A/N: I just don't have any words to the amount of reviews I got from last chapter. I read every single one and you readers are freaking incredible. Just. Wow. Thank you. This would've been up sooner had life not gotten in the way. But next weekend the ending is going to be there for sure!
There's some Hanatamago Family, Ukraine (mentioned), and Romano thrown in there ^_^ Creative liberties were taken here in regards to train track times and stuff like that as well *Hides behind laptop*
Enjoy~
Disclaimer: Nope. Nada. Nichts. Non. Nyet. Do not own Hetalia.
"Next train to Penn Station doesn't leave until the morning."
"What? Are you sure?"
"Yes." The ticket agent answered, giving him a disapproving stare. Probably at his rudeness.
Shit, Alfred thought, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Are there any seats available?" He asked.
The ticket agent punched something into the computer. A tense moment flew by before she pursed her lips. "One," she said. "You lucked out."
"Can I buy that please?"
"49 dollars."
Alfred got out his wallet and pulled out two twenties, a five, some extra change from the bus fare, and a crumpled up dollar bill in his pocket. The total amount came to $46.50; just a mere two and a half dollars less. No…No no no no. This can't be happening! He panicked. Glancing up, he noticed how the ticket agent was giving him a disinterested look. Maybe she won't notice…
Paying up, he smiled big. Another lie. Sometimes he wondered how he managed it.
And for the first time in forever, someone saw through it. The woman frowned, counting the money, and gave him the most incredulous look he'd ever seen. "Really?" She said in her Bostonian accent. "You're missing two dollars and fifty cents."
The voice laughed at him. Idiot! Of course she'd notice. How naïve you are to think otherwise.
Alfred resisted the urge to cringe, instead biting his lip. "I know," he replied.
"You realize you can't buy the ticket?"
"But I need to!"
Desperate, desperate I am very desperate. Look at me in all my desperate-ness! The voice mocked.
"Look kid, unless you have the rest of the money, I cannot allow you to purchase this ticket."
A surge of helplessness washed over the blonde. What could he do? He didn't have any more left on him, and it didn't look like this ticket agent would bend the rules. And he wasn't about to go begging either. The teen's palms started to sweat. Oh god what was he going to do?
Just as he was on the verge of a panic attack, a person – probably the next one in line – came and stood next to him. He was small with olive skin and hazel eyes. Brown hair was brushed neatly, with the exception of one curl, and he had a frown on his face. The man couldn't have been but a few years older than Alfred, most likely still in college. To the ticket agent, he gruffly said in his Italian accent, "Here, I'll help pay for this idiota."
The lady blinked in surprise and raised an eyebrow. "Do you know him?" She asked Alfred.
"N-" The blonde said, only to be cut off by the brunette.
"Sì, sì." The brunette waved a hand in dismissal. "He's my idiot brother's friend Alfred. How much money you need?"
"T-two dollars and fifty cents," Alfred stammered in shock. Someone was helping him…he thought no one cared about him. Did that mean that this strange Italian did? In some strange, random way?
No. The voice deadpanned. He said you were an idiot.
The Italian quickly paid the rest of Alfred's ticket before getting his own. Giving the American his ticket, he gave a curt nod before bidding the ticket agent farewell and walking away. The American stood there for a second or two, processing what had happened…
"Hey! Wait!" Alfred exclaimed, taking off towards the guy.
The Italian turned around. "What the fuck do you want now?" He grumbled irritably.
Alfred internally winced. He thinks I'm a nuisance. I probably shouldn't be bothering him, he thought. "I-I just wanted to say thanks," he explained.
"Tch, don't mention it."
"Um, what's your name?"
"Why the hell do you want to know?"
This time Alfred visibly flinched, the Italian's face morphing into Arthur's for a split second. All he had wanted to do was fully thank him, try to have manners and be grateful. Was he doing something wrong? Did he say something offensive? Face red with embarrassment, he replied lamely, "W-Well you know mine so…"
A sigh. Then, "Lovino Vargas."
Blue eyes grew wide with recognition. How stupid Alfred had been not to recognize Feliciano's brother! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Might as well add that onto the list of his failures – which was becoming quite long, to be honest. His hands shook as he felt an onslaught of reprimands coming his way. He would never live this down. An ex-friend's brother helping him get to Manhattan (which was purely by luck and timing) when he'd been kicked out not even two hours ago. And he hadn't had the decency to remember said brother's name. "Oh shit," Alfred whispered, paling. "Dude, I'm so sorry."
Lovino narrowed his eyes. "What? That you don't remember my name? Does Feliciano not talk about me at all?"
"N-No, it's not that." It's just that I haven't talked to Feliciano in a long time…
"You forgot, didn't you?"
Alfred hung his head in shame. Because yes, yes he had forgotten. And that was unforgivable.
Lovino sighed again and tapped his foot. "When does your train leave, bastard?" He asked grumpily.
"Not for another twelve hours."
"Come on then. I'm hungry and you look like you're fucking starving to death. What the fuck has Eyebrows been doing, huh? Has he not feeding your skinny ass?"
Alfred flinched involuntarily. It wasn't his dad's fault he was so unattractive. It was his and his alone. And he didn't want to talk about his weight. Or food. Or his dad. Not yet. Not now. He didn't have enough energy to. Yet here was Lovino – in all his negative glory – commentating on how he looked like and what he should eat and calling him names and paying for his ticket and it was just too much. Alfred felt as if he owed the Italian something, but he didn't have any money to buy anything and there was no way he was going to eat anything and he had no worthy possessions to give. Oh god. What was he going to give Lovino in return?
Lovino seemed to notice his internal panic attack, for his gaze softened and he said, "It's my treat, so don't worry, idi – Alfred. Jesus you've changed a lot; fratello wasn't lying."
The American licked his dry lips and looked anywhere except at the Italian. So Feliciano was talking about him behind his back? What did he say? Probably negative things, but that was supposed to be a given. After all, the blonde had been a shitty friend. "O-Okay," he replied, feeling small and scrutinized.
The brunette harrumphed and started to walk towards the small food court. "Come on. You can pay me back by eating something," he called over his shoulder.
Anxiety twisted more knots into Alfred's stomach. Did Lovino want him to get fat?! But he followed anyway simply because he had to.
"So what are you doing here alone?" Lovino asked over a cup of coffee.
Alfred looked down at his cinnamon pretzel and shrugged, not wanting to tell the truth. Quite frankly, he still hadn't come to grips with it. The fact that Arthur had thrown him out was too painful. Too much to think about too soon. And who knew how long Aunt Michelle would tolerate him and his problems before kicking him out as well? Then he'd really be alone with this demon of his. If she did kick him out, the teen wouldn't know what else to do other than kill himself. He shivered internally at the thought of suicide. Such a bittersweet word that was. To finally be free of problems for the price of death. Taking the easy way out…
No. It was best not to tell Lovino this. Alfred didn't want to be burdensome.
"I'm just taking a trip to see my aunt." It wasn't exactly a lie, but not the truth either.
Lovino looked at him incredulously. "During the middle of the fucking semester?"
"Yeah."
"Damn your grades going to suffer."
"What about you?" Alfred asked, changing the subject. "Don't you go to college or something?"
"In Italy," Lovino proudly said, his facial expression turning smug. "I'm just here visiting."
"That's cool." I don't think I'll ever make it that far.
"BWI had the cheapest plane ticket, so I'm going to fly from there. Stop in Spain for an hour layover before departing to Italia." Lovino explained after a moment of silence.
The American nodded and picked at his food. It was revolting how much sugar and fat was stored in one oversized pretzel. A bite of that had to have over a hundred calories or something equally as horrifying. When Lovino had gotten it for him, he had been tempted to immediately throw it away. The only thing that had held him back was that harsh Don't-You-Fucking-Dare look the Italian had given him. That, and the fact that he still owed the man something.
"Eat that shit already," Lovino ordered. "It's not some sort of fucking plaything or whatever."
"I can't eat it," Alfred protested weakly. "I'm not hungry."
"I don't believe you, seeing as how skinny you are."
"I'm not –"
"Look me in the eye and say that again or I won't believe it."
…skinny, the teen finished in his mind. "But –"
"Look me in the eye and say it."
Alfred's stomach rumbled quietly as his blue eyes met Lovino's hazel ones. True, he hadn't eaten in over a day, but that didn't make him hungry; and if it did, he ignored it like always. "I'm not," he started, trying his best not to crack. "I'm not hungry."
Lovino held eye contact for a bit, trying to see if he was lying or not. Grumbling, he finally did break eye contact and looked at his watch. He cursed before getting up. "I'm going to be late for my train if I don't leave now. The least you can do for me right now is eat a few pieces of it," he stated, hazel eyes looking slightly stormy.
Numbly, Alfred ripped off a small piece of the pretzel and popped it into his mouth. It's only to please him, he chanted in his mind. I'm going to spit it out when he goes. It's only to please him.
"Chew it," the Italian demanded.
Wincing, the American chewed; the cinnamon taste foreign to his mouth.
"Swallow."
Alfred shook his head. No.
"Swallow, Alfred."
Another shake of the head. He couldn't do this.
"Swallow."
And the teen did. He felt horrible for doing so, but it pleased the Italian.
"Good," Lovino said. "Five more pieces like that."
"What about your train?" Alfred asked, not wanting to eat anymore of the sickening food.
The Italian waved his cup of coffee in the air dismissingly. "So long as you don't take all fucking day I should be fine." Upon seeing Alfred open his mouth to protest, he added quickly, "If you do take all day, then you better find a way to pay both for my train ticket and air ticket, bastard."
That got the American to set aside whatever pride he had left and hurriedly eat five more pieces. By the time he was done, he felt like a bloated balloon that couldn't pop. Wrapping his arms around his middle, he weakly looked up at the Italian. Said Italian appeared satisfied and nodded approvingly. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?" He questioned.
Yes, the teen disagreed while willing the upcoming bile to go back down. It was.
"So ciao, Alfred."
"…Bye, Lovino."
And just like that, Feliciano's brother left Alfred behind in the food court. Alfred who felt sick to his stomach and more alone than ever. Groaning, the teen stood and, keeping one hand around his heavy stomach, took the pretzel and threw it away. He felt ashamed he had even eaten six pieces of that; and he wanted it out of his system immediately. Out. Out. OUT!
No, a part of his mind argued. Keep it in. It's okay.
It's bad, a larger part reminded him. It's going to make you fatter. 108 pounds is still not good and if you ever want to get under 100, then shit food like this needs to be gone. Completely. Now get it out you fat cow!
The urge to vomit came up stronger than before. So strong was it that this time Alfred grabbed his things and ran to the nearest bathroom. He just couldn't help it! And as he hung his head over the toilet bowl vomiting, angry tears streaming down his face, he wished that Lovino hadn't shown his face at all.
"May I have your ticket, please?" The conductor asked. She was a pretty woman with short blonde hair and blue eyes. Her name tag said Katyusha, which sounded really foreign. When Alfred gave her his ticket, she smiled and tucked it into the overhead compartment. "Thank you kindly. Enjoy your ride." Was all she said before moving onto the next person.
"Whoa did you see her boobs?" The kid sitting next to Alfred exclaimed, looking back. "They were huge!"
"Peter!" A man – probably the boy's dad – exclaimed in horror from across the aisle. "That's not appropriate!"
The boy named Peter stuck out his tongue, and for a second Alfred feared for the boy. But nothing happened other than a stern look in which Peter easily brushed off. His dad sighed and caught Alfred's eye. "Oh!" He squeaked. "I'm sorry for my son's behavior. He has no filter." A nervous laugh followed.
Alfred gave a small smile. "No worries, dude."
"So what's your name then?"
"I'm Alfred. And you?"
"Tino."
"And I'm Peter!" Peter cut in, bouncing on his seat.
"So I've noticed," Alfred said.
Tino looked up and down the aisle, his blonde hair falling to one side softly. Frowning, he looked back at Alfred with his violet eyes and remarked, "Berwald is supposed to be here; he –"
"-He's my other dad," Peter explained, much to Tino's growing horror. The boy suddenly stopped bouncing, crossed his arms, and grumbled, "But he's the stern one and doesn't let me have any fun."
"That's not true," the violet-eyed man argued. "He does."
"Only sometimes."
Alfred could sympathize, he often had felt that way. "I know how it feels, bud. One of my dads' is really nice, while the other is…" he trailed off as numerous adjectives scrolled through his mind. Mean. Critical. Unloving. Resentful. Hard to please.
Right.
"You have two fathers too?" Peter questioned, eyes wide.
Thankful for the interruption, Alfred nodded. This caused the boy to brighten up considerably and he exclaimed, "I thought I was the only one!"
"Guess not."
"Did you hear that, isä? I'm not alone anymore!"
Tino shook his head, looking relieved. "You never were to begin with."
"Do you have any brothers?" Peter asked, turning to Alfred.
"One," the American responded uneasily. His heart hurt to think of Matthew and how the Canadian didn't deserve a brother like him. It probably was for the better that Arthur had kicked Alfred out; at least that way he didn't hurt the family further.
"Rats. I don't have a brother."
"Wh't's th's abo't br'thers?" A deep voice questioned from behind them.
Both boys turned around to look at the newcomer, and Alfred immediately felt small. Standing there was a tall man with short blonde hair and greenish-blueish eyes hidden behind glasses. He was dressed in a blue trench coat with a matching hat along with clothes underneath. The man had an intimidating aura about him and his face was impassive. Alfred wondered if this strange man was judging him.
Tino, however, didn't seem fazed. Smiling brightly, he exclaimed, "Berwald! Where were you? The train's about to depart."
Berwald grunted and shrugged his shoulders, taking a seat right beside Tino. Apparently that was the only explanation.
"Right well, Berwald this is Alfred. Alfred, this is Berwald," The smaller man introduced hurriedly.
"H-Hi," the teen said.
Another grunt.
Fully uneasy now, Alfred got out his iPod and phone. He thought that if he didn't bother the family, they wouldn't judge him negatively. And besides, it wasn't as if Peter was still talking to him anymore. Instead, the younger boy was kicking the seat in front and complaining when the train would leave. The couple across the aisle were talking swiftly in a foreign language too, only breaking out of their conversation to remind their child to behave. The coast was practically clear.
He quickly sent another text to Michelle. It was a reminder text since he had already texted her the night before. But hey, it couldn't hurt to make sure she was going to meet him. As soon as it sent, he pocketed his phone.
Headphones on. Music turned up. Watch the train roll out the station. Once again in his own little world. Shut eyes.
Listen.
"Matthew! Matthew! Can't catch me! Na nana boo boo!" Alfred cried out, laughing.
"Oh yes I can!" Matthew responded from up on the slide. His voice was too quiet though, so the younger brother didn't quite catch it.
The blue-eyed six-year-old inched closer, giggling. It was fun to play Tag – especially if you were faster than your opponent; which Al so was – and it was even more fun to do it on a playground. The slides, monkey bars, steps, and swings all made for excellent obstacles to dance around. And so far, Matthew hadn't been quite able to maneuver around them all yet. He was the clumsier of the two in any case, so it wasn't surprising.
Said brother quickly slid down and dashed after his kin. Alfred shrieked with excitement and ran away. He didn't want to be It. A hand touched his shoulder a second later however, and he heard Matthew wheeze, "You're It."
"Aww," Alfred whined, turning around. "No fair."
"It is fair, Al. I got you, so you're It."
"Fine. But you better run!"
The two continued to play Tag by themselves for a bit. The overcast sky shielded them from most of the sun's harsh rays; and the wind served them as a constant cooling fan. Finally, when they were all tuckered out with red faces, they went to the bench where their somewhat new parents sat. "I'm tired," the American stated unashamedly.
Francis laughed and ruffled his son's wind-blown hair. "Are you now?" He asked.
Alfred nodded. "And I want water," he added on.
"You drank all the water already, Alfred." Arthur gently reminded.
"But I want more."
"Okay. See that water fountain over there?" The Brit questioned, pointing to their right.
Alfred turned his head and saw what his dad had mentioned. A tall water fountain stood about a hundred feet away. "Uh huh," he said.
"That has water in it."
"It's tall..."
"I'll help you then."
"Really?"
"Yes."
The little boy smiled brightly and tugged on his dad's hand. "Let's go now!" He exclaimed.
The British man chuckled and stood up. Turning to his other, shyer son, he asked, "Do you want to come with us, Matthew?"
Matthew shook his head and edged closer to his other father, too shy to answer. He still wasn't used to Arthur yet and was wary. Francis, whom Matthew trusted more, noticed and replied for him, "I think he wants to stay here. Right, Mathieu?"
The Canadian nodded slowly before burying his head into the Frenchman's t-shirt. Arthur was about to reply when Alfred tugged on his arm. "Come on, Dad," he said impatiently. "Let's go to the water thing!"
"Patience, Alfred. And it's called a water fountain," the green-eyed man replied easily.
The boy made a face as they walked over. "Found tin?"
"Fountain. Not 'found tin'."
"Oh."
"You'll get it eventually."
"'Kay."
In the end, Alfred had gotten his water (Arthur having helped him a little) and when they got back, Francis had proposed going out for ice cream. Both Matthew and Alfred were ecstatic at the idea (though the former showed it less), so the four left the park. The rest of the day went smoothly as well.
And for a while after that, the family was happy.
Someone poked him in the shoulder, shattering the memory.
Once.
Twice.
Three times again.
Alfred opened his eyes blearily, taking off his headphones. Rubbing his eyes, he asked tiredly, "What's happenin'…?"
Peter watched him closely. "We're going to arrive at the next stop," he informed.
"Already?"
"You slept through the whole ride, dummy."
That got the teen wide awake. No way could he have fallen asleep! True, he hadn't slept a wink at the train station, but that didn't give him the right to fall asleep like that. "Dude, are you serious?!"
Peter nodded his head towards his parents, who were getting their belongings together. That was all the evidence Alfred needed before the anxiety set in. Did he snore? Did he drool? Had he moved in his sleep? He did that sometimes, he knew. Oh god what did he look like? The American swiftly patted down his hair. Ugly, the voice said. Ugly like always.
How could he possibly face Aunt Michelle in this state?
His text! He had forgotten about it! In a rapid motion, he got out his phone. 1 new message, the screen read. The blonde quickly pushed it and saw that it was from Michelle saying:
See u then! :)
"Oh my god," Alfred whispered, leaning his head against the headrest. How was he going to face her? Now that she was definitely coming?
"You alright?" Peter asked, his thick eyebrows bunching together.
The teen waved the boy off. "Yeah…"
No. No I'm not. I can't fucking breathe.
"Attention passengers," the intercom announced. "We are arriving at Penn Station. Penn Station. Thank you for traveling with us."
Alfred's stomach churned as the train stopped. Getting up, he noticed how Tino and Berwald were all ready to go. "Come on, Peter," Tino said, holding out his hand. "Time to go."
Peter slung his backpack over his shoulder, jumped up, and replied, "I don't need to hold your hand. I'm twelve!"
"Do you want to get lost? After all, your father and I can always see Mamma Mia by ourselves."
"No! Of course not! And you have to take me with you – I'm important!"
"Good. Now take my hand."
Face burning, the preteen did what he was instructed to do, grumbling something under his breath.
Tino rolled his eyes and caught Alfred's eye. Smiling, he said, "It was nice to meet you, Alfred. Hopefully we'll meet again soon."
Berwald grunted in agreement from behind his husband.
Alfred forced a weak smile on his face. "Yeah," he agreed.
The doors opened just then and, with one last wave, the trio stepped out and got lost in the crowd. Realizing that he had exactly less than two minutes to get out, the American pocketed his iPod before putting on his own backpack and getting his suitcase down from the overhead compartment. Then he walked out of the train and into the swarm of people. Everyone was walking towards the stairs, which led up and into the street. Alfred followed along and soon stood outside in the misty air. Anxiousness squirmed within him as he frantically looked for his aunt.
His phone buzzed in his hand, a new message from Aunt Michelle. Opening it up, he read: turn around.
The American whipped around and saw a woman leaning against a building. When they made eye contact, she ran over, smiling. "Alfie!" She squealed. "I'm so glad you arrived safe! Goodness you must be exhausted. Don't worry, I'll hail a cab for us. Oh and here, lemme take your suitcase! I've missed you so much."
Alfred, despite his nerves, genuinely smiled back. It felt good – no, it felt safe – to be back in Aunt Michelle's presence. She never judged him or criticized him or belittled him. She didn't talk about his weight or what he ate or what he looked like. She was simply Michelle; and for that, Alfred was grateful.
"Hi," he greeted shyly. "I'm really sorry about burdening you. Especially since its last minute…"
"No," Michelle said firmly, putting a finger to his lips. "Don't be sorry for something you have nothing to be sorry for. And you're not a burden, Alfred. I love you; you're my nephew. So don't you ever feel like you're a problem, okay?"
Alfred nodded reluctantly. Since when was he not a problem? He had always been a problem. Always, always, always.
The islander noticed his denial and her eyes softened. She then let her hand fall to her side before gently enveloping the American in a hug. "You're here now," she murmured. "You're safe. And I'll be by your side every step of the way until you're better. I promise."
It took all of the teen's willpower not to start crying. Those words were overwhelming for him - particularly during the last twenty four hours. His dad had thrown him out; no one bothered to call from home; he felt angry, torn up, tired and fat. Yet through it all here was Aunt Michelle hugging him. Telling him it would be okay. That he would be okay again. Giving him support.
It was more than he had ever dared hoped for.
It was more than he deserved.
But a small part of him felt relieved that finally someone was there.
Translations:
Idiota – Idiot (Italian)
Sì, sì – Yes, yes (Italian)
Fratello – brother (Italian)
Italia – Italy (Italian)
Isä – dad (Finnish)