Chapter Text
Alfred woke up, yawning and stretching, like he did every Christmas morning at his parents
house. He blinked, grabbed his glasses and stuck them to his nose, before smiling out the window.
He knew that his brother Matt was probably downstairs making pancakes after having just flown into England from Canada. Because, like every year, he flies in early and makes breakfast for everyone. Alfred’s parents were probably sleeping still or bickering quietly in the living room, like always.
Quickly, Alfred jumped up and ran down the stairs that led into the living room, where he would expect his parents to be. Looking around, he saw no sign of his parents, which probably meant that they were still sleeping.
He then slumped into the kitchen, “Yo, Mattie bro, I don’t smell panca-” Once arriving, Al blinked, not seeing the blonde boy anywhere. He must be in his room or something. With that thought, the American dashed up the stairs again, going two-by-two and nearly tripping over his feet to reach Matthew’s bedroom.
“Mattie, dude, I’m starvi-” Without knocking, he burst in, only to find that the room was cold and completely empty.
So, Alfred did what any brother in his situation would do….. He went to his parents.
“Moooooooooooooom. Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad. I can’t find Maaaaaaaaattie!” He whinned, banging on the door. Al wouldn’t dare go into their room without knocking after what he walked into last time.
After a couple of minutes of banging on the door, the piece of wood was pulled open, revealing an angry Brit, who looked a bit rough to the eyes. “What do you want?” Arthur hissed at his son, holding the doorknob in an iron tight grip.
“Mom, I can’t find Mattie. Do you know if he’s flown in?” Al pouted, leaning against the threshold.
A velvet soft voice interrupted the angry Brit from yelling at the loud American for calling him ‘mom’ again, “What’s wrong, petit lapin? Why is Alfie making such a fuss this early?” Francis groaned from the bed behind Artie.
Iggy turned around and sighed, “Alfred can’t locate Matthew, Francis. Have you been in contact with him?” After hearing that his precious little baby was nowhere to be seen, the Frenchman pushed himself out of the bed, holding the sheets to his bare body and moving over to drape his arms around his husband.
“Matthieu is not here?” He replied in that ridiculous accent of his. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, dude, I checked everywhere he could be. He hadn’t showed up.”
“Well, why don’t I call him. Alfred, go get cleaned up or something, you look like a slob. Francis, make breakfast, please. And put some bloody clothes on.” With that, Arthur swept himself out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.
The two were left to disperse behind him, one going into his and his “wife’s” shared closet, the other completely ignored the Brit and went downstairs to watch tv.
Arthur stood in the kitchen next to the phone, silently praying that his son was alright. Quickly he began dialing the number, forced to sit and listen to the ringing of it. He held his breath the entire time, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.
The ringing cut off and a soft and almost scarcely heard voice began speaking, “Hi, this is Matthew. I’m so sorry that I can’t come to the phone right now, but I will get back to you as soon as I possibly can. Goodbye.” That was Matthew’s house phone.
“At the tone, please record your message. If you are finished recording, you may hang up or press 1 for more options.” Beep.
“Ah yes. Matthew, this is your father. We are all here and wondering where you are and if you are safe. I do realize that you may not be home right now and it is expected that you are on your way over. I will try your cellular device next. Goodbye.” With that, Arthur hung up, cursing himself for sounding as if he had no feelings whatsoever during the call.
“Did he answer?” Alfred asked from the doorway, looking genuinely worried.
Arthur weakly smiled at his son, “I’m calling his cell phone right now.”
“We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.” He took a deep breath and set the phone down gently.
“Mon amour? What is the matter?” Francis walked into the room, now fully dressed.
The Brit was interrupted by a loud buzzing noise on the tv.
“We interrupt this regularly scheduled broadcast to give you this news. A private plane has crashed just along the shore of the island of Greenland with no survivors. The occupants were recorded as a tall blonde male and a shorter albino male. The plane is black and white with what seems to be a black eagle holding a coat of arms on the tail of the plane. More information to be disclosed.”
“Mon dieu!” Francis gasped, running to the living room and rewinding the report. He turned up the volume and fell to his knees at the sight of the familiar plane. “A-arthur…”
“Dad! What happened??” Alfred panicked, not entirely understanding the situation. Arthur meanwhile was trying calm down his distressed husband while attempting to hold himself together.
“Alfred, I need you to pack. We’re taking a trip.” The green eyed man replied slowly, taking deep breaths.
“I need some answers!”
“Will you just bloody do what I say for once??” With that, Alfred hurried to his room without another word.
Francis was a sobbing mess. “A-arthur, we need to get over there now. P-please, we need to.”
“Shh shh shh, I know darling, I know.” Arthur stared off, out the window, wondering what would become of the family without his precious son.