Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or Tennesse Williams' A Streetcar Named Desire, or Shakespeare's line from Hamlet: "To thine ownself be true…" Or Clue the game and its many amusing lethal weapons. Or Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland characters.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, linguistically, and grammatically). Writer Tyranny which has resulted in a word of my making: naggy. Adj. having characteristics of a nag (a person who pesters and scolds). 6 Degrees to Kevin Bacon game. Familial drama, fluff, hostility, etc.
AN: Thank you for your reviews! I've really appreciated them while I've been trying to balance work, writing, and very unenthusiastic studying for the GRE. The fam and I continue debating over internet providers because both of our options are terrible, sooo I'm still a wifi café seeker…which has slowed my updates down immensely as I do try to double-check my facts when necessary. However, considering we're going into the endgame of this story, the delay just means you get to savor the final chapters, right? Yup, I think there's just a handful left. It's been a fun fic to write and I hope you've enjoyed reading it thus far. Happy Reading! : D
Chapter 44: Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass
Mathieu felt numb as he watched Arthur carry Alfred to safety.
Had it been the water? A memory?
Merde. Nobody really knew the full extent of his brother's experience with Osha. Given their recent slew of troubles he never felt "in" enough with Alfred to outright ask.
He really hoped it wasn't rafting in general.
He'd feel awful if he'd taken his brother on countless trips that the latter hadn't enjoyed at all.
He contemplated following, but given Alfred's current lukewarm reception of him, he might do more harm than good.
He'd wait a little bit, give Arthur time to settle Alfred down, and then text them both to make sure they were both alright. From the look of their departing figures, Arthur's ankle was acting up again.
"What. The. Fuck?!" Tex hissed. "The Hell does he think he's doing?! I should drag his ass back here."
Texas ignored their protests and stood up on the raft. His brown eyes glared at the shore where Alfred and Arthur had disappeared.
"ALFRED!?" The brim of his hat dipped and then he looked up and screeched, "Who's the deserter NOW!? ALFREEEED!"
Terrible.
It was très mal…
…that Mathieu was seriously thinking about pushing him into the river.
Temperature be damned.
Tex was standing.
An oar was in Mathieu's hands…
It could very easily be done.
Rico had already made eye contact with him, looking from the oar to Mathieu to Tex. He nodded his blessing.
The Canadian employed great self-restraint and resisted. Barely.
Mathieu's attempts to point out that Alfred's breathing indicated he'd been having a panic attack did little to assuage Tex's feelings on the matter.
"He was distressed," Mathieu spelled out as his own temper began to flare.
If anything his Southwestern brother seemed angrier at hearing that.
"Well, he should've said so to ME. Better me than that prissy, stuck up, stuffed shirt, scone eating, horse-toothed, snobby, bossy, BBC-watching-"
From the energy in his voice, the tirade could've lasted days but Spain intervened.
He grabbed Texas rather easily and forced the younger man to sit back down.
In a rather arctic tone, he stated that there was absolutely NOTHING wrong with Alfred wanting his Papi.
His expression dared Tex to argue otherwise.
The beautiful scenery, foliage of all shades of awakening spring-time green, was difficult to enjoy as Texas full-out sulked in tense silence.
"This is why nobody likes him," Puerto Rico announced candidly.
"Rico," Spain warned.
"Notice that NOBODY offered to throw a fiesta on his behalf. In our family…" He nudged Canada with his elbow. "Any reason is a good reason to have a fiesta. We did NOT have one for Lazarus over there."
Tex glared.
"I will host a fiesta for you, Toni," Spain assured. "Everybody will be there."
'Spanish Fam-ada' echoed in the silence.
Dieu, it sounded like a threat.
He half-expected to be forced to attend it as well.
Rico swallowed audibly.
"Tch." Tex crossed his arms. "Save the funding, why the hell would I show up to a place where I hate everyone-"
"That is very hurtful, mijo."
"-and everyone hates me."
"I will never hate you, Tonito."
Later on when they broke for lunch and hitched their two rafts together, Tex was the first to indulge in the ice chests for liquor.
He drank hard enough that Reilley clucked his tongue, "Thought we were all going to partake in Arthur's share."
Texas gave him a sullen look.
Mathieu looked over at Alistair who was obviously weighing on whether to comment or intervene.
"We got training later," the Scotsman said finally. "It's happening. Whether you're sober or sloshed."
"Fine."
Spain caught Tex's wrist when the latter reached for another bottle. "I think you've had enough. Now, put your vest back on."
"Hey! You…you drank like the fishes. Like, if it had been the ocean it'd be lower…cuz…cuz you drank so much. You threw them back. Hard. Mucho-"
"I am aware I had a problem then, mijo. I am trying to make sure you don't make the same mistakes I did."
"Back in the Ol' West, Allie and I drank more than this 'fore noon-"
"It is not the Wild West. And proofs are much stronger. Put your vest on."
"Tch. You think you can just boss me around. You ain't mi jefe anymore. No sirreebob. You ain't. Tu no es mi jefe-"
"You will put your vest on. Or Papi will help you."
Mathieu cringed at the tone.
"…FINE! So stupid. Pansy-ass vest." He then grumbled something softly in Spanish that made Spain lurch forward challenging. "Okay, okay, I am doing it. I just…I didn't wear no vest when I floated wagons down…estúpido…ruining my life…again."
Mathieu took care not to comment when it became clear that Texas did require Antonio's help to get said life preserver back on. Mathieu also gave Rico a light kick to the shin when the man's snickering got too loud.
Watching Tex and Alistair spar got Alfred all keyed up; he felt adrenaline pumping through him.
He wanted training. Real training. He was tired of classroom styled, paper pusher, low-energy lessons.
He wanted to get closer, but each time he moved it only resulted in Rhys or Reilley grabbing him on Arthur's behalf and plonking him back down on his fold out chair.
His dad was trying to stay off his rolled ankle.
The Englishman finished wrapping an ace bandage around the appendage. He pinned it in place as he scolded, "Alfie, you don't want to get underfoot. Alistair never treads lightly."
Alistair flipped Tex and the younger man had to somersault to roll back into a standing position.
"…" he wanted to do that stuff!
"Reilley, bring him to me."
Alfred's cheeks puffed as he was delivered like a package.
"Here you are, yer worship," Reilley quipped.
Arthur gave a terse, "Thank you, Reilley."
"Daaaaad," Alfred whined.
"Oh hush, love." Arthur's arms encircled him. "You'll learn all of that soon enough. Sit here with me a while, won't you?"
That sent a painful ping through him.
Arthur was still sad. Their talk had worn him out.
Maybe Alfred shouldn't have pressed him for that info but…he'd just needed to know.
He cuddled into the embrace.
He couldn't remember Arthur ever looking as conflicted as he did while talking about Constantinople. It was obvious that there was more he could've said.
But Alfred didn't need more. The Briton had said enough; he'd made a terrible mistake, he owned up to it, he was remorseful, he learned from it, and he didn't repeat it.
It wasn't fair that it got to linger.
He reached out stealthily with his magic—imagining each tendril like a vine…no…like a root…tiny and fragile as a hair but tenacious.
Now that he knew what a hex was and having lived under one for some time…
It was easier to sense.
It wasn't a tangle like his had been, wadded up and subtle…in his eye…where he literally could not see it because he was…er…seeing out of it? Through it?
Anyways…
It wasn't hidden.
This one…
It was almost like a fault line, though it was totally straight.
Along the ankle, up through the shin, across to the adjacent leg hugging under the knee…
A trace of magic that wasn't Arthur's…hailing from a time some-
"380 years before I was born," he calculated aloud.
Arthur sucked in a breath. "…Yes."
"-Like, I wasn't even an idea yet." That made him frown. Made him feel small. Insignificant.
He hated feeling that way.
It was always England who could make him feel-
"Alfie-boy, are you trying to make that Crusade about you?" Reilley inquired with a smile, having been held aside by Rhys earlier to explain why Arthur was "off" (finger quotations had been used and everything).
"I want to, but I can't. That makes it kinda frustrating. I can usually swing the Six Degrees to Bacon thing."
The adults chuckled.
Still, Arthur soon sighed and stared off into the distance.
Alfred squirmed to recapture his attention. "So, you got benched for a bit."
Arthur looked down at him and raised a bushy eyebrow.
"Is that when you started appreciating plays?" Alfred asked, genuinely interested.
Arthur blinked and looked thoughtful. "Perhaps."
Time to get mushy. Nothing could knock his old man out of a funk like playing up things they had in common.
"Plays, stories, poetry…I liked that stuff. I liked when you brought all that to me. You read things differently."
"Hmm?"
"I heard lots of sermons from the settlers and folktales from tribes. But you had a way of speaking and reading that was different. I liked it best."
He was shamelessly sucking up; it helped when what he was saying was the truth.
Arthur tapped Alfred's nose and smiled. "Oh?"
It was working.
And yet…it made him feel a little abashed; to know what Arthur's strings were and to manipulate them so easily…
He went against instinct and peppered more truth into the mix.
"Yeah…I dunno. You weren't somber then." He wasn't boring and naggy then. No, an air of excitement and triumph had clung to the swashbuckler and even when things were bad, he'd always seem more annoyed that matters weren't going in his favor than that he was genuinely afraid of what might happen.
"But I am now?" Arthur frowned.
"…sometimes," he answered honestly. "But you weren't then. You were happy to be here and you were happy to be with me."
He could always tell. A light would enter his eyes as he stood on the threshold of their humble cabin—like the gleam of sunshine on still waters.
That had been the hardest thing to lose.
After their first war, he'd assured himself it was just a phase. He'd regain it soon enough. Only he didn't.
Even now…
Even now when he was finally glad to see him again…there were always a thousand other thoughts and worries weighing him down and darkening him.
He focused his eyes back on his brother's lesson.
"Always" was whispered into his ear. "I'm always happy to be with you."
And it was interesting how grave that vow was and how carefully…no, tenderly…he was hugged following it.
His father had lost that boyish zeal he'd had in the 1600s. And Excalibur wasn't to blame. Alfred didn't know how to say that without it sounding hurtful though.
That fervor was the quality that had made him seem nigh invincible to a young colony.
Not that this was bad.
Not that either was bad.
His colonizer had always cared greatly for him. But in their early days he'd been awfully strong and hotheaded. Even in his fondest turns of mood, he was often harsh, demanding, and brutal.
His love was fierce…all of him was.
It made his feelings unquestionable. When Father said 'I love you,' he meant it.
It was when England started growing more mannered and refined…
When he started acting different…cold…reserved…that all manner of doubt began to creep in…
When who he was in public and private didn't feel quite the same…
Alfred rested a hand on his father's chest and fiddled with the buttons and snaps of the jacket.
Deep down it was the same heart that loved him from the beginning, but it was infinitely gentler now.
Other colonies had loved it, filled it, shaped it, softened it, and smoothed out its sharpest edges.
It was a good thing…
He knew that.
He just wished it didn't leave him with such a melancholic feeling of loss.
"Is the knife not givin' yeh warnings?" Alistair barked as he circled the younger man.
Tex ran a hand through frizzy curls. "Uhh, it um…gets cold and hot? And weird?"
"And yeh didn't bother trying to figure out what that all meant!?"
"I go with my gut," he shrugged. "And what I know from brawls."
Alistair inhaled and exhaled and then advised, "You got horse-sense, right?"
Tex perked up.
He did in spades.
Alfred had always considered himself an animal person, but Tex was just…better with horses.
"It's kinda like that. The knife will…er-"
"Spook?" Tex's eyes were big.
Alistair blew out a breath and gave a lackluster, "Aye…sure."
Tex looked at it in a new light.
"I don't understand why he's not helping with his form?" Spain muttered as he shuffled forward. He looked tired and irritated.
"That's not what's being trained," Reilley replied.
"Qué?"
Rico was carrying a box of graham crackers and a bag of marshmallows. "Damn it, Papi. You didn't get it?"
"Get what, mijo?"
"They're training him up for the Bruja Brigade!"
"…?"
Rico rolled his eyes and then continued, "You know how all of them are into the occult? Well, Al's getting into it, so Tex is too. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass."
Antonio's olive complexion turned a ghastly white and he crossed himself. "This is witchcraft?! You are teaching my son-"
"Yup," Tex answered candidly, wiping sweat from his face with a small towel. "Does it bring back Pagan Iberian memories for ya?"
He soon left for a shower with a worried Spain on his heels. For a long time they heard scripture recited in a loud, terrified, rapid fire mix of English and Spanish.
Alistair looked amused.
"Weapon lesson for me next?" Alfred asked hopefully.
"Er…" his uncle squinted.
Alfred turned around to see Arthur and Rhys both shaking their heads "No."
"HEY!"
"Sorry, runt," Alistair stretched. "Your brother's got a lot of raw strength. I need to recover." He sat down on his fold out chair and rubbed at a bruise on his forearm.
"You always renege whenever I want a sword lesson," he pouted.
Arthur surprised him by flinching.
Maybe it was because he'd sought the skill out from Alistair?
"Unless maybe?"
It would be the coolest, most super, father-son bonding experience of his life if—
He looked up and saw a rejection deeper than 'NEVER' in his father land's face.
Which really wasn't fair.
Yeah, they'd talked about Excalibur and all the dooms involved. And his dad was kinda injured for life…
But…
If anything it should've flattered Arthur that he had a son interested in the art.
It still kinda threw him for a loop.
It made sense of course.
Now…
Why Arthur was such a hardcore Arthurian Legend fan.
He wasn't AN Arthur.
He was THE Arthur.
Which was totally badass and…kinda explained the whole King thing with the UnSeelies.
Caydern…
They were wrong of course to assume Alfred was a prince.
Brenhin.
Tch. He wasn't. Arthur had never treated him like royalty, except maybe as a royal pain in the ass. Sooo that memo never got out.
And apparently, he wasn't even bonafide enough to snag a knight spot.
Which…sucked.
Like, fine, he could understand the Mordred vibe he gave off with the whole Revolutionary War bit, and how that could be construed as disloyalty…
But what about Black Knight-ness?
Knight-errants without lords? Well? That should still be a viable option for him. He just…needed to get good at swordsmanship, and archery, and jousting, and mace-wielding, and trebuchets.
Hey, he could ride a horse. That box could be checked off!
Swordsmanship had to be in his blood somewhere. A-a birthright of sorts! Arthur could probably wake it up somehow.
"You coul-"
"I don't train-"
Alfred could almost hear 'traitors' at the end of the sentence. Damnation…Harris, dead but still in his head.
His father hadn't said that. He forced himself onward.
"Yes, you do. Mattie, Jet, Jake…everybody and their grandma. They all carried swords in the World Wars, I saw them. I saw…"
Arthur heaved a sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I didn't personally instruct…I just improved their form."
"Kay! Then correct me." He slid down and took up a stick. "I know some rudimentary stuff."
That was a grand exaggeration.
He'd gotten a handful of basic drills over the centuries. They'd usually discover his talent with guns and the other skills were left at the wayside.
Why waste time instructing him in "arts of antiquity" when they could send him to the frontlines with a rifle and stop losing so many men?
He performed a few ceremonial gestures he did at award events and some stage fighting moves from theatre.
He wanted to be good with a sword.
So bad.
Had always wanted to be.
He made a few true blue stances he'd learned from Prussia.
Prussia who'd told him outright to stick with a musket and bayonet.
A parry. A strike. Then he returned to what he believed was a ready stance.
Arthur stared and an eyebrow twitched. "I see."
He twirled the stick nervously. "Am I that bad?"
"Yer faced the right way," Reilley chirped. The double swat from Alistair and Rhys toppled the Irishman out of his chair.
Dammit.
His face heated up.
It was like flunking out of the Navy again.
No…it was worse.
At least that dismissal had been private.
He threw the stick on the ground and tried to leave. He had to make a break for the Freedom Tent before—
Gentle hands caught him and he fought to be freed.
Arthur sat down with an unsteady "oomphf" onto the ground.
The abruptness pulled Alfred off his feet and he found himself being maneuvered fully into Arthur's hold.
He tried to twist, to wriggle, to flail his way free and…failed. Arthur simply changed his hold from limb to limb as was needed.
It gradually dawned that he was being handled like a fussing child…
Arthur reacted to him with a sort of weary gentleness.
He didn't want to make eye contact with green eyes that had looked on a world that now only echoed in half-forgotten legends.
A Round Table of Knights…
And he couldn't have been one.
Then or now…
"Shh, love. Shhh. Hush now, it's alright. If you want lessons, I'll find you an instructor."
He had no natural talent. He never did.
He never did at anything.
It was always determination that made him skilled.
He knew that.
It still hurt.
"I will. You have my word, if it's something you want, love. Has to be you. Because I don't care, sweet. I don't care either way. You don't need to be a swordsman for me."
It wasn't fair.
"-don't need to be a sailor. You don't need to be any such thing to impress me. I lo-"
He wanted to be better.
The best.
Everything they'd wanted, no, needed him to be and more.
"Are yeh sure ya know what yer doin'?" the old man asked from the darkness.
He almost sounded afraid, "What yer askin' me for?"
"My soul enters a Winter from which I will not escape.
This, I accept. For them, I submit. For myself, I only ask…
that my Heart forgets Spring.
Make me forget."
But why only ask to forget?
The greedy thought sprang forward after he shook the knobby hand of a fae he couldn't see but feel.
What evil times were upon him that his magic should fall so low as to leave him groping about? Still, wasn't this proof that the supernatural world was not yet beyond his grasp?
What if his Sight worsened further? And more opportunities of this kind eluded him ever after?
Why only ask to forget?
The fae instructed him gravely to focus only on his wish and nothing more.
No, Alfred. Temperance. Caution.
O, but he had to strike while the iron was hot!
Why only forget?
When he could barter for so much more?
And what wouldn't he give away to make things how they ought to be?
Yes.
His actions would benefit everyone.
They needed him to do it.
So he could be better, stronger, smarter…more practical, more useful, more cunning.
Damn near invincible.
He'd misunderstood his role in this grand play of life. He'd rectify it.
Be everything they'd wanted him to be.
Everything he should've-
"What?" Arthur's voice hardened. "Why would I want that? I don't want that. Why would I change you? You're perfect."
That quieted all the buzzing.
It was the strangest feeling…
Nostalgic and surreal.
Funny, how he'd waited in crowded conference rooms for someone to say a kind lie like that…
And they never did…
And hearing it now…
To thine ownself be true…
He couldn't even accept it. Thanks a lot, Shakespeare, he thought glumly.
"I'm not…"
"Being perfect doesn't mean being flawless," Arthur snapped.
He was having trouble wrapping his head around that though.
It seemed along the same lines of what he'd dealt with when he battled Morgana's mirror; that even if he was a screw-up most of the time, he deserved to be loved.
Unfortunately, that last bit leaked over and Arthur went off like a de-pressurized air cabin. The warning lights were on and the masks had dropped. His embrace tightened almost painfully.
Before Alfred could comment on the context, Arthur spluttered angrily, "Of course you deserve to be-of course you-who said otherwise? Who the fuck said otherwise, I'll spit on his gr-"
Alfred relaxed into the hug.
It still sucked.
Here Arthur had possessed a confederation of valiant knights and he couldn't have been one.
He wasn't skilled enough or obedient enough or…
He couldn't have been one.
Dammit, he was tearing up again.
Arthur made soothing noises and tried to comfort him.
But he couldn't have been one of his knights.
"Is everything alright?" Mathieu asked.
"O, just a little tantrum," Reilley answered.
"Al?"
And a vicious little voice at the back of his mind whispered that Mattie could.
"Just a little hungry and overtired, I think," Arthur lied easily. "If you could fetch him a bit of jerky, he'll be put to rights."
He remembered seeing Mathieu in uniform, already a lieutenant colonel…outranking him, at Arthur's side. His brother had coldly stared him down as America reaffirmed his declaration of war on the English nation at the meeting.
"Of course."
Pressing American sailors into service for the crown, he couldn't allow it! Harris was right, he had to take a stand or his fa-bro-former colonizer would take advantage!
"That's a good lad. Thank you, Mathieu," Arthur smiled.
His head throbbed.
It wasn't fair.
Mattie always got to be the good one.
Momilani shook her head and switched the video camera off. "This is so tasteless, you two. The most tasteless music video ever, MTV can't compare, I, like, I can't even-"
"Yeah, I know, but Tex is the one who wanted-"
"Yeah, I know, but it's aaaallll Tex's fault cuz he's an insensitive jackass," Tex mimicked as he put their props away.
"That sounds about right," Momilani muttered.
Tex stuck his tongue out at her.
"My voice isn't that high…is it?" Alfred complained as he set his violin down.
She looked him over. The blond was even wearing a cowboy hat.
It was obvious who he was indulging.
He'd also made a point to take a bunch of Polaroid shots because Tex loved instant results. It was hard to believe there'd been a time when the Texan had had enough patience to wait weeks for pictures to be properly developed and delivered.
Tex leaned against a tree. "Hey, we needed some kind of project as a cover. This was the best I could think of at short notice. They'll watch the first minute, say what you said about it being 'in bad taste' and then switch it off. Mission accomplished. It will provide an alibi. And besides, it's kinda nice bein' out and about without all the dead weight, right?"
Momilani pointed a chipped acrylic fingernail. "You need to straighten things out with your father. He's freaking out. What happened?"
"Well, ya know, he finally figured out that I was learnin' witchcraft…" Tex toyed with the rosary around his neck. "He's Catholic to like the infinity-nth power. Look at their population stats. He's 98 percent Catholic. Other 2 percent's probably another branch of Christianity. He's all worried about my soul…I told 'im it was real late for that." He snickered. "Damn, ya shoulda been there. Shoulda seen his face. He thought I had a hidden basement with a goat skull. He was ready to drag me to Confession and exorcise me."
He snorted.
"It's not that funny."
Tex laughed harder. "It really is."
"Okay, sooooo Tex is sadistic. And you, baby, what's with you?"
"I can't be a knight," America confessed as he tapped a tree root with a corner of his violin's bow.
"Oh." That was a little out of left field.
He was trying so hard not to sound butthurt about it, though. She needed to act compassionate.
"What's the big whoop about that?" Tex scoffed before she could get a word in.
Alfred's cheeks puffed. "Didn't you wanna be one? Or a bullfighter? Or…or something?!"
"Did I want to be a conquistador? Uh, lemme thi-NO. We're gunslingers, Al. It's warrior and weapon evolution. I hope my magical item's like, a Winchester repeating rifle or something. That'd be awesome. You know? So it's useful."
"I hope you get a candle stick," Hawaii grumbled. "Or a thimble."
"Clue has a candle stick, right? They can still be lethal-"
"Don't jinx me…why would you even host those as possibilities?!"
"-Musical triangle," she supplied.
"The almighty spork cuz somebody's gonna get it. Me or You-"
"Cazoo."
"W-why would I deserve-"
"Because you have been awful," Momilani replied. "I can't believe the hissy fit you threw today on the raf-"
"-didn't invite any of these-"
She poked his shoulder. "I'm not accepting excuses. Particularly, lame ones."
"How lame was it?" Alfred asked. "Like not using the twisty wire for bread to keep it fresh or woe-is-me limping gazelle?"
"Al? Baby?"
"Yeah?"
"Brace yourself."
"Ooh, it's an impressive one, huh? Gonna have to reset the bar after this?"
"He," she jerked a thumb in Tex's direction, "called you a deserter."
Alfred's face twitched into a smile, "Did you really? Like all melodramatic? You just yelled it into the open air?" He screwed up his face, "Stella!?"
"I did!"
They both guffawed over that.
Momilani gave the Once-Republic a hard look.
He gave her a playful shove. "Momi, be nice. I ain't a great actor. There ain't gonna be any Oscars for me. I'm just getting my part done."
"I am still talking," Momilani growled. "And you keep cutting me-"
"I'm just trying to keep 'em all out of the way. And bein' moody as Hell is my best bet. And it ain't easy. It helps that I am pretty ticked that we're in this tough spot, Al."
"I know. I'm sorry," Alfred threw in.
"But it's exhausting being mad as a hornet all the time. I mellowed A LOT once Al and I figured our shit out. I have to, like, channel sixteen year old me so I drink real hard to hold onto that belligerence. Damn, if it don't work though. I mean, look at how you both got to give me as the reason why we needed time alone for this hike?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"It worked."
She crossed her arms. He was trying to play it off like he was less furious than he was. Oh no, no. She and Al knew him better than that. He was upset.
That was why they'd gone on this hike. He was like a faulty missile that kept arming itself.
Only…instead of just telling them what was up, he was trying to clown around instead.
Which was unusual. He was normally to the point about why he was angry so they could stop 'pushin' his damn buttons' as he put it.
Something was up. "Baby?"
"It worked…well enough…Dammit, Momi…I'm no good at keeping secrets."
She was not gonna accept that. "Nononono. You kept yourself one for-"
"Yeah! And do you know how HARD that was?! I keep secrets best by literally not being available for people to ask shit. And it's hard lying to that guy." He looked away. "And I'm…not real great at lying anyway. That's why we usually keep the ball in Al's court."
"Thanks," Al countered.
"I don't mean it like that. It's just…if he keeps pestering me, I…I'm afraid it's gonna slip out. And then we're gonna have to deal with him and Rico tagging along."
Hawaii gave him a shrewd look. "Is that why you wouldn't let Rico come?"
"He knows a lot of my…tics? I guess? Spain's even worse. Look, we don't have that whole magic bond lie-detector thing that Al and Arthur got goin' on…but Spain is good at reading me. Maybe not the atmosphere, but me. I could shake him a few months ago but now…now, he's got my number. And Rico can guess what I'm thinking or what I will think before I even think it. He's almost as good as Mexico. Tch…older sibs suck!"
She rolled her eyes. "I thought you were a card shark back in the good ol' West-"
"Yeah, cards! Not life! I ain't good at bluffin' when it comes to life."
Alfred chewed at his lip and looked down at his shoes.
That wasn't too flattering. And they all knew it was aimed at him.
She sighed. She couldn't really argue it though.
When they'd first met, he'd said he only wanted to be trades partners.
Look at her now. One of his states.
Tex changed the subject.
"Any clue where the gate is? Like via using your magic?" Tex asked while he consulted the compass app on his phone and compared his screen to Osha's map. "I mean, I know we got her coordinates, but…she's shady. She could be leadin' us to something else."
"My feet hurt worse the longer we travel this direction."
"Aaand?"
"I dunno. I think we've got to go there. But…whether it's the gate or not…"
"As good a bet as any. Like a spidey sense-"
"Yeah, but not tonight. We still might be late returning to camp."
"Can't we just go?"
"Tomorrow."
"Al-"
"Bank on tomorrow. I might have to come clean though."
"What?! Al?! Don't involve them-"
"I know! I know I keep flip-flopping. But Dad's just been so honest with me lately, I-"
"Bro-"
"I don't want to ruin everything by being a big fat liar. Even if I AM good at it."
"Al, I'm sorry, I-"
America's voice faltered. "…I don't wanna ruin everything cuz I got greedy…thought I could get it all…"
Momilani rested a hand on his shoulder and brought him to her side.
He wrapped his arms around her legs.
It was always hard to stay mad at him.
Even when he made a mess of things.
Even when he deserved it.
"C'mon, baby." She stroked his fair hair. "We'll head back."
"Wait, wait, wait. One more picture. Just one more of Al and me cuz the woods are nice and creepy here-"
"Thanks for pointing that out every two seconds, Bro."
"Me and Al.…and you. I mean, if you want?"
Momilani begrudgingly accepted the camera and tried not to look at her watch as she snapped a few more pics.
She kept telling herself that a genuinely happy Texas now was worth a completely pissed off Spain and England later.
Mathieu frowned as he watched Texas and Arthur argue in escalating tones.
Hawaii was discreetly trying to move America and herself out of the line of fire.
"You're late! It's dark! Antonio and I almost alerted the rangers. I had to text him just now to call him off. You said you would be back by-"
"I needed time away from you geezers. Needed to spend it with true blue Americans!"
"Hey!?"
"You weren't welcome, Rico!" Tex threw in. "Mainlanders only. Contiguous-"
"She's NOT-"
"I don't like you. There, I said it. Tried to spare your feelings, but-"
"¡Andá a cagar, tonto culiado!"
"You gave your word," Arthur rumbled.
That was a dangerous tone. Mathieu felt goosebumps race up his arms.
Alfred knew it too.
"Dad-" Alfred squawked even as Momilani edged them away. "D-"
"No, Alfred. I know who's responsible for your tardiness."
"But-"
"Go sit with your brother."
"But-"
"The Canadian one."
Mathieu nodded at Momilani as she sat down in a chair beside him with Alfred on her lap. "Hey, Al. Momilani."
"Hi."
"Hey, Mattie," Alfred greeted absentmindedly.
"Are you…okay?"
"Huh? Uh, yeah, sure, probably."
"You didn't respond to my text."
"Your…?" Alfred pulled out his phone. "Oh…"
Momilani gave the American a poke.
"Right, sorry. Yeah, fine. I'm…fine. Everything's fine. We're all fine. It's all good, yeah. Isn't it, Momi?"
She gave a dark, unconvincing "sure" that made both brothers shiver a little.
Mathieu looked back over at the eye of the verbal storm.
He already knew the volatility of the argument, having weathered first-hand the storm brewing on Tex's side since Al's "abandoning of their ship," and the anger-born-of-worry simmering on Arthur's side.
Practically the minute, the agreed curfew came and went for Al's hike, Arthur had gotten increasingly distracted. Winning against him at craps and snap had been child's play. The Briton soon gave up at games with Mathieu and his brothers to pace around the site—ignoring Rhys's advice to rest his leg.
In fact, it had been the silent anger of Spain that troubled Canada the most. When it was clear that the trio was going to be very late, he simply got up, announced his intent to file missing persons reports, and left.
"What would a text have hurt? Could've phoned us to let us know you were on your way?"
"We're a grown-ass sovereign nation. We don't owe you that stuff-"
"You didn't let Alfred message me."
"Wha-?"
"He dialed and then he hung up." He raised his phone. "I can see it. It took everything in me to wait-"
"He jumped the gun. I still knew where we were going."
"So you got lost?! And you still didn't call?" Notes of hysterical incredulity were entering Arthur's voice.
"Look, we're a little north of my neck of the woods. Got turned around for a half a second. Tech malfunction. Just had to follow my gut."
"You lead your men on hunches, too?" Spain demanded—having just returned to their site. He crossed his arms and leaned against a tree.
"…sometimes," Tex replied shortly.
"You risk their lives easy then? Those strangers?"
"Your point, Señor?"
"No wonder they breathed a sigh of relief under my command against those wendigo."
"…"
"It's just age-ism!" Alfred interjected. "We look younger and getting respe-"
"Alfred Faer Kirkland, we are not discussing this with you right now! I talk to you next."
"Jones!" Alfred spat.
Arthur took a steadying breath. "Alfred Faer Kirkland-Jones, please wait your turn."
Alfred sagged in Momilani's hold. "I hate when he says the whole thing. My skin crawls. Stupid pansy middle name!"
"That is a perfectly respectable middle n-"
Hawaii reached for a beer from the sloshy inside of an open ice chest. "Goodie, I get to be third. Everyone'll be all warmed up."
Reilley laughed, "No. We know you're the designated hostage."
For a moment, Hawaii looked like she wanted to refute that but briefly made eye contact with Alfred and stayed quiet.
Mathieu leaned forward. Something had just transpired in that exchange, but what?
"And where do you get off moving my tent while I'm out?" Tex shouted.
"You need to be close! Where it is safe!" Spain hissed.
"Precisely, this is basic strategy, boy. Can't you see the formation we're making?" England barked.
In his fury to return his tent to its previous spot, Texas was nowhere near gentle enough.
Alfred and Mathieu flinched at the loud RIIIIIP and the soft "dammit."
"I can fix it, Al, I got duct tape!"
Spain was beyond frustrated. "This is what happens, mijo, when you do not mind your temper and-"
"Shut up! Just shut-Silenci-"
"You mind yourself," the older nation growled. "I have had it with your attitude."
"I-"
"No, you have talked enough. You listen now!"
"…"
"Arthur and his brothers sense that there's something unsafe in the woods and we're not taking risks. Now, we saved you supper. If you'll be civil, you can have it. Otherwise, you can go rest. We leave in the morning."
"Fine. No one's got you tied. Y'all can leave if ya wanna! Al and me are staying. We-"
"In a pig's eye!" Arthur screeched. "I won't abandon Alfred to your mad venture-"
"Why not? You've done it before."
Reilley dropped the armful of kindling he was bringing to the fire.
Alistair looked up from the fish he was reheating for the trio.
Mathieu scarcely dared to breathe.
Rhys hovered uncertainly near Mathieu's elbow.
Arthur went white with fury but he didn't speak a word or move an inch.
Momilani sighed.
"That's the truth, ain't it? What?" Tex looked around at the shocked faces. "What, we ain't allowed to say what happened? Cuz…that happened. Happened a lot. Anytime Al displeased you, you dumped him straight off. You treated him like dirt. Guess he's a plant power so that's fitting. Walked all over him through the 1800s. Kicked him like a dog whenever ya felt like it. He always came home with his tail 'tween his legs cuz his old man knew how to scruff him."
Tex shook his head. "What? You come waltzing in now in the eleventh hour of our lives and we're s'posed to what? Make a big hoopla? Calculate you and your thoughts into all of our plans now? You help us out two times and what? That just writes it off?"
Tex bared his teeth. "Oh yeah, let's forget all the times you were terrible. Let's make you feel good about leavin' us in the lurch. Let's fall into line. Let's lick your shoes, so you can feel like a real hero." He put on a mock cheerful voice, "'Hey, everybody, Papi cares right now. And that cancels out every time he didn't.' Yeah, no. Fuck no. That ain't good enough."
Spain approached England who tensed as if preparing for a fight.
As the Spaniard moved, he shouldered Texas hard. The latter almost lost his footing.
Tex cussed under his breath, "Spanish son of a b-"
When Spain was directly in front of England, he knelt.
"I apologize, Inglaterra. As you can see, I did not raise him right. I am sorry and I am ashamed."
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