In the aftermath of Ireland's brush with death, the atmosphere within the home was incredibly hostile. Arthur had retreated to his room, in an effort to prevent another beating and to nurse his wounds. Medwyn, fearful of his sickly sibling slipping away again, stayed by Cathal's bedside diligently while Alistair saw to Alfred. The child was struggling to process what he'd seen and heard. Ireland had died? But then, he came back...how was that possible? And Alistair had hurt Arthur, badly, and said it was his fault Cathal had died...was that true? Did Arthur try to kill his own brother? How? Why? All of these unanswered questions whirlpooled inside of America's head. Alistair set down a cup of hot chocolate for the child, taking a seat at the dining table adjacent. Admittedly, seeing Scotland attack England in such a crazed frenzy made the child somewhat nervous around his uncle.
Alistair sensed this, as he drew in a deep breath, readying himself to speak. How would be explain what had happened? How could he? All the child saw was him beating up Arthur and Medwyn sobbing over Cathal's corpse- the boy must be beyond terrifed. For the seriousness of the situation, the Scotsman figured that honesty would be the best policy and so decided to be upfront with the country. Though he was young, Alfred was a country and would grow to face many dire situations which he cannot be shielded from forever. Which was why, albeit unsure of the correct way to begin the conversation, Alistair felt he was doing the appropriate and right thing.
"Alfred, I know you must be very confused and frightened by what you saw so I want to explain to you what happened" Alistair began, his voice soft.
"You hurt Arthur, you said he killed uncle Cathal..." Alfred murmured under his breath, staring at the reflection looking back at him in his beverage.
"I did..." Alistair trailed off, pondering how to explain this remark to the boy.
"Arthur wouldn't do that! Especially not to his own family, he loves us!" Alfred protested, pushing his drink to one side and jumping down from his chair.
"Alfred-" Alistair sighed, resting his head in the palm of his hand.
"How COULD YOU?!" The boy screamed at the top of his lungs, lunging at Alistair and aiming kicks and punches at the man. Of course, these blows didn't hurt and Scotland was easily able to fend the child off until he naturally exhausted himself.
"Alfred, there are some things that as you grow older, you'll realise weren't at all what they seemed. Arthur-" The brunette was cut off by Alfred tearing himself away from the older nation and stomping out of the room.
"I'm not listening to you, I HATE you!" The American roared, running up the stairs and shutting himself in his bedroom.
The Scotsman sighed, massaging his aching temples. If Alfred wanted to be enraged by anyone, it should be Arthur not him, yet the child wouldn't let him explain himself. Most likely because, as his primary caregiver, Arthur could do no wrong in the boy's eyes. This would probably continue, as Arthur would see to it that the boy was fed a heavy portion of lies that were the farthest thing from the truth.
Alistair could only hope that Alfred would discover the truth one day, and that day would come soon.