Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Edible Arrangements. Or Streets of Laredo. Or Disney's Brave. Or Lovelytheband's song, Broken. Or Pearly Shells by Leon Pobler and Webley Edwards or Tiny Bubbles by Don Ho. Or Dante's inferno lines: Inf. 33.155-57. Or the UK's "Keep Calm" motto. Or Exodus: 2:18: Thou shall not suffer a witch to live...

Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, linguistically, and grammatically). As well as but not limited to things you just don't like. Implications of corruption. Hinkypunks, will-o-the-wisps, and ghostlights all refer to the same creature which usually leads travelers to their doom/death, etc. Casablanca Directive of WWII. Colonial magic/evil prevention? Possibly disturbing imagery and/or implications for the faint of heart. Against all odds and probably the laws of physics...Tex managed to keep his hat with him. Irish folklore abounds with dark magic, curses, creatures, and the like.

AN: Thank you for your reviews, but a reminder: critiques are fine, ad hominem is not.

Amerikia, I laughed pretty hard at that sum up. I might need to enlist you to do an HONEST EPISODE RECAP for the start of each of my sequels. XD

In other news, I think I've decided Lovelytheband's Broken is Sirena's unofficial anthem.

Hang on y'all, the adventure continues and I hope you enjoy this chap!

Chapter 48: So DEAD

Reilley carefully held his arm out from behind a tree, determined to 'Keep Calm' and film on. He might not have been the grand hero of the last few adventures their clan had tumbled into but...he might just earn some bragging rights from his brothers if he managed to hold on where they couldn't. He might also creep his way into the Favorite Uncle spot after all.

Because at the end of the day, and he thought it obvious, Alistair and Rhys were far less merciful than him. One fettered by battlefield honor and warrior codes, the other snagged by a fisherman's net of logic and philosophy and-and sense!

Aye. Unfocused, irrational, raw power that could be vented through so many outlets...and by a loose-cannon seven year old with questionable morals was...fucking terrifying.

No proof of whiskey was strong enough to wash that reality away.

But...his blue eyes narrowed...Life didn't always make sense, did it? Yeh couldn't be a good shoulder to cry on or a royal guest or a bartender and expect all the laments to pass your ears to go and make sense. If they made perfect sense they wouldn't be interesting or worth listenin' to in the first place. And Mary be with yeh, if yeh tried to preach sense at someone langered by alcohol or emotion…

And sometimes magic...didn't make sense. At least the kind one would want to understand. Their ma had warned that sometimes magic prompted one to darker spaces, it had needs— appetites...for balance…

Respecting rituals and innocuous things, like attending fairy weddings and baby showers, could only satiate it so far.

He knew the position he was settling into now was a far cry from the one he'd been in December. Because, honest to God, teaching baby magic classes to someone prone to wreaking chaos seemed like an invitation to be run over by Fate's Wheel. Like yellin' to the open sky, "O'er here! Strike me dooown!"

But no one who could remove a hex like Albion's with so little effort...was wholly unschooled in the Arts.

Maybe Arthur hadn't taught him...but he'd learned it all the same...somewhere...somehow...once upon a time ago...

He knew Alistair and Rhys had been so focused on the blood, they didn't notice Alfred's hands.

Or what it meant.

There was method in his nephew's madness after all.

And if what he suspected, Hell, if what he knew instinctively was fully confirmed…

His nephew finally made sense...in a Saturnalian sort of way…

It was why he could flip flop between success and failure so extremely! Why some of their "lessons" fell so flat!

It was fundamentally tied into his magic and that hex he'd borne and all of it.

And Eire could work with that! He had stories and contacts they could make use of.

But that was all for later.

Like ballads and verses, it was all about timing. And once he knew the state of things, and this debacle was dealt with, he could make a real dashing entrance and offer up his own overture about apprenticeship.

Which was infinitely better than what the others were offering: patronizing remedial courses.

He knew Alistair and Rhys had been giving Arthur grief over who was going to truly be in charge of Alfred's magical education. Wouldn't it be fun if he could just blow them all out of the water? O it reminded him of his piracy days...

Because Alfred didn't need some magic nursery minder, he—

"We're lookin' at a tree, Eire."

"Right. Sorry." He flexed his wrist.

Alfred was sitting on a great tangle of roots and wringing out his socks of excess water. Afterwards, he wadded them up and stuffed them in his pockets.

Texas was pacing. "I'm SO dead. So dead. I'm dead. Dead man walking. He's gonna keep that lil' creepy shrine of me up cuz he's gonna make it real. But maybe if I call Stuart...and beg. He likes Stuart. I can get him to schmooze for me? You think an eatable arrangement will be enough?"

"Edible," Alfred corrected absently.

"Right, you think, like, four of them'll be enough? Maybe eight? With a real sappy card? The expensive kind at the grocery store. The one that hurts when they ring up the price. Why the hell should a card ever be eight bucks? Damn. You know, I really thought getting to say my piece and all that and seeing him feel low and lousy would make me feel better."

Alfred looked over at his brother and waited.

Texas made another go of pacing. "I feel like the jerk. I mean, I can be the jerk. I've been the jerk lots o' times. But damn. It's just...the rapids were right then and I didn't know he was gonna get all heartfelt. But that was where the undertow was and if I didn't Houdini us then, we'd have had a hell of a time trying to shake him off. I'm so dead. Gettin' him with the same trick. Twice. He's gonna kill me. Third time's the charm and it'll be done. No Streets of Laredo funeral for me. Mexico and Rico will help him cover it up, you know how they operate. Yup. This cowboy won't be gallivantin' nowhere after-"

"You chose to do it," Alfred stated tonelessly.

"You didn't give me any signal that we were gonna incorporate them. I had to infer that we were still going according to plan. And the plan is you and me, pilgrim. And maybe Hawaii. She wanted to try and catch up."

"They're probably safer," Alfred offered softly as he leaned back against the tree's trunk.

"Yeah well, 'probably safer' but definitely pissed off. Rico's blowing up my phone like he was given the Casablanca directive. He figured it out fast. I mean, if it was just Papi, we'd have had longer. But Rico knows. My cell's kinda fritzy from getting wet, but...I don't think its record is glitching. He's called me 52 times. Like a drunk, enraged ex-girlfriend. I'm too goddamn scared to read the texts." There was a beep. "And there's another one I ain't touchin' with a ten foot pole."

"Has Spain called you?"

"...No."

"..."

Tex attempted to get back to business. "I can ballpark the directions to where Osha's coordinates were but…I think she was off. Close but off. She seems like an overplanner. They always get stuff wrong by teeny degrees. That's just my gut though."

Alfred watched him. "The bad thing is in that general direction too."

Tex chuckled, "And now we're listenin' to your gut."

"But we lack the luxury of time to be wrong. Somebody's gotta know for sure." Alfred glanced around. "The trees say we're being watched."

"Say what?"

Reilley choked and gave the trees around him an accusatory look. Snitches!

Plant powers. They were too easy to underestimate.

Alfred shrugged. "Let's use it to our advantage."

Reilley willed himself to remain quiet as long as he could. It just didn't feel like the right opportunity for him to announce himself had arrived yet.

Alfred strode forth, cleared his throat, and sang fearlessly:

"Adrift I do wander this Darkness!

Battered by shadow and wind.

Your king he swears your adherence:

Vows every UnSeelie's my friend."

Reilley shivered. Despite the identical melody, that wasn't the sad lament his nephew had warbled out last December.

There was power in it now.

Reilley felt the hairs on his neck stand on end as the forest came alive with shadows.

Though he only saw a few glowing eyes, his magic was warning him that the area was crawling with UnSeelies and he needed to watch his step.

Further confirmation that Alfred was no slouch in sorcery.

He nodded approvingly and smirked; the minute he'd seen his nephew dispersing that thrice-damned hex under his heel, popping it like a blueberry...he knew.

No wonder the UnSeelies were rabid fans and watched him so close; they'd been waiting for him to reclaim his birthright.

"Lead me," Alfred commanded. "To where I must go."

There was a murmuring of dark voices and whispers of acknowledgement.

Several spans ahead, a small round sphere of green-white fire appeared.

Reilley's head cocked to the side in wonder. Willing aides? His nephew was a favorite to them indeed!

"Ghostlight," Texas breathed.

"Hinkypunk," Alfred agreed. As they approached it, it disappeared and reappeared further off.

"Shoulda had Scotland along for the ride," Tex tutted. "Reminds me of 'Brave.'" He hummed a couple of the Disney movie's songs before losing some of his forced cheeriness. "So they're all mad at you. Al, you gotta get your head back in the game. You've dealt with that before. Shake it off."

Alfred's hands clenched. "I was trying to help. I wanted that hex to be off him...just in case something...something...happens and I don't have the power to...I had to do it right now while it's building...That's the way it had to be."

Tex seemed to think on that long and hard before asking in a somber tone, Reilley wasn't used to: "General? Permission to do the same? Set things in order?"

"Granted. You can...tell whatever you want. We've got enough of a head start. It won't compromise anything."

Texas pulled out his phone and he stared down at the device. "Bandaid quick. Bandaid quick. Just. Gotta. Do. It." He swallowed and dialed. It rang for a bit and then, "Hola, Papi. Yo quiero-"

Texas had to hold the phone at arm's length as Spain's voice boomed out of its speaker.

Texas called across as best he could, "Sí, Rico was-yeah-he was-right-I-uh-"

Reilley nearly dropped his phone. Antonio could really yell when it suited him. He usually had such a sunny disposition, Reilley often had trouble reconciling the historical facts with the personification. But this really showed he had a temper on him!

The Spaniard's voice rose and fell through the conversation—punctuated by Texas's responses.

"Yo no-Papi, mi disculpe-no! Look, I just...I called because I wanted to see if you'd still pick up. No. No, I ain't joking. Yes, I'm serious. Cuz we are on a mission. We've been on one the whooole time. Neither of us wanted y'all to come. But y'all barged in and we just...had to make things work. For everybody."

"THIS DOES NOT WORK FOR ME!" Antonio thundered.

"Eeeeyeah, I can understand why you see it that way...cuz it is...that...uh...way. I'm sorry." Tex fiddled with the rim of his hat. "Yeah, well, ya know...I guess if you feel that way...I understand. I...I understand if...Jesus-"

"DO NOT USE HIS NAME IN VAIN!"

"-I wasn't gonna chicken out...I understand if you wanna...go ahead and disown me-"

"¿¡Pero qué me estás contando!?"

"Well, that's where this is leading, yes? I mean, you are in a rage. Right now. I mean, you're seein' red. And I...I deserve it. So, if this is the end. I wanna take it like a man-"

"¡¿Qué soy yo?! ¿Un monstruo?"

"I don't think you're...a monster anymore than us...I just...you know...you're actually...taking this real well, Papi. I expected a lot more swearing." Texas looked over at Alfred and covered the speaker. "I think we're safe. I mean, with the decibel he's hitting. If he was anywhere nearby, we'd be hearing him. Kinda empowers me to just have this conversation knowing that."

"¿Dónde estás, mi hijo? ¡Mijo!"

"I'm here. I'm here. I'm just...talkin' to Al."

"¿El está bien?"

Texas stilled and then pulled his hat off and wrung it fretfully. "Well, yeah. Oh...right. Yeah, I-I got him out. 'Course I did. I mean, we're freezing our asses off but nothing we can't-No. NO! No, we're not gonna get sick again. If I did, it was one mouthful. I've survived plenty of bad wells. One taste of river water ain't gonna do me in. No...no...If we die out here, Papi, I promise you, it ain't gonna be from anything normal like-"

"Your mission is deadly?! Why in the seven hells would you two go unaided? DO YOU EVEN HAVE THE SUPPLIES YOU NEED?!"

Even at a distance it was clear, Tex got flushed with embarrassment. "I...I got a gun. It's drying. Got a knife. It's...well...it's made out of bone. Some tic tacs. Might have to hunt a bit...yeah...a little unprepared but Al's the Macgyver type so-"

"You need back up. Papi can be backup-" Tex winced at his father's voice screeched at him. "I know Americans like to lead, that's fine. Papi will back you up. You wait. You wait for me! You wait riiight where you are for me-"

Texas looked to America. He plonked his hat on his head. He gestured to the phone and, subsequently, Spain's offer.

Alfred chewed his lip, frowned in contemplation, and then shook his head.

Tex nodded. "No. We can't. We gotta find this magic gate...thing. I dunno. No, really, I do not know. I'm being honest. I AM. I wasn't with Al back then and his memory's wonky. Oye, you said you weren't good with the whole magic thing. So guess what? We didn't plan for you to be a part of this. Yeah, well, I-I wanna learn this stuff. I mean, I always saw ghosts and shit and, Boss, you weren't really supportive—you always thought I was makin' it up as a little kid. I wasn't! I-I-Well, I didn't tell you this time because I couldn't trust you! You can't just...step in...I know it hasn't been a lot of time to you. But it has for me!"

Texas took his hat off and kicked at a tree root until Alfred slapped his foot away with his hands. "I dunno. It's just...you always tell me what to do. You don't listen. Look, yes, I fuck things up. It happens. But...sometimes, you have to let me do things my way. Even if I'm wrong. Even if it's stupid. I'm too tired to fight with you all the time. Plus, I...I really don't want to. No. I don't like the blame game any more than you do. This is important to me. Papi...this is important. I need to do this. For me. For Al. For us. Okay?" Texas dragged his heel in the dirt. "I'm sorry. Sorry. You're right. I should've just been upfront about all of this from the start. But I didn't think you'd-Yes, I stand corrected. You CAN shut up. Gracias. Shoot, I know that. I can't make you do anything anymore than you can make me. Sí, sí, I will. Yes. I promise. Okay. Okay. Yes, okay! I don't know-I just-I will stop yelling when you stop yell-okay. Right. Te quiero." He ended the call and put his phone away. "Sooooo. He's on his way after us."

Alfred sent him an incredulous look.

"Yeah, I know. But you said we had a good head start. And if we DO die in the attempt, we got a cleanup crew comin' on up on the scene. Plus, he says he's good with the magic thing now. Who'd've thought?"

"..." Alfred raised an eyebrow.

Texas fidgeted a bit. "He said if his only choice was between accepting creepy pagan magic or losing me. He-" the brunet got choked up. "He'd choose me. Every time."

"..."

"I know, right? That's big. Huge. He's super, ultra, scary Catholic." He sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve and then bit down on a knuckle. "And he still-dammit, I told myself I wasn't gonna cry. But it really is something."

"Well, isn't that fucking wonderful?"

Reilley pulled his phone away to scold Alistair, "Jaysus, yeh barmy git, keep yer goddamn voice down. Or yeh'll give me away and they'll gimme the slip. I'm bleeding plankin' it over here. Stuff's afoot, man. I got theories-"

"We found Mathieu," the Scotsman growled.

"O yeh did now?"

"Aye. Used that confangled GPS to track his phone."

"An' how is the boyo?"

"I'm stuck in a tree" was the weak reply.

"And not the way one would expect," Rhys offered unhelpfully.

Reilley stared as their phone was moved to show him what they were dealing with. The Canadian was literally enmeshed in a tree. Like he'd sunk into it...like quicksand...but sideways.

"Fuck?!"

"Exactly," Alistair grumbled. "More of Alfred's handiwork."

Half of Mathieu's torso and all of his head were angled out, so he could breathe easily, but his hips, right arm, and right leg were encased. His left calf and foot were peeking out.

"It's very uncomfortable," Mathieu deadpanned. "My phone was in the pocket I couldn't reach to call or text...and I've needed to pee for the last half hour."

"Well, hold it a bit longer, laddie." Alistair drew his claymore from the ether and brandished it.

Momilani hooked a flashlight onto her belt as she held her cellphone between her ear and shoulder.

She'd already gathered up what couldn't be left behind at the site and was checking over the essentials she'd need for the mission.

She had a sports bag carrying the creepy map-quilt of Osha's letters, Alfred's Captain America backpack and all within it, some rations, some water, a compass, and the TOP SECRET folder Stuart had delivered.

Alaska warned her to be careful, "The witch and her familiars will know those woods intimately."

"Yeah…" she swallowed and tried to steel herself.

When Alfred's text had come through stating Plan A.5: H3ll N a H&bsket was on, she reminded herself that she'd demanded inclusion for this mission.

"Keep me informed," Alaska stated.

"I will."

She ended the call.

If she didn't text him periodically every three hours, he'd be on his way.

She blew out a slow breath; Alaska was kind of their reserve player. They could always depend on him showing up as the cavalry.

But she had this. She totally had this.

It was good she could hotwire a car. One pair of keys were with Spain and the other with Scotland, wherever the hell they were, and Rico's phone kept giving her a busy signal and sent her to voicemail.

She drove the vehicle as near to the coordinates as the road would allow. She texted Stuart to be prepared that the van might be towed and to be ready to make calls to spring it out.

The rest of the way would have to be on foot. In theory, she'd just need to travel laterally and she should make it there, possibly even before the rest of the group.

The morning sun had done little to burn off the unsettling mist rising up to dampen her clothing and chill her.

Perfect.

Cold damp was the worst.

The hours passed as she moved along, and the pale sunshine did little to warm up her half-frozen joints.

Still, looking at the pics Tex sent her of meagre animals they'd managed to catch and various plant bits they'd foraged for meals made her grateful for the rations she'd packed and the backup stash of jerky Alfred had squirreled away in his backpack.

She rolled a shoulder to crack it and texted Alaska that she kinda wished something would happen already.

It was that boring slump part of an adventure in between spots of action.

Alaska sent back that she was probably in the 'Calm Before the Storm.'

Which got hurricanes and tsunamis and other dangers to light up in her brain.

He probably did that on purpose to get her alert.

He was always kind of a Debbie Downer, so she tried not to get rattled...which got harder to do the longer she traveled without encountering anyone at all.

Plus, these continental trees just weren't as perky as her palm or hala trees.

Though maybe the unnerving sensation she was getting from them was what some tourists felt about her banyan trees.

Still, these ones here seemed far less friendly.

They were all dark and tall and sprawling and ominous here—blotting out light to disorient her eyes and tripping her feet up at the slightest provocation.

She shook her head. The solitude had to be messing with her if she was personifying TREES!

Come on, Momilani! Al would say this is just dystopian future training! Did she want to keep her place on his team or not?!

She longed to play music and liven the atmosphere up, but she didn't want to drain her phone.

Some time later she mused that while spring was nearly on them, days still didn't last long this high up in the northern hemisphere.

She turned on her flashlight and sang Pearly Shells and then Tiny Bubbles to herself because…

Because...Tch. Fine, Tex! She shook her fist at him symbolically. Because he would say "I told you so" given even half a chance.

It was more than a little creepy, being a lady totally alone in the woods. In the dark. While New England-ish or was it Middle Colony witches? Dammit, she didn't pay a lot of attention to Al's history. Were wandering around?

No. She was a strong, capable woman willing and able to kick the ass of anyone dumb enough to-

A hand clamped down on her shoulder.

"AHHHH!"

It would've been a jawbreaking punch, one of the good ones Al had personally taught her how to deliver, if Alistair hadn't caught it and twisted her into a harmless position.

"I know this ain't a coincidence," he muttered gruffly before letting her go with a gentle, but obviously irritated, shove.

The rest of the bedraggled group appeared in her flashlight's range.

Rhys frowned. "You know more about what's going on."

No pleasantries were made on his behalf, no denials on hers.

He took a step forward.

She blew out a slow breath.

He was the empath. It was a really eerie talent, but she was determined to hold her ground. "Obviously. Enjoying our nighttime stroll, gentlemen?"

"No." Three sets of thick brows furrowed.

Were they...short a member?

Rhys continued, "I'd prefer it if you didn't try to deflect. I can sense that's what you're trying to do."

They were short a member! They were missing a redhead. Where was Reilley?

She crossed her arms. "I'm not obligated to share-"

"I know Alfred's plan," England cut across. Even in her flashlight's glow, he looked unusually pale and sickly...even for a European.

"He told you?" She was unsure whether to feel relieved or threatened by the news. It was very out of character...for Al. Had something already gone wrong?

"...yes. Yes, before…when he..."

"When he?" she motioned for him to go on.

Arthur struggled to articulate, "...he…"

"What?" Panic was starting to eat at her.

"-assaulted him," Alistair supplied.

"What?!" The hell?

Arthur railed against that. "No, it-it wasn't thought out-"

"He assaulted him," Alistair repeated. "And then he went and trapped Mat-"

"Alba...after," Rhys warned. "After we've found him and left and everything's...settled."

Arthur sounded strangely defensive. "No. He...removed the hex that was on me. He just...didn't inform me that he was going to do so. He's a child. He can't be expected to reason-"

"That sounds like him. He always keeps me in a need to know basis." She sighed. It was super irritating. What the hell did you do, Al? She wondered. "So...you...know. Know what exactly?"

Arthur squirmed a bit as the eyes of his group fell on him. "I told you lot, he's heading to the 'bad thing' in the ground."

She put a hand on her hip, unconvinced.

Arthur noticed her doubt and elaborated, "Osha's letters created a map that you're following to coordinates somewhere in this wood. It's the gate he closed in 1812. You're scouting it out. He didn't wish us to know but wasn't able to dissuade us in such a way that wouldn't make us suspicious which finally culminated in him discarding the charade altogether. He couldn't deceive us for much longer and so he's simply opted for staying several steps ahead."

She nodded. Yup. That was the gist of it. At least Alfred came clean with most of it. Now for Arthur to cough up to a few things. "You hired a private investigator."

Arthur blinked. "Yes. Detective Jenkins-"

"Yes," she pulled out the folder and tapped it. "That opened a can of worms. It dredged this up. I can't show you this. Al shared it with me and Tex. It's really for his eyes only. But it was between him and President Madison."

"Then why are you telling me?"

"Because it's literally two sheets of paper and neither say much. And I saw you playing Sherlock Holmes with fewer details than that last year. I want to know what's going on too. And I want the real version not the Disneyfied report that those two will make up for me after the fact."

"...so you're going to...leak information to me? I don't know if I'm comfortable with-"

She didn't have time for comfort or legalities or Alfred's pissy enfant-terrible-rage when he learned that she broke ranks.

Alfred was acting weird and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.

What was that turn of phrase? She'd rather ask for forgiveness than permission?

In the last few hours, Alfred simply texted her two instructions. It was still enough to show he was operating on a different mental plane than usual:

Rendezvous at the penned coordinates.

Allocate and deliver supplies.

He usually didn't waste time typing things out like that. Normally, she'd get text speak that was concise and vague, like, c u s00n and bring stuff, plz and a happy face. Just in case their communications were being monitored.

And he didn't call her. He usually called and gave a few loaded statements she'd have to unpack afterwards.

No.

It was Texas who called her to keep her in the loop. And yes, he was honest and upfront and told her everything he knew but...

Alfred was letting Tex do the talking. He only did that when he really wasn't up to the task. Or hiding things.

She was worried. She was really worried and she wanted answers. If she had to get them from Arthur, so be it. She'd bend the rules where she needed to. Alfred was worth it.

"One just has a date, their signatures, and the word: 'Arrangements.' And…" Her expression faltered. "And the other is several weeks after with a-a really short apology? It's odd. It's...from the president and two sets of keys for the 'remaining effects of AFK to be delivered when inquired for.'" She gave air quotes.

Arthur mulled that over. "One of those dates is before the burning of the White House and the other is after."

"I-I guess?" She snuck a peek into the folder. "Yes. Yes, it is."

"We already have the trunk. And the trunk was full of letters. Remnants," he thought aloud, "...remaining...remainders...remnants of...property of Alfred Faer Kirkland-"

There was a loud SNAP of a branch breaking underfoot and a stifled curse.

Unfortunately, it wasn't enough warning to properly mount a counter attack.

Ropes moved like snakes and they soon found themselves captured.

Scotland sighed.

He blamed his shoddy battle instincts and rotten mood on precious little sleep and nearly nothing to eat. He had an awful hunger headache splitting his skull.

But there was more to it than that.

Damn it all. Somehow...somehow, it had happened: he'd gone soft.

Somewhere along the way he'd gotten used to military campaigns supplying him with the food he needed to stay strong and alert. He'd grown used to the convenience of having stores of food on hand for packing when he needed to make journeys to the fairy realms.

He'd grown entitled...used to having the best equipment when he planned to go for a hunt.

Nothing he did was truly spontaneous anymore.

Goddammit.

He'd lost a piece of himself. He could almost envision a younger Alba cursing him out. To go a full day without catching nuthin'…and with his brothers and Mathieu depending on him...

Ack, it was humiliating.

He cursed his predicament again.

His ropes were snug—expertly tied. "Not your first time." He nodded at the old crone dragging him by his feet.

Her smile revealed gray gums and missing teeth.

He could picture his nephew shuddering at the dreaded "meth mouth."

That brought more pain.

Why was he here?

O right.

Because their family was beyond dysfunctional.

They couldn't even go on a bloody camping trip without drama of epic proportions.

Arthur was in denial that his impromptu surgery was a gross violation and apparently Alistair didn't have leave to be angry about it.

Rhys had been adamant as they followed Arthur out of the hospital room that they needed to play along and tiptoe around that or they'd risk alienating themselves from their brother who needed their support but who was determined not to view Alfred as someone unpredictable and dangerous.

Unstable more like.

Hours earlier, Alistair had been stacking sleeping bags into the van when Rhys had dropped a cooler of food.

Reilley barely managed to keep it from landing on his foot. "Steady on!"

Alistair had stared at the mess for a beat because that did NOT happen; Rhys was too careful a man for that to simply happen.

His hazel eyes had been wide and he rasped. "Albion's in danger."

Fear and fury had clawed at him as they raced back to the site.

The fuck had he been thinking? Leaving the two most vulnerable members of their party alone? And right after their site had been breached!

Complete blunder on his part.

Arthur and Alfred should've already been moved out of enemy territory.

Seeing his youngest brother unconscious in the chair red pooling beneath him…

And then his nephew splattered in his father's blood.

He just...hadn't known what to do with Alfred then, other than push him away.

He'd been overwrought with shock at the betrayal or was it bewitchment?

The blue eyes had been bright and strange and feral, his expression unlike any he'd known from the boy.

There was a newfound sharpness to him that made him lethal.

Arthur's safety took priority then.

Alistair could come back for the boy.

And then Arthur's assurance that Alfred wasn't enchanted…

Alistair's stomach flopped each time he thought of it.

They'd let him into their circle, trusted him.

Arthur had probably let the child cozy right up to him and then-then!

Terrible.

But Rhys had hesitated on condemning him.

"He DID heal him. I just...I can't sense him or his intentions. So I...I don't know what thought processes he was going through then or is going through now. I thought he was bewitched but...if he wasn't...he was just...so different...I..."

Dammit, Alistair wasn't the actor type. It was good he'd gotten to banter with Reilley. That was easy. They'd been brothers in blood and arms for so long it forced normalcy even when they were on a calamitous battlefield. But now that the call had long since ended...he just couldn't keep it up.

This was a disaster.

His aura must've been a noxious thing because Rhys kept flashing him warning looks that he had to keep together.

He didn't know how.

The Scotsman was left near the Canadian, who shrugged his shoulders with a 'Ain't-this-the-way-it-goes?' expression.

Arseways. Everything had gone arseways.

Poor Mathieu hadn't really been rescued. He'd just gone out of the pot and into the fire.

Alfred was...mental. Assaulting his parent and his brother, deceiving his kith and kin, faking a drowning, and currently running wild through the woods in pursuit of a fairy gate or something with Texas in tow.

And Reilley was still...Irish and stupid and entirely beyond his reach to protect.

And then he couldn't even guard the people in his charge at the moment because he was fecking exhausted and tied up and his claymore was propped at the other end of their little cave!

O they were never going to be one o' those Hallmark card families.

He looked over at Arthur, who was glowering at the hags pacing around them and rummaging through Hawaii's bag.

Their eyes met and the emeralds stared him down angrily.

He was still smarting for Alistair's remarks against his child.

He sighed.

Having walked the beat as an officer, he'd seen his share of domestic violence. Knew how it could spring from the most unlikely of perpetrators…

There really wasn't any way to downplay it, though Arthur seemed determined to try.

Albion…

Albion, who couldn't let it go that Alba didn't hold back as he trained him up in swordsmanship (even despite numerous warnings and caveats that if he was to teach him to fight, he couldn't half-arse it), could turn around and forgive America for ANYTHING he did.

Scotland couldn't wrap his head around it.

They'd had plenty of fights over the years, true. But he'd never drawn blood like that.

It put him in a right rough spot now though.

Centuries earlier...it'd been easy to see America as the more vulnerable party and in need of shielding, guidance, and aid. Alistair had known when to cut off one of Arthur's snide remarks, when to invite the lad to a gentleman's club for a free meal, when to step in and offer advice or coffers or deliver a cuff to the ear when Alfred had need.

In short, when to protect him from the British Empire.

Except...Arthur wasn't really a force to protect him from anymore. Might not have ever been…

And it was seeming like...his brother was the one in need of Alistair's protection.

Only...the numpty would fight him tooth and nail if he gave it.

Because Alfred wasn't...was never...to be viewed as anything other than…

He remembered watching England holding the little colony close, letting the bairn ride on his shoulders, fussing over his clothing, ranting at his brothers for not safeguarding the teen during WWI...or at least not to the lengths he did.

Alfred would always be that to Arthur, wouldn't he? Something benign and harmless and desperate for his care. Alistair had similarly fallen into that trap.

He'd always been more aware that the child was strong and sturdy, but he never quite marked it off as Alfred being truly autonomous.

He was too young and inexperienced for Alistair to see him as the threat he could be.

His nephew...he'd...never been weak, had he? Not in the true sense of the word?

Down on his luck.

Overwhelmed and outnumbered often.

Forced into unfavorable positions and roles...and willing to bide his time there...

But not weak.

No…

Osha wouldn't have valued him as so integral a piece of her plans, if he'd been weak.

To think she and his brother would both see America as precious...but for entirely different reasons.

It made his brain hurt.

Even so.

Even so...not even he could loosen the grip on his heart. Like it was in a vice.

He was worried for the lad.

His nephew and Texas were alone and unguarded and these hags could easily get the drop on them as well.

Or would they?

Alfred had a track-record of snatching victory when it seemed least likely.

The hags were currently gagging Rhys and Momilani who hadn't taken their capture gracefully.

Still, they'd all been handled with remarkable care which could only mean they intended some kind of strong-armed negotiation. Perhaps this side of the Seelie and UnSeelie pond had developed a new governing system and they were flexing their muscles as it were?

They had to be political prisoners. Arthur was usually better at fancy talk and would've been his choice to speak on their behalf. But that would require workin' with the idgit and Alistair's patience was through. He'd take his chances.

"Alright, ladies. So what's your angle then?" Alistair asked. "You threaten us repeatedly and now that you have a momentary advantage...what is it you expect to get in exchange for us-"

"Threats?" One scoffed shrilly. "Threats? Did you hear him, Aggie? Threats!? Warnings and more than we rightly dared to give. My heart never beat so fast in my life-"

"I know, Prudence!" Another with a great hooked nose was similarly indignant. "Creeping like a marauding band of thieves in our own forest-"

"-To prevent another disaster-"

"-same number as before-"

Alistair wriggled against his bindings. "What're yeh saying? Be blunt-"

"We're trying to save you, you idiots!" their head witch hissed.

Texas would admit that stumbling around using his phone as a flashlight was giving him hard pangs of anxiety.

He was performing so many horror movie don'ts.

'Don't go in the woods.'

'Don't have a horror movie flashlight.'

'Don't explore at night.'

At least he didn't have a Ouija board.

His phone was on its last bar so he wouldn't be able to keep tabs on how fast his dad and brother were closing in on them. Or, you know, call for help and stuff.

And they'd need to navigate by moonlight once his phone died.

His feet kept catching on roots or rocks.

The third time he nearly tripped and fell on his face. Frustrated, he angled his phone down.

Graves.

He took a long hard gulp.

Tch. Yeah. Stumbling into a graveyard in the middle of the woods at night...Perfect.

Alfred clutched at Tex's leg.

Tex set a gentle hand on the blond, still slightly, damp head. His brother had always hated these places.

Right near two intersecting footpaths was a large grave. He lit up the inscription with his cell.

Second Lt. Alfred Faer Kirkland

1812

"I found one of you such that, for his acts,
in soul he bathes already in Cocytus
and up above appears alive, in body."

Tex pointed to it and forced a grin. "Ha, found ya. You thought you had another one somewhere. Here it is."

Alfred peered around him and then stood on top of Tex's feet, like they were gonna dance.

"We're here." He looked up at him solemnly. "It's down there."

Tex adjusted his glasses. "Kay. That ain't real helpful, Al. What's down there? The gate?"

"No. But it's blocking the gate. All of this-" He gestured at the graves. "-is blocking the gate. It's blocking the gate but it's keeping the bad thing in."

"Whellp, shoot. I-I-I don't have a shovel. Guess that bad thing's just gonna have to wait-I'll text Hawaii that we found it. Found it all actually-"

"I can't open the gate with it there."

So they really were going to try and whole-shot it, then?

There was a rumbling and then the ground split.

"Fuck!" He pulled Alfred away and stepped back almost tripping over another headstone which was moving .

Roots pulled and pushed out what looked like a great big section of an anchor or stocks: it had words or something etched into the metal.

It was what came up next that made his neck hairs stand up:

A chained up coffin that had been buried facedown.

"Exodus 22:18." Alfred said it softly. But what he didn't say echoed real loud:

Thou shall not suffer a witch to live...

"Witch's burial," Texas sucked in a nervous breath and reached for his gun. "When she bursts out...I'm gonna cap her."

Alfred shook his head adamantly. "We're not in any danger from-"

"What are you on about?" Tex spat. "You spoutin' off about the bad thing in the ground right before this pops up like a daisy?"

"Um, it's not a wit-"

"This is exactly the kind of dangerous thing we're s'posed to freak out about. Upside down. That was a thing then, so if they clawed their way out they wouldn't know which way to-and now that witch is gonna-"

"Bro, you're not in any danger...not like that," Alfred stated, reaching out to a low hanging branch and giving it a caress.

Tex pointed to the case-and-point creepy ass coffin. "Aaaaal-"

Sharp blue eyes locked on him. "I am the Witch of this Wood."

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