Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Or Power Rangers. Or Lego. Or McDonald's and it's PlayPlaces. Or Shakespeare's St. Crispin's Day Speech (King Henry): "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; / For he to-day that sheds his blood with me / Shall be my brother…" Or "The Road to Eldorado" film and its meme: "Both? Both. Both is good."
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for the sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, linguistically, and grammatically). Second hand smoke. Implied child neglect.
AN: Hey! : D ¡Feliz Día de los Muertos!
Scarletnightcrawler is in the lead! I didn't expect to grow attached to Spain either, but he's endearingly bullheaded. And Mattie is winning back the crowd, too! Thank you for reading! :D
Lixe877—Because mac & cheese is delicious. He loves pie and pi, so watch out for when March 14th comes around.
MythplacedLogic—Thank you! I was like, "Is it too soon?" Nah, bros would lay it out like that. You're right on it for Tex—he's been so isolated for so long that there's more than just quirkiness going on with him. Losing opportunities to interact with other personifications besides Team USA [beyond family scuffles and war situations] didn't do him any favors in the long run. X_X) They need support networks! Meanwhile…poor Rhys, he's a cold fish that can't communicate well and it bites him hard, repeatedly.
ByakuyaLove—Rhys=Eldest Daughter Syndrome XDDD I laughed so hard at this… and then I felt bad for him. And then I laughed again. YES; Tejas IS the glamorous nerd/geek in a jock family. (They consider Mejico the "smart one" because she makes sense to them, is socially savvy enough/tough enough to make her own way, and can create and follow the plans she makes. Pretty-boy Tex is more of that math/science brain smart—he doesn't express himself eloquently with words, he's still learning how to adult, he can be conflict-avoidant and immature, he'll take bizarre calculated risks if Al is part of the equation, and he usually needs to collaborate to accomplish meaningful goals—historically speaking, he has ALL of this incredible potential to be and stay a nation in his own right…but he can't quite make it as a solo act…and he learned to enjoy being a right hand man and co-captain depending on the situation (which, IMHO, was super smart=less mental load).
LapisBapis—Thanks for reading! :D
Reader of Rhapsody—O the tragic lack of pasta! I think all of the bros (and Romano) are trying in their own special ways to step up (with mixed results).
Time Traverser—Scarletnightcrawler was FAST on the draw! XD Will Tex's bros help or hinder…cue the "The Road to Eldorado" meme: Both? Both. Both is good.
Amerikia—THIS. I feel for Rhys though cuz he's trying SO hard this go around. But Arthur's gonna go feral if Rhys doesn't watch himself and stay in his lane.
Superwholock12345—You get a modified Shakespeare's St. Crispin's Day Speech: "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; / For he to-day that sheds his blood with me / Shall be my brother…" C'mon, uphold the mantle and fight for ffnet with me and your fellow fanfic/fandom dwellers. Be proud to be counted among us. XDDD (Right now, I have my experimental Star Wars fic testing out the waters of A03 under ASnappleofDiscord. It's about halfway done, I think. Once it wraps up, I'll have a better idea of how a non-shipping fic will do over there. I'm still learning how to wrangle tags.).
Navigator101—It's cool you're a Texan! I've only visited TX but the parts that really impressed me was how vast the land stretched out and how blue the sky was. And how there weren't a lot of trees (I'm used to triple digit summers so the heat didn't bother me). Meanwhile, I visit Alabama and there are trees all over the place and growing through buildings and things and often the sudden rain showers were the same temperature as the air! Which was wonky. (Confession: I stare O_O intensely at geographical features as I visit states—and I constantly drag various kinds of maps into my school presentations even now! XD I often receive the note from instructors/peers *cough twice this week*: I never thought about inserting a map into this discussion.)
Guest—Hey! Thanks for reading! Hmm, I envision Rhys being around 27-28 with that British lankiness but he's youngish looking (which is why he can occasionally be mistaken for Arthur…and it sometimes annoys him). Alistair is 25-26 but is broad shouldered and mature looking and because he acts with authority, he is often mistaken as the eldest (which always annoys Wales—their other brothers don't see an issue with it). Reilley has a lean boxer's frame and is a solid 25–young enough to be reckless, but old enough to know better…and his bros don't want to hear him complain. (No one mistakes him for the oldest/youngest. He's the middle kid.)
Thank you for reading!
Hope you had a Happy Halloween yesterday and are looking forward to November!
Chapter 6: I Need You To Stall It
Three days.
They had three days before Arthur would return to them.
Mathieu had set down towels and blankets in an effort to make the hardwood floors more comfortable to lay down on.
He'd set up his laptop to play Power Rangers in the background.
Earlier, he'd gone out for reinforcements.
The squirt guns and water balloons he'd purchased initially were a no-go if Al was having trouble staying warm, despite this being an unusually hot Scottish summer.
Mathieu had to adapt.
So, he bought a truly obnoxious, giant art box of supplies—earning the envious eyes of every child under fourteen as well their parents' glares.
Those scoffs from Scottish adults remarking that the large purchase was a waste of money didn't fool him.
And when the cashier had asked if he was an art student he declared that "No, he wasn't. It was for his little brother." And he didn't say "sorry" even once!
Revealing it as the main purpose of his trip had even gotten Alfred super excited for half a second before—
"Are you sure I can have this? I know I'm not as good as you."
Like it would be a waste of money and resources.
"I bought it just for you. Texas said you always wanted the big one and how good you were."
Alfred had gotten flustered. "Well, compared to him, yeah. He just stick-figures everything!"
"I hope you like it. I tried to find one I thought you'd find exciting."
Which earned a "Of course, I love it. Everyone loves these. Anyone who says otherwise is lying!"
After this declaration, his ears went red as he tried to hug the oversized kit to his chest.
Alfred was now surrounded by a pile of markers, though he happily rolled them Mathieu's way whenever he requested a color.
They weren't the professional grade art supplies that Francis would've preferred if Mathieu was drawing something for him…
But this drawing wasn't for him.
Mathieu was creating a contemporary multicolored, postmodern pop art picture of the Statue of Liberty.
Al was going to love it. He remembered how much Alfred had adored getting a Lego set of her last December.
When Mathieu took a break to rest his hand and laugh at all the ink staining it, he glanced over at the assembly line of artworks his brother had produced.
His current work was of himself on a pier watching a ship sail away.
There were more. Mathieu shuffled closer to take a look.
Alfred standing on a shore, sitting in a tree, watching from a carriage…as ships grew distant.
Away…it was clear from how the sails were pointed.
None of the illustrations showed Alfred's face. He was always turned—watching the ships.
Those were the ones Mathieu was supposed to see.
Some others slipped out later as Alfred was setting them into a packet with other older pictures.
Wendigo.
With enough violent detail to make the Canadian's skin crawl.
Awful.
With people…and parts of people strewn around while Roanoke was cowering under a broken wagon as the monsters fed.
There were other drawings that were less obvious in why they were disturbing.
A small, smiling Alfred was living underground with the roots of a tree overhead in almost total darkness…
A rotting crow's skull…with insects burrowing through it.
Another was the angle—looking up from a pit into what could only be Owl Woman's eye…
And a chair next to a lake?
No. The chair was attached to a pole.
Wait…
He'd seen this in England's museums: ducking.
A ducking stool.
His eyes kept focusing on one where Alfred was standing with some children in the woods.
He was wearing a brown flower crown and his hands and feet had been colored purple.
When he asked why Alfred chose that color, he shrugged that it seemed closest out of the colors available.
"When my mouth turned like that, they didn't want to play with me anymore."
Mathieu looked harder at the picture.
The trees didn't have leaves.
The other children wore shoes, hats, scarves, and hooded cloaks.
"What happened after this?"
"I was sad and tired. It upset me. They'd said if I stayed we'd play every day. So I stayed. But they didn't keep their promise."
"I'm sorry, Al."
He nodded and then shrugged. "I took a nap and then I felt better."
"A nap, eh?" He felt his heart sink.
"Yeah." Alfred pulled out another drawing.
The trees had leaves again and Alfred's flower crown had bright colors.
Mathieu closed his eyes for a moment and then tried to be upbeat. "What happened next?"
Alfred gave him a toothy grin. "I found my ribbon!"
It dangled down through branches over a bright blue river.
"Do you…show these to your counselor?"
"Yeah. He thinks they're great and we talk about them. I can draw anything and it's okay. They don't have to be gallery-worthy."
Mathieu tried not to feel a poke at that. It was Alfred's own hurt over the two of them being endlessly compared.
He studied the art more critically.
The colors Alfred used tended to be vivid.
Now that his memory was back, there was intensity even in small details.
One seemed to be of last December's holiday.
Alfred was seated at the table with everyone…who were cheery and engaged with each other…and pointedly ignoring him.
Mathieu felt a twinge of guilt.
And the Alfred in the picture was sad and staring off.
No.
He was staring at…a dark clawed arm that reached up across the server's cart.
Grym.
Mathieu swallowed thickly. "I really like your drawings, too, Alfred. Can I see more of them?"
Alfred's eyes brightened. "Really?"
"Yeah."
Alfred smiled. "Okay."
There were more of Grym…under a China hutch, in the shadow of a piano, inside a PlayPlace slide, under the bed, and in other dark spaces—many of them had him half way formed because Grym was materializing out from the ether.
"You'll tell me, won't you? The next time you deal with something like Grym? Right, Al?"
It was terrifying to see that monster rendered in such close proximity to his brother. It was often just out of arm's length.
Mon Dieu…
Under his bed…
Alfred squirmed. "Yes, next time I deal with a bodoach—"
"Any kind of stranger like this," Mathieu hastily clarified.
Alfred's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Any stranger that's secretive like this and doesn't want you talking to your family about them. Meets up with you in inappropriate places. Stalks you. Threatens you. Makes you feel uncomfortable, or unsafe, or all alone, or uncared for."
"Creepers," Alfred mumbled.
Mathieu nodded emphatically. "Exactly. I want you to tell me whenever there's a creeper."
"…"
"So I can help you stay safe."
There was a heavy beat as Alfred weighed this out and then, "Okay, Mattie." And then, "I'm glad you're not mad at me about the tree anymore."
Honestly, he was still a little sore about it, but… "I'm your brother. I'm on your side."
Alfred set the cap back on a green marker. "It'll be nice to have someone like you on my side. You think a lot. I mean, you think things through. Tex trusts me for all that…but sometimes… I'm wrong. Daddy just assumes I'm wrong…that I think wrong, period. And trees are helpful, but they don't think much."
He was trying to pay him a compliment along the lines of having someone he could receive good counsel from.
Something Mathieu wanted…only, he was more concerned about what else he'd heard just now.
"Arthur's on your side, too. He doesn't always think you're wrong."
His brother's expression grew pained.
He continued on more urgently, "Whenever your safety is at stake, we all want to know so we can help you. It's not about judging you."
"…"
It made a sickening sort of sense that it wasn't that Alfred didn't always realize when he was in over his head…it was that he didn't see himself as…as having a support network he could rely on.
He was the pillar among his group.
When he faltered, there was no one to call for help.
"I don't know how to fix all of this," Alfred mumbled. "I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have dragged you all into my fight with Harris. I'm the hero and he's my bad guy, but I-"
That monster of a man fit the definition he'd given…
"Harris was a creeper," Canada blurted out, on realizing the obvious. "Before…when he was alive and then…after. Wasn't he?"
Alfred fiddled with his sketch pad nervously. "He would…he would just show up. He was-was scary. He was…scary. Angry. I-I couldn't get him to like me."
Mathieu pulled his brother close as he shivered.
"He was scary. And when he was a bad thing in the ground…he didn't like all of you—"
"Al, why didn't you just tell us you sensed—"
"Who would believe me?!"
"Us! Your family! We would believe you!"
Alfred pulled back looking like he wanted to argue it and then, in a very unsure voice, asked, "Really?"
Alistair had to hold it together. He'd arrived that afternoon to find everyone at his country house, with the exception of little Al, angry with him.
He'd even been asked to step out for a private chat with the Grays.
Birds were twittering in the trees. Wind was passing through the branches. It was a calm place.
Yeah, the midges were a pain in the arse but that's why he kept citronella candles and how did none of them appreciate the clean crisp air here?
He knew Alfred's lungs were sensitive; his voice had been raspy when he'd fetched him from Reilley's. But the laws were stricter now in where Reilley was allowed to smoke—his residence was one of the only places where he still could.
Here, Alistair could step out to light up a cigarette and the breeze would steal the smoke away.
He crossed his arms. "And why should I do that?"
"I'm telling you that it isn't safe here for him, for any child," Mr. Gray insisted. "Let Judith and I host him. We won't tell a soul. It's three days and then the Admiral can reclaim him and decide where they should lodge next."
"…"
"He needs ease. He's on the brink of illness, sir. This place is too harsh and he's so vulnerable."
"He's strong. He'll last it out."
He needed to keep Al here for his plan with Arthur to work.
Mrs. Gray, who'd been silent until this point, complained, "I can't name one good thing about this-this-I can't even call it a house. Structure?"
"I understand your concerns. Consider them noted. But I won't be moving Al again. He needs to finish out the week here."
His decision wasn't taken well.
Ah well…
He found Alfred in the kitchen doing an impressive lattice pie crust.
"Mattie went grocery shopping earlier for me so I could bake. This is an American cherry pie. British minced meats are over there. Savory, not sweet," Alfred ground out with a bitterness—like that was sacrilege.
The Scotsman raised an eyebrow. "You don't like pot pies, either?"
"That's a meal pie. You don't lie and call that dessert."
"And this one, here?"
"Canadian sugar pie." He gave another sour look.
Mathieu smiled. "Thank you, Al. That one's my favorite."
Alfred blushed. "The…the hero has to…has to-"
"I appreciate that you're thinking of all of us," the Canadian complimented.
"Well, of course, the hero does what he does for the good of everyone! Or he should…should try, at least."
"Yes, it is important to try and do what's best for others." Mathieu sent the Scotsman a passive-aggressive glare.
Ack…he could last this…he had to.
They all just had to.
Antonio knew Toni didn't like it when he acted as Jefe.
But only he had the clout to enforce that his other children followed Toni's orders.
Tejas seemed very aware of that, and that he wasn't outside of the pecking order.
And right now, if Colombia, Venezuela, and Argentina had to follow what Papi said…then Tejas had to follow what Papi said, too.
To preserve the sense of order.
Sensible.
His Toni was a little embarrassed being told what to do, but he seemed to realize he wasn't in a place to complain while they were helping him and on seeing that his brothers understood the work he needed done, because of course Papi wouldn't bring over children who were unskilled in this line of work—Ranches were dangerous! On hearing this, Toni relaxed.
He went to take a shower and then went back to the resting area to sleep and recover his strength.
He immediately reappeared at lunch after Lovi rang the triangle bell. And later again, at dinner.
España eyed it thoughtfully; he may need to buy one of those.
It was interesting to see his son without his hat on. It was resting nicely upside down on a huge rack intended for multiple vaqueros to make use of.
"You rest it on the crown so the hat stays in shape," Tejas mumbled.
With no hat brim to fight with tonight, he moved to embrace Tejas once more and kiss his cheeks—preparing himself for the usual resistance.
He was stunned when the chico accepted the affection and even leaned in!
It would've been prudent to take that victory and step back and not press his luck.
But his love was too much and he gave a stronger hug with a squeeze.
And got a squeeze back!
"I miss Al," Tejas murmured into his shoulder.
Not the message he was longing for, but…
"I'm sorry, mijo. It is a difficult thing, yes?" He rubbed the child's back consolingly as the embrace continued.
"…"
"Toni?"
"It really is!"
He got a tighter hug from the child.
"And I know it can't be helped, Papi. And he's gotta lay low. But Hawaii is mad at me. Almost hugged Stuart last time. Had to play it off. Did hug my grocer and my banker. They were sports about it. But the acquaintance hug only lasts you so long and I-"
Antonio tightened his embrace.
Glasses pressed against his jaw as the child leaned into his hold.
There was an ease here now.
Delighted, he petted the child's hair and cooed, "Pobrecito."
Tejas nodded.
Antonio released a breath and swayed them.
His poor Tejas. So isolated. Was Alfredo the only one who showed him unwavering affection?
And now because he was gone…
"Mi pobrecito…"
There were chuckles.
"Poooooooor Tejas" was jeered from the other side of the room.
The boy cringed and started to pull away—Antonio held on with one arm.
"Miguel!" España barked.
His other son stiffened.
"Come here. Ahora."
Venezuela groaned and shuffled over.
Colombia and Argentina were amused.
With his free arm, Antonio pulled the grouchy one in for a hug and kisses before he released him.
He followed suit with the next two chicos who were resigned to behave.
Then, he gave Tejas one more kiss on the temple before slinging an arm around his shoulders and walking him over to the table.
Tejas needed abrazos y besos? Well, he came to the right person!
Antonio looked up, thanked Dios, and tried not to sound choked up when he led the meal's prayer.
In the sanctity of his kitchen, Reilley shamelessly drank from a bottle of wine as Arthur blathered on.
He'd already had an unhappy government-related business call to deal with that morning since bloody Brexit put him in the weird space of 'The U.K. was leaving the EU so that meant Northern Ireland BUT…the Republic of Ireland wasn't!' So the border was going to be an even bigger pain-in-the-arse.
And speaking of pains-in-the-arse, Rhys called next.
"You said you had an available guest room for chwb."
"I do. Er, I did. Aye."
"Olivia said there were crates to the ceiling and she was afraid that they'd fall and crush anyone who slept in there. She had to do what she could to have him sleep out in the snug instead."
"Melodramatic. They're the stackable kind," Reilley protested.
"She took pictures. Why the devil would you keep him in a storage room?!"
"It's not—it's a bedroom! Just sorting through some things. God! Everyone's an authority now on child-rearing! We used to sleep on dirt floors, Gwalia! Remember?!"
That call ended badly. He got the distinct feeling he was banned from babysitting his nephew.
And then, Arthur called. So, apparently, his brother had jumped through enough hoops and been considered stable enough to start making phone calls.
He didn't seem to be in the loop with what Rhys was whining about but, God, it was bad timing. Arthur was in Mother Hen mode and broody.
Reilley was in no mood for it.
"Alfred really ought to have some cauliflower. I think there's an Irish recipe or two you could manage."
"…"
"Damn, he's not with you? Is he? When Rhys and Alistair both appeared, I assumed—can you pass that on? Some cheese and garlic will make it palatable to him. He's a good eater."
No, he wasn't. But Reilley didn't kick up a fuss. He took another swig. Just last it out, he coached himself.
"Did Alfie make mention of any 'fun' foods he was missing from his side of the pond?"
"Um, nah, I can't recall."
"…Barbados said he wanted peanut butter."
"Doesn't he always want that?"
"…"
"C'mon, Artie. What was I going to do with a jar o' that stuff after he left?"
"…What dishes did you make him?"
"Oh, uh, whatever was around."
"Like what?" Came sharply enough that Reilley started to sweat a bit.
"He and Barbados had a time baking—"
"Was that the only time you watched him?"
He swallowed a curse.
"Uh…He likes the Chinese places I know. The egg rolls at one are good and you can get them discounted if you go by as they're closing up shop."
"…When are you feeding my baby?"
"Wha?"
"My baby needs breakfast, lunch, and dinner with snacks throughout the day. He's addicted to sugary rubbish, but if you make him something healthy, he'll eat it—like celery with peanut butter."
"Well, he's the independent sort and I don't go bossing him-"
"Do you feed him haphazardly when you bother to feed him at all? What time does that Chinese restaurant close?" Arthur hissed.
"Oi, I'm doing you a favor! I'm here. You're not. That I am willing to help out your boyo at all is top-shelf generosity—"
Click.
"Rude berk."
He yelped and almost dropped the phone when it rang and vibrated.
Jaysus! Dropped call? Was he calling back!? No…
He slumped in relief before answering.
"Alistair! Dammit, man, gave me a fright. It's been a haymes over here with me playing call center receptionist."
"That celebratory dinner-"
"Ugh, that! I'm thinking of skipping out on it—"
"I need you to go."
"…"
"And I need you to stall it."
Antonio tossed and turned on the bed.
His adrenaline was strong and he nearly tackled Tejas out of the way of cannons falling from the sky.
Shelter. Shelter. Shelter.
He needed to find—
He moved them closer to a sturdy tree.
España pulled his child down into a crouching position. Tree. Tonito. And then him. He used himself as a shield.
"If it…goes wrong and I wake up first, do you want me to move you? You can move me, if it's the other way," Tejas murmured.
Even with Antonio guarding him, one crack had occurred along the left lens of Toni's glasses.
"We are going to make it," Antonio assured him fiercely.
"Hmm."
"Junior! You look at me. You are going to make it."
A mortar landed beside them. Tejas braced.
It was the way he did it—embracing his father hard in a "we face this together" sentiment where bravery and compassion and resignation came together…
The explosive was old and didn't go off.
The boy rested his face against his father's shoulder.
"It will be alright," Antonio declared softly.
"M-maybe…"
"It will be alright."
And when the commotion had eased and they were moving again—
"¡Cuidado!" Tejas bodily grabbed him to keep from stepping into a bayonet that had been camouflaged in a bush.
He'd given those arms a brief squeeze. "Gracias, Toni."
Toni had gone a bit pink as he released him. And they worked together later to put up the caution tape and flags they'd been provided with by park and government officials.
Apparently, there were dead things Antonio couldn't see, too; he slipped now and then until Toni began relaying details to him—hesitantly at first, and then with more confidence and detail.
And he thought back to his little colony who got transfixed a lot staring out at things.
Things Antonio hadn't seen.
Scary things.
"You seem used to this," España noted as they moved through the wreckage setting flags and unrolling cords.
"Well, we still uncover stuff from battles. And I help out to remove poaching traps when I have the time. But…Geez, I dunno if I should say more."
"Tell me."
"I…um…I help with a lot of searches. Missing people."
Antonio waited.
"Because I can…I can see…"
"Fantasmas."
Tejas nodded, big brown eyes earnest…and sad…and hopeful.
Because this was something he hadn't been able to talk about with him.
And he remembered his Tonito staring with those eyes out at the frontier, out into the night, over at dark corners.
"Did I..bring them with me?"
Tejas gasped lightly.
"Did I bring them with me?" He repeated warily, remembering how the boy said he knew what a conquistador did. "When I came to see you?"
Because it would explain so much.
"Sometimes."
Antonio awoke with a gasp and hurried to the lounge for water.
That his child had seen ghosts…ghosts of those he'd slain in battle trailing after him.
He poured a glass of water for himself and tried to calm himself down.
"Papi? Are you alright?" Tejas was already in the room, seated at the table and watching the news on a laptop. He rubbed an eye and that made his glasses go lopsided.
"Do I have ghosts with me now?" España asked as he came over and helped straighten the spectacles.
"Huh? Uh, no, I don't…um…nope," he yawned, "not right now."
"Are there any here, right now?"
Tejas squirmed. "…It's an old ranch. Do not tell, Al."
Ghosts sucked.
They were in the ultimate squatter class of unwanted inhabitants.
Almost worse than ants and cockroaches—though nothing topped termites and black mold (those interlopers could turn people out of their own homes!)
Ghosts were tricky to endure because they were present but intangible. And usually, ignoring them was the best way to get them to lose interest (or so Tex said).
It was also better to have company because it made it harder for them to manifest, supposedly.
Alfred checked one more time. "You're absolutely sure it's okay?"
He had his favorite toy, Hop, in a stranglehold.
"Yeah, Al, it's fine," Mathieu assured—though, there was something hard in his tone.
Alfred felt guilt creep in. "Cuz I know you can get burnout dealing with me and want your space back which I'm totally cramping right now."
Though, if Mattie did send him out, he'd be up a creek without a paddle. He wasn't sure if he and the Grays had known each other quite long enough for him to crash their room yet.
Not everyone was as cool with that, like Lithuania was.
Damn. Lithuania would've been a good adult to chill with. He'd have to make arrangements for that in the future.
Mathieu pulled the covers back. "There's paranormal activity. You're scared of ghosts. You're seven. It'd be weird if you wanted to be by yourself right now."
"O-okay." He hunkered down into the creaky old, rusty-springed guest bed Mathieu was using.
They both looked up at the ceiling as an intricate piano solo took off.
When it started up that evening, Scotland had growled, "Don't follow. That's how you wind up on the third floor."
And that was the only advice he'd offered. No protective spell or talisman was handed over. No calming backstory about why this wasn't a big deal. Nothing.
Just a blunt "deal with it."
Alfred whined and buried his face into Mathieu's shoulder. "Oh. My. God, it's so creepy here."
Mathieu wrapped his arms around him.
He half-expected his brother to talk him down.
He stole a look at his expression.
Mattie was pissed off.
"Are you okay? If it's too hot…" He looked over at the small space heater.
He could turn it off.
He was still cold and clammy, but that might've had something to do with the ghostliness goin' on upstairs.
"I can't believe Scotland would bring you here," Mathieu replied darkly.
"Oh…it's not…so…" He couldn't quite bring himself to finish that.
"Yes, it is that bad. But don't worry. We shouldn't be stuck here for much longer."
He sounded super snitchy smug right then.
The American felt a tingle of dread. "What did you do?"
Mathieu reached over to the bedside table to turn on the nightlight Olivia had gifted Alfred.
Alfred needed to write her a thank you note; that light really helped.
"I sent pictures of this place to Wales," Canada explained.
"Huh?"
"Al? You can't possibly think Alistair brought you to this-this-this dump! This pièce de merde with Rhys's blessing?! He's furious!"
"Uncle Rhys is…furious?" With Alistair? On his behalf? He cradled his deteriorating stuffed toy to his chest.
Why was he so surprised?
It wasn't that Rhys was out and out mean to him…anymore.
He was just…cold…reserved…
And he didn't like to give or receive affection.
Or at least from him. Alfred just wasn't his favorite person.
But, that didn't mean he disliked him or wanted bad things to happen to him.
"Oui, you'll see." Mathieu chuckled darkly. "He should be here in the next hour or two."
Alfred was a heavy sleeper.
The fact that he was roused awake was testament to how loud the argument had gotten.
He was alone in bed.
"Oh God! The ghosts got Mattie, Hop! Don't worry, Mattie, I'll save y-!"
"Shh, Al! I'm fine." Mathieu was leaning against the doorframe listening to the commotion.
Alfred blinked and registered the angry voices. His uncles weren't yelling in English.
"Can you understand anything?" He asked.
Mathieu returned to sit on the bed. "Not too much."
Alfred pouted. Celtic languages were tricky.
Footsteps came their way and the door opened.
"Lads?" Rhys greeted hesitantly before he flipped the light switch on.
"More traveling?" Alfred mumbled sadly.
Rhys's eyebrows furrowed sympathetically. He looked tired as he came over. He rested his hands on Mathieu's and Alfred's shoulders. Rhys blinked at the sight of Arthur's jacket.
"It's Dad's," he confirmed.
"He doesn't have a housecoat," Mathieu explained tightly.
He was also wearing his brother's sweatshirt.
"Mattie says this hoodie is charmed against ghosts."
Rhys's hazel eyes spotted a large hole on the knee of Alfred's pajama pants.
"I can fix it; I just need material to patch it," Alfred said.
Rhys's jaw clenched. He noticed the space heater.
"He's been very cold," Mathieu reported.
Rhys gripped one of Alfred's clammy hands.
Alfred fidgeted. "It's haunted here. So, it's cold. I'm not used to that. I'm not like you guys where springtime is 50 degrees if you're lucky but, yeah, it could still snow."
"It is cold for you, chwb. I'm very sorry."
He was given a tight hug.
"Uncle...Rhys?"
"It will be alright. I've got you."
"Where do you expect to take him? Where will he be safe!?" Scotland demanded from the threshold of the room.
The Welshman's accent went thick as he hissed, "Oh, I don't know, Alba. Somewhere without lead paint and arsenic riddled wallpaper for starters?!"
"Those are the next floors up. It's alright down here."
"That's not how that works! Air circulation and deterioration of materials and O just look at him." Rhys studied him with a pained expression. "Look at him. He's lost weight."
"Oi! That happened on Reilley's watch, not mine—"
"Why didn't you alert me?!"
"Two days. This one's near done. It's just two more days. Are you really going to go berserk over two more days here?!" Alistair demanded.
Rhys's answer to that was packing everything up within the hour and taking the Grays up on their offer.
He carried a tired but resigned Alfred into the small home while Mathieu carried two dessert pies Alfred had baked earlier into the kitchen.
"You take a kip." Rhys told Alfred as he tucked him into the child friendly guest room the Grays kept for visiting grandchildren. He leaned in to bestow a top-of-the-head kiss, panicked at the last moment, ruffled the blond hair instead, and fled the room.
He was then working elbow to elbow beside Mrs. Gray to make porridge and Welsh breakfast cakes.
He stirred the dry ingredients.
He'd need to purchase bacon, laverbread, and cockles for tomorrow's breakfast, he thought while he cracked eggs into a small bowl.
"Oh, so you're the one that can be arsed to cook for him, then?" She raised an eyebrow.
His expression made her go quiet.
"I should never have imagined they were up for the task," he gritted through his teeth.
She was more charitable then. "…Alistair was delegating the work. To the rest of us. He didn't leave it undone. He just-"
"Put in the bare bloody minimum," Rhys grumbled as he cut in the butter. "And Reilley did less, nay, worse. Olivia sent me photos, I can hardly believe ...I'll see to it that you're properly compensated for your time and the groceries."
"Do I seem easily moved to you?" She pulled out a mat and rolling pin. She wasn't about to be outdone in her own kitchen and began gathering materials to make cherry scones.
"Er."
"Sherwin is the whimsical sort. He's been fascinated by the idea of Alfred for years. Great big haunting portrait and all that, like some Gothic novel. I wait to make my mind up about people, especially, before I invite them into my home. No one enters here without my consent.
Now, if you're determined to contribute to the groceries, I'll accept that because you're eating here, too. But you will not insult me again or I'll need to turn you out. I wanted Alfred here. Sherwin and I did not invite him here wanting your compensation. He's a miserable little stray used to getting scraps. Sherwin tells me Arthur feels ashamed about it. He should. You all should." She pulled out a canister of flour.
"He…an enchantment…appeared older. We'd have never…if we'd known—"
"Yes, Sherwin showed me pictures."
"…" So, she wasn't whimsical but easily accepted magic?
"Honestly, did no one talk to him? At all? He thinks and he speaks like a child, whatever he looked like for that spell—O you must all be thick. You know of enchantments and such and you never looked into the possibility? Suddenly grows up overnight? He has magic and no one questions it? Absurd."
Rhys sighed. "Do you have clotted cream?"
Her eyes narrowed. "I've a jar. Why?"
"Good. It's illegal in the U.S. and I want to have afternoon tea for him. Lift his spirits."
She put her rolling pin down. "Sherwin?!"
"Yes, love?" Her husband called back.
"Be a lamb. We need clotted cream. The fancy kind. The U.S. doesn't have it."
He entered the kitchen. "They don't have it?"
She frowned. "It's scandalous, it is. Alfred needs the good kind so he can have the proper point of reference hereon. We'll make a list. You're running low on vitamins, dear. And I need you to go by the pharmacy for me. If you go to market rather than a big store, see if the butcher might-"
"I can drive us there. I need to buy Alfred clothing," Rhys said.
"He needs jumpers," she replied.
"And a housecoat," Mathieu added as he peeked in.
"Jimjams," Mr. Gray asserted.
"Socks and slippers," Mrs. Gray insisted.
"And a jacket. Maybe a nice outfit, too?" Rhys wondered.
Mrs. Gray sighed and shook her head. "Why did you let the others have him?"
Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought…I thought…they'd…grown up!"
She took pity. "Well, no use lamenting it now. What theme will today's tea time have?"
"Theme?" Rhys asked blankly.
Her lips pinched together. "Amateurs. The whole lot of you."
Alfred helped bake sugar cookies in the shapes of animals.
Mrs. Gray had a truly impressive amount of cookie cutters and food dye to change frosting colors.
Mrs. Gray re-tied the bow of her apron and then reached over to better adjust the straps on his own child-sized apron to better fit him.
He was currently whipping some more frosting up to make a few of the cookies into cookie sandwiches.
"Do your best now, Alfred. It's for someone very special to me."
That lit a fire in him because she'd been awfully nice to him.
She was gruff but kind. Nothing he said shocked her and she didn't make fun of him, even when he said or did something stupid.
It helped that she absolutely, positively believed that Arthur missed him terribly—who wouldn't?
That started a warm glow and in quiet moments where he wondered if his absences really meant anything to anyone—he remembered them contentedly.
Who wouldn't miss him? Like it was preposterous to assume otherwise?
His cheeks warmed up.
He made some tissue pom poms and Mattie helped him make paper chains. His brother also assisted him in digging out Christmas lights from a plastic bin of decorations and setting them strategically in the dining room. He arranged flowers from cuttings from the garden. He combined builder toy kits from a wooden chest to make a Ferris wheel.
All the work got his appetite up for an early lunch and he devoured chicken nuggets and applesauce.
Apparently, it was a big to-do because Uncle Rhys had gone out and bought him new clothes and everything.
He was all cleaned up in a white and blue pinstriped suit which gave off awesome carnival barker vibes.
"That's very smart on you. We'll need a beach day where we go by the piers. Oh, Blackpool! We should take you there once this passport and papers business ends," Mrs. Gray complimented him.
They'd all gathered in the entryway and were admiring each other's getups—stripes and polka dots and straw hats.
A lineup of movies had been piled beside the television. He could hear Dumbo starting in the background.
He was even getting kind of excited to meet whoever this interesting loved one of the Grays' was.
Mrs. Gray nodded at the grandfather clock when it rang at 4. "It's time."
Alfred fidgeted with his bow tie until she helped him fix it. "Do you think they'll like it?"
"That's a very good question." She straightened up, set her hands on her hips, and looked him in the eye. "Well? How do you like it, pet?"
Read & Review Please! :D
*And insert a map into your conversations/discussions/presentations in RL.
For me. Do it for Apple!
Because there are so many different types.