Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He always paid in cash.

He always ordered his coffee hot. Black. No room for cream or sugar. 

He always smiled. 

He always tipped.

He always left immediately upon getting his order.

Except for today. 

“I’m sorry sir,” she said, smiling her best at the handsome, confused, blonde in front of her, “But I’m out of to-go cups.”

“Oh.” His brows furrowed in a moment of thought, his eyes dashing to the entrance of the quiet café as though someone he didn’t want to see would come barging in. He was nervous, and she couldn’t help but wonder what could make someone that appeared so strong look so concerned.

“We do have ceramic mugs if you wouldn’t mind dining in today,” she offered, lifting up a simple blue coffee mug. It felt wholly inadequate a solution considering how scared the man was, but it was all she had at the moment. “It does come with free refills. And we get the newspaper if you’d like to-"

“I don’t read the news,” he said, it was almost too fast. Perhaps even borderline rude had she not seen the concern on his face. He glanced anxiously to the door once more, then at the windows as though fearing that someone else had appeared while he was distracted. After a moment, he turned back to her.

“By the wall over there we also have some novels. Mostly westerns and whodunits. It’s the honor system, if you like what you’re reading feel free to take it - just bring it or another book back,” she offered warmly, hoping to help ease whatever was going on in his mind. 

“O-Okay. I’ll- I’ll stay. I pay here still?”

She nodded and went to prepare his coffee while he counted out the dollar and some change. He was an interesting man. Actually, before he started coming in here there had only been a myth that a man who looked like him lived in the forested mountain this café was at the base of. Seeing him the first time had been akin to seeing Sasquatch. Despite the rumors that he had been living in isolation for months, he looked well-kempt and not at all like a rugged mountain man who swore off human contact. And he was gentle. And kind. She noticed he always held the door for others, even at the expense of his own escape.

He even paid for other’s coffees at times.

The bills covering the price of the coffee were laid out on the counter in a way that was easy for her to make sure that everything was there. She took the money and gently pushed his coffee cup and its saucer towards him. 

“Sit anywhere you’d like.” 

“Thanks,” he gave her a small, thankful nod before going to the booth farthest in the back, a place where he could hide. He seemed to ponder something for a moment before slowly moving from the spot, leaving his drink as he went to the bookshelf she had pointed out earlier. He looked over the options, pulling out a classic Western, a cowboy and horse on the cover - guns blazing. His bright blue eyes behind glasses shimmered with curiosity before he seemed to confirm it was what he wanted. And he went over to his spot. And he read.

The café was quiet as usual. She had a gentle stream of customers but the gaps between them were wide. The town itself wasn’t very large, and Mountain Pine café - though pleasantly busy throughout the week - never saw too many customers at once. Except for on Saturday mornings. At the moment, the café held about four people including the Mountain Man in the far back booth. A few people were passing by the giant storefront window, but no one paused to read the menu outside and so she figured this was one of those lulls. With a simple dull click she pulled a coffee pot from the maker and brought it with her for her rounds, filling coffee and exchanging pleasantries with the regulars who were spending a relaxing morning with her, coffee, and some simple baked goods. He was her last stop, and so she made her way to where he was sitting, still reading. 

“Would you like some more?” she spoke. 

He jumped, staring up at her, blinking as though trying to remember where he was and why he was there.

“Good book?” she offered, using her spare hand to brush her own golden strand of hair back, tucking it into the tight bun she kept while at work. 

He glanced at it, his thumb marking his spot a little more than a quarter in. 

“I- I like westerns?” was what he was able to return. There was a silence as he stared up at her, that nervous edge to his actions. Was he always like this? After all, he did live in the mountains, alone. Was it some deep rooted anxiety that kept him up there? The silence prolonged before she lifted the coffee. 

“Would you like some more?” she repeated. He looked at his empty cup, then at the café, then at her as though contemplating staying vs. going. He looked at his book, the number 32 on the upper left-hand side of the page. Stay and read or return to the safety of his wooded home? “We close at three today. It’s only ten. You can stay as long as you want.”

After another moment of hesitation he carefully pushed the coffee mug towards her and she filled it happily, “Can I get you anything else?”

He shook his head, that same little cowlick bouncing as he did. It seemed to refuse to stay down, or at least she figured it did. Perhaps he didn’t try super hard? 

“I’m Stacy, by the way,” she said, introducing herself for the first time in their three months of having seen each other, “Just ask if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Stacy.”

But he didn’t offer his own name, and instead sheepishly, anxiously, hesitantly went back to his book. 

By two-thirty the book was closed. She had refilled his coffee three times after, directed him to the restroom, and watched as he turned page after page. Now he placed it gingerly back where it belonged and looked back to her, “Thanks, Stacy,” he repeated. The two words being the only things he had said to her since their earlier interaction. 

“You finished the book? How was it? Not quite historically accurate, I suppose.” Stacy let out a little laugh. She was plenty used to making small talk with customers, especially in this small town. Usually she let them start the conversation. Now? She wanted to talk to him. 

“It was… closer than I thought it’d be,” he offered after a moment of thought. And there was something weird about the way he said it. Almost as though he was speaking through first-hand experience, though the novel itself was set at the time of gunslingers and outlaws more than a hundred years ago. “See ya.” He gave her a small, two-fingered salute before leaving, holding the door open for a young couple before burying himself in that tan jacket with a giant 50 on the back. 

* * * 

His steps sped up as he neared his house. His body shook as he fumbled with his keys and unlocked his door. It was hard to breathe, the panic setting in the depths of his gut. He wanted to throw up. He had to. 

Shaking as tears fell down his cheeks despite his attempts to hold them, he rushed to the bathroom, completely ignoring his cat who had come to greet him. He hadn’t been eating well anyway, so there wasn’t much in his stomach other than the acidic burn of coffee and stomach bile. With heavy shoulders he turned on the bathroom faucet and filled his hand with the water, bringing it to his mouth to wash out the lingering acrid taste. His hands clung to the sides of his sink as his eyes met themselves in the mirror before him. Blue eyes surrounded by reddened, damp skin stared back. Gaunt cheeks and pale skin betrayed his secret months of isolation and heartbreak.

Those few hours had been the longest he had spent with other beings since everything happened. Being lost in the book had kept his mind from entertaining the fear of  judgment from the barista, but as he had left he felt the turmoil catch him. The panic over what he had done and how he had acted and what it meant and what people thought was building.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be around people again, he desperately wanted to be close to someone. But after what had happened at that awful meeting, after that wake-up call, he couldn’t let himself be so freaking stupid again. 

And besides, he looked down at his stomach, squeezing the skin and pulling it to show himself the fat he saw. “I just need to lose some weight, then I can make friends,” he said, sniffling again as he noticed the red around his eyes fading. Well, maybe he wouldn’t make new close friends. Just people to say hi to. He couldn’t deal with being as wrong as he had been last time, after all. Back when he realized that those he loved, didn’t love him back. 

In fact, they kinda hated him. 

He didn’t want to be that idiotic again.

Chapter Text

Over the next week, the mysterious blond mountain man would come in, pick up a book, order his coffee, sit in the furthest booth, and read. He always finished the book, and when asked if he liked it he would just grin and say It was a good time. Then he’d thank her politely and he’d leave. 

The fifth day in a row that he came in, things started normal: He went in, asked for a coffee, picked a book, and then turned to go to his seat. But then he paused, catching Stacy’s attention as she looked over to see what was up. 

A family was in his booth. Chatting, friendly, but occupying his safe space. Upon that realization, he noticed that there were more people in the café than usual.

“The Saturday morning rush. It happens,” Stacy offered in a quiet, calm voice, “We have individual seating up here at the counter.” It was an offer for some safety, comfort, and the man nodded before taking a seat, hunching over as though trying to sink into this new spot as he held his book open. 

And it nearly worked for him, staying invisible. He read through his book, she kept his coffee full, and the crowd around them paid him no mind. Time was passing. The crowd thinned. 

“Hey Stacy,” a voice interrupted the serenity as a woman with beach waves and a guitar sat down at the counter in the seat next to him, “Can I get some of your earl gray tea? It’s so cold out there,” her drawl was defined as she gave her request. Stacy didn’t blink before fixing the woman a warm cup and placing it in front of her. 

“How was the farmer’s market, Daisy?” Stacy asked. 

“I might be able to pay you for this!” Daisy pulled out some wrinkled bills, her long, flowing brown hair falling over her shoulder and inconveniently into her eyes. Acrylic nails fought with the waves and knots as she pushed them out of the way of her abused dollars, “These winter months are awesome. No one wants to perform so I get it all to myself! I debuted a song too. No one was really listening but it felt good.”

“Keep it, pay me when you make it big,” Stacy said, standing in a way to pull as much of Daisy’s energy away from the blonde as she could.

“Well, I wanna stay in your good graces, ‘cuz I got a favor to ask.” 

“Oh boy.” 

“Okay, so Caleb was going to help me move, but you know - the jackass went and fell down a cliff.”

“What?!” Stacy’s eyes widened as she gasped.

“The dumbass is fine, but his collarbone isn’t. So he can’t help me move tomorrow. Unless I can find another hand, it’s you and me,” Daisy gave a grin to Stacy that said ‘please help, I’m desperate.’ “Also, we really should get him a card or something. Maybe some balloons?”

“How much do you have to move?”

“Just a table,” Daisy said.

“That’s not bad-”

“And a desk. And a bed. And a bookshelf. And another bookshelf….”

“Why do I close on Sundays?”

“Um,” the voice was so, so quiet. Almost frail. Both Stacy and Daisy quit their chatting to look at the sweet-looking blonde-haired young man. At their attention, he seemed to be fighting with the desire to hide away, fidgeting in his spot, “If you need help, I’m pretty strong.”

Daisy shot a questioning glance at Stacy, and Stacy gave her a small nod. 

“He’s a regular here,” Stacy said in a way that indicated this might not be the first time she and Daisy discussed him. Daisy’s eyes brightened at the realization that this man was the one she had heard Stacy talk about for months.

“Oh!” At the exclamation, she saw him pull away a bit in either shyness or trauma-induced anxiety. Regardless of his reasons, Daisy quickly dialed down the energy.  She slowly held her hand out for the man, “I’m Daisy, pleasure.”

He fumbled with the book just a little before taking her hand, “Um, Alfred. But um, you can call me- um-” he paused. Something was going through his mind. And then something was decided on. “Call me Freddie.” 

“Well, Freddie, if you’re serious about helping I will totally buy everyone pizza,” Daisy offered, “I would also forever be in your debt.” 

“Don’t worry about the pizza, or the debt, I’ll just help.” He tried a smile. Even in his timid state, the smile was electrifying. Beautiful. Something had happened to this man and he was taking a chance to heal. The two women exchanged a glance and gave a smile back. They always did love working on projects. 

* * * 

It was one of those things nations knew about themselves inherently, and then things happened and they learned for real. A nation would find themselves at the wrong side of a sword, shot through, buried under rubble, burned, a number of horrific ordeals. But in the end, they would awaken. Good as new. The only true way to kill a nation would be to kill the nation's spirit, and that lived in their people. 

The first time he died had been during the Revolution. He was young and green with little idea how to fight. Like, fight for real. He had been trying to hide in the woods by a dirt path when a Redcoat caught him off guard and shot him.

It wasn't an instant death. He laid there in the dirt, wound in his abdomen for what felt like centuries as he choked garbled breaths and bled out before fading away.

He awoke twelve hours later with a pounding headache. He was sore, stiff, nauseous, still hidden in the bushes where he had been killed and covered in his own blood. But he was alive, and he would return to the fight. 

He never told Arthur. 

Arthur didn’t deserve that. 

Alfred never died in a war again. Not that he stayed on the sidelines, he always tried to slip into the action. If his people were going into danger, so would he. Besides, he knew the worst that could happen to him. If he could take a death for one of his people, or really any person - nationalities be damned if it meant someone returning home - then of course he would. After all, isn't that what the hero should do?

At a certain point, he was just good enough to avoid death in combat. Other injuries happened, but it was fine. His later deaths occurred from other causes. One was due to a mountaineering adventure, a slip of the hand brought him falling down in Yosemite. Worse than his sore muscles and unrivaled nausea that followed was the embarrassment he felt from being so clumsy on the mountain face. But once again: no one had seen him. So it was fine. 

And then there was a failed attempt at his first bounty hunt in the 1890s. 

And then there was a motorcycle accident in the 1930s. 

A couple motorcycle accidents. 

Always only involving him, no one else deserved his shit.

And another fall from a cliff. 

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point he realized that his drastic penchant for risk-taking and not really trying hard to save himself came right after a world meeting where he was usually told at length about his many, many shortcomings. Where he felt constantly as though those around him wanted him to vanish. Where others told him how much they resented everything about him.

Then after the worst world meeting he’d ever been to (which was saying a lot) he had found himself back at home, tears in his eyes, feeling lower than he had ever, and wondering what the fuck he was even doing. 

So that night, for the first time, he had cut out the middle man. Fourteen hours later, he woke up covered in blood, his gun still in his hand. He had that same pounding headache, the same nausea, and this time there was an added anger and sorrow in the pit of his stomach as he realized that he’d have no choice but to continue on. That he’d have to go to another world meeting. 

It became almost cathartic though. He’d come home after a meeting, feeling like shit, and then be dead for hours. Occasionally he realized how stupid what he was doing was, and he told himself he’d stop doing such a dumbass thing, but every time he came home it was just not worth being conscious. And so he had yet to find a good enough reason to stop. 

When he first got to this hiding spot, this home in the mountains no one knew about, it became a thing he did so often he was dead more than he was alive. He only stopped long enough to make sure his cat had food and water. Ranger mostly stayed away from him, maybe the blood and noise was too much. 

He did feel bad about that. About scaring his cat. About giving him this awful environment. Before there would be other people to take care of him while Alfred was out, now it was just the two of them. But he just couldn't stand being alive. It hurt. In all ways it hurt and he wanted it to stop. And the knowledge that he was harming the one creature who still loved him (tolerated him?) just made him hate everything about himself more.

At some point though, he realized that he was out of cat food. He might be refusing to eat, but Ranger needed to have his meals. So he cleaned the caked-on dried up blood from his body, threw some relatively clean clothes on, and got in the beat-up 1983 Firenza he had bought for cheap. He drove the forty minutes into the nearest town and found out the store sold his cat's favorite brand. There also were some treats and toys on the wall, and Alfred still felt like shit for making his cat also feel like shit, so he purchased some of those as well.

On his way back to his car he noticed the Mountain Pine Café. It didn't seem too busy, a cup of coffee would be nice in the chilly air. It had been a long time since he was conscious this long and his stomach was twisting in demand for something. He refused to give it anything that would make it bigger, his ribs were only showing a little so he could stand to lose a little more, but black coffee had zero calories. Or close to. Five minutes later, he was driving back home with a medium coffee, windows down.

It was as he drove through the autumnal trees that he had a realization.

It was kind of beautiful here.

And then he pulled into the driveway to his A-Frame cabin. It was grown-over, autumn leaves burying its pathways. He had solar power and a well, but there were no lights on. When he opened the door the smell of old blood and death reached his nose, causing it to crinkle. Blood stained the flooring, soaked into any fabric it touched. Was this who he was now? Someone who lived in despair?

Ranger meowed in greeting. Despite all of this, still happy to see him. Alfred looked from his cat to the mess. This wasn't fair. Not to Ranger. He collapsed onto his knees, cheeks dampening in sorrow as he reached out for the fluffy cat and pulled him in tight. The cat accepted the affection, purring immediately with forgiveness. But Alfred wanted to make this place worth that forgiveness, if for no other reason than his cat. So he got to work. Turning this little A-Frame into a home. 

Every day had given him a new reason to go into town. Cleaning supplies. Paint. Hammer. Nails. New rug. Comfy cat bed(s). And then one day his home was done: sweet, comfortable, and clean. But he still went into town every morning and until recently he had always driven back with a cup of coffee from the Mountain Pine Café. Until they ran out of stupid to-go cups.

Now, it had been a few months since he last took his own life. And even though talking to Stacy and Daisy left him vulnerable and scared and wanting so badly to relapse into that old habit, he couldn’t risk it. If he died and woke up way later he’d miss helping them. And he had promised he’d be there. 

And besides, he couldn't put Ranger through that again.

Chapter Text

“Hey, Freddie, thanks again for offering to help. I really appreciate it," Daisy laid down on her newly set couch, curling up with a particularly fluffy blanket. On the other side of the couch sat Stacy, on her lap a pillow, on the pillow an empty paper plate with a half-eaten pizza crust. A gentle snowfall outside only added to the warmth of the now-furnished room. At the beginning of the day, it had only had a few foldable chairs and a table. Now the small, one-bedroom apartment held two bookshelves against the wall filled with books ranging from rom-coms to comic books, sci-fi to historical fiction. It had a dining room table just big enough for four people, though the table was being ignored in favor of the couch and its coffee table that were arranged in front of a modest TV that was really just being used to play random lyric music videos off of YouTube. The walls held paintings and pictures of musical artists and vinyl records A large monstera plant was in the corner, just vibing.

He had a Diet Coke in his hand and a barely touched slice of pizza on his plate as they were now seated around that coffee table, in the center of which was a pizza box with the remnants of a large half-pepperoni, half-cheese. It had been a hard day that started at one PM sharp and now was just winding down at five. Alfred would admit the pizza looked and smelled amazing, but he couldn’t risk the weight. So he kept one slice, occasionally picking at it as Stacy and Daisy chatted away. Only now had Daisy’s hazel gaze carefully turned attention to him, and he felt her eyes looking between him and the pizza. He could see the small change in her eyebrows as they furrowed with a concern he wasn’t quite used to receiving, so he ignored it.

"It's no trouble," he picked at the pizza a little more, letting himself have a small bite if for no other reason than to assuage any concern Daisy held. His stomach wanted more, but Alfred needed to watch that gut - surely Daisy could see that. He wanted friends, as the kind laughter and silliness of today as they worked together showed. But he couldn't have friends looking like this. And when he briefly wondered what could go wrong with having a bite or so more of the cheesy, bready concoction, he subconsciously pinched his cheek. There was still that skin there - the excess that Francis pointed out. Once that was gone he could eat normally again. Until then there were rules to follow, and this pizza was certainly not allowed.

Silence fell over the room as the women exchanged a glance. They wanted more from him, clearly, but they feared the wrong word would send him running. And to be fair, they weren’t far off in their belief. The rumored, terrifying mountain man who had overshadowed their small town with cautious, gossiping tales told about himself was just a timid, self-conscious guy. They had to proceed with caution.

And then the door SLAMMED open causing just about all of them to jump. "I'm here, ladies!" 

Curly red hair and wild green eyes lit up the face of the young man who bounded in. He paused as he noticed Alfred, "And gent. I have arrived! For the pizza."

As the man dropped to the ground next to Alfred, he realized the newcomer had his right arm in a sling. Piling pizza on his plate, the red head turned to Alfred, "Sorry for assuming gender. I'm starving."

"Caleb, food is for those who helped. Not those who break their collarbone to get out of working,” Daisy rolled her eyes but made no motion to take the pizza from him. In fact, she pushed the box closer to him and got up to get him a Coke as well.

“Wow, like this was on purpose, Daze? Geeze,” he had already stuffed half of a slice of pizza in his face and looked to Alfred, wiping the sauce off his mouth with the back of his left arm as he held out a (relatively) clean, and more importantly, not broken left hand, “Sorry, this is the hand I got. Name’s Caleb.” 

“Alfred, or Freddie, whichever.” Alfred accepted the hand with a wry grin, enjoying the casualness of all of it. They were like him, not minding that Caleb was a bit messy, ignoring the “proper” protocols of manners and behavior. Just existing together as they were comfortable. And, most of all, no one had said a cruelly judgmental thing. Okay, so they did give Caleb a bit of a hard time but that was not entirely unjust. Daisy placed the cold Coke can next to Caleb and he thanked her quietly before his attention turned back to Alfred.

“Dude, so you’re that mountain man that everyone’s been talking about?”

“I guess so?”

“Sick! Stacy said you’d been coming down more. I thought she was jokin’ cause you’re like, Bigfoot or the Yeti. But not cold. And not blurry.” 

Alfred raised a brow towards Stacy who averted her gaze. Honestly, he wasn’t surprised at all that they’d been talking about him - he was used to that sort of thing. It was amusing though to hear himself becoming the thing of legends. It would be something to tell- he frowned to himself as he went through the list of names of people to tell. The only one would be like, Tony, but he’d been off in space for so long Alfred wasn’t even sure the alien dude remembered him. As his mind went back to his complete lack of anyone who gave a shit about him, the jovial mood deflated, the three humans exchanging glances as they realized something not good had been triggered.

“How’re you feeling?” Stacy changed the conversation, looking over her friend’s sling. Hoping to at least provide Alfred with some space, if not physically - mentally. Daisy was trying to hide her concern, but still Alfred couldn’t look at her for more than a second, the care too much. It wasn’t right for anyone to worry about him. He was just a disaster. Not really worth anyone’s time. Especially not as he was.

“It’s kinda sore, but it’ll get better.” 

“And what happened again?” Stacy was fighting to keep this conversation light.

“Oh, I was bouldering,” Caleb shrugged, “And the hold I was using wasn’t as secure as I thought it was so it went down, and I went with it. Landed wrong. It could have been worse!”

"You boulder?" Alfred raised a brow. That he spoke got the attention of all of them, it was really actually intimidating - though the humans around him seemed excited that he was speaking. No, he wasn't interested in making friends. It would be foolish of him to think any of them could stand him that long. After a week of him being with them, they’d have enough of his shit. But… still? He did like bouldering. Caleb’s eyes lit up like this was the best news he heard in weeks. 

“Oh yeah I do! Do you too?!

“Sometimes, haven’t been in a while,” Alfred couldn’t help but grin at the excitement he saw in the other man. It was easy for him to believe that someone would want something to do with him. It was almost like Alfred could see himself and Caleb being friends, going on adventures.

"Dude! We should totally go when I'm better! That would be so awesome!"

"Yeah, sure," Alfred nodded enthusiastically. He meant it - he would love to go. But in the back of his mind he felt the pain that told him in a couple months, none of them would want anything to do with him. They would be long gone. He was too stupid. Too much. Too… well, himself. And no matter what he did, he couldn’t fucking fix that.

What a joke.

* * * 

There were plenty of things the woman noticed about the man. He was attractive, no doubt about that. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a cowlick that never stayed down. Gave serious jock-with-a-heart-of-gold vibes. But she also noticed how timid he presented himself and she had a strange feeling that was a learned behavior. He was holding himself in tight. Something had happened in this man's life to cause him to shut everyone out, and himself in. She knew Stacy felt it too. And even Caleb. It was unspoken but despite his best efforts not to, he had charmed them all. They wanted him to feel safe in their group. They wanted to know him as he was. Who was it he kept caged in? 

Caleb had started already trying to figure him out. Asking questions, talking about a wide array of topics to find out which ones got a good reaction. One he had found quite successful was video games, and another was comic books. Weirdly enough, Freddie didn’t have a phone. No social media. Nothing. So the only way they had to talk to him was to meet at the café. And they had to tread carefully: If they messed up, and he didn’t come back to the café, they would have no way of contacting him ever again. So they were careful to not overwhelm him. 

Another thing Daisy had been noticing: Alfred was very good at not eating and getting away with it. He never ate at the cafe - only drank his coffee. Those times there was food that was being shared he didn’t take much onto his plate, and then disposed of whatever was on there before anyone could comment on how little he had eaten. She recognized those signs. And it was concerning her. 

She recognized the pinching of skin. The use of larger clothing. How it looked as though he was losing energy quicker and quicker. He was winded walking short distances, but he seemed to be athletic from the hobbies he spoke of.

While she hadn’t known him long, it still felt like she had. There was something about him so familiar, and something that made her feel as though she needed to help him. She wanted to care for him. It was a feeling in her more intense than if he was just a friend, but she felt no romance or crushing towards him (though he was attractive, as mentioned before). Almost like he was family? Or… he had the familiarity of home? She wasn’t sure that made sense, but it was the closest to the description she could find.

So when they settled in for their planned movie night at her place- Caleb and Stacy on the couch, her and Freddie on the ground in front surrounded by pillows, each set of two with their own bowl of popcorn and movie theater candy - she kept an eye on him. 

About two weeks had passed since he had helped her move, and their mornings at the café had become routine. She would come into the café and see Freddie at the counter with a coffee and a book, and she’d take a seat next to him. Then Caleb would bounce in, grabbing his seat on the other side. His book would go to the wayside and they’d just talk. Even Stacy would chat with them while she had a break in customers. 

It was just the day before, in fact, that Caleb went back to the world of comics that he had figured out Alfred enjoyed. Caleb had started going on and on about a superhero movie or something and said something that Freddie vehemently disagreed with. The argument was intense, but kind of funny as the two went back and forth - pulling facts, weird side stories, and characters that neither Daisy nor Stacy had ever heard of. Honestly, Daisy wasn’t even sure of what the argument was, or the franchise, but here they were. Sitting in front of Caleb’s large-screen TV with food, snacks, and the opening for some Marvel franchise film. The two of them, Freddie and Caleb, had gone back and forth with their argument leading up to this and honestly she was just ready for their silence.

“Dude, you’re gonna see I’m so right,” Alfred got in that last word. Even though she was done with the discussion, it was good to hear Freddie being passionate. Seeing him not be his timid self. Like through this arguing he was becoming who he truly was even for just snippets of time. 

“Make sure you have tissues for when you cry over realizing I was actually right,” oh, no, Caleb got in the last word. 

“You wish,” and it went back to Alfred. 

“Okay then, let’s eat our snacks and play the quiet game,” Stacy took the last words for herself and cranked up the TV’s volume.

Daisy took some popcorn for herself and held the bowl out for him.

“Popcorn?” She said softly as the movie began. He shook his head with that bright smile.

“Nah, I’m fine. I’ll get some later.” 

But he never did.

* * *

“Alfred, are you really going to eat all of that?” Francis sniffed the air as he looked down at the young nation. It was almost as though he was both wondering where he went wrong and glad that whatever had fucked up Alfred could be blamed on his longtime frenemy, Arthur. 

“Yeah! Of course I am! Do you want some? I’ll give you some fries,” Alfred held out the bag of McDonald’s to Francis. The Frenchman scrunched his nose and looked away. 

"No thank you. I do not wish to grow as large as you," the words came out easy. Familiar. Francis didn't see the way Alfred recoiled and looked at his stomach. And he was waiting for Alfred to bite back, which he did as expected.

"Dude, your diet is bread. A fry isn't going to overload your carb intake.” Alfred took his bag back and continued to chomp down. Francis was clearly not entertained by the (admittedly expected) comment.

“At least what I eat is actually bread and not that machine-made crap you call a potato,” Francis huffed, turning away. 

“Trying to make excuses for that pudge of yours I see,” Arthur joined in, sitting down in his own seat as he gave Alfred a look, "Ugh. So disgusting." Alfred reached into the bag for another fry, but his hand stopped. Something made him freeze, and so he slowly brought his empty hand back out. But Francis and Arthur were already going. 

“It is your fault he is like this, mon angleterre,” Francis said simply, “If you had taught him proper nutrition he would not be so large.”

“Excuse me? You try to teach that big idiot to do anything.”

Alfred had fully stopped eating. He looked down at his stomach. For not the first time during one of these meetings, he sort of wished he could fall into the floor and have it swallow him whole. How did his brother do it? Turn invisible?

“Of course, proper nutrition comes when you can properly cook, which I know both of you lack the skills in.” Francis was swinging in his nonchalance. Alfred tried to look around the room, to see if anyone wanted to help him out. No one was saying a thing. Matthew was just rolling his eyes at them.

“Come on, food is great, you’re supposed to eat what makes you happy!” Alfred tried. 

“I’m sorry but I do not think what you are eating makes anyone happy. What is this? See?” Francis reached out to Alfred’s cheek, pinching the extra skin and pulling it, “If I had raised you properly you would not be dealing with this extra fat. My perfect Matthieu eats near what you do but manages to not have turned into,” and then he gestured broadly at Alfred. “I know Arthur did not teach you to have shame but a little may go a long way.”

“Francis, that is enough.”

Alfred perked up at Arthur’s demand, not quite wanting to admit how happy it made him feel that someone was defending him. Or at least… seemed like he was going to. 

“I haven’t had any authority over that git in over two-hundred years, whatever he has done since rejecting me is entirely due to his own issues and shortcomings,” Arthur was brutal with his rebuttal, Alfred sank into his seat. “And if you recall his little foray into independence was aided by you so you should share responsibility for screwing him up!”

“If you would take your seats,” Ludwig glared at them all, his gaze harsh and lingering on each one - including Alfred, “America, if you are going to eat your food, please do it with manners this time. It makes the rest of us lose our appetite when food is eaten without mercy,” It was matter-of-fact and to the point. 

Alfred’s cheeks were flaming red with shame. He had already put the bag of food on the ground, hiding the half-eaten breakfast sandwich and fries away. At break, he threw his breakfast away without another bite. He wouldn’t eat again for the rest of the conference.

Chapter Text

The farmer’s market was bustling as usual despite the layer of snow coating the ground and the trees. Everyone started setting up at eight, then selling things at ten when the sun had fully risen and offered its weak warmth, inviting people to walk the makeshift aisles. All the usual people were there: the farmer with his winter crops, the tea and jam shop, the hot cider stand, the woman who always made amazing soaps, and the carpenter with her intricately designed cutting boards. All sorts of people came to this market to sell, and even more kinds (and their dogs) came to buy. 

She was there on an invite, and over the past few months had become a usual staple of the market as she was one of the few musicians who played despite the weather. Daisy set up her guitar case and microphone, then tuned her guitar and kept an eye on the crowd, looking for the people she held dear.

Just as the last string was tuned, she saw them: The large man who had recently joined their group, the red-head she had known since grade school, and the blonde-haired woman she had met at this very market before she influenced Daisy to visit her newly-opened café five years ago.

“Hey Daze,” Stacy was sipping on some still steaming cider. Caleb was chomping on one of the warm, delicious vegan cookies. And Freddie was- well, Freddie had nothing in his hands. He was smiling, of course he was smiling, but he wasn’t eating or drinking anything. Even when it was cold, the market had plenty of delicious temptations - both free and bought. She didn’t like that he had nothing in his gloved hands.

“Got yourself some yummy treats?” she pointedly glanced at the cider, at the cookie, and then at Alfred. The man seemed to notice Daisy was calling him out, but he wasn’t entirely sure what he was being called out for. “What about you, Freddie? Sample some things?”

Alfred shook his head, “I had a big breakfast.”

Daisy frowned, and she could tell Freddie knew she saw right through him. Oh. That’s what he was being called out on. “Huh. Really? What’d you have?” 

He adjusted his stance a bit, pulling at his jacket, “Uh, stuff?”

“What songs are you playing?” Whether he realized it or not, Caleb pivoted the conversation. Freddie looked relieved, Daisy looked frustrated.

“Gonna do some covers,” she said sharply, Caleb was confused as to what his offense was but the cookie called him back so he didn’t have time to dwell, “And maybe an original, not like anyone is paying attention.” 

“I’d love to hear your original work,” Alfred said, it was a genuine statement but she also knew there was desperation to keep her from returning to the conversation about his ‘breakfast.’ She wasn’t done worrying over his eating (or non-eating) habits, but that he was truly interested in her song did make her feel happy. 

“Well stick around, Freddie, grab some muffins from the bakery over there and I’ll be underway shortly,” she spoke as she adjusted her microphone, “They’re really healthy muffins, probably nice and warm, and they got a protein one that’s out of this world.”

She was resorting to tactics that helped with her own issues - focusing on food as a source of energy and strength: a necessity. It seemed to work a little as he glanced over at the muffins on sale, and she hadn’t been lying - they did have a great protein muffin, it was ridiculously healthy, and she actually found them delicious. To her relief, Stacy took the hints and went over to the bakery with the other two following without protest. His eyes were going over those protein muffins and she watched for a moment longer before snapping out of her thoughts, realizing she had a show to get on the road.

“Um, hello everyone, I’m Daisy Levi, and I’m going to play a few songs for you all,” and she began to strum the chords to some covers. As she sang, moving through her setlist, she kept an eye out on her friends. On him, specifically. He picked up a sample, she noticed, and the next moment the sample was gone. So he must have at least tried something.

One song came to an end and she heard a small smattering of applause, something fairly usual for farmer’s market performances. People hear the end of a song, they applaud, not sure really why they’re applauding. Her eyes went back to her friends who were giving her the loudest of applause, naturally, and her eyes went to Freddie’s empty hands. 

She frowned a little bit and he noticed before quickly looking away from her, shoving his hands into his pockets as though that would hide their emptiness. There had to be a way to talk to him, privately, so he’d be comfortable with telling her what was going on. Suddenly, she got an idea. She had ordered a desk online… perhaps she’d ask for his help. After all, Freddie would always help someone if they asked. He was just that sweet of a guy.

A moment passed and she realized the pause in music was stretching almost a little too long. Now she was at work, “Thanks for that. Now let’s get back into some oldies. Anyone like some Alan Jackson?”

* * *

The next morning, he had gone to McDonald’s as normal. Ordered his food, gotten it, and started on his way to the meeting. But as he walked the weight of the breakfast in his hand got heavier. He looked to the bag and then to the giant building that held his fellow nations. His stomach churned but not out of hunger. He glanced down at his stomach, pinching it a bit and frowning. His hand went to his cheek and he pinched it too, finding that excess skin that Francis had been talking about. Were they right? Maybe if he didn’t come in with his breakfast, Francis or Arthur (or maybe both?) would be impressed with him? If he lost some weight, they’d stop making fun of him so much. They might say nicer things to him. Right? Could he even make them proud of him?

‘Look at how good he looks now!’ he wanted to imagine Francis saying. Arthur giving his quiet nod of agreement. Could he actually make Arthur and Francis agree with each other by just not eating?

He looked to the trash and then to the bag. Well, it was perfectly good food. So instead of tossing it, he gave it to someone who looked as though they could use a meal and entered the conference building. With empty stomach and hands he walked down the long corridor until slipping through the large double doors of the conference room. 

“What? No cholesterol this morning?” Arthur spoke dryly nearly as soon as Alfred entered. “Honestly, Alfred, how you can eat that stuff is beyond me.”

“Well, it’s got its time and place my dudes,” Alfred smiled but he found it getting harder to do so, a bit taken aback at how quick it all started up this morning, “I’ve got other food I eat when at home and stuff. So like, I didn’t even eat any McDonald’s this morning!”

“Everything you eat is poor for you, no doubt,” Arthur rolled his eyes, “I can’t imagine anything from America not bad for you and you’re exporting it to the rest of us.”

“What are we talking about?” It was the Northern Italian brother.

“America’s lack of healthy food,” Ludwig didn’t seem to care one way or the other, “But I felt we knew this already.”

“Hold on, my food was brought over in part by all you guys!” Alfred tried, desperately to defend himself at least for a moment. This discussion had been going on thirty minutes so far and his crime apparently had been not bringing in breakfast.

“And it has all been bastardized by you and your people,” Ludwig’s voice matter-of-fact in a way that hurt more than if it were not, “The hot dog is an American monstrosity.”

“Mathieu hardly eats fast food,” Francis said, grinning towards Arthur as though saying it solely to piss him off, “Not to mention how much more Mathieu listens and takes advice from others. Such a lovely and sweet man. Hm. I wonder which of us was better with the children?”

Alfred looked over towards his brother, silently pleading for his help. But Matthew was distracted with his bear, not even paying attention to what was going on, leaving his brother's silent pleas unnoticed. 

“Don’t blame me, he’s gotten this way all by himself,” Arthur grimaced, “I did my best with him but sometimes when something is broken there’s no fixing it.”

It felt like he was stabbed. Broken? Surely Arthur was just trying to counter Francis’ barbs, but why did that have to be the defense? Okay, so he knew he should be used to this by now - none of this was new. They always made fun of him. Why was he so upset about it now?

“Americans are not known for their education system,” Antonio laughed lightly, as though what he was saying wasn’t a direct verbal knife to an already abused man, “So I am inclined to believe Arthur tried, but our friend here did not let the lessons sink in.” 

Friend? Now the word was used mockingly. Alfred leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes in his own attempt to act as though these words weren’t destroying him. Like he hadn’t come in with hope that he would be praised - oh, how stupid was he that any of them would have any praise for him.

Why was he so embarrassed about thinking they would?

They continued on with the verbal lashing, hiding sharp insults between benign comments about cultural differences and cultural affairs. Meanwhile, Alfred sat in his seat - quiet. Despite his best efforts, he was still the disappointment. The worst of them all. And just an hour prior he had had the audacity to believe otherwise.

Chapter Text

“Thanks for helping me put this desk together,” Daisy said as she let Freddie into her home, “You might need to start charging me handyman prices for how often you’re here.” 

“Ha, I’ll think about it. I could give you the frequent client discount,” he joked as he looked over the box that held her new desk. He knelt by it and started to open the cardboard before he realized she was awfully silent in response. He looked up at her then at the desk. “You don’t really need help with the desk, do you?”

“Well, I appreciate it,” She said simply, “But I can read directions. And I’m pretty handy with a screwdriver.”

“So, what is it you want?” he said as though he knew what was coming, his tone defeated. Freddie wasn’t excited about any of this. But he knew it had only been a matter of time before it was brought up. She knelt down next to him, catching those blue orbs.

"Are you okay, Freddie?" Daisy spoke to him with a quiet voice. Alfred looked at her with confusion. Feigned confusion, because this was what he had been dreading since he realized she knew what he was doing.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What's up?"

"That’s not quite what I mean, you know. Are you having trouble eating?" It was to the point, and it confirmed what Alfred knew she knew. But instead of anger or disappointment or anything he was expecting, Daisy just put her hand on his, moving his sleeve up a little to reveal his too-small wrist. It had never really been a question, “Freddie, you don’t have to tell me,” she said with a gentle, easing tone. “But I am here for you. I’ve been there myself. It can happen to anyone, it says nothing about you other than that you need some help. And everyone needs help at some point. I can be there if you need someone, okay? I won’t tell the others, but if you want them to know I’m sure they’d also help you.”

Alfred felt the warmth hit the corners of his eyes as he trembled in front of her. She held her hand out to him and he clutched onto her, “I’m so disgusting though. I eat too much and I eat poorly. I just- There’s no hope for me.” 

“Check the facts, Alfred,” she gripped him tight, “You’re not disgusting. It’s important to eat when you’re hungry. If you want some healthy recipes I know Stacy has some great ones. She has an amazing vegetable stir fry that’s packed with good stuff for you. Let’s work together to get you back to being healthy. Food fuels us, makes it so you can make good on that promise to go bouldering with Caleb. How are you going to climb, how can you save his ass if your body isn’t nourished properly? I know it’s hard, it’s so, so hard - especially with that inner voice. But you’re so incredibly worth it. Do you want to work with me? I can get you the number for the therapist who helped me. And I have a nutritionist as well if you don't feel comfortable going to Stacy. Though she's got a degree in nutrition and I know she'd help no questions.”

He ended up nodding after a bit. 

“Freddie, I need you to know - truly feel and know - that your body is not indicative of your worth. Our appearance isn’t a price we pay to live. What matters is who you are, and that you feel good. Right? You don’t owe anyone but yourself anything. We’ve only known you for a few months and it’s been a blessing. I want you to be healthy and happy.”

Alfred had tears falling though he wasn’t letting himself acknowledge them. He wiped at them with the back of his hand but he was quiet. A moment passed. And then another.

“What are you thinking?” She offered. 

“That… that I haven’t really had anyone say that to me,” he said, “For so long people- people call me things and I just… I just assumed it was true after a while. I never heard anything else. So now… now what you’re saying is hard to believe. But… but I kinda do? Maybe that makes me stupid, but… I want to believe you.”

“If you think it makes you stupid, what does it make me?” she said with a tilt of her head, “Do you think I’m stupid for thinking differently?” It wasn’t an accusatory tone. It was calm. Relaxed. 

“No, no I don’t.” He took his hands back from her and looked at them. He was quiet for a moment before breathing hard, “I think I like believing what you’re saying, so I want to believe it more than I want to believe what everyone else said.” 

“Okay,” she nodded, “I have a really good salad that I made earlier. It’s got some grilled chicken, walnuts, grapes, all sorts of greenery, and a really nice dressing ready to go. I made enough for us both to have as much as we want. Can I get you some?”

Alfred stared at the ground before nodding, “I’m really hungry,” he admitted. 

“I also have some ice cream in the freezer for after if you think it sounds good. Do you want some iced tea with your salad?”

He nodded as though embarrassed to admit he needed food. But she didn’t dwell. This was a great first step. He looked like he wanted to say something, so she stayed still long enough for him to formulate his words, “Can I still help you set this up?” He gestured towards the desk.

“Always,” Daisy laughed, “I’ll go get lunch ready, you take care of this, and we can watch a show while we eat. Sound good?”

Alfred gave her a small, tired smile, “Yeah. Yeah I think so.”

 * * *

Day three. Third time’s the charm, isn’t that what they said? He came in without any food. He came in quietly. He didn’t look at anyone. There was no way this could turn around on him. Surely it couldn’t. They had spent the past two days railing on him about absolutely everything. There had to be nothing left for them to gossip or talk about. And he hadn't eaten since that first day. He was trying to change. He was light-headed but surely that meant it was working. They should notice he was trying. They should leave him be.

“Alfred,” Ivan spoke and Alfred twitched. 

No. Not him. He did not have any energy to deal with Ivan.

“It is very rude of you to not greet people when coming into a room.” 

“Sorry, Ivan. Just been having a rough time-” he started. Ivan just laughed. Alfred kinda wanted to put the Russian man’s head through a wall. Or scream. Or both.

“It does not excuse the rudeness. You have been having a rough time? Of course you have. But do you know that when you have a rough time, it affects all of us? Your people continue to blame mine for their own mistakes. You ought to be ashamed for that. I am owed an apology.” 

“What?! For what?” 

“For hurting me,” Ivan said, and Alfred could tell he was being egged on. Provoked. Ivan wanted a fight. They did this to each other sometimes, poking each other until one snapped. There had been a couple of times where they ended up coming to blows on the conference floor. Both of them getting high off of the adrenaline. The fight ending usually in stalemate, them being pulled away from each other before the violence escalated to the point of no return. But today wasn’t one of those days. Arthur was there. Francis was there. Alfred wanted nothing more than to avoid any conflict. He wanted to make them proud of him, whatever that would take.

“Sorry, dude,” Alfred complied, hoping that no one would see this. That no one’s attention would be drawn.

“Ah! So he does apologize for his faults!” Ivan said loud enough to get the meeting room’s attention despite Alfred’s best effort. “Even an idiotic being can be convinced to do something correctly.”

“Come on. Does the asshole even know what he’s sorry for?” Romano huffed, he was in a particularly cranky mood even for him. “Because he probably doesn’t. Bastard doesn’t know world things. That’s too much for him.”

“Dude,” Alfred’s voice was quiet. In disbelief at this coming at him again. “Can you guys just like, leave me alone for three seconds?” He wanted them to focus on something else. He glanced around the room and saw his brother, mentally apologizing for what he was about to do. But Mattie had seen the way these past couple days had been relentless towards him. He had to understand Alfred was desperate, right? And whatever anyone would say about the Canadian would be so minor, it’d pass in a second. He’d get Mattie some real nice maple syrup or something later as a peace offering. “What about Mattie? He’s-”

“And what about me?” The voice was piercing. Alfred winced, realizing immediately how wrong his calculations were. Maybe he should have warned Matthew about the bus he was about to throw him under? “You mean what about me, the guy dealing with all your shit that you let flow over the border? That’s who you mean?”

And Matthew was off. 

Alfred had never had such a verbal beating before. Matthew hit all of the topics. Healthcare, politics, guns, drugs, all of his country’s faults were laid open. Other nations in the room agreeing with every point, as they should but damn, it still hurt.

One hour passed by. But Matthew was just starting.

Two hours passed by. Matthew still was going. Alfred stared at his hands. He was numb.

Three hours. Alfred’s stomach sank with the realization that everyone he loved in this room had shown him, without a shadow of a doubt, how much they hated him. How stupid did they think he was that he hadn’t seen it? 

Four hours. Matthew was finally done, panting as the adrenaline wore off. Alfred’s cheeks were damp from tears but he was fighting to stop them. At least now the focus was not on him entirely.

“Wow, Matthew, love,” Arthur said, finally noticing the North American twin. Matthew seemed to be in shock over what had just transpired, staring down at Alfred. Alfred couldn’t meet his eyes, trembling as he struggled to stop all of his emotions - afraid that someone would see them and things would start again. But at least for the moment, the attention was fully on the normally invisible northern nation, “Are you okay?”

The words were said to Matthew. Alfred sat there, humiliated under the smirk from Ivan. The utter indifference from anyone else. Feliciano had an ounce of sympathy for him but it was forgotten with Ludwig’s voice.

“If you’ve all had enough of petty squabbling, I’d like to get started. We are hours behind,” Ludwig stood at the podium, angry, cranky as always.

“Al-” Matthew tried. 

“The meeting is starting. Save further complaints for later,” he said and Matthew sat down.

The meeting began like nothing happened. Alfred’s throat was still dry. He hadn’t spoken. No one asked him to. He tried. He had tried everything. He tried to not eat. He tried to not speak. He tried to protect himself. But every time, it was brought down. Every time, he realized that he wasn’t the one people were concerned with hurting. 

And so during the break, as soon as they were excused, he left. 

* * *

When he got home that night after he had helped Daisy and she had helped him, he felt himself sink into his couch. In his hand a phone number for a therapist - he’d have to find a way to make good on that. He still didn’t have a phone after crushing his and throwing it away at that conference. Maybe getting a burner phone would be good…. Was he actually going to do this? Had any nation actually talked to a therapist? 

He laid down on his couch, staring at the fluffy cat bed where Ranger was curled up, not a single care in the world.

That afternoon had been so difficult, it wore him out completely. The salad was good, but he felt himself gaining weight as he ate. His cheeks were probably getting rounder, that extra skin was becoming even more pinchable. His stomach was filling out. After eating, it was unspoken the reason she kept him around with small tasks - the food was digesting. And he would have purged had he been able to. But she kept him busy, and he had beaten the urge to get rid of everything in his stomach. It was just a salad. It wasn’t like… like a sandwich or something.

On some level, he did know she was right. This… was kinda messed up. And if she was concerned, he should take it seriously. 

But would they still like him if he gained weight?

He looked at the phone number once more. Maybe that’s where the whole ‘therapist’ thing came in. 

“I can probably figure out how to do this without revealing all of the… stuff, right, Ranger?” His cat just stretched out as Alfred stretched on his couch. “I’ll think about it in the morning.”

Chapter Text

The mountain path gave way to the small black barbecue and stone picnic bench. The hill covered in large pines, spruces, and aspens was as picturesque as it was serene. A small, babbling brook provided the baseline for nature’s soundtrack as the small group of four set up for their lunch on this early spring day. 

“It’s gorgeous out here,” Daisy said as she sat on the edge of the bench’s seat and pulled out her guitar. It had been a couple of months since their chat, and as promised Alfred had continued to work with his therapist and he had gone to Stacy for advice when it came to nutrition. 

It had been a bit surprising, when he first told Stacy that he had gotten a number from Daisy for a therapist and made an appointment. The first thing she had done was hug him. The second thing she had done was tell him I’m proud of you. The third thing was telling him: You're going to feel so much better . 

Before his first appointment, she had gifted him one of the westerns from the bookshelf and he had taken it along, reading in the waiting room as his mind swirled with potential outcomes. 

But Dr. Anderson had proven there was nothing really to worry about. Even as the tears dripped down his face, she remained non-judgmental, inquisitive, and helpful. When he admitted that his family probably wanted nothing to do with him anymore, she didn’t recoil in disgust. Instead she just wrote notes and made plans for him to come back for more.

After that first session he had returned to the Mountain Pine Café. It had been half-hour since it had closed, but Stacy was still there. And Daisy. And Caleb. Caleb was a little confused as to why they were gathered, and why Freddie looked as though he had gone to war (Which, honestly, probably not a totally absurd analogy with how it felt). But Alfred explained, realizing he actually wanted them all to know what he was doing. He wanted their help to make sure he was eating properly, he wasn’t spiraling, he wasn’t losing himself. And of course they agreed, because as he had realized during his session: he was important to them - and it was okay for him to admit he was important to someone. Despite what he had been told in the midst of those verbal battles in the past, it didn’t make him a braggart or egoist.

He had been working hard at the sessions, on making peace with how things ended up, where he was now, and that food was important for the body and soul. Turns out keeping the huge secret of being a nation wasn’t really as big of an issue when your core problem was your family’s generational abusive tendencies.

“Don’t you live somewhere around here, mountain man?” Caleb had lugged the drinks from Daisy’s car, placing the cooler on the ground right next to the table. He opened it up and pulled out some beers and a cola, holding the beers out for Daisy and Stacy, keeping one for himself while handing over the cola to Freddie as per his request.

“Yeah, just a bit the other way,” Freddie nodded as he put the coal into the barbecue and started the fire. As it heated up, he brought the drink to his lips and enjoyed the cool taste. No one here made fun of him for the cola. No one would tell him how bad it was for him like they actually gave a shit about his health and were not just making themselves feel superior. It had been so nice, going so long without being criticized at every turn. He wanted less and less to ever return to his old life, and just stay here. With these guys.

“Is it lonely?” Stacy asked as she got out the vegetables. Helping her out, he placed his drink down and grabbed a tomato and a knife, speaking as he sliced the fruit on a paper plate. 

“Not really,” it wasn’t a big lie. He was lonely, but not because he lived in the mountains. If he wasn’t lying to himself, he did dearly miss Matthew. And Arthur. Francis. And even Ivan, though the man got under his skin like no other. But, what were the chances they even gave a shit that he had left? He doubted they missed him. Just like he enjoyed this serenity, they probably enjoyed their own. His eyes dropped, his tone turning sad and though he had hoped they didn’t notice the change, Stacy clearly did. “I like the solitude sometimes.”

“And other times?” Stacy looked up at him just in time to see a slice go wrong in his distracted state. As the knife came down it sliced into his finger, cutting deep. Blood started streaming and dripping. He swore under his breath and grabbed a napkin, wrapping it as he held it close. 

“Crap,” he muttered, quiet as to not pull the attention of Daisy - who was tuning her guitar - or Caleb - who had wandered to the brook. 

“We have a first aid kit, let me see your hand.” She reached for his hand and pulled it to her despite him trying to pull it away. When she looked at where the injury had been she blinked in surprise, his finger… had no cut in it. Her brows furrowed in confusion as he avoided her eyes. The blood had been wiped away mostly too, showing little evidence of there being anything amiss. “Freddie?”

Alfred pulled his hand back, “Oh, um,” he crumpled the now blood-soaked napkin he had used and threw it quickly into their makeshift Trader Joe’s-paper-bag-trash bin, “I guess I freaked out for no reason, it must not have gotten me. Haha.”

But Stacy wasn’t convinced.

She had seen the blood on the napkin. She had seen it streaming from his hand. Dried blood even speckled his green long sleeve. But before she could question any of it, Alfred had gone back to the tomato and quickly finished cutting it. 

“Freddie….” She wanted more information. Alfred was keeping a secret. And he had lost all subtlety about that fact.

“Hey, Daze, Do you want cheese?” He was forcing normalcy.

“Yes to cheese!” She called. 

“Caleb?” 

“No cheese!” His voice came from farther in the distance, “Also, I fell in the water! So my butt is wet!” 

“You’re not getting in my car with your wet ass, so you better dry off!” Daisy shouted back. As they started their back and forth, Alfred looked to Stacy. 

“When I don’t dig the solitude, I just make do. My therapist says it's fine to be alone as long as I take time for connections, and you all are just the medicine for that,” he said, responding to her question that seemed to have been presented so long ago. The look he gave her told her that he wanted to move on from what she thought she witnessed. And though she wasn’t happy with it, she let him. “How do you want your burger? Cheese?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

* * *

Light reflected off of the sheer cliff that loomed over them, providing a stoic backdrop to the giant rock they were scaling that day. Caleb’s arm had long since healed, and as they had made plans months earlier to do, here they were. The crash pad had been set up (and used plenty), their hands were covered in chalk residue, their shirts soaked with their sweat as they rested against the cliff’s vertical wall.

“What’s the highest you’ve climbed?” Caleb asked as he drank from his hydroflask. Alfred was munching on one of the energy bars Stacy had made for them as he thought. 

“I went climbing in Yosemite a couple of times.”

“Whoa,” Caleb leaned back, staring up at the cliff and imagining scaling one many times that, “Did you solo it?” 

Alfred paused as he thought. Yes, he had. But he had fallen, dying on impact. And that had kinda been the point. “Yeah. I don’t know if I’d do it again though. The risk is just….”
“Insane, yeah. My mom gets freaked whenever I go out so for her I just try to stick to this sorta stuff,” he gestured to the boulder next to them. “It was bad enough breaking my arm like that. It was only a fracture - nothing super awful. But with hospital bills and my mom’s worry it felt like twenty times worse.”

“I get that,” he truly did too. It was the same reasoning he hadn’t told Arthur about half of the stuff he’d done or been through. He had been worried the man would give himself an aneurysm freaking out about it. But now such thoughts felt so silly, Arthur didn’t care one bit. The silence fell over them as they gazed out over the rough terrain, peaceful in the late-morning light. A lizard scurried across the ground, busy with its day.

“Is your mom still in Breckenridge? Does she like it better than Pueblo?” 

“Yeah,” Caleb nodded before pausing. A moment later, Caleb’s brows furrowed and Alfred knew suddenly that perhaps he had… messed up. “Did I tell you about that? About Pueblo?”

“Um, yeah, I think you mentioned it. Or maybe Daisy did?” Alfred tried to cover. The actual reason he knew that was simple: he knew his people. All nations knew their people on some level. That was something that was understood in their world. However as he had grown closer to the three humans he had realized just how deep that knowledge could go. As he hung out with Caleb he found himself knowing more and more about the man that he hadn’t been told: about where he had gone for school, about what he liked to study, about his mother, his father, his ancestors. All of it was slowly but surely coming into Alfred’s mind, building his knowledge. 

And because of that, he realized he had to tread carefully, remembering what he had been told and what he hadn’t. 

And like what had happened that one time on that mountain in Yosemite - he had slipped. But this time, he could catch himself before falling to a demise. 

“That’s where you grew up, right? Pueblo first, then Breckenridge?”

“Yeah. It was probably Daisy or Stacy who said something. I don’t really talk too much about being from Pueblo. It’s just kinda… a sore spot sometimes.” Caleb was hugging his knees now, suspicion gone, Alfred relieved about that and now able to focus on his friend instead of his self-centered worry.

“I’m sorry,” Alfred said. 

“It’s fine, it is what it is - y’know? Mom’s in a better spot. Dad hasn’t bothered coming back, thank God for that. Mom still needs me around so I go back like super often, but I don’t mind at all.” Caleb smiled. Alfred smiled back. 

“It’s good that she has you.”

“What about you? You from around here?” At Alfred’s hesitancy, Caleb continued, “I know how shitty it can be talking about that stuff. So, not gonna ask about your folks. Just tell me what you want. I also like having you as an enigma, Mountain Man.”

A chortle escaped Alfred’s lips before he sighed and shook his head. “It is kinda… rough,” he admitted, “I’ve traveled around. A lot. Lived in a lot of places, mostly on the east coast. Then I came here to get lost,” and it had worked. But did it count as being lost if no one wanted to know where you were? 

Caleb clearly sensed the deep dip in Alfred’s emotions, looking over his friend as he brought a hand out to Freddie’s back, “Well, sorry for messin’ up your plans to get lost. Because I don’t think any of us could go long without some Freddie vibes in our day. You’re stuck with us,” he grinned, then his brows furrowed in thought, “Well, as long as you want to be, you know, consent is also for friendship.” 

And with that he gave Alfred a strong pat on his back before standing and stretching. “How about we make this boulder ours and then head down to town for some lunch from Stacy?”

“Doesn’t the cafe close at two today? You think we can get up and then down in time?” Alfred let himself smirk at the unspoken challenge as he stood up, not really concerned about the closing time. 

“Closing time is for peasants.” Caleb put his hand in his bag of chalk, pulling it out and smacking his other hand with a cloud of white smoke. “‘Sides, if we look pathetic enough, Stacy will for sure let us in.” 

“Alright then.” Alfred coated his own hands in chalk before staring at the boulder before them. “Race you to the top?” 

“You’re on!” 

* * *

“Fuck this,” it had been said so quietly he wasn’t sure if he said it aloud at all.

As he left the conference he quickly gathered his items and he didn’t talk to anyone. Though, to be fair, no one tried talking to him either. Papers, pencils, pens, notes, all were shoved into his bag with a quiet anger, a silent hurt, but he didn’t dare look up. He didn’t dare make any more noise than what was absolutely necessary. If he did, someone might say something. And if someone said something, he would just- he would- he didn’t know. He just couldn’t handle that.

They didn’t want him there for any other reason than to shit all over him? Fine. 

As he pushed the conference door open he looked back, no one was paying him any mind. Francis was talking to Mattie. Arthur was focused on his own shit. Alfred’s heart shattered, none of them realized he was leaving. Of course, he hadn’t told them. Should he have to, though? Tell them this all fucking hurt?

On his way out, he pulled up his phone and deleted all of his social media accounts. Twitter, gone. Instagram, gone. That TikTok with the message thread where he sent Arthur dozens of stupid TikToks at a time and received one or so back? Gone. His Snapchat that had the impressively long streak with Mattie? Gone. At some point he had to rub the screen against his shirt to clear the tears from it so it would register his touch again.

By the time everything was deleted, he had reached the building’s front doors. Even here he stopped, looking back. He found himself wishing, praying almost that someone would have come behind him and told him wait, stop! Someone had asked him: What’s wrong?

But no one was there. They hadn’t even noticed his things were gone. The meeting even probably started up again. They had to have noticed an empty seat. Or maybe they didn’t. Or maybe, just maybe, they did notice - and were happy about it.

He clenched his fist around the phone, hearing it break, feeling it cut into his palm. There was a trash bin beside the door and he let the pieces of the phone crumble into it. His palm healed from the wound almost instantly. Within the half-hour he had checked out of his hotel, leaving as much of his crap behind as he could. What did any of it matter anymore? He’d only brought some work clothes and some work stuff. All of it went out with the trash. 

Within an hour he had a ticket for the first flight back to New York. And then after that, he’d get lost. Withdraw his decades of saved-up cash. Use said cash to get a beat-up car. Drive across country to that cabin he had gotten a century ago and just kept hidden away. No one knew about it. Barely his government even knew about it.

Not that he needed to worry about people finding him. It wasn’t like any of them would look for him. They’d be glad, probably, that he was gone. He was doing them a favor. 

And that was the thought, he realized, that hurt the most.

Chapter Text

This was getting more comfortable. The three of them would sit at the counter while Stacy ran her business. Discussions ranged from silly to serious, pop culture to deep discussions on where they wanted to be in the future. Stacy chimed in when she could and took care of customers when she needed. They always paid, always wanting to make sure that Stacy knew they supported her.

“I’m glad you guys had fun. And came back in one piece,” Daisy looked both Caleb and Alfred over, as though inspecting to make sure they truly were in one piece. Alfred drank his coffee, his familiar jacket draped over the back of his chair revealing his sky-blue shirt that mirrored the color of his eyes, its short sleeves framing his biceps. A good sign, Daisy took it - he had filled out since that day they spoke in her living room, this shirt was proof of his change in diet and mindset. He was now much less afraid to show himself.

In fact, in front of him was leftover crumbs from a protein muffin. Stacy had made connections with the vegan bakery and now sold their treats. The group, and Alfred’s therapist, was extremely happy that he had added a morning muffin to his routine.

“Freddie here’s a beast when it comes to climbing. Did y’hear he free-soloed in Yosemite? That’s insane ,” Caleb went off. And Alfred felt himself both proud and a little embarrassed. He had never had someone so adamant about praising him. No one had ever treated him as though he were something more than a nuisance - at least since the Revolution - much less bragged about him. 

“Seriously? Whoa,” Daisy was impressed, “That’s intense. Though if you go again, don’t tell me, okay? I don’t think I could handle it. I’d be so worried about you. But of course, when you come back I’ll want to know everything.”

Alfred laughed, “Yeah, sure-”

There was the screech of tires. The sound of metal crunching. Suddenly everything in the café stopped and they all turned to the window. Outside, an accident. One car was on fire. Oil was leaking.

“Shit,” Alfred didn’t think before springing into action, Daisy and Caleb hustling after. Stacy had gotten to the phone immediately, calling for help.

Once outside, they were able to assess the situation. An accident at an intersection, one green jeep on its side, a pickup truck in a traffic light pole, a minivan stopped directly in the middle of the four-way. A crowd of helpers was starting to gather as car doors opened and the people who could move on their own accord stumbled onto the road.

Daisy rushed to help an older woman who was fumbling around after climbing out of the jeep, dazed and confused in the moments after the accident. Caleb was helping to move the children from the minivan to the side of the road, joking all the way to bring them some laughter. 

And Alfred saw a man stuck in the burning truck. The door was crunched. The driver unconscious. People were trying to open the doors but to no avail. Black plumes of smoke floated to the sky.

“We have to get him out, he’s going to burn!” one man said as he tried to pull on the truck’s door handle before the smoke overwhelmed him, sending him into a coughing fit. Sirens were heard in the distance, but they would be too late if action wasn’t taken. Alfred wasn’t going to think twice about this. He dipped back into the cafe before he rushed to the car with a newly obtained face mask to protect himself from the smoke. He’d heal from inhalation, but it could hinder the rescue. Once at the truck he gripped the door’s handle, pulling on it to test it - more, to test its durability. Just pulling it made it start to crunch, he frowned.

“It’s stuck,” the man reiterated between coughs, but Alfred wasn’t listening. 

Unsatisfied with the handle, he took a step back, balling his hand into a fist before flying it forward towards the window with his nation strength. The window cracked just a bit on impact, and Alfred ignored the slack-jawed face of the man behind him. He pulled his now-bleeding, probably a little broken, fist back again and flew it forward once more - aiming right at the spot of the earlier impact. The window shattered and he gripped the edges of where the glass had once been, his hand starting to heal already. He pulled. The door came right off its hinges, breaking everything that needed to break in order for the door to be out of the way. He tossed the metal to the side like it was made out of cardboard before reaching in and grabbing the man, gently holding him and praying he wasn’t going to mess up anything in the man’s body. 

He knew to not move people who had undergone this sort of trauma. 

But this situation was desperate. The fire was hot. The smoke was thick. The oil was surrounding them. The car could go at any time. So he did what was necessary. As he picked up the driver his eyes met those of the man who he had taken over the rescue operation from. There was disbelief there, shock, maybe some fear.

“Who are you?” was sputtered out to the masked man.

“Um, uh- I’m the Mountain Man?” he said with all the confidence of someone realizing their superhero alias would probably make the D-List in the superhero world. Weird how one could be so ready for being a superhero but when it came time to it, it didn’t feel super cool. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. Can you let the EMTs know this guy’s gonna need them? I’ll put him down over there.”

The other guy could only nod. Alfred carried the man to a safe spot on the sidewalk, laying him down just in time for the EMTs to arrive.

As the situation went from chaos to controlled, Alfred made his way to the café’s windowed wall, leaning against it just under the cursive lettering that named Mountain Pine Café to those passing on the sidewalk. He focused on his breathing and rapidly beating heart, using the techniques he’d learned in therapy to calm his body. Pulling off his mask he slowly looked to his hand. It was still bruised, but no longer bleeding and it didn’t feel broken. Blood speckled it and his shirt, and he wasn’t sure if the blood came from him or the driver. Caleb, Daisy, and Stacy joined him shortly after with their own panic subsiding.

“That was- that was something,” Daisy let out a held breath before glancing at Freddie, “Freddie, you broke a car window and just yanked that door off like it was nothing.”

“Crazy what adrenaline will do. Though I think it was cracked to begin with,” Alfred lied a little, hoping they’d let adrenaline take the blame. He could see the suspicion in Stacy’s eyes. She had seen him heal earlier. And Caleb had his own thoughts he could tell, still not buying the ‘I heard where your mom lives from someone’ story. They all seemed to suspect something. But Alfred offered no explanation, and as far as he was concerned - they asked for none. Alfred caught his reflection in the window of the café, his face half clean, half darkened from the smoke. It was a sight for sure.

“Come in and get something to drink. All of you. On the house. To calm down,” Stacy offered. She looked over Alfred. “And clean up.” The three agreed, feeling that Stacy needed this just as much as them. The group went back into the café, everyone still trembling from the events of a moment before. 

* * *

When the meeting convened again after their break, Matthew immediately noticed that his brother was absent. He was not the only one.

“Where is that bastard yank?” Romano grumbled as the meeting delayed for a few minutes to give him time to show up. Not necessarily out of politeness, but more out of needing the global superpower to be present for their discussion. 

“We will give him five more minutes, and then we will begin,” Ludwig said, keeping an eye on his watch. 

Matthew felt it in the depths of his gut, praying, hoping that Alfred would walk through that door and maybe even give Mattie some shit for what he did earlier. Then things would be back to normal. And Matthew wouldn’t feel as guilty as he did now. 

But the five minutes came and went. No sign of Alfred.

And at some point, Matthew realized Alfred’s things were gone. When had he packed up?

“Well, it was a rough morning for the lad,” Arthur sighed, catching the worry and guilt in Matthew’s eyes. The Englishman also seemed to notice that Alfred’s spot wasn’t merely missing the American, but also all of his things, “You said what you needed to say, Matthew. He’s just moping as he usually does when people don’t kiss his ass. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

Right. Tomorrow. The meeting had a couple more days. There was still time. 

Except, Alfred didn’t come back the next day. They waited for him, but his seat remained empty. 

“Maybe he just needed to take a day,” Arthur reasoned and Matthew hoped that was the case. 

By the last day of the meeting, the mystery was still unsolved. Alfred hadn’t shown up. He hadn’t spoken to anyone. No one had seen him anywhere. Not even in the hotel many of them used. 

“His phone just goes to voicemail,” Matthew said as he tried to call his brother for the hundredth time. Once more, voicemail. He yanked the phone from his ear and typed furiously. 

Where are you?!

It was the tenth time he had sent that message in the last few hours on top of the probably hundreds of messages he had sent all the previous day, and then the day before that, so many messages he had sent his brother. Apologies. Anger-filled rants. Messages detailed with deep regret. Threats (mild ones). Begging. Pleading. 

Please answer me! I’m sorry! Talk to me! 

- and not one of them had been seen.

“Did he post anything on his Instagram?” Francis asked, and Matthew immediately opened the app. Of course his brother would post. His brother always posted on Instagram. 

But when he typed in his brother’s handle, all that came up was:

User not found.

“What? His account. It- It’s not here- It’s been deleted,” A coldness went over him. His brother wasn’t just gone, his brother or someone had made sure his traces were wiped away. Matthew’s throat tightened as he opened up Snapchat, realizing that he hadn’t sent a picture to his brother for their streak since what happened, but there was no sign of Alfred on the app. “He-He’s not on Snapchat either-”

“Really?” Arthur perked up with the realization, “He’s always sending me those stupid TikToks. I’ll message him through there-” 

Arthur stopped talking as he realized the chatroom that held all the jokes Alfred sent to him was empty. 

The account didn’t exist.

Alfred was gone.

Chapter Text

“This it?” Caleb asked as they parked in front of the long stone path that led to the simple wooden door. The A-Frame cabin wasn’t large, maybe even a bit small, but it was lit with a golden glow flooding the front porch with a warmth that beckoned travelers. Twinkling fairy lights led off the path into a garden that surrounded wooden logs and a large campfire. A barbecue was outside, against the wooden fence that held in this space. 

The trees towered over the cabin, the roof of the building dark and blending in with its surroundings, causing it to appear as though it traveled skyward and vanished into the twisting branches

“Dude, is he like, fae or something?” Caleb ended up whispering, looking in awe over the cabin. The spring had brought the bushes in his front yard to life, roses and sunflowers, all sorts of colors lined the paths. Little mushrooms grew by the base of the gate that was open for them. The only way Caleb could describe the outside of this little home was alive. Like it was claimed by the forest itself.

“Y’know, he might be,” and Daisy wasn’t entirely joking. The peculiarities of the home was thinly balanced by the normalities. While there was light and electricity, she realized she saw no mailbox and there had been no street lights leading up to here. There were no neighbors as far as she could tell. The path leading off the main road to here was all but completely hidden by large, luscious pines. If they hadn’t had his specific directions, she was sure they would have gotten well lost.  From the main road, there was no sign anyone lived here - and she briefly wondered how many other people had decided these mountains were their place to get lost.

“Well, we ought to let him know we’re here,” Stacy said, moving up the path and knocking on the door. She had a hesitancy, though, as if fearing this actually wasn’t Freddie’s house at all, but that of a witch who was about to curse them. But as her raps on the door quieted, she realized with relief she had no reason for concern.

“Be right there!” Freddie’s familiar voice answered as they heard the thump thump thump of someone organizing things last minute. It wasn’t long before the door opened and there was their friend, in that same jacket he always wore. Same cowlick. Same smile, “Hey guys! Come on in!” 

He held the door for them as they took careful but not hesitant steps inside, looking at the plain-but-homey cabin. Daisy saw he had a couch and a TV with game consoles hooked up to it. Some art on the walls, mostly pictures of America - wide open spaces, the Golden Gate Bridge, the Appalachian Mountains, Times Square. In a weird way, despite the lack of stars and stripes, no familiarly specific reds, whites, or blues, it felt a bit… patriotic?

Stairs in the back of the cabin led up to a loft. Daisy could see a bed up there and some dressers. The very open cabin had a downstairs with a living room, dining room, and kitchen, and the upstairs with the bedroom - and only one inside door she assumed was for the restroom. Unless - well, with all they had seen of this place she wouldn’t be totally shocked if all Alfred had was an outhouse. 

“I didn’t know you had a cat!” Previous thoughts momentarily forgotten, Daisy knelt down next to the white cat with dark brown fuzz around its neck who was sleeping on the tan couch. The cat’s eyes opened lazily, they were the same deep blue as his person’s, with little markings that almost looked like glasses on him. In fact, though she acknowledged the large cat was absolutely adorable, she had to admit - the markings were strange. They seemed natural too, so what kind of cat was this?

“Yeah, Ranger’s a bit of a glutton so once we start eating he’s gonna be real interested in us.” Alfred came over and gave Ranger a small scratch behind the ears, which made the cat purr like an engine. 

Daisy took over petting duty and the cat was in heaven at the attention, leaning into the hand, “I love him already,” she said, giving her full attention to the fluffy creature.

A beeping noise went off, “That’s the oven! I made some good ol’ mac and cheese and some meatloaf,” he said, walking backwards towards his kitchen, “just make yourselves at home!”

“Can I help?” Stacy followed him.

“Yeah! That’d be great.”

As the two of them went to the section of the cabin that was clearly the kitchen, Caleb sat down next to where Daisy was pampering the cat. But even though she was giving the cat pets and love, she seemed distracted. “What’s up, Daze?” he reached out to Ranger as well, giving him some gentle scratches. The cat was super friendly. Kind of like his person.

“There are no personal photos in here,” she said as she looked around. He paused, realizing what she was getting at. “No personal anything really.” He glanced around himself and noticed it too. There was plenty of decoration, everything a bit Americana in taste, but there were no pictures indicating the man had any family. Nothing even remotely hinting at him having anyone in his life. No cards, no letters. There was a stiffness here. Like whoever was here hadn’t really lived here before inviting them over.

Caleb felt the goosebumps on his arms. There were only two things Alfred could truly be - A serial killer, or…

“No, really, Daze, is he a fae?”

* * *

Arthur felt numb. It was as though ice was running through his veins. For four days the American had been out of contact. He had deleted all of his social media. They found that Alfred had checked out of the hotel and had thrown away his notebooks, his pens, his folders, his clothes. Anything associated with his work as a nation had been found in the trash. All attempts to get in contact with him had failed. His country’s leaders were also at a loss as to where he could have gone.

"Any luck?" Francis was asking as Matthew approached after another desperate search around the conference building. The Canadian was cradling a mangled something in his hands, staring at it. In response, he shook his head and both Arthur and Francis saw that the man’s face was filled with simple, pure, despair.

“What’s going on, dear boy?” Arthur asked.

"So no one's heard anything. A-and um," he was choking on his next words but he held up a crunched looking device coated in what looked to be dried blood. "Ludwig said this was found in the trash."

"What is it?" Arthur neared the mangled piece of technology. 

"His phone. It’s been crushed.”

"Does this mean someone’s taken him?" Arthur felt that familiar worry build in his stomach. The fear of what had happened to his son, younger brother, whatever they called themselves these days. Alfred might have his independence but Arthur would always be his guardian and though that was a role he had failed numerous times he would not fail again.

“There’s no ransom, there’s no trace, nothing. Nothing at all. Security cameras just show him leaving,” Matthew said, his voice rising with panic, “The only thing we know is that he bought a flight back to America but after that it’s like he just… vanished. I- I’ve made calls. He’s not in Virginia, or New York, or Texas. Someone saw him take some money and his cat and just- drive away. After that there's- nothing.”

Matthew felt his heart starting to beat faster, his breath shortening. He ran a hand through his hair, mind whirling through what things could have happened. There was a number of people he could imagine who would love to get their hands on America. Who would threaten them to get to him and he, being the hero, would valiantly go to his own demise to protect them. But why would he bring Ranger if he was being threatened?

“Matthew, Matthew- Whatever has happened you will be of no use to anyone if you pass out,” Arthur spoke in as soothing a voice he could, his hands going to Matthew’s shoulders, hoping to comfort, “So take some deep breaths, alright? We’ll get the bloody git back, don’t you worry.”

“His country is still alive, is it not?” Francis pulled out his own phone, scrolling through the news as to try and find something that would indicate the younger nation’s wellbeing, “There is nothing here. Nothing strange. America as a country is doing as well as anyone.”

“This makes no sense. Why? Why would he just leave? Did anything unusual happen?” Arthur tried to scan his memories, but everything had been as normal. Nothing strange or out of the ordinary had gone on.

“I- I yelled at him. A lot,” Matthew realized with horror. 

“We all have, love, it’s not like him to let it get under his skin.” 

“That is correct,” in a rare moment, Francis and Arthur were on the same page, “We are all used to being yelled at from time to time. I do not believe you did anything more than the rest of us.”

“Then what do we do?” Matthew sniffled. Arthur huffed.

“We wait for that twat to stop this nonsense and return to us.”

* * *

Two hours and some testing if Freddie was a fae later, the dinner had been thoroughly demolished. Even Alfred’s cat had managed to charm his way to a full belly and was now stretched out on his cat bed, peacefully passed out. 

Fighting through the food coma daze, the four of them had been able to escape to the outside where the moon was high and the campfire was lit. Alfred had even brought out marshmallows and sticks for when their food digested and they had some space in their stomachs again. As they rested, Daisy had her guitar out and was strumming some chords, providing a quiet background track.

“Damn, Freddie, where’d you learn to cook like that?” Caleb was all but lying down on the log he had claimed, just enjoying the heat of the fire, the sound of Daisy’s music, and the chirping of the crickets. 

“My papa taught me a few things. Well, he didn’t really teach me - I don’t think he knew I was watching him,” he laughed as he poked the fire a little bit before throwing another log on. He was quiet immediately after he spoke as though mentioning his papa brought up less than pleasant memories. It didn’t go unnoticed. It had been six months since he had left everyone. And though he didn’t want to be found, the fact that he hadn’t been made him more convinced they hadn’t even looked. They didn’t give a shit.

“Freddie?” Stacy started quietly, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just… shit,” Alfred shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. Those intrusive thoughts that told him if he said too much, was too much, they’d all just realize what a disaster he was and leave. He didn’t want them to leave him. But if he wasn’t careful they’d realize he was the fuck up that left his family and because of that their lives improved and they felt it was best he stayed gone. If his new friends made that same realization….

He had made a mistake, he had gotten close to them. Sure, humans would die before him, but that was different. That wasn’t by choice. Now he was treading on thin ground, his chest tightened, if he said too much they’d realize that Arthur and Francis and Mattie were the right ones and they’d leave him. They’d learn he was someone to hate.

“Freddie? What’s wrong?” Stacy asked.

He looked up at her and she was taken aback by the fear in his eyes, “I- If I tell you- you’ll- I’m afraid-”

It was shocking to her. Caleb too as he sat up. Daisy set her guitar to the side. “What are you afraid of?” Stacy continued.

“You’ll realize… I’m awful,” he choked out, “And then you’ll leave me. But I love you guys and I don’t- I don’t want that.”

Stacy’s lips went tight. Simply denying his thoughts on himself wouldn’t be helpful, she knew that much. She didn’t want him to double down. But thinking this way… “Why would we realize that about you?” 

“Because…. Because it’s happened before,” he spoke, swallowing those tears, clearing his throat from the trapped sobs, “Sorry, I’m sorry, I’m just, there’s a lot. A lot of shit.”

“Do you want to tell us?” Stacy caught his mourning eyes, and held them for a moment, hoping she was conveying what she wanted to: That he was safe. He would be safe with them. There was nothing short of ‘I’m actually a serial killer’ that would make them leave.

He thought on her question for a few minutes before nodding, realizing that actually yes- yes he did.

“There was someone I loved. Deeply. But then one day, I realized, they- they didn’t love me,” he stared at his fingers, as though they held something. Answers, maybe? “Well, someones. Two of them- er, sometimes three. Well, I knew they had some frustration and anger towards me. Everyone does. But things were getting bad. This time it was… well, there were a lot of us there. Some… ‘friends,’ some acquaintances, and my family.”

“Your family?” Caleb had moved to sitting up, listening close.

The campfire in the middle of their small group crackled and spit, reflecting in Alfred’s glasses. He looked up at Caleb before letting out a breath, “Yeah. I had - have? - two dads. And a twin brother.” 

Alfred looked at each of them. At Stacy. At Caleb. At Daisy. A group he had found on his own. They sat patiently, waiting for him. “Of course, I love - loved? - my dad. And papa. And brother but-” he moved his glasses, wiping the tears from his eyes before placing them back, “one day we were with the group. And like, I’m used to it - you know? - the criticisms. I’m too fat, I’m too stupid, I’m too loud, I’m annoying. I heard it a lot. A lot a lot. A lot of them hate me, and I know that for sure.” 

His voice cracked with the fire. But he kept on.

“But I thought maybe… I had some people? Someone on my side. At least my family. That day, Dad got into it. Papa tried to calm him down but like, with those backhanded things? ‘The reason he can’t cook is because of you, mon angleterre’,” at the confusion he added, “Papa’s French. Dad’s English.” Which answered some questions but raised more. “‘He has gained weight but you should have taught him nutrition better,’ stuff like that. Lots of weight comments. So that's where those issues come from,” he clutched at his stomach, as though trying to hide it. 

“The whole shindig thing takes a few days, and so like, the second day I thought they’d move on but - nope. Then the third day I thought they were done but… still nope. That third day, I was so tired of it, I looked to my brother, and I shouldn’t have done it but I was drowning. I said, ‘well, what about Mattie?’ My brother was always patient and the perfect one. Everyone loves him about as much as they hate me. And then I threw him under the bus. And well….”

He wiped again angrily at the tears, “He just went off on me . I don’t know what I did to deserve all of that but I'm sure there is a reason I'm just too stupid to see. I loved Mattie so much. I would have died for him, you know? He’s my bro. My twin. I think I’d still die for him too.

“But that day he just- I know I don’t read the room. And I’m not smart. And I’m just a mess but I thought- I thought maybe- maybe he loved me too? Instead he just ripped me a new one for so fucking long - like, hours. The yelling got louder. And every one agreed with every sucky comment about me. How I was failing someone in some way. How I was ruining this and ruining that. And the worst part- the worst, worst part was-” he felt his voice hitch but he pushed through, “was that they acted as though I did everything on purpose. Like it’s not bad enough I’m this awful person, I know I suck, but they believe I’m this awful person on purpose. ” 

The tears were falling faster and he had given up keeping his glasses on as he wiped at his eyes. “That day, I couldn’t breathe, it felt like I was literally drowning. I held hope for I don’t know how long that someone, anyone would come to help me. But every mouth that opened had something more to add about my faults. Then, when they finally, finally stopped, I just left. I haven’t seen any of them since. I threw away my phone. They don’t know where I am, not that anyone’s looking. I just can’t handle that life anymore, even if it makes me a coward.”

As Alfred shook with his sorrow, Daisy moved from her spot closer to him, putting an arm over his shoulder, comforting.

“I thought that surely someone had some care for me,” his hand trembled as he put his glasses back on, “but- but I was wrong. I’m always wrong. God, how am I such a fucking idiot?”

“You aren’t an idiot, Freddie,” Daisy’s voice was soft, “That sounds like abuse. No one deserves any of that.” Stacy and Caleb offered nods of agreement.

"Bro," Caleb was unusually somber and it grabbed their attention, "I know it may be hard for you to believe - I've been there too so I know, but like - we're here because we like you. A lot. And we aren't going to pull that shit on you, okay? We sure as hell aren’t going to leave you because some people were jackasses to you.”

“Thank you,” Alfred accepted the love. He accepted the praise. He accepted the idea that maybe those around him were here because they loved him and wanted to spend time with him. They hadn’t said a cross word to him. His only arguments were those fun comic book ones with Caleb. They had only spoken about his eating when they were worried about him not eating well enough. They never called him stupid. It truly meant a lot, to have their acceptance. And to feel protected by them. 

Caleb joined the hug, then Stacy. The small group of four clutching each other tight for a moment before pulling away.

“Anyone want marshmallows?” Alfred sniffled, trying to change the mood. He handed out the skewers and everyone put a marshmallow on, the group accepting the invitation - the quiet plea - to change the subject.

“You know what might be fun?” Stacy started, hoping to lift Alfred’s spirits more by moving the conversation in a more positive direction. “Spring Fling opens next week. What if we go on Saturday night? We can have funnel cakes, cotton candy, and go on some of those sketchy rides. I can stay out since I don’t open on Sundays. It’ll be a lot of fun I think!”

“Oh I’d love that!” Daisy perked up, blowing out her marshmallow that had caught fire. “I’m a sucker for fresh cotton candy!”

“I’m in!” Caleb agreed and he joined the others in their hopeful gaze towards Freddie, his own marshmallow already in his mouth. Alfred wasn’t even sure Caleb had toasted it first. “You wanna come, Freddie? It won’t be near as much fun without you.” 

Alfred was wiping the rest of the tears from his eyes and sticking his own marshmallow in the fire when he just offered a nod. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

Chapter Text

“You’re such an insufferable twat.” Arthur’s voice was piercing as he rolled his eyes. 

“What a dumbass, this whole depression is your fault, so what are you going to do to fix it?” Was that Romano? Or Antonio? Or someone else? It wasn’t clear. 

“You always go head-first into these things, you bloody wanker.” That was Arthur again.

“I cannot believe he is supposed to be a superpower, his superpower is being a fuck-up.”

“Hm. He is crying. He cannot hold his emotions, da? How pathetic. Perhaps he is far more unstable than we realize.”

“I would be ashamed if I were him, he’s so large, round,” Kiku.

Alfred looked from one of them to the other, shaking, struggling to breathe as he tried to find the right words to gain their empathy, their forgiveness, their humanity.

“Please stop, I know I’m a failure, but I’ll be better-” he begged.

“Right. Sure.” The disbelief came from the one he had loved most. Matthew rolled his eyes at Alfred and went back to ignoring him.

 Alfred was crying, “I’m sorry! I’m SORRY!”

And then he realized he was screaming. He sat up, breathing hard, his body drenched in cold sweat as he gulped in air. Ranger moved slowly over to him, onto his lap. Alfred reached down to the cat and held him close.

“In… out…” he whispered, breathing in sync with his own commands. His heart calmed, but when it did his tears still slowly trickled down his cheeks. That sucked. A lot. He’d been having far fewer of those dreams, especially since two weeks ago when he had confessed everything to his friends and then processed the entire traumatic unloading with Dr. Anderson. But he had allowed himself to relax, let his guard down - and wow, was his trauma-inflicted brain not happy about that.

He tried desperately to perk himself up, getting out of bed and heading to his bathroom (it was not an outhouse, as Daze had questioned). But on his way, he saw it. Underneath his bed, hidden away. His safe. Inside it, his gun. He could go back. He hadn’t done it in months, not since making plans he needed to keep.

Just a small break in thinking. That was all he needed.

“No, no. ” He was firm with himself. “We have the fair tonight.” He managed to pull himself into his bathroom, he managed to get himself presentable, and he managed to get into that beat-up car and head into town. 

Forty minutes later he walked into the café. On the way down he tried to make sure he fixed his face enough so it didn’t look as though he had a mental breakdown earlier. But upon seeing Stacy and watching her face go from a cheerful greeting to a worried frown, he knew he hadn’t been as successful as he hoped. 

“Hey, Freddie.” She placed his coffee and muffin down at his seat. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he answered, but she didn’t buy it one bit. Before she could question him further, the door opened with a jingle and in came Caleb. He took a seat by him and also seemed to notice the pain in his eyes.  

“You alright?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” Alfred doubled-down. Caleb and Stacy exchanged a glance and Alfred had the sinking feeling they were scheming to get him to confess today’s trauma. But before they could say anything, the door opened a third time. 

It was Daisy’s turn to do the same thing the others did: A smile in greeting, then noticing Alfred’s sunken eyes, his tired gaze, she frowned. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he gave her. 

“You’re so full of shit your eyes are turning brown,” Daisy spat, sitting next to him, “What’s wrong?”

It was the first time any of them had been so aggressive with him, but at least it was from a place of worry. And it did make him laugh a little, which seemed to provide his friends with some relief. “I just… had a bad dream. It’s silly.”

“No, Freddie,” Stacy was firm, “Nightmares are not silly.”

“Some are.” Caleb shrugged as Stacy fixed his usual, a croissant with some orange juice. “I had one, there was an alligator on my kindergarten schoolground and it was like, chasing me.”

“That sounds terrifying,” Alfred offered.

“It was! But also, a little silly. There are no mountain crocodiles.” He laughed before pausing. “Wait, is there? Guys, do we have crocodiles here?”

Stacy chuckled and  rolled her eyes before her attention went back to Alfred. “Are you okay, for real?”

Alfred’s response was far more confident than before, Caleb’s light attitude and being with his friends helped to snap him back to his new reality. It was about time his fellow nations packed up and stopped living rent-free in his mind. It was better to replace them, and let these three live there instead. “It was rough but, yeah, I feel a lot better. Especially now that you’re all here.”

“And tonight we can get some cotton candy!” Daisy had been talking about the cotton candy for the past week. Stacy slid an iced tea in front of her. “It makes everything better, especially bad dreams.”

“I’m excited,” Alfred said, and it almost surprised him how true that was.

* * *

The bright pink cotton candy was firming and melting as he pinched it and brought it to his lips. The ‘strawberry’ flavored-sugar coated his taste buds.

“So Freddie, are you really feeling better?” Daisy’s elbow reached his ribs with a gentle kind push. He nodded as he took another bit of cotton candy.

“Yeah, you were right. Cotton candy fixes everything.”

It’s fairy floss, you idiot. Arthur’s voice cut in his mind, but it was getting quieter. 

Who fucking cares? His mind responded automatically. And that echo of a past where he’d be shamed for just about everything he did faded a bit more. 

The night had been everything he had ever wanted from friendship. The small, janky amusement park was rife with people. They had spent too much money on tickets for the rides, going on near everything from the sketchy roller coaster to the Tilt-A-Whirl. He jumped at some of the small scares in the fun house and tried his hand at some of the games. By popping four balloons he had been awarded a cheap inflatable baseball bat he had then promptly gifted to Caleb. Caleb had then promptly used the bright red and blue bat to ‘knight’ Alfred as Sir Alfred Awesomesauce, leader of the Good Vibes. And Sir Alfred Awesomesauce, Leader of the Good Vibes accepted.

Arthur would have surely had a conniption had he witnessed such blasphemy, but he wasn’t here. And after this amount of time, Alfred was almost certain that was by choice. Did they even know him if they couldn’t figure out he’d run away to the mountains?

As a group, Caleb, Daisy, Stacy, and Alfred had made it through most of the food stands. There had been frybread, corn dogs, popcorn, caramel apples, and now some fresh-made cotton candy. Even with his nation strength, Alfred could admit his feet were starting to hurt. And his stomach was starting to ache with all the food. Sure, in the past few months he had been eating better, eating more, Stacy’s recipes were always great and made him feel healthy. But this was the first time in a long time he just… ate because the food was fun. And his stomach had something to say about that - but in a good way, almost. In a way that told him he was living. 

Now after splitting from Caleb and Stacy a little earlier, Alfred and Daisy were walking to rejoin the other two just on the inside of the fence. The moon was high, it was way late, he watched as Daisy yawned. “Tired?”

“A bit, yeah. It’s been a long day.” She stretched. “And I’m glad you’re happier again, Freddie. You really do deserve to be happy.” It was a simple comment but one that hit him deep. He looked over her, just so grateful to have her, to have Caleb, to have Stacy, as friends.

They made their way through the thinning crowd and Alfred noticed an elderly man was sitting on a bench next to the haunted house. Immediately, Alfred recognized him. That man had flown beside him in the second world war. It was getting rarer and rarer to see those brave men and women around. 

The man recognized him as well. With a shaking body, he managed to get to his feet and offered a salute to Alfred as he passed by. Alfred gave a salute back. He lowered his hand and looked to Daisy. “Hey, can you hold this a second?”

She took the stick of half-eaten cotton candy without question as Alfred went over to his brother in arms, holding out a hand. “Glad to see you’re doing well, Sergeant Ruiz.”

“America,” the man used his country name, taking his hand warmly. Alfred side-glanced at Daisy, but she was distracted watching some kids trying one of those games made for parents to throw money at in exchange for their kids to be busy for a few minutes. She hadn’t heard. “It’s always an honor. You haven’t aged a day.”

Alfred just laughed, “The others still consider me nineteen, can’t even legally drink.”

“They don’t even know half of what we got up to back in the day.” The Sergeant held a twinkle in his eye as he reached for Alfred’s hand again, enclosing it in another shake. But Alfred realized, as the elderly man pulled his hand away, that he had left a ten dollar bill in Alfred’s palm. “Get yourself into some trouble, like we used to.”

“Grandpa!” a kid came up to them. “Mama says it’s time to go.” The kid looked at Alfred with wide eyes before figuring he was just a boring adult. "We gotta go, he can't talk to you anymore."

“Mijo, you know who you’re speaking to?” The man started before shaking his head, looking to Alfred with slight exasperation that said kids these days.

“I’m glad he doesn’t know who I am,” Alfred chuckled.

“I suppose that is a good thing. If knowing who you are means he has to go through what we went through, I hope he never does.” The kid had run back to his mother, and the man turned to Alfred, patting him on the arm. “Take care.”

“You too.” Alfred watched as the Sergeant rejoined his family.

“Who was that?” he heard his daughter say. But he didn’t hear the Sergeant’s answer. If he shared the secret or not, it was out of his hands. 

Daisy approached him, “Old friend?”

Alfred looked down at his hand that still held the bill. He clutched it tight and slipped it into his pocket. “You could say that.” He could tell Daisy was left confused by his answer, but she didn’t ask any further.

“We should get going, the others are still waiting for us.” Daisy held out the cotton candy for him to take back, and he obliged.

“Yeah.” Alfred nodded, eating another bite of it as they went to the agreed upon meet-up place.

“Over here guys!” Caleb was waving the inflatable baseball bat up high from where he stood. They went to where he was with Stacy and the group melded into one once more.

“Hey, we ready to go? I think we’re tapped out,” Alfred held his cotton candy out for Caleb and Stacy to take some. 

“I’m wiped as well,” Stacy yawned into the back of her hand, taking a small bite from the pink fluff.

At that moment, they heard loud snappings. There was a scream. They all whipped around, staring as an empty egg-shaped compartment of the ferris wheel fell off its supports. It bounced heavily before starting on a roll down the small hill of the amusement park grounds. The heavy metal oval was rolling towards them - quickly. Too quick to get out of the way. 

As shocking as it was to be threatened with being flattened, what followed was even more for the humans. The cotton candy dropped to the ground, Alfred stepped in front of them - guarding them with his body. He held his hands out and braced for impact. The metal came careening towards them, stopping suddenly as it hit his hands. 

Alfred grunted with the strength it took to keep his friends safe and shoved the compartment off course from them, leaving it to smash into the chain link fence behind them. The three humans were shielding themselves from the potential carnage they were about to be a part of, but when nothing came they looked up and saw him- breathing heavily but the only thing damaged was the ferris wheel seat itself and the fence it had run into.

He turned to them, panting with adrenaline. “You guys okay?”

“Freddie.” The name came quietly from Stacy as she looked him over. “Who are you?”

“What are you?” Daisy asked.

Caleb stared at him in awe.

“Dude, are you a fae?!”

Chapter Text

As they waited for the emergency vehicles and police, Alfred couldn’t look any of his friends in the eye. Thoughts ran through his mind as he ran a hand through his hair. It was over. This whole thing. It was done. 

I blew it. 

Now not only would they learn that he had been lying to them about his identity, but how many of his people absolutely despised him? He heard it all the time America sucks. A third-world country with a Gucci belt. He knew they were talking about things outside of his control - politicians, bureaucracy, a division that made his stomach feel as though it were split in two. They weren’t talking about him him. But even so, it hurt. And who would want to hang out with someone whom others spoke of like that ?

He chanced a look at his friends, or at least - people who would be his friends until the end of the night. What would they say? The three of them exchanged a glance and Alfred quickly looked away, feeling his heart start to quicken its beat. 

Control your breathing, in, out, in, out. While he was distracted with his breakdown, a hand came to his shoulder causing him to jump.

“Whoa, whoa, dude,” the voice was so calm, relaxed. Alfred knew his eyes were wild with a desperation for forgiveness as he found himself looking at Caleb, the red-head’s brows knitted with concern. “Freddie? Buddy, you’re okay.”

And he let himself try to calm a little more as he nodded. You’re okay. Caleb didn’t leave his side after that. Freddie stared at his shoes, dirty from being shoved into the earth as he had stood his ground against the ferris wheel’s egg. When he chanced another glance up he realized Stacy and Daisy had come over. A weight on his other arm was caused by Daisy leaning against him.

“After we give our statements, we can go back to the café. Unless you want to go home,” Stacy said as though she was addressing the group at large, but the eyes of his friends on him told him that the offer was really for his own benefit.

They were all quiet for a moment. Confusion was slowly replacing Alfred’s panic.

“Don’t you want to know what happened?” Alfred asked, his voice quiet, breaking.

“Well, yeah,” Caleb shrugged. 

“If you want us to know, sure,” Stacy was so matter-of-fact. “But on your time. If you need to go home, then everything else can wait.”

He bit his lip. There was so much understanding here. Maybe… maybe they’d understand that even if he was America, he was also just… Alfred. Or Freddie. Even though he had lied by omission his nation status, he had been true about his likes, dislikes, hobbies, himself. 

“I think I have something to tell you guys.” 

* * *

Alfred was nervous, that much she could tell. She could always see when he was anxious at this point. Four mugs with varying decaffeinated drinks were placed in front of her friends, a dark decaf coffee in front of Freddie, a frothing hot chocolate for Caleb, some chamomile for Daisy and another coffee for herself. 

They were at their spot at the counter with Stacy having pulled up a chair for herself. The café was closed at this late hour save for the four humans (well, three humans and one question) as was the benefit of owning your own place. They hadn’t spoken much since the moment they realized Alfred had more secrets than just an abusive family. At the fair they had spoken to the cops, Caleb had checked the internet and only found vague footage of them barely surviving. But despite seeing the four of them and seeing the piece of a ride go past them, it didn’t look like anything too unusual happened. It just looked like the ride changed course. Like they had been lucky. Not like Alfred had physically pushed it out of the way. 

“First,” Stacy said simply, firmly as she stared at Alfred, “Freddie, is this something you want to tell us?” 

And he was quiet. Pensive as he mulled over the question. His anxiety over what would happen once they knew the truth still present, but other thoughts were running through his mind.

While it wasn’t common for nations to have this sort of thing come up, it wasn’t unheard of. During times of war, when serving side-by-side or visiting with troops, people learned who they were. The leaders of their countries knew who they were and often - but not always - respected them. Every president, vice president, supreme court judge, secret service member, and even White House interns generally knew who he was. 

But as far as friendship went, it was much more common to avoid making friends with citizens. Their lives were just so much shorter than a nation’s. Francis still had not entirely gotten over Joan, that was commonly understood. Arthur had warned Alfred against getting close to humans, especially after his ill-fated friendship with Davie. But Arthur wasn’t there to warn him this time. And this time, unlike with Davie, he knew what he was getting into. He met each of their eyes. Their lives were so, so, painfully short. By the time they aged, had families, and passed, it would be just a blink to him.

The options were to tell them, and share that burden with them, or keep it a secret and perhaps try to escape their lives before they realized he hadn’t aged a day in however many years they got together. 

“If you don’t want to tell us we won’t ask,” Stacy confirmed.

“We won’t?” Caleb clearly had other thoughts.

“Drink your chocolate,” Daisy said. 

“No, we won’t.” And Stacy’s gaze leveled to Alfred’s. “We won’t,” she said quietly, trying to reassure him. Of course, he believed her. Entirely. And so he thought harder, his brows furrowing before he seemed to come to a resolve.

“You aren’t going to believe me,” he said. 

“Well, maybe we wouldn’t if we hadn’t seen what we saw,” Daisy said.

“It’s gonna be weirder than you imagine.”

“Dude, I can imagine some pretty weird shit.” Caleb was probably right on that.

 Alfred chuckled. He glanced down at his coffee again before taking a drink as though it held more than water and bean essence. He glanced up at the three of them. Only a handful of people knew this secret. 

And now, he was going to bestow it on them. 

“I’ll tell you,” he started, “Just know if you don’t want to continue being my friend after you’ve learned the truth, I totally get that. Seriously. It’s kinda a lot.”

“I don’t know if there’s something big enough that would stop us wanting to be your friend. But we hear your concern.” Stacy reassured. Alfred wasn’t convinced. 

“I appreciate that, but- well, let me just cut to the chase. Basically, as you might have figured out - I’m… not actually a human.” He had all of their attention. Completely. Undivided as even Stacy tried to look non-pressuring and almost aloof despite her burning desire for answers. “My family aren’t either.”

He breathed hard. Why was this so difficult? They had reassured him the best they could but he still felt it in the pit of his stomach. Things were about to go wrong. He just didn’t know how. 

“Spit it out, man! OW! Daisy! Stop kicking me!”

“Caleb,” Daisy gave him a glare that told him to stop talking.

And Alfred laughed that sweet, kind laugh they had all grown to love. He looked up at them, that anxious reserve melting from his face. Sure. Something might go wrong, but a big part of him - bigger than was probably safe - trusted them. Whatever went wrong probably wasn’t going to be on them.

This? Maybe this was actually kind of fun.

“Okay so, I don’t know if this makes sense but… when you met me, did you guys feel like you kinda knew me?” He felt the grin at the corner of his mouth. Nerves were still flipping his stomach, but his friends’ commitment to him helped to soothe the worst of them.

It was their turn to think.

“Now that you mention it,” Stacy said, “I thought I might have gone to school with you way back. But we didn’t, did we?”

Alfred shook his head.

“Hmm… I thought you were like, a friend of a friend I met at a party once. Like I knew you had a good vibe and I thought I remembered us having a good time.” Daisy put her finger to her chin in thought. Noting what Stacy asked at the end of her statement she asked her own. “We never actually did, did we?”

“‘Fraid not.”

“Whoa, trippy, I also thought I met you once and we got along, that’s why I was like ‘sure, let’s hang out again.’” Caleb looked from Daisy to Stacy to Alfred, clearly already trying to guess in his own mind what Alfred could be. Fae was still on the table.

The conversation was going as Alfred expected. The answers were the ones he wanted, they could tell as he encouraged them he wasn’t surprised by any of their confessions. 

“Even though none of you met me before a few months ago, there’s a reason you all think you kinda know me,” he said with a shrug, “‘Cause you do.” 

“Are you a fae that inhabits this land and watches over it secretly upset with humans for polluting your land but you were the one fae that your fairy court kept being jerks to so you decided to runaway and become a human and then you became friends with us?!”

Alfred raised a brow. “Um. No?”

“Or are you our guardian angel? Because bro I am so sorry I did not mean half the shit I tried.” Caleb had a lot of ideas. 

“Alright buddy. A lot to unpack here. No, I am not a fae and no, I’m not your guardian angel. You couldn’t pay me to be your guardian angel because I know at least half the shit you’ve done.”

“You know what I’ve done? Are you psychic?!”

“No, dude, you’ve told me,” Alfred let himself laugh before shaking his head. “But, uh, yeah the reason you all know me is, well, I’m kinda the United States of America.”

Chapter Text

Stacy choked on her drink. Daisy’s mouth went agape. Caleb stared harder at him than ever before. It was about the reaction he was expecting, so he remained quiet while they gathered themselves.

“You’re the United States? What does that mean?” Daisy managed to get out. 

“Um, well, it means I’m a country. Y'alls country. So like, when people came over here from Europe, and started their lives here, I started existing. That’s why I could stop that thing. I have kinda super strength? 'Cuz America is strong. That guy from the fair was someone I served with in WWII.” He paused a moment, thinking. “Okay, so this is a secret but it’s not a super guarded secret. We just don’t really tell a lot of people.”

“And your family….” Daisy started.

“Dad is England, Papa is France, and my brother is Canada,” he sighed, “And that whole thing went down at a world meeting. Like everyone was there, Russia, China, Japan, Germany, Northern and Southern Italy, Spain - you name it, they were probably there. Even Prussia.”

“Do you just like… go ‘hey, England! What’s up’?” Caleb asked, not quite having processed what Alfred was saying yet.

“Sometimes. But we usually use human names in public. Or if you’re close to someone. Or dealing with citizens,” he said pointedly. Caleb raised his hand to ask another question, Alfred quietly pointed to him as though calling on him in class. 

“What’s England’s human name?”

Alfred bit his lip, as though debating something before speaking. “It’s a bit more personal, to use human names, so it’s on them to give you theirs.”

“But Canada is Mattie?” Stacy asked. 

Alfred looked at her shocked a moment before sighing, remembering he had used his brother’s name before, when he was crying over a campfire. “Yeah. Matthew. I call him Mattie. Called him Mattie. I don’t know if I can again.”

There was a silence that overcame the café. A heavy breath came through Alfred’s lips as he leaned back, looking at his new friends. His people. So far they seemed… okay with this. They hadn’t rejected him. “So, uh. Any more questions?” 

Caleb’s hand shot up again causing the corners of Alfred’s eyes to crinkle with his laugh. “Yeah, bud?”

“So, what powers do you have? Are you like… Steve Rogers? Or more Superman? Or do you have something deeper? Like control over fire?”

It was such a fun question. An innocent question. Honestly, the best question he could have hoped after revealing such a literal world secret. “Hm. No firebending but well… I guess like… I got super strength. I can run pretty fast. And I can’t die. Well, I can but I’ve, er, gotten better.”

“You’re Deadpool? That’s sick, man,” Caleb grinned.

“Kinda? But Deadpool’s Canadian.”

Something crossed Stacy’s mind.

“You will outlive us too, by a lot,” she said.

“Ah… yeah. Pretty much. I’m gonna be around as long as there are people who call themselves American. Prussia’s still bothering Austria so like, I guess it’s kinda hard to get rid of a country.” There was another silence as the humans seemed to think over all he had said.

“Shit, man, we’re going to die and leave you. That sucks,” Caleb frowned. 

“Eh, I’m kinda used to it.” It was a bit of a lie. There had been Davie when he was young, and a few others he had associated with over the years, but this was the first time he let himself actually get close to humans on purpose . “I’m not gonna stop being your friend just because it’s gonna hella suck later. After all, you guys got a few good decades to go - right?” How long did humans generally live again? It changed since last time he thought about it. 

“And you just stay this age forever?” Stacy asked.

Alfred shrugged, “As long as y’all keep taking care of me - well, the country me. Like, I don’t think any of the nations really get how things work for us, but everyone I can think of has kinda stayed the same. Unless something really messed up happens to our actual countries I doubt any of us will get super old and wrinkly. Italy’s grandpa - Rome - even stayed smokin’ hot until he died. But even though he died for real real, he still comes back and sings weird songs now and again. I think when a nation is done done, they just kinda - vanish? It’s happened before so I’ve heard. But it’s not common, I’ve never seen it. And I think the USA is safe from that.” He frowned. “I hope.” 

“Freddie.” Daisy had been focused on this since he mentioned it. Her brows knit together, she looked up at him from her tea. “Sorry to circle back but… have you died? Like, Deadpool level dying?"

Alfred bit his lip, staring at his near-empty coffee. How to say it without getting overwhelmed with empathy? Or worse, with pity?

"...A few times. More than a few times. But like, it’s no biggie. Most of us have at least once.”

"When?”

Alfred scratched his neck a little, “Um, during the Revolution was the first time. Got shot by some damn Redcoat. And sometimes I do stupid stuff, y’know? Like climbing in Yosemite,” he could see Caleb’s face go white as a sheet at that, but he just gave Caleb a small grin and a casual wave that said it’s whatever. He then focused back on Daisy, feeling himself getting comfortable and maybe at risk of getting carried away. But perhaps a part of him wanted people to know? Know how he had been suffering and maybe have them tell him he didn’t deserve it. This was something he couldn’t tell Dr. Anderson without revealing too much. “And a couple of other times, well, I was really depressed and I-” he stopped talking. His body telling him too far. Too much. Despite his mind deciding it would be okay, his body refused. It wasn’t a confession they needed. But Stacy found it anyway. 

“Oh- oh Freddie. Did you-?” She couldn’t say it either. Alfred sighed. 

“Well like, I just- even if I’m gone the nation’s still here, y’know? So I’m not really necessary. None of us are. We just fuck around for lack of better things to do and call it ‘diplomatic relations.’ Like literally that can be code for ‘Germany and Italy are fucking in the supply closet again.’ And when everyone hates you, it’s just- what’s the point y’know? At the time I was just more angry I kept waking up.”

“How are you feeling now?” Stacy asked. Even Caleb’s face had fallen with a somber realization at the confession despite Alfred’s repeated attempts at levity. “Do you still feel that way?”

“Promise us you won’t hurt yourself again, okay?” Daisy added.

“I’m feeling better. I won’t hurt myself again, I promise.” He looked up at his small group of… of friends with one thing on his mind still. “You guys are taking this country stuff really well. I thought for sure you’d be more upset.”

“Why would we be upset?” Daisy tilted her head, those brunette curls toppling over her shoulder as they often did. 

“I dunno. A lot of people have issues with America. I thought maybe you’d have some too?”

“But you’re Freddie,” Caleb shrugged, “We love hanging out with you, because you’re you. ”

“We’re your friends, that hasn’t changed. We care about you, and life is hard enough - being a nation or being a human.” Stacy refilled Alfred’s cup with some more decaf, refreshing her own as well. She poured some more hot water into Daisy’s and took Caleb’s cup to prep just a bit more hot chocolate. “We’re here to support you. I’ll write to my congressperson about anything else. Like you said, you don’t have control over much anyways.”

“We love you.” Daisy reached for his hand. “I’m glad you kept waking up. And I’m so, so glad you’re doing better.”

Alfred felt the prickling in the corners of his eyes. This was what he had wanted. For so long, it had been so unattainable. A pipe dream only awarded to those with worth. But here he was.

It was cheesy, but he would do it anyway. He lifted his cup. “To friendship?”

They were quiet a moment before Caleb lifted his, “Yeah! To friendship!”

Daisy and Stacy lifted theirs and there, in the middle of the night, the four of them toasted to friendship - cheese and all. 

* * *

Matthew played the video again. And again. It had to be. That was him. That was 100% his brother. The hair. The build. The glasses. The strength. Sure, he hadn’t seen his brother since that meeting. The one where he had finally let himself have a voice and ended up losing his brother. If he could go back in time, stop anything, that was what he would stop. Yes, he had anger. Yes he had concerns and was pissed that Alfred was too focused on himself to notice but… but there was a harshness in yelling at the man for that long that Matthew had immediately regretted. 

Here was his chance. He replayed the video, seeing that little cowlick bounce with the man’s movements. He was even wearing that jacket, the one he always wore with the 50 on the back. The weird part was the people surrounding him, who were they? What were they doing with his brother? Matthew’s phone rang. He picked it up without taking his eyes off of his computer’s screen.

“Hello?”

“Did you see the fucking video?” Arthur’s voice was demanding. It wasn’t a question. Matthew felt his throat dry. Each world meeting since Alfred’s disappearance had weighed heavier and heavier on Arthur. Each time the man had come into the conference room, he was increasingly disheveled with black circles under bloodshot eyes. Last meeting he hadn’t even worn a tie. Matthew wasn’t sure he slept much anymore - Arthur spent his time looking for Alfred, cursing Alfred, or drinking and cursing while looking for Alfred. Even now Matthew could hear the slurring in his speech.

Arthur had been worried sick and fuming at the same time. They had seen the security footage of Alfred just leaving. No explanations, notes or messages though it seemed to Matthew that Arthur had hoped to find one at the bottom of a bottle of gin.

The conclusion drawn by many was that Alfred had left and didn’t want to be bothered. Case closed. But it wasn’t good enough for Arthur, and frankly wasn’t good enough for Matthew either. In a few weeks, the world meeting would be back in London - the last place any of them had seen Alfred near a year after the fact.

“I did. I did see it, yeah.”

“Can you believe the bloody git was at a fair? Just like nothing happened?” He could hear the anger, the hurt in Arthur’s voice. Matthew felt it too in the bottom of his stomach. He couldn’t make sense of any of this either.

 Matthew watched it again. The viral footage was grainy from the night but it was so obvious that was Alfred. Had he been there the whole time? The video was tagged with the location - a small mountain town somewhere in Colorado. 

“I will meet you in Denver,” Arthur said, “I have already messaged Francis. We’re going to bring that sod back.”

Arthur hung up without another word and Matthew looked back at the video. His brother looked fine. Healthy, even. Had it been a kidnapping? Had he been threatened? Did he have amnesia or something? Why hadn’t he said anything to them in eight months? There had to be some foul play involved. Alfred would never just leave them without saying anything. This was just a level of irresponsibility that was way beyond anything Alfred had ever tried to pull with them. It was selfish. Cruel to ditch them and not tell them he was at least alive. Alfred wouldn’t do such a thing without telling them. He would never just disappear.

Right?

Chapter Text

They were at the counter, it was close to closing time and the four of them were the only ones still there. Stacy took advantage of the lull to chat with the gang as they talked about, well, whatever. It had been a month since Freddie’s tear-filled confession and a week since they discovered their friend was more than just some weird mountain man dude. Now that the secret was out, Alfred stopped trying to hide a lot of the things that came with being a nation.

He didn’t have to hide that he knew more about all of them than they had told him. He confessed that he had cut himself that one time they were barbecuing, but it healed. He admitted to just breaking that car door when it was stuck. Daisy relentlessly questioned him about Ranger.

And for him they had been doing their best to make sure he never felt the way he had before they met. They were his friends because they liked him. They did love him, and not because he was their nation, but because they loved him, Freddie, the guy they went to the fair with. Yes, they’d call him out on his bullshit but they expected to be called out on theirs too. 

It was friendship. And love. And they wanted Freddie to know he was important to them.

“No, dude, like if Spider-Man and Batman were truly using all of their abilities, there’s no way Batman would win, Spider-Man just has too much going for him.” Freddie was in full-fight mode, his half-eaten muffin forgotten in exchange for spitting facts.

“Come on! Spider-Man is just a kid! Batman has so many gadgets - he can even take on Superman!” And so was Caleb, ignoring the rest of his orange juice. Daisy was ignoring them for this conversation, looking through her music magazine.

“But Superman’s not a super genius, Peter Parker is-” Alfred froze mid-sentence. He was staring out the window where three blonde men stood. His face turned white as a sheet.

“Freddie?”

“Oh shit… No, no- no-” he was gasping, gulping for air, his body beginning to shake, sweat beading, the world swirling. “How- How did they-?” 

Stacy moved to him from behind the counter immediately, grabbing his arm. “Come on, big guy.” 

He obeyed and she pulled him into the back of the café, closing the door to the small kitchen. She put her hands on his face, staring him in the eyes. Those blue orbs were filled with far more fear than she’d ever seen, even more than when he was that anxious mess she had first met. “Freddie, I want you to just stay here and relax. Okay? No one will know you’re here. I promise you, we won’t tell them. You trust us, right?”

Freddie nodded, getting his breathing back with the exercises he had done with Dr. Anderson. His eyes went back to hers, wet with fear. Her heart broke for him, and built up anger towards those who did this to him. It almost felt like his months of progress were being erased just because they showed up. She gave him a large, encompassing hug and a loving kiss on the cheek. “We love you, Freddie. You’re safe here. Remember, you don’t owe anyone anything - even family.” 

The words calmed him as she squeezed his hand. The bell to the café went off, telling her people had entered. With a firm, protective gaze she left him, moving out to the register. 

“Welcome, what can I get started for you? It’ll have to be to-go as we close at three today.” 

She could tell Daisy and Caleb were also staring at them, trying not to make their peering eyes too obvious. One man was quite tall with long blonde hair pulled back into a stylistic messy ponytail while he wore a white-striped button-down shirt with the top few buttons undone and loose blue pants, looking effortlessly fashion-forward in early summer wear. Another man was shorter with the strangest, most aggressive eyebrows she had ever seen. His linen shirt and slacks were more formal than the other, but the dark circles under his eyes made the mess of blonde hair on top of his head look less on purpose and more like a consequence. The third man was the spitting image of Freddie but with a wayward curl and bright purple eyes, his own outfit the most casual of the three - and the most appropriate for a mountain town with flannel and jeans. 

This was the family. If looks hadn’t confirmed it, Freddie’s panic attack did.

“Excuse us.” His brother held out a picture of a man. Of Freddie. “My brother, his name is Alfred, he’s gone missing. Have you seen him?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry for your loss. I haven’t seen anyone like that around here,” she lied through her teeth.

“Are you sure?” The shorter man with the brows cut in, his accent thick. Freddie had said his father was English. Er, more accurately he said his dad was England, though this man looked way too young to be a father. He looked even younger than Stacy herself. But if this guy was truly England he was much older than she could imagine. “Because we saw that someone who looks like him was here and I will find him. No matter what it takes.”

“What if he doesn’t want to be found?” Caleb drew their attention.

“Pardon?” A French accent. The Frenchman, Freddie’s papa. 

“Ow! Daze!” Caleb clutched his leg as it had been kicked hard by Daisy. She glared at him to tell him to shut up. 

“What do you know?” The Frenchman asked. Despite Daisy’s insistence, Caleb wasn’t about to back down.

“Just that sometimes people don’t want to be found. I don’t know this dude, but if he’s out here in the middle of nowhere, maybe that’s on purpose.” He shrugged and slumped in his seat under the peering eyes of the countries despite his best efforts to remain firm. The French guy kept staring at him but it was England’s icy glare that made Caleb try to avert his gaze. After what seemed like too long of the intense glower, England pulled his eyes from Caleb.

“Come on, Frog,” the British man said as he pulled the Frenchman away, “He’s around here, I know for sure. I'm going to find him.” His eyes narrowed at Caleb once again. "I hope you weren't lying to me. I don't like people lying to me."

"If we see him, we'll tell him you were looking," Stacy's own voice brought the attention away from Caleb.

"Many thanks. I would hate to learn that we missed him." The country that had conquered nearly the entire world was staring down the three of them with his thinly veiled suspicions and threats before making good on his earlier command to the others for them to leave. 

“England’s fucking scary, bro.” The words were quiet, coming from Caleb going to Daisy. She immediately kicked his shins again but the damage was done. Canada's hand had only just touched the door when he froze. The three men turned to him with wide eyes. 

“What did you call me, lad?” England was closing distance, his walk measured, he commanded a power. A strength. And it was terrifying.

“N-Nothing, sir.” Caleb leaned back, nearly stumbling out of his seat.

Canada’s eyes filled with recognition, “Arthur,” he whispered, “From the video.”

And England realized what Canada was saying, recognizing them as well.

“Where is he?” England asked directly. The question was quiet with a measured fury as he reached the counter, his hand balled into a fist. He expressed a great control that was stopping him from slamming it down on the counter. If he had a fraction of the strength Alfred had, Stacy was sure he could break it without any trouble. “What did you do to him?”

“Us?!” The three humans gasped at the accusation.

“Please. There is no way Alfred would have just left like that without telling us. It’s horribly irresponsible, even for him and so the only explanation is that someone took him. Now where. Is. He?” England was going on the attack. Canada glanced from him to the humans who wore expressions of fear and confusion and in the following moments, Canada’s heart sank as the truth became clear: Alfred had just left. He had just gone. Canada’s hand went to England’s shoulder, gently holding him back. 

“When you see him, tell him we’re worried. And we miss him. And I- I’m sorry for what happened. I want to talk to him, please,” Canada said, his voice trembling and cracking with remorse.

“What are you doing, Matthew?” England whipped around to look the other in the eye. “You don’t honestly think he would have pulled that on us?” But when Canada gave a silent nod in response, England retreated back to a furious quiet. "He's impulsive and immature and an idiot but-"

“Y’all wrecked him my dudes,” Caleb said simply, feeling at least a bit braver now that Canada was helping them. When Daisy moved towards him he flinched, but she didn’t kick him again. Instead she offered a nod in agreement. 

“We can see if he wants to reach out but…” Daisy frowned, “He’s working on protecting his mental health. He’s been really hurt.”

Beneath the anger in England’s tense shoulders, the humans saw a shaking. Their words were bringing a nation to emotional turmoil. 

“I know,” England finally coughed out, “I know that now. He’s been so strong for so long that we- we just forgot. How young and fragile he is.” 

“No, no, don’t you fucking turn this around on him. To him being 'fragile.' What does that even fucking mean? Anyone would fucking break after what you all did to him!” Caleb stood up sharply, it was his turn to glare at the nations. They seemed taken aback by either what he was saying or what he knew, or both. “Freddie’s a cool dude, he doesn’t need assholes fucking with him anymore.”

“Freddie?” France raised an eyebrow. “Alfred does not use Al anymore?”

Daisy crossed her arms with a huff. “Maybe that nickname hurts now. He asked us to call him Freddie. So that's what we’re doing. Because he’s our friend.” 

“And country,” Caleb tried to offer helpfully. Daisy sighed and Stacy grinned at Caleb’s addition. 

“Since you seem to be aware of the situation, of who he is and what that means, we do need you to try and understand how important it is for him to return to us. He hasn’t been to a single world meeting in nearly a year and we have important things to talk about.” England was continuing to push. He was England, Great Britain to some. When he wanted something he always got it, and he was never afraid of a fight. “This is the fate of the world.”

“But he said no.” Stacy shrugged, if she held fear or reverence towards him, she hid it well in her nonchalance. “If he wanted to go back, and if he felt he needed to, he would. He’s a perfectly capable adult.”

“He’s nineteen!” England shot back. The humans were trying to do the math.

“Mon cher-” France reached for England’s arm but he yanked it out of his grip. 

“No, Francis!” Arthur’s voice was raising, shaking with anger and maybe… something else? Fear? “This is important. You know as well as I that Alfred may be as old as his country but that he is still developmentally very, very young. By human standards he is nineteen. Too young to be just galavanting off like this. Too young to just cut us off completely. Clearly he is too young if he feels throwing fits like this is the way to get what he wants. He needs to come back to us. He needs to stop all this silly whatever it is and just come home- ”

“I am home.” The voice took Arthur’s away immediately. All of the focus went to the back door Alfred had escaped through minutes ago. The man himself stood in front of it, tall and shaking. The nations couldn’t place what was different about him, but something had changed in him. 

As he stood there, Alfred felt the change too. Especially in the way he looked at them. Before, Alfred wanted their approval. Desperately he had wanted one of them to say something like good job or I’m proud of you. But now, he didn’t need anything from them save for one request: “Arthur, I need you and Francis and Matthew to leave,” he said firmly.

“Not without you, my boy.” Arthur’s attention was now fully on Alfred.

“I’m not going back.” Each word he spoke made his shoulders relax a little more, his resolve hardening.

“You are the fucking United States of America, you have to return to the world meetings!”

"I don't have to do anything."

"'I don't have to' ?! Do you hear yourself, you twat?" The older nation’s anger fueled the force that had taken much of the world centuries ago. Arthur was a soldier, a pirate, a conqueror, and he had never truly forgotten who he had been, moments like this proved it. “What the fuck is wrong with you? We were worried sick and you didn’t even have the decency to tell us you were alive and well in Colorado gorging yourself on muffins, getting fat and-”

“Whoa!” Daisy’s reaction was immediate.

“Hold on.” Stacy’s eyes hardened.

“DUDE." Caleb shot a look towards Alfred, as though afraid the attack on his weight would trigger a landslide.

The nations were startled by how quickly the humans shut down that familiar line of insult. Daisy was shaking with fury, looking about ready to actually throw hands. Maybe at one point, this would have caused Alfred to relapse. To go back to how things had been when he had rules on what he could eat and when he could keep something down. But he had been talking to his therapist, he’d been letting his friends help him, and now though it still hurt like a bitch, Arthur’s words were just that - words. Words that told him much more about Arthur than it even implied about him. He knew who his friends were and what they thought about him. That was far more important.

“Daze.” Alfred hoped his calm voice could keep her from actually trying to beat the shit out of Arthur. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not though. They don't get to just waltz in here and undo months of your hard work, your vulnerability, because they want to be pricks.” Daisy was fuming, eyes narrowed at the other nations. But with another reassuring glance from Alfred, she sat back down - her attitude towards the three strange men going from cautiously curious to an ice-cold chill.

“Alfred, what’s she talking about?” Canada was clearly concerned. Alfred bit his lip, not sure what to say. What he wanted to say.

“I had some issues,” he said simply, “But they’re better now. Even so, I’m not going back to any world meetings.”  

England composed himself as the brothers spoke.

"What kind of issues?" Matthew asked.

And Alfred debated telling them right there. But wouldn’t they just use it against him if he told them?

“Don’t feed into his 'woe is I' crap. He always pulls that card when he knows he screwed up, as he's oft to do. Alfred, this behavior of yours has always been a pain but now….” He shook his head in pure, complete disappointment and disgust. “You are still such a child."

Arthur’s responses told him all he needed to know.

"That’s what's bothering you, really? Because you didn't give a shit two hundred years ago when you decided I was old enough for you to rather have a dead kid than a disobedient one.” Alfred’s eyes were sharp, the sweet man that the humans had met months ago matched England’s fierce energy with his own steady calm. He went from someone so human, someone who joked and laughed with them, to a nation. To someone who had learned lessons too young and had to fight for his place. Who had to fight to be taken seriously. To be valued. 

"Oh quit being dramatic. I spared you." He rolled his eyes.

But Alfred wasn't backing down this time.

“The war was more than just you and me, England.” The use of the nation name from Alfred made Arthur flinch despite the older nation’s best efforts. Realization followed.

“Alfred, did one of my men-”

But Alfred blazed right past the question and in the refusal to answer, answered everything. “It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. What matters is that every meeting always ends up about me. That last meeting? I expected - needed - at least one of you to help me. In some way. But you know what? You didn’t. You joined in. You always join in. And now, I’m done. I’m not a punching bag for you to take your regrets out on. You can’t put me down to make yourself feel better. You can’t blame me for things going wrong on your own home turf. I’m not going to take that shit anymore. I refuse.” His eyes went to Arthur’s. To Francis’. And then to Matthew’s. “I’m done.”

Mattie looked for a moment as though he wanted to say something but the resolve melted away, disappointing Alfred almost as much as it did himself. All Alfred could do was turn away in hurt. Matthew seemed hurt too. Gathering himself again, Alfred nodded towards the clock on the wall. It was five past. “The café is closed. It closed at three.”

Without another word, the three nations went to the door. Arthur and Francis left while Mattie gazed back, longing- desperately wanting to stay. But Alfred refused to look at him. Then, with a reluctant sigh he left too. When and only when the door was shut and Stacy had turned the sign from open to closed and locked the entrance did Alfred let himself fall into his familiar seat, his head in his hands.

“You okay?” Daisy’s hand went to his back as he took off his glasses, hiccupping through quiet sobs. He tried to grin. 

"I'm sorry y'all got stuck with a piece of shit like me when you coulda had one of them." And in the sorrowful joke there was a sincerity that made Daisy pull her chair closer to him and put more of her arm around his back. Caleb’s arm went around his waist to offer support and Stacy enveloped the larger man from above.

"We couldn't be luckier," Daisy whispered to him before just offering the quiet care.

And they stayed there, letting their grieving country cry for his family.

Chapter Text

Sleep had been impossible. Alfred had stared up at the ceiling of his small home, trying to think of any way that they could figure out where his cabin was. He did not want them here, this was his safe place. If any of them found it…. The only people who knew how to get here were Caleb, Stacy, and Daisy. And there was no way they would tell the nations. Right? 

He had tossed and turned, and before he knew it the morning light was coming in. He thought back to his safe. With the gun. He really didn't have to think this much. He could just… not think at all.

However, birds were waking up and so was Ranger. The large cat’s weight felt on the bed as he moved up to Alfred’s face, pawing at him and meowing. It was time for breakfast, he had been saying. He pulled his mind from that potential of blissful nothing, he had promised Ranger. He had promised Stacy. And Daisy and Caleb.

Once out of bed, once having given Ranger his food and gotten dressed, he had realized he was far too antsy to stay at home. That stupid weapon was becoming more and more appealing. That was why he was now parked along the street as usual and strolling down the street to the café where Stacy was starting to open up. There was classic rock pumping from the building when he stopped right outside, looking in. 

Stacy was grinding coffee beans when she glanced up, feeling someone’s presence. The figure of a man outside clearly shocked her at first, but any concern quickly melted away when she realized this particular man was someone she didn’t mind seeing. And from the sad smile on her face, Alfred could tell he looked worse for wear. 

She made her way to the front, unlocking it and opening it just for him. “Sorry, Sir, we open at 6:30.” Her tone was light, joking, and asking him in quiet, unspoken words are you okay?

“Ah, no worries, I’m just creeping around.” He laughed. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Not surprised.” Stacy leaned against the cracked-open door, crossing her arms and looking him over, taking in his condition. “I’m getting stuff ready for the day but if you need to chill you can just hang out at the counter. Read a book. Whatever will help.”

He seemed to think about it for a moment before something caught his eye. Alfred’s body stiffened as he stared down the sidewalk. Coming towards them was a near identical man but with a large curl in front of his face who froze as soon as he saw his counterpart. 

“Al.” The man breathed out. 

“Um, I’ll come back when you’re opened,” Alfred said to Stacy. 

“I’ll have your spot ready for you with your coffee and your muffin. Take care of yourself.”

“Thanks, I will.”

Alfred took steps forward, hearing the café’s door close gently behind him. Soon, he was standing right in front of his twin. They were both silent for a moment before Alfred offered a simple, small smile.

“Good morning.”

“Al, I-”

“Wanna go for a walk?” Alfred nodded down the path of the sidewalk Matthew had come from. “There’s a park down that way a bit. It’ll be nice this time of morning.”

Matthew just nodded and followed after his brother, the two walking in silence.

“It’s a nice town.” Matthew finally said as they stopped at a traffic light, waiting for it to give them the sign to walk.

“Yeah,” Alfred agreed. The red hand went to the green walking man and they continued. “I like it a lot. It’s comfortable.”

“And your friends seem nice.”

“We have a lot of fun.”

“How’d you meet them?”

Matthew was trying to get a conversation going. To get back to that Alfred he used to know. The one that on the correct topic, would just go off on tangent after tangent. The one that would ramble excitedly forever until stopped. The one that, as far as Matthew could tell, was nowhere to be found. 

“I just came to this café and met Stacy. Then helped Daisy move. And then one day Caleb was there too. After that we just kept hanging out.”

And then there was nothing. Alfred offered nothing else. By this point they had started on one of the paths in the park, Alfred’s hands deep in his pockets as his gaze was affixed directly in front of them.

“So, the first time you died… was during the Revolution?” Matthew was at a loss of what to say, how to continue their conversation, but he wanted it to continue. He had let his brother slip through his fingers once before, he wasn’t going to do it again. But… was it this hard to talk to him? Did he never actually know him?

“Yeah,” Alfred shrugged, “Was caught off-guard. But you know. I got better.” He offered a small smile, a laugh, but they both knew it was fake. “It kinda sucked though, bleeding out.”

“And you never told Arthur?”

“How could I?” Alfred sighed, “We were both hurt. And after it just… didn’t seem like it mattered much. It’s not a huge deal. Especially now with how many times I’ve died. I mean, you know what it’s like.”

But Matthew couldn’t say he really did.

“Are you really not going to come to the next meeting?” It was more a beg for it to all be hyperbole and dramatics than anything. 

“I’m not going to go to any more meetings.” But Alfred was so firm in his declaration.

“But you have to-”

“I’m not going back.”

“Alfred.” Matthew stopped, forcing Alfred to turn back to look at him. “Look. I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry for what I said. I was angry and I didn’t mean to unload like that and I hate that this is what came of it. Can you please come back to us?”

“Canada.” The use of his nation name caused Matthew to take a step back in shock. “This isn’t on you. Yeah, what happened was fucked up but like, it’s not just the one thing. It was lots of things. And what you did kinda just… made everything clear.”

“Made what clear?!”

Alfred sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. He wanted to be literally anywhere else but here. He let out a large breath and shut his eyes before speaking, "So I know everyone hates me. Nations, citizens, everyone. It hurts but well, what are we going to do about people?" His voice started to catch on his words. "I loved you so much. I would have done anything for you. But I realized, at that meeting, as days - days - passed where everyone was shitting on me about literally everything and no one, not you, not England, not France, no one, tried to stop it that… that maybe you didn't feel the same."

Alfred took another deep breath to swallow any tears he could. "And you don't owe me anything, especially not your love. No one owes that.” He was starting to cry despite his best efforts. “But I'm not going to be somewhere that hurts that much. Okay? So please, I'm begging you. Take France and England out of here and let me be. I can't go back to that."

Mattie was crying too. But Alfred had his mind set, he couldn't do this anymore. So with the use of their nation names, he effectively signaled: we are no longer that family. 

“I still love you. And I will still protect you, that will never change. But I can’t just accept you back into my life knowing how much it fucking hurts. I’ve learned how I deserve to be treated. And I won’t go back to how it was.”

Mattie was trying to process all that he heard. His hand curled into a fist, Alfred wasn't sure if his twin was more upset with himself, with Alfred, or with everything as a whole. “Your friend. The guy. He said ‘y’all wrecked him.’ What did he mean, exactly? What happened? Please. Tell me what we did to you.”

“It’s- It’s in the past," And Alfred immediately felt himself trying to protect Matthew again. Even as angry and hurt as he was, he didn’t want to hurt his brother. He still loved him. So, so deeply. 

“Alfred. Tell me.”

“It’s not a big deal. Like I said, I’ve died so many times already. But like, I just… couldn’t keep going. I was so tired. I just needed everything to stop.” He blew out his breath, anxious about telling his brother any of this. “It’s fine. I mean, I kept… well, it was easier than being awake. If I was awake there were these thoughts and voices and everything and I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t. At one point I realized I was dead more often than not, but I have my cat with me and the gunshot noise scares him so I managed to get my shit together enough to stop.” Once again, he wasn’t looking at Matthew. He didn’t see his brother’s face fall. He didn’t see the horror overcome him. "Just because I'm miserable doesn't mean Ranger should be, you know?" He tried to lighten the heavy air that had blanketed them.

“Oh my God- Al, because of that meeting?”

“No, no, no, not specifically that meeting.” Alfred quickly turned and shook his head, desperately trying to shield his brother from any further guilt. “I’d done it a bit before that one meeting so it wasn’t like, new.”

Matthew’s tears renewed despite the man trying to keep them in. 

"Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Alfred added quickly. “I feel better, really. Daze got me a therapist which has been super helpful. And I’ve gained weight back, I’m not purging anymore, I’m eating again-”

“Alfred! What were you doing to yourself?!” Matthew caught himself raising his voice, his chest tightening with each detail. All he could do was stare at Alfred, looking over the face of the man he thought he had known so well. “How were you in so much pain? Why did you never tell us?!” But he knew why. And he hated that he knew why. “You would have rather died than tell us you were hurting.” 

He was absolutely exhausted. All of his emotions were bubbling, whirling inside him. Alfred had hidden everything from them. There was so much he needed that he wasn’t getting from any of them because he didn’t think he could tell them, he was scared that it would come back to him. How could things have gotten this bad? Matthew had just wanted his brother back, but now he wasn’t sure he deserved one at all. “What happened to us? We used to be a family.” Matthew was wiping his tears, struggling to regain any possible composure, “But… I’m - I’m glad. So glad that you’ve found people you can tell.” He offered a weak smile to Alfred, “I’m happy that you’re healing, Al.”

“Thanks, Canada.”

And Matthew felt his broken heart break a little more.

Chapter Text

“So is it insensitive for us to just admit that Freddie’s family is hot?” Daisy took a drink from her tea. “I mean, Freddie’s hot too.”

“They all are lookers, that’s for sure,” Stacy said, “But I can see how Freddie had a hard time. It seems there’s a lot of emotional constipation.”

The café was mostly empty, as usual at about 10am on a weekday. Stacy was washing out one of the coffee pots, preparing some fresh coffee for the next wave of patrons. As the coffee percolated she wiped down the counters with a clean rag while Daisy sat with her tea and music magazine. Then the door opened, the bell catching both of their attention. 

“Welcome to-” And she paused, freezing. The man before her was tall. Long blonde hair, tied with a black silk ribbon as he wore a black loose shirt and pin-striped pants. Between yesterday and today it was clear he paid far more attention to his fashion than anyone else either of the women had seen in this little town. A somber gaze came over Stacy. “How can I help you? You’re Francis, right?”

He looked only momentarily surprised before nodding and approaching the register. He glanced at the bakery items, looking at the croissants with judgment that was not hidden terribly well but at least there was an attempt. 

“Do you have espresso?” He asked, not unkindly but she could tell he wasn’t sure if this was the sort of establishment that would meet his standards. She nodded.

“Three dollars, please.” She set him up to pay before going to the espresso machine, hearing it roar to life as she began the process. “Grab a seat wherever. I’ll bring it to you.” 

And to her surprise, he sat at the counter. Next to Daisy. She brought him his drink before turning back to her work. Daisy was clearly trying to avoid staring as she looked over the same page in her magazine for just a little too long. 

“Pardon,” he started softly. Betraying their prior play at indifference, they gave him their full attention immediately. He appeared not surprised at all. “I… I know I am in no position to ask, but I hope to know… how Alfred is truly doing.”

Stacy and Daisy exchanged a glance.

“Well,” Stacy started, “he’s happier now than he was when he first came in. He’s not as quiet, not as scared.” As she spoke, a shadow came over his face. To her own dismay, she could tell that those words were a surprise. It reinforced her newly developed theory that ignorance had been the culprit in this whole thing, and that made her feel all the more uneasy.

“I never expected to hear him being scared or quiet,” the sorrow was deep in his voice, “I am glad, though, that he is not feeling those things as severely. It is hard, we forget what it is like to be human. Arthur and I have been who we are for much, much longer than either of the boys. We have learned how to protect ourselves.”

Daisy hit her hands on the counter in frustration. She was feeling the same roiling emotions as her, Stacy figured. 

“Daisy,” Stacy whispered, hoping to rein Daisy in, but their musician was already going.

“You gave him an eating disorder and fucking made him suicidal, none of that is his fault!” Daisy said quickly. Francis stared at her as he took in the news of Alfred’s mental struggles. “Learn how to protect himself? From you? His family ?! He trusted you!” 

Stacy interjected, not unkindly but she locked eyes with Daisy to ensure they understood each other. “But we’re getting into his story now. It’s not ours to tell.”

She knew Stacy was right. Alfred deserved his privacy. Daisy’s jaw was tight as she gave one last scathing glance to Francis before shaking her head, wavy hair bouncing as she gripped the page in her magazine a bit too tight and flipped it with all the symbolic fuck yous she could. 

The silence filled the space between them as Francis gazed down at his drink. It was impossible to tell the thoughts going through his mind despite the subtle attempts from Stacy to gauge them. Daisy was at her second fuck you page turn when he finally spoke. 

“You are good friends. I do wish to know his story, from him." Then Francis went quiet again, and they could tell he was thinking: but he won’t talk to me. However, Stacy was firm in this. Speaking of trust, Alfred trusted them . And they didn’t know what he wanted shared and what he wanted kept secret. So they’d protect his story.

“We do miss him,” Francis finally managed, “Arthur comes off as very angry and stubborn. But he has been terrified for Alfred since he left. And when Arthur is scared, he fights. Viciously, ferociously. It has pushed them apart before when Alfred wanted his independence and Arthur feared for the end of his family.”

“We're familiar with the Revolution,” Stacy said with a shrug. Francis grinned, but the sadness in his eyes was still palpable. 

“I suppose you are.” The espresso finally met the man’s lips and he took a drink. He looked over the cup, satisfied. Stacy would be lying if she said she hadn’t felt a little pride in France not immediately dismissing her espresso.

“You were a part of that too,” Stacy said.

“Oui,” France nodded.

“But on our side,” Daisy added. Her fury at him subsided as a curiosity took front and center. Francis let himself chuckle a little at the dive into a history the two humans had only read about, but he had seen. 

“You are correct. It was quite upsetting for Arthur to learn I was helping his dear boy. But that is how these things go.” He shrugged. “I was more upset that he pulled Mathieu into it. Brothers against brothers is only poetic until it happens.

“The war hurt all of us, but most of all Arthur and Alfred. It cut them both deeply. I fear irreparably. We have tried to be a family since, but every attempt falls apart. Neither of them have spoken about the war with each other and Arthur’s discoveries yesterday have affected him immensely.” He stared into his drink. “It shocked me as well. Alfred was too young to have dealt with that level of violence, and yet he suffered its cruelty first hand. It makes sense though, how he now seems to be fearless in battle. He has managed the worst.

 “While I am glad Arthur has been spared seeing Alfred like that, it is devastating for us to know that he kept that burden to himself.” Francis took another drink. A silence fell over them before Francis sighed. “Alfred does not need to return until he is ready. If he ever is. I see how safe he feels here. I am sorry that we were not able to be that. That we broke his trust so irreparably. He is my son. I love him very much.”

After another moment, Daisy asked: “Have you tried telling him that?”

“I fear it is too late.” 

“I don’t think it is,” Daisy said, “At least, it won’t hurt anything for him to know.”

* * *

Arthur hadn’t moved from the park bench since he sat down three hours ago. He was leaning forward, elbows on his thighs and fingers at his chin, staring intently at the grassy space before him. Thoughts ran through his head. Plans, plots to get Alfred back. However necessary, he would get his son back. Even if his son hated him- no, no he couldn’t do that. He didn’t want Alfred to resent him. But then again, if it was the only way…. 

“What are you thinking, you daft fool?” he said to himself, leaning back. “This is exactly how you lost him the first time. You can’t force that bloody git into doing anything.” 

He barely noticed the jogger coming up to the bench, slowing down as they approached, “Oh. Whoa. Hey.” 

A man’s voice. He turned, looking up to the man beside him. Wild auburn hair, clear green eyes. An oversized shirt from some charity fun run draped over his body, bright green jogging shorts stopped mid-thigh. Arthur recognized him after a moment, “You’re one of Alfred’s friends, aren’t you? I didn’t catch your name.”

“Yeah. I am. Uh, I’m Caleb. You’re his… father?”

“Is that what he told you? It’s a tad more complicated than that, but in simple terms you’re correct.” Arthur moved to the side of the bench, giving the other man more space to sit. Caleb took it. “He still thinks of me as his father?”

“He did,” he said as he sat, “He does. But he’s had a couple of breakthroughs and breakdowns since then and I think he’s working on what that means and setting boundaries. So I think you’re still ‘dad’ but… like, with an asterisk.”

From the way Arthur’s face fell, Caleb knew that wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear.

"I screwed up." Arthur's head fell into his hands. "Again. I do this every fucking time.” The anger was boiling, frustration lining his shaking words. “I love him. I adore him. So, so much. He has always been important to me. But I also know how cruel the life of a nation is, I’m the bloody United Kingdom after all. To be a nation you need to be tough, you need to be vicious, and- and back then? That little boy- that small, precious child- I wanted him to stay that way. Innocent and kind. I thought I could shield him from the horrors of what being a nation meant. But I wasn’t there for him and he grew up, and as he grew up he kept rejecting me.”

He shook his head, trying to clear himself, his voice, from the emotions he was struggling to control. “I took his rebellion personally but… but he was just growing up. I was - am still - scared for him. No matter how much I try I can’t teach him to fucking… walk with his head and not run with his heart. The latter is far more dangerous.”

“But maybe that’s not so bad, y’know?” Caleb leaned back on the bench. “It might be dangerous but like, I think it’s worth it. There are lots of cool opportunities and awesome people you could miss if you didn’t give things that were a little sketchy a chance. Like that’s kinda how Daze, Stacy, Freddie and I became friends. Freddie took a chance on us and we took a chance on the mythological Mountain Man.” 

Caleb laughed a bit at his light joke, but Arthur didn’t. However, it was clear that Arthur was listening despite his lack of response.

“I mean, what do I know? I’m just a dude. You got way more life experience than me.” Caleb stretched out his legs. “I’ve barely left this town really, let alone Colorado. Until the other day England was just some random place that had kings and queens and tea.”

Caleb sighed. 

“But I do know what it’s like to try for your family and then decide at some point it’s not worth it anymore. The pain just sometimes outweighs everything else.” He could see Arthur wince at that. But he kept going. “My dad wasn’t great. Drank a lot.” Arthur winced again. “Did some shitty stuff to mom. Called me all sorts of things. He had me convinced I was stupid, no one could ever love me, that I was a burden. I think that’s why I related so much to Freddie’s story. What he told us… felt familiar.” Arthur’s face was buried in his hands. If Caleb noticed the wilting man beside him, he didn’t let it stop him.

“For some reason I was convinced that my father’s approval meant everything. That if I just was better then he’d stop hurting us. Then one day, he left. I was crushed, believing I'd failed. But as time passed I realized he was full of shit. I haven’t seen him in years. I don’t want to see him. Mom’s doing much better now and so am I. It’s not been real easy but… we made it.

“I don’t think you’re my dad, but the hurt sounds the same.” Caleb finally offered a look over to Arthur, whose hand was tight over his mouth and expression unreadable. “Unlike me and my father though, Freddie misses you too I think. But like, he’s not convinced you give a shit about him and from the stories I heard I didn't think you cared either. He’s been working on not giving himself to people who hurt him. Well, he’d do it if he loved them but like - if we really care about someone we shouldn’t expect them to do that- right? He’s said he needs to figure out how to love a person without putting too much faith in them.”

Arthur swallowed hard, and in composing himself Caleb could have sworn he saw a tear roll down the nation’s face. “My son can't trust me not to hurt him. And because of what I've done, he's suffered. It’s myself and my stupid pride.” He covered his eyes with his hands. “All I ever wanted was him back and I’ve managed to burn what was left of the fucking bridges between us.”

Caleb tilted his head in thought. “I don’t know if you need to think too much about it, y’know? Freddie’s pretty relaxed on this stuff. I think all he wanted at that meeting thing was for someone to be like, ‘yo this isn’t right’ and to tell him he’s not all those things people said. Maybe even for someone to say they kinda like him. I don’t think that’s a lot. It seems like anyone could do it.”

Arthur was silent, going through everything he had learned. Then, more anguish spilled from him. “He died. Because of the war I forced into happening, Alfred was killed and he never told me. He looks young now but then? He was just a baby. Even then, I attacked him. I refused to shoot him, thinking I was sparing him that. But by that point he had already experienced it, and what else? What else has he gone through that he’s not told us?”

“Have you asked him? I’m sure if he thinks it’s safe, he’d tell you.”

At that though, Arthur groaned and covered his face once more, desperately trying to hide his tears. “I want to be safe for him, I want him to be able to tell me things. Let me know when he’s hurting and know that I will be there for him. How do I make it safe for him?”

Caleb shrugged. “It sounds like this is a conversation you need to have with him-”

“He won’t talk to me! Nor will he talk to Francis! Nor his brother! We’re the closest to him and he’s said jack all! What do we have to do?”

“Look man, I don’t know,” Caleb had looked at his watch and stood up, “You’re way overthinking this. Freddie’s not that complicated. Just like, don’t make fun of him all the time. And like, don’t make weight comments - he’s worked way hard to be okay with eating normally again.”

Arthur was stunned to silence as Caleb realized Arthur might be more in the dark than he thought, even with the way he and the others reacted the other day to his comments about Alfred’s weight. He realized he had still thought that maybe Arthur would have some inclinations about Alfred’s body image problems. It was clear though that Arthur had been blissfully unaware.

Yeah. Caleb definitely did not want to let Freddie be alone with his father until Arthur figured his own shit out.

“Have y’all thought about family therapy?”

Chapter Text

When Matthew entered the small mountain café, Francis noticed the look on his face and could tell things had not gone as the young nation had hoped. However, he could also tell that  his dear boy had accepted the outcome. A side-glance at the humans showed one busy with a customer, and the other once again reading the same paragraph for the umpteenth time. Both pretending as though their current preoccupations were keeping them from noticing the puffy-eyed Canadian speaking to a somber Frenchman.

“He’s… He’s not coming back with us.” Matthew sat down next to Francis, nodding towards the women in greeting. Betraying their façade, the two of them gave subtle nods back. “We hurt him. Really bad.”

“I expected as much. I think many of us hide the human part of us away. Our humanity… creates great joy, yes, but also great pain. Although Alfred is very aware of this pain, instead of leaning into his position as a nation as is normal, he is leaning into his human spirit. It is… more difficult that way. But it is very much who he is. He loves very deeply, and as such takes things very much to heart. It is not something he has ever had desire to change.”

“Yeah,” Matthew said softly, but didn’t offer anything else. A moment passed and the door opened one more time. Arthur stood there, his eyes glossy. Caleb was holding the door out of politeness but Arthur’s pause was extending longer than he had expected. With an awkward side-glance he looked from Arthur to the two women with eyes that asked what is the correct protocol for a situation like this? But before he needed to upgrade his anxiety, Arthur took hold of the door and nodded to Caleb to join his friends. 

“Go on, lad,” he said before his attention went to Francis and Matthew. “Gents, we ought to let these people be. We’ve intruded enough.” 

“Arthur, are you okay?” Francis stood up immediately, heading towards the Englishman who simply shook his head and gave a heavy sigh.

“It is no matter. I have to return home and prepare for the meeting. As do you two.” 

“And Alfred?”

“He has decided what is best for him. We should trust his judgment.” He then looked to the three humans who had befriended his former colony. “Please, care for him as you have. You have helped him a great deal and I am grateful.”

With that, Arthur, Francis, and Matthew turned to leave - much more solemn and sullen than they had arrived. But as they went to the door, it opened again. In the doorway stood Alfred. Everyone was still for a moment.

“We’ll be leaving.” England finally said. “Take care of yourself.”

Alfred’s expression was unreadable, he looked over the man who was once so tall - so proud and powerful. The one who held him close during thunderstorms and throughout his growth. The one now who was disheveled and somber.

“I’ll be waiting.” The words spilled out of Arthur’s mouth before anyone could say anything further. “Whether it be in a month, two months, a year, a century, I will be here when you can give us another chance. Just one more chance.” I don’t want to lose you again. Please don’t say this is forever.

Alfred was silent before he just stuck out his hand to shake. “I’ll keep that in mind.” It was said with confidence and non-commitment. He would keep it in mind. That Arthur would welcome him back into his life should Alfred deem it time.

Arthur took his offer of a hand. “I’m- I wish-”

There were was one thing Alfred wanted to hear more than anything from him. The right words were so close from rolling off Arthur’s tongue but the man stopped and pulled back his hand. 

“Our flights leave soon. Farewell, America.” He used Alfred’s nation name, but not with the intent that Alfred had used theirs earlier. Arthur was giving that verbal white flag, the one that said If this is as you wish. 

He gave a courteous nod to the humans again before hustling out of the small café. Matthew followed after, once more averting gaze from his brother - ashamed for his part in what had transpired. 

Francis hesitated a moment before he also stretched out his hand to Alfred. The younger nation took it. Francis spoke, “I am deeply sorry for my actions. You are very loved, by me, by the rest of us. It may not be worth much now, but it is my sincerest wish for you to do what you need to remain safe, happy, and healthy.”

“Thank you, France.”

With a sad, soft smile he released Alfred’s hand. “Au revoir.” And he left with the others.

A moment passed before Alfred finally turned to his friends. He looked tired, he looked worn out. But he also had a smile. 

“Hey guys,” he croaked out.

In the next moment, the three of them had crossed the café and put their arms around him. He clung right back. 

* * *

Later that evening, Alfred laid in bed staring at that same ceiling he had stared at all night just twenty-four hours earlier. Just like that, they were gone. What he had been dreading happening - his family finding him - had happened. And yet, he was okay. With sincerity and thinly veiled fear for him, his friends had offered to spend the night, Stacy had proposed they watch a movie together, Daisy had struggled to think of some handyman project for him, and Caleb had even floated the thought of a night hike. All with the intent to keep him from being alone. From being with his mind. But he had turned them down - he needed to think. And he wasn’t scared of himself like he had been before. The gun wasn’t tempting him, he had had a simple dinner. His lack of appetite that evening was normal given the moment, and he was confident it was not a result of any body dysmorphia.

His friends had told him about their conversations with each of the nations. And each of the nations, even strong-headed England, had agreed to leave him alone. They had listened to his request and left him - honestly and truly they had left. It wasn’t a ploy to get him back. They saw his hurt and respected his request.

Even though he had been confident in his decision to return home alone, a deep sorrow cut into his gut as his mind went to the three nations. Alfred covered his eyes with his palms and felt the moisture spilling over, his nose stuffing up almost immediately. 

They had left. Arthur had left. As he asked them to, begged them to, they had left him alone. Arthur had stared him in the eyes and said farewell.  

Wasn’t that what he wanted? For them to leave? He had been so sure it was. They never found his home. They wouldn’t be back. They invited him to return but until then he wouldn’t see them unless he decided it was time. That was what he wished. Or at least, that’s what he thought. 

So why was he so upset? Matthew had given him a heartfelt apology. But Mattie had been just as hurt, an apology was wanted but they were both in so much pain. Francis had apologized, told him he loved him, a year ago that would have been everything. And while Alfred certainly appreciated the gesture, his stomach was still in turmoil. 

He had wanted that stupid English- no, no, he knew who England was. Expecting the man to be someone he wasn’t was something that contributed to his hurt before. Arthur was the way he was, that was that. He sniffled again, his nose not allowing much air through as he gulped in his tears, rolling onto his side. 

An apology from Arthur would make things better, right? He thought a moment longer. No, it wouldn’t make things better. Frustration built. If he didn’t want an apology from Arthur, what did he want? (not that he wouldn’t appreciate the apology.)

Ranger was by his side and he pulled the fluffy monstrosity close, sticking his nose into the fur as the lazy, large, sleeping animal curled into the warmth.

“I want him to say he’s proud of me, Ranger,” he whispered into his cat’s fur, “I don’t want them to regret me. I’m not a disappointment.” He clung tighter, Ranger stretching out and curling up again. “I’m not. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Clinging onto his cat as though Ranger were his last lifeline, he stared into the darkness, thinking. The world meeting. He had been adamant that he was never going to return. He told them he wouldn’t. But…

Maybe…. 

Maybe a part of him did want to go. The others had listened to him and left him alone. Though Dr. Anderson would say he didn’t owe them anything, maybe going to just one more meeting wouldn’t hurt. He had decided months ago he didn’t care what they thought about him, and his friends would be here for him afterwards.

Perhaps a part of him felt that things would be different now that England, France, and Canada all knew what he was going through. Maybe they’d help him instead of making fun of him. 

Or maybe things would go right back to how they were.

Well, he could always leave if things got bad, right? 

* * *

The mid-morning light brightened the café. Alfred was playing with his hands in that way that told them he was about to announce something big. Last time it had been the confession that he was a personification of the United States of America. His friends were at their usual spots, waiting for this morning’s announcement. 

"So, after a lot of thinking, I've decided… I am going to the next world meeting. I know I said I wouldn’t. I really, really was firm in that but- but I think it’s what I need. Like a closure."

He could tell immediately his friends were trying their hardest to keep their own thoughts on the matter to themselves. They were watching his face for clues on how he wanted them to react. But after a few moments of giving them nothing, their faces betrayed their hidden concerns. None of them were really okay with this. 

"Guys, I'm ready. I think." He tried to reassure them.

"Where is it, again? In the UK?" Daisy asked. 

"Yeah, in London," he replied. Stacy’s lips were drawn tight. After what she had heard from Caleb about Arthur, she wasn’t super sold on Alfred going anywhere by himself where the other nation might be. She was sure England wouldn’t do anything further to hurt Alfred knowingly, but somehow the idea this whole thing started accidentally was even more frightening.

"Bro, London?! Can we come?" Caleb perked up. “I’ve never been to London, I want to go see the guys with the funny hats!” He was all but begging in that childish way he had about him, but there was a method in his madness Stacy saw: If they went, they could catch him after the meetings. When things got bad they could be there for him. Caleb had been particularly concerned about the whole Arthur and Alfred thing, and despite how playful his begging had been his fear for their friend was evident.

"Caleb, do you even have a passport?" Daisy came in with the ‘logic.’

"No, but I know England personally now. That's gotta be worth like, ten passports.”

Daisy rolled her eyes and though Alfred let himself laugh a little it was a thin disguise for the anxiety coursing through him. Stacy met his eyes but he quickly turned away, hiding that he too was unsure of his own idea.

“I think I’ll be fine on my own,” he said to his coffee, but there was something in his speech that told the others he wasn’t super convinced. “I'm just going to be gone for a week. I’ll be back Saturday evening. I’m just going to go see what’s been going on with everyone. I haven’t really read much news and I should make sure that like… things are kosher.”

There was a silence. His friends were not super comfortable with his idea.

“I’ll be fine.” He repeated, this time with more conviction. “I’ve survived them all before.”

The silence highlighted the dark lie in what he had just said. He hadn’t survived them.

“I’m doing so much better now. It will be okay. I will be okay. I promise. I haven’t broken our promises yet.”

“We’re going to need updates the entire time,” Caleb said. 

“Sure. Daze, can you take care of Ranger?”

“I will gladly take daily cat picture duty.”

Even though a moment earlier he had been struggling to believe his own conviction, their enthusiasm gave him comfort he couldn’t describe.

“When you get back, let’s go to the lake,” Stacy offered.

“Yeah, the lake sounds awesome.” Alfred nodded, smiling. “And if things are awful, I’ll just come back early. I’ll leave like I did last time. But if I ditch early, can we still go to the lake?” 

“Of course.” Stacy nodded.

The world meeting looming over him felt terrifying, yes. But now that he had these friends, people who wanted the best for him and loved him, he was starting to feel like he could handle whatever was thrown at him. At least in theory.

Chapter Text

The meeting would start soon. He wasn't late, so he wouldn't draw attention by walking in. And he wasn't super early, everyone should be distracted with each other. If this didn’t work out, he could go home. That was what he reminded himself over and over again. Dr. Anderson had helped him prepare - it wasn’t a personal failing to try something and not have it work out. He had no timeline here for when to come back to this world of nations and meetings. This was just a test of the waters. Nothing more.

His gloved palms were sweaty, his breathing going from uncontrolled to meditative as he worked to bring his heart rate down. One thing he did not need now was another panic attack. His breathing exercises brought his head back down from its place of panic as he finally gathered the strength to reach for the door. As delicately as he could he pulled the handle down and pushed it inward. The door made not a sound as it revealed a familiar conference room with the tables in an oval. A podium was at one of the narrower sides, behind it a projector screen covered part of the whiteboard that was secured along the wall.

It was so normal. So much like he expected it to look. Just seeing it was bringing back those awful memories and thoughts. Maybe his trauma really was as prevalent as Dr. Anderson had suggested.

But he was as determined as he was scared shitless.

With careful steps he moved into the room, closing the door behind him as silently as he had opened it. The arguments were already in full swing, giving him some hope that no one would notice him at all. No one had even glanced his way. That was, until he sat down. 

"Glad to see you've decided to grace us with your presence, Alfred." Ivan's words were as ice cold as his winters. Immediately Alfred felt the weight of the literal world's eyes on him. He did not respond to Ivan. He did not look at the other nations.

Just mind your own, he thought to himself. He took out some paper and a pen from his small backpack. It was a bit dirtier than his old work briefcase. The one he had thrown out when he ditched the first time. However, despite its stained and roughed-up nature, this bag was proving to be more comfort than even the most designer of leather briefcases. This was one of the bags he stuffed with things to go bouldering with Caleb. He brought it when they all went into the woods for an afternoon of barbecuing. When they went to dinky carnivals and farmer’s markets. Ivan’s voice trapped his own in his throat, but clutching this bag was helping him to avoid seizing up completely.

“Are you hard of hearing or are you dumb, comrade? Or maybe you are rude, as your people often are.” Then Ivan spoke again. Ivan was already laying into him. Trying to provoke him into a fight. But Alfred wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t give him attention. Not unless he was being spoken to with an ounce of respect - he deserved that. At least, at least, an ounce of respect. 

"Quiet, Ivan." And Alfred looked up with hope at who spoke. Almost too quickly, too eagerly. It was almost embarrassing. The words hadn't come from Francis or Arthur or Mattie, though they were there together on the other side of the oval, clearly surprised that Alfred had come. Ludwig was the one who had spoken as he stood at the podium. "Continue the chastising after. Though you may be wasting your breath. He is not known to take advice."

“And there it is,” Alfred whispered under his breath, quickly focusing on the blank paper in front of him. This was such a bad idea. He wanted nothing more than to go home. Back to Stacy and Caleb and Daisy. Back to campfires and sketchy carnivals with questionable safety records. With his pen he scribbled on his paper, his anxious energy needing some output. Apparently, the output for the anxiety towards the impending onslaught of insults was scribbling some odd interpretation of Captain Underpants. Huh. Who knew?

“Where have you been?” Kiku was the one questioning him now, not unkindly.

“Places,” Alfred replied. It was a short reply to what sounded like something asked honestly, but his defenses were up already. Prior, he would have had a deep sorrow and feeling of guilt in the pit of his stomach building with the impending threat of insults. Now it was an anticipatory annoyance. His patience was thin when it came to their bullshit. Perhaps that was a type of character development? A sign of him choosing whose opinion to value, and whose opinion was just shit.

“He does not understand geography!” Quiet and cute, innocent in nature but unaware of the biting edge the phrase had, Feliciano looked to Ludwig. The Italian searching for confirmation that his statement was correct. What was more aggravating though was Ludwig’s small, simple nod and Feliciano taking the confirmation to elaborate further. “He may not know where he has been.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” he muttered. He crumpled his paper, chucking it and the pen into his bag. He had tried. Fuck this place.

Fueling his conviction that this was all stupid and pointless was the honestly confused look on Feliciano’s face. How normalized had all this crap become that none of them saw what was actually happening?

"Running away again, Alfred?" Ivan always taunted him. And sometimes, especially if it were only Ivan taunting him, he'd like it. And fight back. Maybe with words, maybe with fists. But if things were as they had been before he left, any attempt to fight back would go down in flames. He’d be ganged up on and beaten over the head with their pent-up frustrations. He refused to go back down that road. Despite holding his tongue, Alfred could not hide the rolling of his eyes. Not that he tried too hard. "So childish. America, we ask you questions out of concern. We have not seen you in near a year. And now you're leaving us without even an explanation?"

"He doesn't owe anyone an explanation." The voice was firm. Verging on fiercely protective. Fatherly. Alfred’s head jerked up. There was Arthur, taking the seat beside him. "We all have our own issues to deal with. Let the lad be."

"But didn't you say-" Ivan started.

Arthur flinched, cutting him off. He certainly knew what Ivan was getting at. “It doesn't matter what I've said, it matters what I'm saying and right now I'm saying leave Alfred alone and worry about your own damn self.”

It was matter-of-fact, but it was enough. The meeting started without another word towards Alfred. While Ludwig droned on about this or that, Alfred continued to stare, unfocused, at the crumpled, scribbled-on Captain Underpants in front of him, swallowing hard. Arthur’s little action there. It had stopped everything. No one was saying shitty things to him anymore.

After an hour the group stopped for a break and Arthur turned to Alfred just to see the man getting out of his seat. Arthur had no time to say anything, Alfred was already on the move.

"Excuse me," Alfred squeaked and rushed out of the meeting room, barely making it around the bend in the hall before he caught himself against a wall, trying to process what happened. He protected him. Arthur really was helping. Arthur had seen Alfred unhappy and spoke up and then everyone moved on to a different topic. Just like that.   

He heard footsteps and around the corner came Arthur. His brows knitted in concern as he breathed hard from his panicked rush - terrified he was losing Alfred again. 

“Al-”

But before he could finish, Alfred had pulled him into a hug. A wet, soppy, hiccuping hug gripped the man, Alfred clutching onto him with his near suffocating strength. Arthur couldn’t think of any other response than to let his hands come up around his son’s back, holding him as the larger man’s body shook with the sobs. 

Arthur realized he was crying too. This reaction over simply telling the others to mind their own. To leave Alfred alone. It was like he had done some hugely heroic thing, this reaction. But all Arthur had to do to have his son cling to him was… protect him. In such a minor way. 

“You’re okay, darling,” Arthur whispered with a care and compassion that made Alfred squeeze him a little tighter. “I'm so sorry I wasn't there before. I'm so sorry I added so much to your pain. Thank you for coming back and giving me one more chance.”

Alfred clung to him for a few moments longer, his wracked sobs quiet in the empty hallway. Arthur let him cry, gently rubbing his back as he had many times in the past. Then after a few minutes, Alfred finally pulled away and Arthur realized he almost felt it was too soon. 

“You're a mess, love.” Arthur’s voice was soft as he grabbed the handkerchief from his pocket and started wiping away the tears from Alfred’s cheeks and eyes. 

"So are you." Alfred laughed just ever so delicately, gesturing to Arthur’s now disheveled outfit. 

“And who’s fault is that?” He offered a quiet, gentle jab as he straightened his outfit out. Aside from his damp and wrinkled shoulder, all was back to as it had been. Once sorted, Arthur looked up again and saw Alfred’s face layered with guilt. He feels everything. It was what Francis had told Arthur about the boy centuries ago, but it was something he only fully grasped now. Arthur reached out to his cheek. “Alfred, I was joking-”

“I know.” Alfred started to laugh. “I know you were.”

"And I am proud of you. I want you to know that. You've become an exceptional man."

Alfred looked almost ready to lose it again, but Arthur wasn't done yet. 

“And- and, I love you, you know that too - right?”

“Yeah, yeah I do. Love you too.”

Chapter Text

It was day two of the conference. Alfred had woken up late, sleeping through two of his alarms, and his stomach was biting for food. He had gone to an old favorite - a quick stop at MickyDs. Unfortunately, though, there wasn’t enough time to eat there or in his hotel before the meetings started. So he had to take the bag with him and hope that he’d be able to eat some of it before his anxiety fed his still-healing disorder and he threw the food away.

With his breakfast in his hand he was now slowly entering the conference room just as he had done the day before. Still quiet, still hoping to not draw further attention to himself, and to his relief no one seemed to particularly notice him or be interested in him as he took his seat. He hid his bag of food on his lap under the table and put his drink on the ground behind his backpack before he glanced around. Anxiety started to turn his stomach. Could they smell it? Did they know he was going to be eating? The McDonald’s bag stayed hidden as he quickly snuck a french fry into his mouth, looking around just enough to make sure that no one saw him.

What he didn’t notice as he quietly, quickly, secretly tried to eat his breakfast was the frown on Francis’ face. The Frenchman snuck side glances at the young nation desperately hiding the fact that he was hungry and needed to eat. The conversations back in Colorado with the American’s friends pulled at his heart and sunk a weight into his gut. 

How could they have hurt the young man this much without noticing? It was clear: Alfred was ashamed to eat. They were supposed to love him, weren’t they? This was not a young man who felt safe in this room. This was not a young man who felt he was loved.

The previous evening, Arthur had come to him and Mathieu and nearly broke down into a shattered version of himself as he had recounted Alfred’s reaction to him simply diverting the conversation. Francis had been shocked too, now that he knew what he knew. The insults had started so quickly and had been building just as fast. But Arthur had stopped the escalation without much trouble at all. It bothered Francis, how much hurt he hadn’t noticed and how simple the solutions were.

“‘Freddie’s not complicated,’ that’s what his friend told me,” Arthur had said, “Now I know what that means, how did I not know what that meant before?”

Now, Francis would take his turn to try and right the wrongs of the past. Not that the past could be rewritten, a nation knew that very well. But a new day could be a new start and he had wasted too much time already. He approached Alfred carefully, so as to not surprise him or catch him off-guard. As soon as Alfred noticed Francis though, the young man froze - keeping the bag hidden under the table and wiping any evidence of having eaten from his mouth. It brought Francis so much pain if he were being honest. It cut deep to see such fear and panic over a simple breakfast. And if it felt this terrible to witness it, what must it be like to experience it?

“May I have a fry?” Francis asked. It actually hurt him a little internally to ask for it, he had eaten them before and did not find them to match his palette. But if it would help assuage any fear that Alfred had about eating his food then he would do it. 

“Seriously?” Alfred was confused, glancing around as though searching for anyone else watching. As though he expected this to be a set-up. And that hurt too. But Francis knew that in this, he had only himself to blame. 

“Oui, please,” Francis said. Alfred slowly brought out a long, still warm fry and handed it to Francis. And Francis ate it. Honestly, the fry wasn’t as bad as he remembered. The salt and warmth quite nice. He would not go out and buy his own, but it was easy to see how they were appreciated. Why Alfred seemed to enjoy this meal choice. “That was very pleasant. Thank you. Please, enjoy your meal. It is important for you to eat so you will be comfortable and alert. We have a long agenda. It won’t do if you’re hungry.”

Then he returned to his seat, ignoring the small craving for another fry as he went over his papers for the meeting. With small glances over to Alfred he saw the man slowly start to eat more openly. He still pointed away from the group, still made himself small, but he wasn’t sneaking fries or eating the sandwich under the cover of his hand anymore. Most importantly: he actually was eating.

After another moment, Alfred had reached down and cautiously pulled up his soda cup, looking around to see if anyone was going to mention it. He must have decided it was safe as he slowly placed it on the table at the same time Arthur had come into the meeting room, going for a seat next to Alfred. Arthur merely glanced at the cup but didn’t say anything at all about it. In fact, the only thing he did was move a napkin over to the cup. Without making any sort of deal he picked up the paper cup and placed it on the napkin to protect the wooden table from the sweat. A very guardian-esque display, if Francis would describe it.

When Alfred realized there was going to be no snide comment, he perked up and offered a quiet exchange of pleasantries with Arthur as he finished his food. Alfred was becoming comfortable, and Francis was more than happy to see that. 

And honestly? Maybe he would stop by the store for some fries after all.

* * *

By the third day of the conference, it seemed that Alfred was slowly returning to himself. Though he still displayed a quiet reservedness that stung Matthew every time he saw it, whenever he was addressed or given any sort of attention he shrunk back into that jacket. Simply, Alfred didn’t talk to many people. Matthew had spoken to Arthur and Francis about his slow strides and breakthroughs, but his brother continued to show signs of discomfort, trauma, and fear. He wasn’t comfortable here. From what Matthew had gathered about his brother’s struggles, he felt himself growing worried that Alfred was damaging himself just by being here. Was this really the best course of action for him? He didn’t seem completely ready.

“There has to be something we can do to really show him we’ve been listening. I want him to know we love him. I want him to feel that.” Matthew had said that afternoon once the other nations had left. Alfred was always the first to leave, sneaking out before anyone could stop him to talk to him. Matthew had tried to catch up with him that day - just to touch base. But by the time he had addressed a question from Antonio, Alfred had left. 

None of them knew where he went after the meetings, but Matthew had a sinking feeling it was just back to his room, quiet and alone. Usually they all knew the hotels the others were at, or they were even on the same floor of the same hotel, but it seemed no one here had any idea where Alfred was staying. And Alfred hadn’t given any of them an answer. He didn’t want them knowing. 

Matthew felt a stab of his heart every time he remembered: Alfred didn’t feel comfortable, safe, okay with his supposed ‘family’ knowing where he was staying, much less knowing where he lived. Matthew just knew Alfred was living in Colorado. Nothing else.

He didn’t need to know. He just wanted Alfred to know that they cared about him and were listening to him. 

The question of what they could do had been going through Matthew’s head the whole meeting as he stared at the whiteboard which held a simple bullet-point list over whatever Antonio had been talking about. He hadn’t been actually paying any attention. And now he stared at the same list, the same thoughts going through his head but no answer had come.

“What does he even like?” Matthew looked at Arthur and Francis. “Oh God, I don’t even know what my brother likes .”

“Of course you do. You are now just trying to decide out of what Alfred likes, what he most needs. And, well, I have an idea,” Arthur said, “But it may be tricky. It may not even be possible.” 

“Well, as our dear Alfred would say,” Francis shrugged, “‘Anything’s possible,’ no?”

* * *

The café had just a half hour until closing and Stacy was cleaning up what she could to make closing go faster. Her thoughts were with Alfred. He had been video chatting with her and the others after every day of the conference so far, and it seemed things were going okay. He had told them about Arthur standing up for him, how Francis shared food with him, and how the conversations had stayed on topic with no mention of him. 

He was so happy with all of it, though Stacy couldn’t help but feel that this was all just the bare minimum. It was a start though, and from Freddie’s reaction she could tell it was a start in the right direction.

The café’s phone rang as she stacked some coffee mugs. Her mind still on Freddie, she picked it up. “Mountain Pine café, this is Stacy, how can I help you?” 

“Stacy?” The familiar accent caught her attention. “This is Arthur. Alfred’s… father. With an asterisk. I have a question of utmost importance: Do you have a passport?”

Chapter Text

It was the fifth and final day of the conference. Arthur wrung his hands as he looked up at the clock. The time was ticking, and he, Francis, and Matthew had pulled as many strings as they could to make what was coming, happen. All he could do now was hope that it meant what they wanted it to mean, and that Ludwig and the others would not be too furious with them. The latter was a lesser concern, what they thought mattered far less than what Alfred felt. That was the lesson he hated that he had only just truly learned.

Ludwig had wrapped up the meeting, and Alfred was already heading out as usual, not allowing any time for discussion. 

“Alfred.” Arthur stood up, saying the man’s name loud enough for him to freeze. He turned around slowly, retreating into himself at being called upon. Arthur realized the focus of the room of nations was on them. Following, Arthur also realized he hadn’t thought this far ahead. But he needn’t worry - Matthew had thought about it plenty.

“We’re sorry. I’m sorry. I know we hurt you.” Matthew said. Alfred’s eyes were wide with a deer-in-headlights look as he glanced from Matthew to Arthur to Francis and back again.  He never took his eyes off of them. He didn’t dare to look at any of the other nations.

“It’s fine, I’m- It happens,” he said. The attention of the world was on him, and it brought up feelings that reminded him why he had left in the first place.  

“But it shouldn’t,” Francis spoke, “We should have shown you how important you are to us. And we should have helped you when you were suffering.” The vision of Alfred scared to eat in front of them burned in his mind. He could tell Alfred was uncomfortable. The large man was shrinking before their eyes. They needed to do this quickly. 

“We did something for you,” Arthur said, still feeling the weight of Alfred’s hulking, sobbing body from days prior on his shoulder. He noticed what Francis had, and cut to the chase. Finally acknowledging the rest of the room, Arthur sighed. “Everyone else can leave if you don’t want to deal with… well, humans.” 

It was the room’s turn to freeze. Some left. More stayed. Ludwig sighed and slapped his forehead. Feliciano looked way too excited - it wasn’t every day they got to talk to someone’s citizens! Kiku was curious, there were many ways for this to go. The rest were some combination of all of these.

“What? Humans?” Alfred perked up. Arthur gestured towards the conference door as it opened and three familiar people stepped in with caution. 

“Freddie?” Stacy’s eyes darted around the room before landing on her friend. Her caution melted into a smile, and Arthur noticed Alfred get just a little taller.

“See, Daisy? I told you- knowing England personally? Way better than a stupid passport,” Caleb grinned. Alfred was returning to himself.

“Caleb, he just helped you get a passport. I need you to understand you still needed a passport,” Daisy said. 

“Guys!” Alfred ran straight to them, wrapping his arms around them each in turn in big, grand hugs. “What are you doing here?!”

They all hugged him back. “Arthur called us,” Stacy said, “Well, he called the café and asked if we’d come by.”

“I’ve never been to London before,” Daisy said, “So I was down. Brought my guitar too for some open mics!”

“Bro, are all these people nations too?” Caleb was pointing at the rest of the beings in the room, all of whom were expressing amusement or confusion. If nothing else, the use of bro had solidified that these humans were certainly American. “Is Spain here? ‘Cuz Daisy wants to practice her Spanish.” 

Antonio perked up at his nation name and it caught Caleb’s attention immediately.

“Oh! There! Hey, Daisy, go talk to him!” 

“Fuck that, I am not speaking my basic ass Spanish to Spain .”

“We got a few nations here,” Alfred said, laughing that golden laugh that his family realized they hadn’t heard in a long, long time. Long before Alfred had left them, it had been a mere memory. “There’s Germany, Northern Italy, Spain, Japan,” he listed the nations, gesturing to them and in return most of them waved.

“Japan? Whoa. I am such a fan.” Caleb noticed Kiku. “Wait, is that cringy to say?”

“A little, but I appreciate it,” Kiku offered. 

“We can make some pasta to share! New people being here is always a great time for pasta.” Feliciano was honestly just happy to be there. He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening under all the looks, glances, and anxious faces - but what he did know was he liked Alfred. And was happy he was back.

“Do you ever think there’s a bad time for pasta?” Ludwig rubbed his temples, “Are we not concerned that we are spilling this secret left and right?”

“Spilling it left and right? Who else knows this time?” Arthur asked. 

“Mein stupid brother uses it as a pick-up line.”

“...Does it work?” Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“Of course it works.”

“Okay. It is settled,” Feliciano was determined, “Pasta it is!”

“Feliciano, things cannot all be solved by pasta!”

“You bet they can! Pasta makes people happy. I will get started!”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Stacy finally spoke up, stopping the chaos. She glanced at Alfred, not sure if he was comfortable with eating around this many people. Especially given their history together. And it was a long, rough history. “I think we were going to go to a restaurant, Daisy found a spot that looked good.”

“Wait, wait, we have Italy - LITERALLY Italy - offering to make us pasta and we’re turning it down for… British food?” Caleb turned to Arthur. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Arthur sighed in defeat. “It has been a while since we’ve eaten together, it might be a good idea. Some ‘team bonding’ or whatever.”

“You okay with this?” Stacy asked Alfred quietly. Alfred bit his lip, the focus was not on him but on Ludwig and Feliciano going back and forth on the technicalities of suddenly cooking in the conference room. 

“Yeah… Yeah. I think so. Especially with you guys here. Thanks.” Alfred smiled. Matthew tried to catch the smile.

“I’ve missed being with you, Al,” Matthew said. To his very, very pleasant surprise, Alfred threw his arm around him, pulling him in for a side-hug. 

“Missed you too, bro.” He gave him a squeeze. “I’ll try to warn you about any busses from here on out,” he laughed. 

“I’ll make sure we don’t need to worry about them.” Matthew went from the side-hug to grabbing his brother around the waist, pulling him in tight. Alfred held back, his belief in his brother’s love confirmed.  

“All is decided. I will start the pasta!” Feliciano’s voice pulled them from their moment.

“If we are cooking I will also help,” Francis volunteered, joining Feliciano. 

“I can help too!” Arthur started. 

“Hey, dude, maybe you should hang back with us.” Alfred gestured to himself, Matthew, and the humans. “There’s no way they’ll take anything we make seriously. So let’s just let them do the work.”

“Fine,” Arthur huffed, “But I’m making scones later.”

“You can certainly do that.”

* * *

Three months had passed when Arthur got the invitation. He had to read it three times and then call Francis to confirm. He then called Matthew to confirm once more. Though Alfred had continued to come to meetings, he still spent very little time with anyone. He came and left quickly and generally remained as small as he could.

But now they had gotten the same message, and now Arthur, Francis, and Matthew stood outside an A-Frame cabin in the middle of the Colorado wilderness. They had thought for sure they read the directions incorrectly, the road was dark and hidden even though there was still an hour or so of sunlight. Despite the time that had passed, there was a twinge in Matthew’s heart realizing this was what his brother had done to hide from them.

They followed the fairy lights that lit the path to the door and off to the campfire. The leaves on the trees had turned brilliant shades of red and yellow and orange, the fallen ones littering the wooden pathways. 

Their car was not the only one there, one other car had arrived already. The humans. 

“Shall we?” Francis finally said before knocking on the door. 

Daisy’s face was the first they saw as the door swung open. “Hey guys! I heard you’d be coming. Yo, Al! Your family’s here!” she called out to the rest of the house as the nations realized he had gone from ‘Freddie’ back to ‘Al.’ And Arthur would be lying if he said it didn’t lift his spirit just a bit. Not only that, but Daisy used that word that meant more to him than he ever imagined it would:

Family. ‘ Your family.’

Arthur caught his breath as Alfred, happier than he had been in a long time, finally came into view dressed in typical jeans and a blue v-neck long sleeved shirt. “Sick! Come on in guys!” he waved them in. A golden retriever-mix puppy rushed to greet them, leaving Caleb behind holding a chewed tennis ball. “This is Lady! I just adopted her, like, last month.”

The first thing Francis noticed were the pictures that lined his shelves. Various moments of the man with Arthur and Matthew and him were framed and placed about. It was quite touching, actually. To see himself as a part of someone’s life like this.

“Can we help with anything?” Matthew asked. 

“Nah, we’re almost done with dinner. Just make yourself at home, Mattie.” Alfred gave that smile, and at the use of not just his name but his nickname Matthew felt a weight lifted from his shoulders. He knelt down to join Caleb in playing with Lady.

“Freddie!” Stacy called from the kitchen.

Mattie guessed he was just going by whatever name first came to someone’s mind.  

“Freddie! Ranger’s going after the meatloaf again!” 

“What?! Dude! Ranger, my man!” He looked back to his family, the one that had been pieced together, then broken, then pieced together time and time again. “Dinner will be soon, I just gotta get my cat to stop eating it!”

“Take your time.” Arthur had taken a seat on a sofa and was looking at an old photo of him and Alfred from near around photography’s invention. “We’ll be here.”