wasn't that Arthur was against camping but…he was a tad worried that too much activity might aggravate his ankle and knees.
The fact of the matter was that England just wasn't an empire anymore and he didn't have the pure power necessary to gloss over old wounds.
And he'd grown perilously fond of creature comforts. Already he found himself fantasizing about slipping away for an evening at a winery? Pennsylvania had plenty to choose from.
Perhaps he was a tad concerned that so much had been left to Texas's scheduling whims that he feared the boy would've deliberately chosen an unsuitable camping site.
Though…
If the terrain was too rough, England might see about securing some rooms at Green Mills Winery, Inn and Breakfast. It was a 1730s Georgian styled estate and he could easily picture himself and his family enjoying a fine stay there.
After paying for parking, it was agreed they'd see the site first before unloading the heaviest equipment. They'd just take light burdens for now; coolers and packs.
Traveling by car had made his joints stiff and it was a mercy to be able to stand and stretch. Being able to walk across the deck of a ship was always something he missed when confined to automobiles and planes.
There was a bit of a chill in the air so he brought a small blanket—on reaching the site he might have Alfred sit and rest with him on it.
Alfred's hand slipped in his and the boy swung their hands energetically as they crossed the parking lot. It was almost strange to remember how resistant the child had been to such shows of affection mere months ago.
He felt a strong rush of paternal affection and high hopes for the trip when, on moving from the pavement to the soil, Alfred gasped.
A sharp unpleasant pain echoed through their bond, magnified by their close proximity.
He immediately sprang forward, "Are you hurt?"
He knelt, ignoring his knee popping at the abrupt action and reached for the little sneakered foot, anxious that Alfred had stepped on a nail.
"Nothing, nothing! Gust of wind!" Alfred argued. He was shivering hard enough.
Arthur immediately wrapped the blanket around Alfred and picked him up.
"I saw that," Reilley grumbled. "You choreographed that deliberately-"
Arthur ignored him and addressed his little one, "You're certain you didn't twist something?"
"M-maybe I just stepped wrong?"
Arthur pursed his lips and carefully prodded at the boy's ankle.
He'd say it could be a hereditary frailty, but Arthur's weakened ankle and knees were earned during the crusades. There was nothing natural about it.
Still, Alfred had magic feet. It could make them quite delicate. Nothing seemed amiss though...
"I'm okay, Dad."
Arthur carefully set him down and frowned as the child stiffened.
"Al-"
The boy squashed down their connection.
"Alfie, I told you I don't like that! If you're hurting then you're hurting. Talk to me." He hoisted the child back up into his arms.
"I think my legs cramped up on the trip over," the boy mumbled.
"Hmm," Arthur nodded and then encouraged him to stretch and flex the muscles carefully.
"I can carry Alfred!" Reilley volunteered, "-and YOU can carry-"
Arthur leveled him a glare.
His Irish brother glowered back. "You damn well KNOW he's lighter than a lot of the rest o' this-"
Rhys pulled Reilley by the ear.
Arthur gave the lazy sod a smug smirk—and he turned on his heel to go, but Rhys set a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.
"Brawd bach, you haven't seen the map and don't know where we're headed."
He flushed.
"Some captain," Alistair scoffed. "Piss sense of direction. It's a wonder he ever found yeh at all, little Al. Nevermind that he was too late to help yeh with-"
"Alba." Rhys rolled his eyes.
"Gwalia," Alistair shot back.
All four brothers were giving one another annoyed looks when-
Spain's exasperated voice cut across, "Come now, Tejas. Help your brother and I with the-"
"No! I'm in charge of me and Al's stuff-"
"Tej-"
"I said, 'no!'"
"Guess I get to fend for myself," Hawaii remarked dryly as she hefted a gym bag full of supplies.
Rhys became almost...fidgety as they continued on and Arthur was about to comment on the oddity when…
Arthur blinked.
Did he hear music?
They reached their site.
And yes, soft Welsh music was playing from a stereo set strategically on a stump.
A man hailed them and Rhys hastily moved toward him, wallet in hand.
A large medieval styled shelter had been set up with LED strands of light were set all along the infrastructure.
Alistair's jaw dropped. "Son of a-"
Three pairs of eyes dared him to continue.
He wisely didn't.
Arthur took it all in, "How...how long have you been planning this?"
"Since, I knew we were meeting for Beltane's. And if everything was set to my instruction…" Rhys opened a trunk beside the entrance and smiled slightly as he reached in.
He pulled out two gifts, one was for Mathieu: a mug with several blends of tea.
The other was for Alfred: a stuffed animal. And, judging by the smug expression Rhys wore as Alfred happily crushed the soft, red dragon to his chest, handmade.
Though when he'd managed to do it, Arthur wasn't sure. It simultaneously pleased and irritated him.
He'd always feel a tender something when his brothers showered kindnesses on one of his little ones. But the fact that Arthur hadn't thought to bring or make a treat himself…
He watched the human who'd aided his brother leave. The amount of instructions that poor soul had been forced to read…Arthur almost considered giving him a tip (despite not being the tipping kind).
Alfred was inspecting all the details of his new toy. "Maybe his name should be Scales? Or Claws? Or Teeth? Maybe in Welsh?"
"I couldn't bring a real one," Rhys stated, seemingly annoyed. And he muttered something disparaging about Customs in Welsh. "But when you come to visit me, you'll see they frequent my cottage pretty regularly. And if they don't, I'll take you to a colony of them."
Alfred almost dropped the toy.
"That's just not right," Reilley complained. "You're trying to bump me farther down the list."
Arthur sidled beside his eldest brother and murmured low enough that Alfred couldn't hear, "There's no way in Hell that I'm letting you spirit him into a colony of firewyrms."
"I know the creatures and can anticipate-"
"I won't let him," he indicated Scotland "take him on a hunt. A regular hunt among humans. I'm not going to condone frolicking with supernatural predators."
Rhys scowled. "They're misunderstood beasts."
"That eat people and torch villages."
Alfred looked longingly at the medieval pavilion and resignedly at where Texas was setting up their small, military issue tent.
"Can I…play in your tent but…sleep in Tex's?"
'No' was written on Rhys's face, but he simply countered, "If you think your tent will be warm enough to preserve you through the night."
Alfred gave his brother another glance over his shoulder and murmured out of the side of his mouth, "…probably."
"We will be fine!" Tex shouted (surprising them all with his acute sense of hearing). "This is what I get for lettin' em get you all prissy again. We've camped out with NO tent. You, remember?"
"Yeah…" Alfred's eyebrows twitched in distaste. "I don't like getting bit by bugs."
"Oh come on, wakin' up with dew damp clothes and a few mosquito bites is just part of the experience. Adventure."
"…"
"I packed bug spray. For you."
"Did you pack the net?"
"Hell, no," Tex griped. He looked at England. "This is your fault. You got him hooked on those nets during WWII-"
"I just don't wanna get malaria!" Alfred wailed.
"You ain't gonna get malaria here. We haven't had a real wave since-"
"I hate yellow fever-"
"Dammit, Al."
"We're in Pennsylvania."
Arthur wordlessly pulled out a mosquito net.
Alfred's eyes brightened with relief. Alfred draped the net over himself pretending to be a ghost under a bedsheet and flounced about.
Rhys opened the entrance flap to welcome them both in and Arthur felt a simple sense of relief he hadn't known since he'd been a child.
The whispering of trees always seemed sinister when it was dark now that mother was...gone. He felt lonelier admitting that to himself. After the bustle and noise of Rome, his homelands felt foreign.
He cursed the empire again for how thoroughly the man had invaded and ruined his life.
"Albion."
He shivered and drew his arms around himself.
He'd bit Alistair after the latter teased him one too many times and had been shoved out of their tent to weather the night on his own.
"Aaalibion."
UnSeelie fae just weren't as nice and well-meaning as Seelie ones and he was fearful to play with the creatures of this hour.
His name was called once more and his fears heightened as the wind whipped shadows in a frenzy.
He realized belatedly that a nearby tent's flap was open. "Come, cenau arth."
He shuffled forward to peer in and moonlight shone enough that he could see Rhys patting the mat he was on.
Arthur sagged in relief.
The young teen stowed his bow behind him to make room as much as to prevent Albion's curiosity from alighting on the weapon. "I know Alba's being a bugbear, you can rest here with me."
And what comfort that easy invitation gave.
Arthur moved forward.
"Aaaaal," Tex whined.
And Alfred hesitated.
Texas focused hard on not hammering his hand.
"Seriously, Bro, did you see how awes-" Alfred broke off on seeing his expression.
It was too late to even fake a smile. He hastily reached for another stake.
"I guess you're bunking with them after all, huh?" He was never good at controlling his tone and the words came out as low down and bitter as they could get.
He'd been outdone. He'd given a treat that lasted an afternoon; Rhys made one that would last the trip.
"No."
He looked up and knew his face gave his relief away. Because DAMN it was hard being second fiddle, even though he got that Al wanted to be reconciled with his folks. It was just that being forced apart and grouped with his de facto-factory-setting-family made him feel so crummy.
He'd be talked over and shushed and teased…like he was a nobody again.
"Cuz I don't mind," Tex lied. He gestured to the fancy tent. "He pulled out all the stops." And made their military issue equipment look all harsh and uninviting.
"I'm with you."
"He didn't think Al would ever really know how much he appreciated that. Depended on it, really.
Especially, when everybody else always seemed to have it in for him. Always questioning him and his judgment. Always—
"You will freeze to death," Spain stated flatly—feet too close to Tex's knees.
He was looming.
Tex hated when he loomed.
"We will not," Tex grumbled as he drove another tent stake in.
Papi's earlier tones of good-natured concern, "Ha ha, O Tejas, you are so are so far away. Papi will worry," had given way to a hard, no-nonsense: "This is a bad place to set up camp."
Tex had opted to station their tent clear on the other side of the site.
"We've defended forts in worse places!" Tex spat.
Green eyes darkened. "Tejas…" he inhaled a hard breath, exhaled it, and forcibly lightened his tone. "Mijo, I…there is a cold wind blowing and you are still recovering from illness. I-"
"Done! It's set up. Too late now, I ain't setting it up again." He stood up, brushed his hands on his pants, and considered the matter over.
He scrounged around for his camera, two small pouches, and walked over to where Al had wandered off. He tended to do that whenever Tex's family appeared…like it was helpful of him to just skedaddle. Even though Tex had told him repeatedly that they didn't need privacy. Because, Hell, his family didn't know what privacy was.
Alfred was sitting down and pawing through one of Rhys's bags.
"Oi, Al, let's move out."
From the looks of what Alfred had strewn about, Rhys had ordered a portable DVD player and an accompanying stack of movies to choose from.
The bastard.
The…far-sighted…creative…organized…bastard!
Al's face fell a bit, but he jumped to his feet and gave Tex a nod.
Tex stepped back and bumped into someone sturdy. His elbow was grabbed to steady him.
"What is this, now?" Spain demanded.
"Al and I are walking out to explore the-" He shook his elbow but it wasn't released.
"No," Spain answered. "Sunset is only an hour and a half away."
Tex blinked and dug his free hand in his pocket for his phone to check that. Damn him, he was right.
Spain heaved a sigh, "Why do you not trust Papi? I know these things. I was exploring long before all of your gadgets. Why would I lie about something involving your safety?"
"Cuz parents are killjoys?" Alfred mumbled.
A very British "Wot?" volleyed that.
Alfred flinched. "Nothing!"
Spain seemed pleased to have another old grouch play back up. He gave Texas a light shake that reminded him of a puppy being scruffed; it pissed him off.
With palpable old man derision, Spain explained to England, "Tejas wants him and Al to go gallivanting right now. In the woods. Alone. He thinks this is a good idea."
"Well, he's mental. Because that's absurd and I won't allow it."
"Hey!" Alfred cut in.
Arthur ignored him and scoffed, "Sunset is only an hour and a half-"
"I KNOW, I tell him this and he makes that face." He gave Tex another light shake before sighing, "Mi pequeno cactus, if Papi could delay the sun for you and Alfredo-"
"Alfred," Tex gritted out.
"-so you could go, I would. But that is beyond me. You must play "explorers" tomorrow. It will be dark-"
"I ain't a'scared o' the dark!" he barked.
Alfred shifted a little uneasily and Tex gave him an apologetic look.
It was fine for Alfred to be afraid of that cuz Tex wasn't. And things Al wasn't, Tex was.
They could take turns being the "Brave One" and the "Scaredy One."
That was what made them work so well! Cuz both roles could be exhausting.
They could be whatever they needed to be…with each other.
Rhys eyed the water to see if it was boiling yet before settling back into his chair. Tea would help him, his brothers, and Mathieu relax before bed.
He'd packed a tin of hot chocolate powder for his nephew. It was unclear whether he'd feel able to accept it without raising his Southwestern brother's ire, but Rhys would prepare a mug anyway.
Rhys's chair was only mildly uncomfortable...as all fold-out chairs seemed to be.
Each member had painstakingly chosen out a chair at R.E.I. precisely for this: to have a place in their circle.
It was telling that Alfred had still gone for an adult sized one...with a ridiculous amount of holders and pockets. And that Texas's had two small hand-sized stick flags zip tied to the supports of his chair. It was going to cause someone an injury, Rhys was sure of it.
The next morning, after their refrigerator unit was properly set and the dimensions recorded, they could see about heading out for a final round of food supplies.
In the meanwhile, Rhys began flipping through pictures of their road trip on his phone.
One of his favorites was Mathieu at Pancake Party. The lad was brandishing a syrup dispenser in one hand and gesturing to the stack of pancakes with the other. A small genuinely cheerful smile was on his face.
There was an amusing one of Alistair and Reilley arguing with a meter maid from when they'd stopped in Memphis so Rhys and Momilani could see some shops.
Another fun one was of his nephew, Alfred, seated at the feet of a fiberglass, concrete, and steel Tyrannosaurus Rex. Alfred was more willing to take photos; it was a good sign that he was moving forward in self-acceptance.
He noted that in his booklet on Alfred and decided this camping trip may be a good opportunity for them to have some photos together. Though, he wasn't sure who he thought would benefit from that more. While it would be good for Alfred to have visible proof of someone else being on his side, Rhys was very aware that it would serve him as well.
If some malevolent magic did meddle with his nephew's memories again, he'd have a resource to employ against it.
It was vanity, pure and simple, and he was rather disappointed in himself. It hurt his ego to be forgettable.
He swiped his phone to look at the next picture.
He wished he had thought to have recorded his brother's reaction on seeing his large medieval sheepherder's tent.
It was rare for Arthur to be genuinely surprised and glad…and grateful…let alone pull him aside to try and express it.
"Rhys...this is…" his mouth twitched into a smile. "Brill. You're quite certain the boys and I can be here? We didn't contribu-"
"Well, I do recall being given an invitation last Yule into a comfortable space and thought I might return the favor."
His plans were being spoiled though; he frowned in the direction of the pup tent.
Arthur blocked his view as he selected tea tags. "He'll make his way to us. Patience."
Us.
Arthur had used "us."
For so long, Arthur had been almost absurdly possessive of Alfred and suspicious of his brothers' attempts to spend time with him; even though he insisted it was what he wanted for the child.
And now…
His face must've given him away because Arthur replied, "He said he needed me."
"..."
"He didn't just say it to placate me either."
Rhys wouldn't have dared suggest that out loud. Though inwardly, he would've questioned the sincerity of the interaction.
And he worried that Arthur would take that as a sign for him to push through with his plans for custody.
"He needs me…" Arthur repeated quietly.
Rhys wasn't sure at first why it sounded odd, and then realized it wasn't said in abrasive triumph or with desperate conviction.
"I was so relieved. With everything going to Hell around us, even after all the failures, all the obstructions and misunderstandings and...he said, 'Yes, Father, I need you.'"
"And now the world can burn?" Rhys suggested flatly.
"It can."
"Arthur?"
"I'm not too late."
"..."
"Finally. I...I'm not too late...I'm not replaceable, interchangeable, I haven't...I haven't lost my place I...he...needs me...still."
And he didn't have to be afraid anymore. His aura practically sagged in languid tranquility now that he wasn't fighting the crushing weight of insecurity.
It was terribly indulgent, but the moment was fragile so Rhys said it aloud anyway: "He loves you. He always has. You couldn't be forgotten."
Yes, his brother needed to hear that. Even if it stung to say.
"Yes." Arthur released a shuddering breath. "It always hurt to see him go with them."
Faded jealousy colored the remark. Them being Scotland and Ireland, "-nd it was better them than no one but...why not me? I'd wait and I'd hope and I'd be disappointed and sometimes there'd be a chase and a contest of wills—but that's over now." Arthur released another long breath. "It's over. He'll come to me...to us when he has need."
"They need some time to each other."
"Yes."
His brother's aura had calmed considerably.
A mixture of longheld fears being put to bed or achieving a newfound maturity
Still…
While Arthur was taking Alfred's sudden resistance well, Rhys was...peeved.
He had fully anticipated Alfred staying in his tent; it was large enough to easily house his family. He'd specifically purchased it because it could contain four air mattresses with fold up frames.
Though Alistair had pounced on Arthur's abandonment of his tent in favor of Rhys's to combine it with his own. (Rhys had been shocked that the Scotsman spent for his own one man tent.)
And had combined theirs through the aid of zip ties into a larger space for himself.
"This isn't camping," Alistair scoffed, as he peered in, wrinkling his nose at the wicker basket Rhys had set beside the entrance for shoes.
Rhys didn't want dirt trekked in.
"Let me stay!" Reilley begged shamelessly.
Rhys pointed him to one of the four beds; he'd set them two and two on either side to give a large space in the middle.
His younger brother cheered and threw himself on one.
"This isn't right. It's-it's like HGTV threw up in here," Alba continued, eyeing the faux fur throws and wool rugs with disdain. "Dammit. This is why Arthur always let you tag along on his Avalon adventures."
"Yes," he answered candidly. "I taught him the importance of maintaining home and hearth. One's dwelling should be comfortable; it has a direct effect on one's health."
Alistair shook his head again and left.
The memory angered him and he stood up, instructing Reilley to watch the water in his absence.
He entered his tent and scrutinized it once more. Every detail had been followed to his order. What was so wrong with "glamping"?
He thought the small tea light chandelier hanging from the center was very handsome; Albion liked it very much. He'd already complimented it twice.
And the stereo, along with the IPod list of soothing music he'd picked out, would help drown out some of the noise of the area. Their fellow campers were louder than he'd expected even after perusing the campgrounds' reviews.
It was a good thing he'd packed earplugs as a backup.
He glanced back up at the twinkling chandelier. He'd always been fond of how water could catch light and shine rainbows. Was it any surprise that he found crystals pleasing?
The iridescence calmed him and he was nearly ready to return to the campfire when his nerves suddenly spiked.
Arthur's aura was crackling with incredulity, outrage, and…fear.
"Absolutely not!" the Briton squawked. "It's spring. The trails will likely have changed from the rain and nightfall's nearly on us."
Rhys exited the tent.
"You could run into a bear or fall into the river or-"
When Arthur's ravings became louder and more desperate and "a tree could fall on you!" rang through the clearing, Rhys moved to stand beside him as he guessed the matter of contention.
"The answer is 'No,' chwb. No, you may not go out into the wilderness at this point. We'll scout the area in the morning and should you wish for a nighttime stroll, I am sure we can accommodate that."
"Did Mejico just let you go traipsing about whenever you felt like it?" Antonio asked, now that he could a word in.
Tex huffed before admitting, "No."
Spain sighed, "I know being a teenager inspires you to be bold. You get it from me. I know this."
Tex looked like he wanted to dispute that.
"-when I was under house arrest during the Moors' reign, they did not like vocal intonations and chanting—I sang anyway sometimes in the middle of the night and then, when I refused to pay jizya..." he released a low whistle. "This is different. This is holiday. You are not being oppressed. We are telling you, 'This is not a good idea.' Not because we are fun-stomping troll people. We are familia."
"Yeah, Toni," Rico spoke around a mouthful of jerky he'd pilfered from Tex's hoard. "We are familia. It is our job to tell you when you are being estupido." He paused and leveled a look. "You are being estupido."
Spain's green eyes narrowed. "Not helping."
"Sorry, Papi."
"Go sit."
"Yes, Papi."
"Stop telling us what to do!" Tex burst out. "C'mon, Al. We're going to our FREEDOM tent! Where's there's-there's FREEEEEDOM and-and-and there's no Old World Powers or their minions allowed!"
Hawaii ducked into the tent holding a party pack of assorted Lay's potato chips in front of her as a peace offering.
Alfred reached for it only to have his hands slapped away.
"No, it's a trick!" Tex shouted dramatically.
She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not an Old World Power or a minion of them...soooo, pearl babies, I'm allowed inside. What the hell is going on here?"
"I don't want to tell you," Alfred mumbled, rubbing his hands and giving Tex a glare.
"I did not swat you that hard."
"I just…" America turned back to Hawaii. "I know you'll have feelings."
"..."
"Anyways...we kinda need to scout the area," the blond continued, not looking at her.
"In the morning," she replied.
"Just the two of us," Alfred gestured to himself and Tex.
She frowned and nodded slowly. So that's how they wanted to play, huh?
She could play hardball, too. "Babies, I'm gonna count to five. And then I'm calling Alaska for backup. 1..."
"It's a bluff, she ain't gonna-"
"2..."
"I dunno, bro. He'll be pissed-"
"Hold your ground, Al!"
"3…"
"-interrupt him right now. He'll be getting ready-"
"4…"
"-for his music festival-"
She sucked in a breath and gave a swift silent apology for the peaceful time she was going to interrupt for their fellow nation, "Fi-"
"Osha gave me a map as to where the magical gate I closed is! I gotta find it!" Alfred blurted in a rushed whisper. "No telling!"
Hawaii stilled and then hissed, "Alfred!"
"I didn't plan on everybody and their grandma coming. This was supposed to be a me and Tex trip-"
Tex nodded. "Yessir."
"Oh, so the rest of us were just s'posed to sit around with our thumbs up our asses? While two crazy kids take their chances with the occult in the middle of the woods!? Cuz that's gone so well for you both so far?!"
"..."
"Short answer: No. Long answer: Nooooooooo. I don't do the damsel bit. No towers for me and no waiting. Get me up to speed. Now."
Alfred was weighing his options. "You have to SWEAR on everything that matters that you'll keep it a secret."
This tended to be a precursor to all sorts of revelations from secret military strategies to movie spoilers.
"Fine." She held up her pinky.
Alfred nodded solemnly as they shook on it.
For the next thirty minutes she was enlightened via the use of a notepad and stick figures.
"And then Colonel Harris-" He tapped the one with massive sideburns. "-told me I needed to prove my patriotism. Which I guess means I needed to close the gate."
He pulled out a map that was heavily scotch-taped.
She checked the other side and felt her stomach flop.
It was on the back of all Osha'sletters to Alfred.
Osha...
So…
She was clearly a psycho.
It shouldn't have been that surprising. The fact that she kidnapped Alfred and forced his family perform a back alley surgery on him kinda proved that.
But then there was this.
Proof that she schemed out so much in advance.
It gave Momilani a prickly sense of goosebumps
She swallowed and tried to keep her voice level. "I don't trust her, baby."
"Tch. Neither do I. That's why I'm going, too," Tex grumbled.
"Why aren't we telling the rest of them?"
Alfred fiddled with the edges of his jacket sleeves. "Because they're already super stressed out. They need a relaxing vacation. Portal opening is high stress. I can feel it."
Momilani gave her toughest 'I'm-not-convinced' look of disapproval.
Alfred sighed. "They need time together to just relax. I mean, I can see them coming together. Ya know? Just enjoying being brothers. This will hurt that." Alfred played up his big baby blues. "And then there's the fact that...it deals with Osha...and I...I know Osha's done a lot of crappy things. And I am angry at her for it. But...I don't want Daddy to hate her. And I feel like...this'll be the last straw."
Poor baby.
That ship sailed such a LONG time ago.
"And I gave my word to the UnSeelie King that I'd see the task through. It's on my honor to open it back up. And I...I gotta know where I stand in all this magic stuff. Am I a weakling in this field? Do I have to have Dad and the rest of them back me up on everything? All the time?!" Alfred frowned and his tone darkened. "I wasn't afraid before. For better or worse...look at all the stuff I accomplished. Am I so changed, I can't do that anymore? Can I stand on my own two feet?"
"Al…Al, I don't think...needing counsel on this is so terrible."
"I have to know! For me, Momi. I need to know. I need to face it by myself. I need you to promise."
With great reservations, she allowed herself to be factored into their scheme.
Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the wind battering their tent.
He'd talked a big game with Hawaii earlier and this was his comeuppance.
C'mon, tough guy, buck up!
He whimpered as creepy night sounds and howling wind raged on. Tex was dead to the world and snoring so there was no comfort to be found there.
No night light was left on and it really sucked because he'd seen that Rhys had packed a water jug and a coil LED lamp. Together, they would've given off a soft glow.
His stuffed animals were clamped under his arms because he didn't dare let them spill onto Tex's side while his brother was in a mood. The effort was starting to make him sore and didn't help relax him into sleep.
And the worst part of all?
He needed to pee.
He was really tempted to not go to the ADA compliant restrooms but didn't know if it'd bite him in the morning if the others found out that he was too much of a scaredy-cat to venture further.
No.
He had to take a stand and quest for a urinal.
Because the hero was not afraid of a nighttime trek even if bathrooms totally were scary haunting hotspots…even if there was really unsettling mist on the ground. His family, with all the fog in their regions, would laugh at him.
He pulled his boots on and his coat on and stepped out.
The area was a cluster of dark shapes since there was no need for someone to be on watch and the campfire was out. The night was cloudy and starless and he felt less safe for it.
He didn't know how to explain it…but there was something bad in the ground. It stung his feet and it hurt to lie down in their tent so close to it. It was worse than being on a ship and walking on a bunch of long dead trees.
Nobody else seemed to feel it.
And that made him feel even weirder. How did Rhys not sense it?
Thinking about it made icy tendrils reach from his feet to his knees and climb higher.
He had to keep moving! There were still other campsites in full swing, so it had to be safe. Right?
He barely made it to the bathrooms. And once that urgency was gone, he knew the walk back would be even creepier.
How sad was it? That he hovered on the threshold, seriously considering texting somebody to come meet him?
The cracking of leaves and twigs kept making him jump and he found himself laying hands on bark and using the friendly, willing trees to help him walk in great winding trails that would make anyone following him lose their way.
It was just his imagination.
That's all it was, his imagination and several centuries of stored up horror stories and films, which apparently, was more than enough to send him straight into Rhys's tent and led him to stand rather pitifully next to Arthur's bedding.
He needed to go back to his tent. Back to Tex.
He turned around and stared through the gap of entrance he'd left open…at the long dark distance separating their tents and sniffled.
He needed to be brave and-
"Al?" Mathieu called softly. "Are you alright?"
"Yes," Damn. His voice cracked.
He needed to get out before—
"Arthur?" Mathieu alerted their old man before Alfred could take another step.
"Hm, wot? Oh! Sweetling!" Arthur's arms were immediately around him and pulling him onto the air mattress while lethargically commenting, "O, you're a poor little icicle."
He wasn't sure whether to curse or thank his Canadian brother. But he couldn't just give in to the welcome security set tantalizingly before him.
"I can't leave Texas!" he blurted. "Hop's still there too!"
"I understand."
Arthur got up and led Alfred by the hand. At the wall of the tent, he paused and delivered a brutal kick which resulted in Spanish cursing as he hit the occupant of the next tent over.
"Your son needs you," Arthur stated. "He's freezing to death."
"I told him that spot was too cold," Spain growled.
They listened to the sound of unzipping tent flaps and tromping footsteps.
"We'll get your things once he's through," Arthur explained.
"O-okay."
"It's alright, love. I'm glad you came to me. We'll set everything to rights."
It was embarrassing but…he reached his hands in a carry-me-please gesture. And it was such a relief for his feet to leave the ground.
Hours later, Alfred would admit that waking up comfy, in a fancy tent with a soft mattress and all three of his stuffed animals, was the life.
He reached for his father and found he was gone. The spot was still warm though. When that warmth started to leave, he reached for his boots and left for the outside—wincing as the ground betrayed him in ways it never had before.
"Nonono, Sweet! Stay in the tent!" Arthur demanded, authority ringing in his voice along with alarm. "Mathieu! Fetch your brother-"
It was too late.
He saw it.
There.
At the edge of their campsite was a roughly torn side of cardboard hanging from a bungee cord on a tree.
Painted on it in lurid red was:
Beware the Witch of the Wood!
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