Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Michael's the Craft store. Or Facebook. Or Peter Pan. Or the Monkey's Paw.

Warning: Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Made up word: King-let (as opposed to the actual word: Kinglet which refers to a species of bird). Drama. Angst. Fluff. Family.

AN: : DDD The time hath come. Thank you so much for reading! Review if you can! I love seeing your responses! : DDD

Chapter 67: Nest

The swingset creaked and the swing's chains jangled as Alfred pumped his legs.

Alfred sighed and contemplated his boots against the gray sky.

The past few days had been...weird.

If he'd thought readjusting to life after the Wendigo Fiasco and a resizing was tough, this was a whole new category of difficult and now he had a Portal Quest to embark on.

He held his legs straight and let his momentum dissipate.

It was one thing to know the book of your life was missing some pages. You could look at the present and guess the context. It also wasn't too big a deal to get his Roanoke Prologue back. Some sad bits, some underlying explanations for why he was who he was. Still, it didn't change the storyline he was living.

But…

This...

Finding out that the book you've known so well really had half its contents torn out the whole time…and now you were suddenly getting it all back? Except...yeah...Monkey's Paw.

The pages were being returned all out of order and cropped up at inopportune moments. He felt like a videogame protagonist with obfuscating amnesia.

Obfuscate?

From obfuscatus...past participle of obfuscare...Latin...meaning "to darken."

Holy crap!

He was getting some of his Latin back! Sure he made it a point to know all of his states' mottos and to know certain scientific taxonomies. But he'd accepted that most of his studying from the 1700s and early 1800s had been blasted out.

He blinked and shivered.

It was like becoming a new person...er becoming an old pers...uh...having two yous superimposed.

Hella disorienting.

Heck, he'd already been dressed and downstairs this morning before he'd realized he'd put on brown trousers, a white button up and a dark vest.

Practically 18th Century Wear! Arthur had stared at him for a long moment before shaking it off and complimenting, "I see you've regained your tasteful fashion sense."

And Alfred had been so relieved to see Arthur smile and tease him, he couldn't even quip something snappy back.

Smiles from him had been rare lately since Alfred had woken up in Arthur's bedroom back at Kirkland manor a few days ago. It wasn't real great for him either, coming too with a bunch of gauze wrapped around his head and no memory of being treated or transported.

Alfred blinked hard—adjusting to the dim lighting and realizing he was seeing through only one eye. His depth perception was screwed.

Dread pooled in his stomach as he sat up.

Arthur's arms around him were dead weight and the old man was snoring, which meant he was exhausted. He carefully wriggled free of Father and the bedding. Arthur whimpered and Alfred felt a twinge through his heart. He dutifully pulled the covers up to Arthur's chin and tucked him in. He then shuffled back to his side of the bed, swung his legs over and slid down.

He passed Rhys who was sleeping in a chair nearby.

He approached the full length mirror...caught sight of himself and-and...bawled.

The swing's chain rattled and a harsh wind blew the collar of his shirt. The sky was darkening. It was probably gonna rain some more.

He sighed as he thought about his reaction to the eye gouging.

If he took it hard, Dad took it harder.

The Briton fell out of bed with a crash and scrambled over to him with a bleary Rhys on his heels.

Father seized him in a fierce embrace, "Itsalrightitsalrightitsalright."

It was alright. It was just an eye...not a leg, or a hand or a lung...but Alfred was vain. He knew that he was overreacting, but this was right on his face for all to see!

Unintelligible grief burbled out of Alfred's mouth.

And then Father wept.

"Alfred?"

He gasped.

"I'm sorry I...I…" Olivia got flustered. She moved her hands several times as she tried to gesticulate. Her bracelets clanged and jingled with the spastic movements. "I didn't meant to-I told myself to come up on the-but I couldn't remember which er-"

"My left side is my bad side."

"Injured side," she corrected stiffly. "Look...it's...it's getting cold. I-I've got your coat here."

He stared at the gray double-breasted coat and felt his bottom lip tremble.

"W-what is it?"

Guilt crowded in...it was a real downside to remembering...he knew now that he hadn't just destroyed one doll centuries ago in revenge for her nasty treatment of him.

He'd gone into her room and trashed it in an angry fit. Throwing and stomping her prized collection with a burning infantile rage.

"I'm sorry I broke your dolls!" he blurted. "I was so angry. You were better at Court Manners then me and Arthur was so proud of you and you got to have more cookies and praise and he took you with him to dine with the Royals and-what I am saying? Were? Are! Are better at Court stuff...than I'll ever be..."

Olivia stared, blinked, and then chuckled. She took in a deep breath, looked up at the sky and murmured, "Heh...that...heheheh that...was such a long time ago, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, but I'm sorry! I knew how much they meant to you and I-"

She smiled at the coat in her hands, "Then I accept your apology."

He blinked—caught off guard, "Ack! I-I just want you to know...I feel so bad. It was so unheroic! I-"

"I really rubbed that dinner in your face," she murmured nostalgically and then scrutinized him and then her dark eyes widened as if she was having a realization, "You...you ate alone a lot, huh? Jamaica and I would bicker but...we were together and we visited with the other islands and..."

"..."

"Here," she tossed his coat to him.

Alfred put it on—eager for a task that would delay him from having to answer.

He was surprised when she moved behind him to give his swing a push.

"Rhys told me you had a hex...it kept you from remembering us and from...wanting to visit."

He watched his feet as the ground beneath went to and fro, "Yeah…"

"And you broke it."

"…I wanted to come home."

"That sounds pretty heroic."

Alfred shyly peeked over his shoulder, "Y-you think so?"

"A right Ulysses."

"Hex of the Doubting Eye?" Reilley asked as he added some gin to his cuppa and peered at the cellphone in Eva's hand.

"Aye, tha's what he said," Alistair replied.

"Whasit mean?" Reilley pressed.

The Scotsman glared, "I dunno. He wasn't feelin' real converversational after Arthur was through with him."

Eva pressed play, "I started recording after Alfie ran up to Artie. My Ex always said record shit in case there's a trial...it was one of the better pieces of advice he ever gave me."

Reilley winced at the chaos, "Oooh me."

"Aye," Scotland took a long drag and exhaled smoke, "Flipped his shit. Backhanded that brat so hard he flew halfway 'cross the room. Snapped a wing clean off. That's gonna be fun regrowing. Don't worry, I wrestled Albion's sword away from him before he could go Crusade-happy. He was also pretty distracted stemmin' the blood flow—"

When the video ended Eire looked away feeling nauseous, and saw Texas was eyeing the box of cigarettes. Scotland noticed too and deliberately moved it further away.

"You do think he'll be alright though?" Reilley bit his lip—feeling guilty that he hadn't really volunteered to go. Maybe he could've prevent it. "That...that looked...ugh. Just plucked it like a daisy."

"He's tough!" Tex piped up. "He's just moping. He's always a big baby when he gets hit in the face. He'll shake it off. You'll see."

Mr. Gray made a sound of displeasure. When it became clear that they'd be discussing the UnSeelie Calamity, he'd made it a point to linger somewhat inconspicuously in the corner reviewing his payment ledgers for the seasonal staff—since the holiday was wrapping up.

"Rhys said the UnSeelies were sending us an S.O.S," Reilley threw in.

"Aye, they knew their King had a fixation on Alfred. Built him a creepy shrine of mad stalker photos. Mannequins wearing his clothes. The works."

Reilley shuddered, "Say what?"

Eva and Mr. Gray leaned in—expressions horrified.

"Don't worry. I told them that shit had to stop or we'd exact a royalties toll from their flesh. That got them persuaded pretty fast. We're still going to have to cleanse all of Alfred's estates of shadow portals. Uh, warning though, we're probably going to receive all that shrine crap by post."

Texas sighed, "America gets fans. Some of 'em are creepy. Glad you've put a stop to it. I wondered why he never liked being alone...stalked by UnSeelies...that'd do it. Still. If they can make these here shadow portals, why do they need him to-"

Reilley shook his head, "Nah, only fae that use shadows can travel through 'em."

"But Eva and Al and I-"

"That was a badoch. They're powerful. And we were in an elferingewort, whole damn estate was moved halfway into the Ether!" Reilley shuddered. "That made things much easier for 'em. From what you tol' us, Al was smart to demand safety for the guests. Can yeh imagine? Openin' the door to the loo could've led ya somewhere else entirely!"

"But why?!" Mr. Gray demanded. "Why on Earth would they go to such lengths to-"

"Touched in the head. Elwin, his advisor," Scottie threw in for their benefit. "Said the brat lost his parents during Beltane's Day. German bombs."

"Oh," Eva mumbled sympathetically. "That's horrible."

"Guess he saw America dogfight with an enemy. Sacrificed his plane to take a Kraut out and parachuted. Landed in the trees. They all ended up traveling the same way. Saw that Al never gave up the fight. Fixated on him ever since. And started collecting shit. Rest of the UnSeelies joined in."

"Yeah," Eva cut in. "It was mad, Reilley. Mad. I got pics! I...tha's….so weird," she muttered. "There's...just a few here and there...but no, it was packed!"

"O, I believe ya," Reilley assured. "Some don't come up on film, and...some do."

"Like Nessie," Scotland remarked fondly.

Eva slid her phone back in her pocket, "Still...yeah the Lil' King-let has a sad backstory but...poor Alfie. This is a rough way to usher in the New Year."

Reilley sighed, "Aye, that's why Arthur's trying to soften it. You sure it's alright we keep you on for tonight?"

"O'course!" Eva insisted. "I got Emma for all of Christmas Eve and most of Christmas Day. S'only fair he gets her for all of New Year's. Dan and his parents have the day all planned. I'd have just been in my flat by m'lonesome self tipping back schnapps."

Reilley nodded. Arthur was determined to end the year on a high note for Alfred. Considering the first breakfast following the incident, when they were all debating on what the official story ought to be, he couldn't blame him.

"If you're scared Parliament'll ask, just say I fell down the stairs and landed on something sharp," Alfred offered. When they stared at him, he admitted, "I don't have to report anything on my end."

Alfred shrugged as he nibbled a bagel, "If it doesn't involve collateral damage or affect my ability to serve, and I'm not serving right now, I don't have to report it. It'll save time and paperwork. They like it better that way."

The stony expression Arthur wore after hearing that. The confirmation that Alfred dealt with neglect on a regular basis...

The sewing machine had been humming long into the night the past few days. Despite all of them telling Arthur just to defer to Amazon.

Alfred's cheeks puffed as he looked up from his K'nex. He'd brought them out when he noticed everyone had congregated in the Drawing Room. Olivia and the girls had "stuff" to do and now he didn't want to be alone. But the topic of their current conversation!

He glared at the Scotsman, "Uncle Al!? You're not saying THIS," He pointed to his bandage. "Is my fault?!"

"Aye, I am. You're so damned wrapped up in your instant gratification. Ya couldn't wait for a full moon and a larger coven. Norway owes me a favor. He'd'a come if I asked. And Romania likes talking Eire's ear off. S'funny seein' someone who can keep up with him."

His Irish uncle looked up from a magazine, "Guess I should be thankin' you boyo, ya saved me havin' to fake hospitality to the blathering idgit."

Alfred looked around and spotted his brother snacking on nachos.

"Texas, be my backup! I had an opportunity, I couldn't let it expire! They're like Michael's coupons! Use it when you get it!"

The brunet blinked and crammed tortilla chips in his mouth.

"Tex?!"

More chips went in.

Frustrated and outnumbered, Alfred threw down a plastic green cog and stomped away. He was planning on going up and grabbing some more toys. Cuz it'd make him feel better and make Alistair grumble about tripping hazards. He was nearing the entryway when he heard-

"But must you go now?" Arthur asked desperately.

Alfred watched through the stairs' balusters.

The front doors were open—letting in some mist and the sound of a downpour.

Mathieu was poised on the threshold. He sighed and gripped the handle of his rolling suitcase, "I...I'm having a lot of trouble adjusting to...everything lately. You...Alfred...where I fit in-"

"Where you-What the devil are you going on about?" England bristled. "Of course you fit in! Of course you do-"

The Canadian smiled and shifted his weight, "Thanks. I-I just...I realize that I need to find out more about my own origins. So I can feel...more secure in...myself. I have to go now or...I won't and I'll just wonder..."

"And Sweden knows you're coming?" Arthur asked—with that distracted air that meant he'd probably already asked that several times.

"Yes. I-I set it up. He, Sealand, Finland, and I are set to watch fireworks. It should be...fun."

Arthur sighed unhappily, "Alright...well...mind the crowd."

"I will."

"Be vigilant at the airport."

"Yes."

"Don't overindulge. Finland has a high tolerance!"

Mathieu smiled, "I won't."

"Very well. Very...well...just...promise me this," He pulled a surprised Canadian into an embrace. "No matter what you find...or don't, or if...whenever you need a break or sanctuary or anything...anything...just...know that you can always come home, my boy."

Not long after that, the door shut and from the window Alfred spied Mattie entering a taxi.

"Arthur, are you alright?" Rhys asked as he descended the staircase. "Look, we're going to get to the bottom of Eliza's orders. I promise you-"

"No, it's not...it's," Arthur sniffled—rubbing his eyes on his sleeve, "You finally get the fledgling that fell out, back in the nest...and another one goes and takes flight." He motioned to the door.

"What?" Rhys rushed over to the window.

"Mathieu's spending New Year's elsewhere," Arthur murmured.

"Since when?!"

"Since-"

Alfred sighed. Geez, Mattie. What a time to run out on us, he thought. The old man was already feeling low. Why wouldn't he? He'd wasted most of his long awaited party tracking a wayward Alfred down and then tending to him. Everyone had left between yesterday and that morning. Attending the ball was just a pitstop in a lot of the guests' holidays plans on their way to grand New Year's Eve Events.

Even most of their Winter Company had packed up and gone:

Kaoru had New Year's plans with China. Wy, Australia, and New Zealand had a Disney Cruise to catch. Sweden had picked up Sealand last night.

Alfred had actually watched the kid go with a little disappointment. The kid had been pretty nice to him. He managed to convince the U.K. Bros that Alfred deserved to play video games in Arthur's Master Bedroom. They hefted the TV from the ex-War Room in. Sealand, Texas, Jamaica, and America had played a ton of Mario Kart with Peter insisting they were helping Alfred's hand-eye coordination. Plus, he liked hearing all the gory details of losing an eye. Talking about it with someone who thought it was exciting rather than gross or sad...might've even helped a little.

The two Europeans continued their conversation in more hushed tones.

Alfred leaned in closer and then two meaty fists landed on either side of his had and a brutal noogie began.

"What have I tol' ya about EAVESDROPPING!?" Scotland ranted.

Alfred wailed, "WAHHH! I'm wounded, you're not allowed to pick on me-"

"THE HELL I CAN'T!"

Alfred was trying to lay low while his Uncle Al calmed down.

Luckily, Arthur and Rhys hadn't been too mad. Though they'd rather coolly asked what he was up to, skulking about.

Alfred fidgeted, "I-I dunno, I was gonna get Hop and Willy, but you were having a moment with Mattie and I...I didn't want to interrupt."

They had seemed taken aback by that.

"You wouldn't have been," Arthur told him kindly.

"..." He was starting to get the feeling that Mattie would've disagreed.

"Alfie...be honest love."

He looked up, irrationally half-afraid of what he'd ask next.

Arthur's eyebrows drew together, "Did he tell you goodbye?"

"...no," To his own chagrin, his voice cracked.

He was then whisked into a tight hug and carried back to the Drawing Room. Arthur's serious face with his "Doom" eyebrows scared the inhabitants out.

The next few hours passed languidly. Alfred was stretched out on a quilt in front of the fireplace playing with Americat and Camelot as it stormed outside.

Rhys was reclining on the sofa, reading a book. Arthur was in the wingback rocking chair. Alfred wasn't exactly sure where everybody else had gone but he was shooed away from answering the door when some kind of delivery truck came by.

"Hey," Alfred reached a hand out to tug at Arthur's trouser leg.

The Englishman stopped rocking his chair, "Mmhmm?"

"I...I wanted to tell you…"

Arthur made brief eye contact and then counted the stitches of his needlepoint.

"Remember how upset you got a while ago and how everybody had those happy stories for you? I couldn't remember mine...til now."

Arthur paused and looked at him, confused—setting his needlework aside.

"You were home early and came into the village to find me. I was in the box. You remember? How they draw it with chalk?"

With his fingers he traced the shape into the quilt he was sitting on. The indents made a rough rhomboid.

"Said I was insolent. Had to hold a sign that said so. When I saw you standing across...I was so mortified that you had to see me. And you were so angry...I feared that...but then you-you-you took the sign and snapped it over your knee and tossed it at their shins. And you made them afraid and you...heh...called them fools and-and other things and you picked me up and carried me away. And we visited the bakery and I got to wear your hat."

Arthur sat down beside him.

Alfred beamed, "I-I knew...I wanted be like that…"

Arthur reached his arms around and smoothed away the drawn lines.

Alfred's face heated up, "I wanted to be like you."

Arthur's watch ruined the moment by beeping.

"Time for your medicine, Sweet. Rhys, did you boil that water like-"

Rhys raised an eyebrow, "Have I failed to boil the water at any time?"

He was led away to Arthur's private bathroom suite once more. Rhys brought the water in while Arthur set Alfred on the white marble counter. Arthur thanked him and then dismissed him.

Alfred traced the gray streaks running through the slab and then gazed at the ships that had caught his attention each time he was in there.

"You like those?"

"Yes."

Arthur surprised him by taking one off the shelf and handing it to him.

Alfred turned it over carefully.

Arthur washed his hands meticulously.

"Clipper Ship," Arthur mentioned after he toweled his hands off. He came over and unwound Alfred's bandages—commenting on the speed of the vessels, but the lack of cargo space.

He talked easily on the subject as he worked—like it wasn't unsettling to stare at the gaping hole in Alfred's face. Let alone reach in and swab mucus out of it.

When Arthur got to dripping medicated eye drops into the socket, he commented, "You're healing very nicely."

Alfred sighed, "It took me years to regrow it last time."

Arthur frowned, "Don't worry, love. This one will come back far sooner. You're a healthy nation. This one's not hexed. And that was the early 1800s. I daresay our practical knowledge of medical cleanliness has increased exponentially. We'll keep it nice and clean and I think you'll be surprised how swiftly it returns."

Alfred gently touched the model ship's rigging.

Arthur finished up, "That's you done, my dear...I was wondering though..."

"Yeah?" he asked dully.

"I've kept it in good shape. Usually wear it to festive events. I've cleaned it thoroughly and adjusted the strap."

Arthur pulled a drawer open—signifying he'd hidden whatever it was in there earlier.

It was a small nearly flat box. Arthur opened it and removed a red jeweled black leather eyepatch.

"A bit more stylish than bandages, I think. A little less trench warfare."

"You've worn it?"

"O yes," Arthur chatted as he set it on Alfred's face and adjusted the strap to lie correctly, "Costume Parties, Carnevale…" He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially "Plundering the Spanish Main."

Alfred nearly dropped the model ship.

Arthur cleaned up the area, placed the ship back on its shelf, and hoisted Alfred up on his hip.

"How's your ankle?" Alfred asked. The Briton still had a slight limp. America had gawked at Mr. Gray when the elderly man detailed England flat out cracking it off with his bare hands.

Dude, those things usually needed saws to come off!

"Perfectly fine. Now I think it's time for a snack."

Alfred's eye narrowed curiously. Arthur's energy seemed...charged somehow.

Alfred was suspicious when they moved toward that one spot—the one the others called...something Leviathan. Was he gonna get the scolding of a lifetime?

Only as they entered, Alfred found the sterile green parlor room had been reinvented!

"AHOY!" A group of nations and humans cried in unison—all decked in pirate gear!

Seychelles, Jamaica, Eva, and Barbados seemed thrilled to be in Pirate Wench outfits.

Though, Arthur tutted a bit at the plunging necklines.

"Didn't need to be wholly authentic," he grumbled.

Have a JOLLY New Year was on a banner. Or rather the 'Happy' had been crossed out. And there were Jolly Rogers and treasure chests with chocolate foil coins and plastic swords in a barrel.

And OMG! Fake parrot! He squeed. He needed it!

Gobsmacked, he turned to look at Arthur who was accepting a magnificently plumed Captain's Hat with his free hand from Reilley.

He placed it on Alfred's head.

"Captain," he smirked.

Alfred felt his face heat up as he grinned, "Thank you, First Mate!"

"Al!" Tex squawked—utterly scandalized by what he'd heard.

Alfred gasped and backpedaled, "O-other First Mate!"

Alfred turned to Arthur desperately, "A Captain can have...I mean a-a Pirate Captain can have two First Mates, right?"

Arthur's face said No, his voice answered, "Uncommon."

"W-well, I'm not exactly known for being by the book-"

"Oh no," Tex crossed his arms. "You named him first."

"W-well, you're not dressed!" Alfred pointed out.

"Neither's he!"

"Not yet," Arthur scoffed as he gestured to a costume draped over a chair.

"But he IS a pirate," America reasoned. "He's bonafide. A Knight Pirate Cadeyrn."

Arthur stared at the title and then smirked at Texas, "And a First Mate."

"And you're a random cowboy..." Alfred shrugged.

"In a seascape-pirate-themed festivity," Arthur followed up with a heavy frown.

Olivia put a hand on her stripe-skirted hip, "I put your costume on your bed, you dingbat."

"I sees how it is," Texas grouched. "You're movin' in. Huh, Art? I don't back down from a fight though. Just so you know."

"..."

"And on land you're my deputy!" Alfred assured. "But ya see, the tiles are sea green. So it's like the ocean, and we're sailing right now, so-"

"Fiiine," Texas stalked off to a table decked with snacks and a big bowl of punch. He began filling a cup to the brim.

"Is it spiked?" Alfred asked.

"Better not be," Arthur's eyebrows twitched as he walked them over a chair with costumes.

He set Alfred down and handed him a dark blue brocade frock coat with gold trimmings.

No tags with machine wash instructions...

He felt his heart expand. "You...made this for me?! When'd you get the time?" He hugged it close. "You didn't have to!"

He still happily put it on.

Arthur didn't reply, he just pulled a carefully folded blue silk ribbon from his pocket.

Alfred brightened even more, "You got it back?! You got it back! Father, however did you manage it?"

Arthur beamed and carefully tied it around Alfred's collar in a bow.

Soon the music was cranked up, everyone was wearing a costume (except Texas) and the party was in full-swing.

Though Uncle Al's getup was just...weird.

"You're in a kilt!" Alfred argued. "A kilt can't just be your go-to costume. That's lazy."

"Oi! It's what I wore in my pirate days!"

"You pillaged in a dress!?" Tex asked.

"Aye, he did boyo. Which was why he had to win those raids! Cuz if ya lose in a dress-"

"Ack, shut it!"

"Hey Cap'n Blinky," Tex greeted scathingly as he offered Alfred a platter of crab meat appetizers.

The look Arthur directed at Texas could've made battery acid seem harmless, but Alfred had it covered.

"That's Captain Blindside!" Alfred hollered back.

Texas blinked, "Damn. Daaamn. Little brother, that's good!"

America grinned, "I know, right? I've been feeling so creative again."

"That's great Al."

"Picture time!" Eva called out. "Pictures! Pictures!"

"Look, I'll be the photographer for a group one," Texas declared. "Y'all are dressed. So stand together."

After three tries and the assurance that all present eyes were open, Alfred studied the pic on Tex's phone.

England hovered by his elbow.

"I..I look okay?"

"Roguishly, handsome."

"...I'M GONNA PUT IT ON FACEBOOK!" America cheered.

That night, after an epic New Year's Countdown involving sea shanties and shots (that Alfred didn't get to partake in, much to his disappointment), everyone shuffled off to bed.

Figuring his dad was down for the count, Alfred thought himself clever to sneak out of their bedroom, grab some supplies, and make his way down to the library with a project in mind.

He picked a quiet corner out of immediate view of the doorway and discreetly moved a writing desk over. He then selected Arthur's new copy of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight from its spot on the library shelf.

Father cherished notes and presents—he had dim memories of being very young and Arthur showing him that he kept all of the books of pressed blooms he sent.

"I keep them here in my office, Sweet. It makes me so happy you shared your Spring flowers with me. My thoughtful boy..."

...Funny how he'd...forgot all that…

Well, if this didn't improve Arthur's melancholic mood, he wasn't sure what would!

All was going according to his Master Scheme...er...Plan...er, Master Plan...when-

"Alfred," Arthur yawned and frowned—tapping a slippered foot.

He flushed as he was caught with quill in hand. He hastily moved it over the inkwell in case it dripped.

"Do you know what time it is?" the Briton's brows were furrowed and his eyes were shadowed.

The single candle on the desk made everything seem a bit spooky to be honest.

Alfred nodded distractedly as he looked at the ornate clock on the far wall, he could just make out the numbers, "It's the Witching Hour."

Arthur seemed briefly stunned and then smiled, "Well, if you've no cauldron to tend or spell to cast, then I think a return trip to bed is in order."

"I-I can't...It...it's still wet...If I close it, it'll bleed and smear or stick."

Arthur sauntered over in his houserobe. He carefully took the blotting paper, Alfred had filched from his desk.

He handled it with an ease that sparked a twinge of envy, which apparently Arthur felt and was amused by. He tousled Alfred's hair in response.

"I've done quite a bit of quillwork, Sweet," Arthur replied as he worked.

"You're ruining your surprise," Alfred pouted—cheeks puffing.

"O Am I?" Arthur drawled.

"Yes. I was gonna leave it for you in the morning!"

Arthur cradled the book in one hand and held the pewter candle holder in the other.

Expressionless, he read over Alfred's song. Alfred squirmed a bit in his seat. It was penned in the best curly lettering Alfred could manage. Maybe the grammar wasn't perfect but...at least it looked nice! Better than his first attempt to write something nice years ago!

Then Arthur's lips curved in a warm smile, and Alfred knew he'd reached the newly added lyric.

Til Somebody loved me in Winter,

In Summer, and Autumn, and Spring,

In Good Times and Bad Times

And All Times between.

That Someone who loves me is Thee.

"Indeed," Arthur murmured softly—eyes crinkling. " Indeed."

Once again,

we have reached an end.

Thanks for coming

and if you'll lend

your minds and legs

for the upcoming instruction:

Head out to the lobby

and grab a confection.

In the next theater over,

view Act Three's Attraction.

COMING SOON

Gramarye

England struggles to relax following an emotionally trying year. Distraught over governmental deceptions from both sides of the pond and concerned with America's well-being and his blossoming magic, he takes steps to solidify his role in the boy's life. Unfortunately, what should be a leisure camping trip before Beltane's Day goes awry when Alfred acts on a hidden agenda...and a hinkypunk's directions. Threequel to Wendigo.

Rated T for Language and Violence. NO PAIRINGS. Father Son Fic

Family/Drama/Supernatural

Preview:

England felt his stomach swoop as his feet left the snowy ground, "Alfred, Alfred, wait. Ahhh!"

America giggled and squeezed his hands. He understood now why Alfred didn't want either of them wearing gloves for this.

The boy's scarf tickled at Arthur's nose at that precise moment and he sneezed, "Alfred, no, I really don't think this is-"

The child let out an aggravated whine, "O come on, it's not like I'd deliberately drop you."

So...if he was dropped it'd be by accident. How reassuring.

Arthur nervously cleared his throat, "Let's-ahhh" the boy's flight dipped. "Let's go inside. We'll practice with cushions!"

Alfred's cheeks puffed, "Rhys was a much better sport."

Arthur's jaw dropped in shock and then he glowered, "You practiced with Rhys before me?!"

Alfred looked away as he blushed, "I wanted to work some kinks out before I took you."

"Humph!"

Alfred sighed, "Cuz I knew you were gonna be a killjoy like this!"

"A killjoy!?" He rasped indignantly. "Because I'm a smidge concerned about watching my legs dangle in the breeze?"

"We're barely three feet up!" Alfred argued. "God, I knew it'd be like carriage driving practice. You freaking out cuz I'm the one holding the reigns!"

Arthur felt his heart skip a beat, "I was calmer than Reilley or Rhys, if you remember?"

Alfred blinked and laughed suddenly, "I DO remember. It came down to you and Uncle Al teaching me!"

Arthur smiled, "That's right."

His memories were returning. Arthur felt his eyes sting a bit. He was so happy. The child was remembering.

Only it seemed to boost his confidence, and Alfred levitated higher and higher.

Arthur swallowed nervously, "Alfie?! S'good practice. Let's float down now. Nice and easy and slooow."

"Where's your Peter Pan spirit?" Alfred crowed—swinging him in a lazy circle. "Where's your crow's nest calm?"

It was highly discomfiting seeing treetops whirl beneath him.

"Eeep."

He watched one wellie (because honestly he had not expected anything strenuous) slip off his foot and fall from the fatal height.

"O God."

He took a deep breath and endeavored to look up at Alfred instead.

Alfred gasped and Arthur's stomach plummeted.

"I just remembered! Oh, oh, when I was Roanoke. I'd sometimes use a stick so I could more easily magick Ginnie into the air with me. We'd both sit on it, and I'd make it rise and-" A curious look passed over Alfred's face, "Hey Daddy, do you think New England still has witches?"

See ya in the Threequel! : D