“What do you see in him anyway?” The question came out of nowhere, prompting the English nation to look up from his tea in shock.
“Excuse me?” Arthur said, unable to understand what had spurred the loud-mouthed American to suddenly switch topics so fast. It was very unusual for the young nation to ever break away from one of his hair brained schemes or stories that he was so fond of telling Arthur. The boy had been that way ever since he had found him.
“What do you see in him,” Alfred repeated, taking interest in running his thumb over the lip of his tea cup. “Why are you with Scotland? I mean, I always thought he hated you, and you hated him.” The way Alfred was staring so intently at the cup was the first hint that something was up. He could feel it in the air that there was something he couldn’t quite describe about Alfred’s behavior.
Setting his tea down, placing it delicately on the platter, Arthur rested his folded hands atop of his lap, emerald green eyes studying the American’s body language. There were some things he had picked up from watching BBC’s Sherlock for so long… Despite Allistor complaining in the background, of course. Still, it had paid off in the end. He was at least able to pick enough details out to get a general idea of Alfred’s current emotional state. Distraught, depressed, almost discouraged and hopeless, those were the key aspects of his mind set.
“Well… It is relatively difficult to explain, I must say. We probably are an unexpected couple, due to the extremes of our personalities.” Arthur tilted his head slightly as he thought about it, brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “I suppose what they say is true then. Opposites really do attract. Yet, if you really want to know what I see in him, it’s his softer side.” Alfred’s eyes seemed to bulge at that statement.
“His what?” If the other blonde had been drinking anything at that moment, Arthur was sure it would have come spraying out of his nose. It was as if Alfred had thought that Allistor was really just a muscle-bound brute like he so often pretended to be. Of all people though, Arthur really thought Alfred would know better than to judge a book by its cover.
Then again, this was the personification of the United States of America he was talking to.
The English man sighed. “Well, like most people, he has more than one side to him. He may come off as a pompous, arrogant, snarky bastard, but I’ve known him long enough to be able to tell you he is much more complex a character than that,” Arthur said, a small smile crossing his lips as he thought of how Allistor always did the smallest of things to make sure Arthur knew the Scottish Nation loved him. He was a man of action, after all, always letting his touch linger just a second more than was necessary…
“Then what about those bruises on your arm?” Alfred snapped, shocking the other out of his daze inspired by thinking about Allistor. Hearing the marks Alfred had pointed out; Arthur looked at them, worrying his lip. No wonder the younger was concerned. The inexplicable bruises really didn’t seem to have a reason for being there.
“Well, not every relationship is per—“
“He abuses you!” The table cracked as Alfred slammed his hands down onto the wooden surface, having sprung up to his feet. An uncharacteristic scowl was painted across his features. “The damn asshole! Don’t worry Artie! I won’t let him hurt you no more!”
That wasn’t good.
“No, Alfred! Let me explain for heaven’s sake! He does not abuse me!” Arthur snapped, standing up as well, only refraining from abusing the poor oak table. He had had it for over a hundred years, and planned to keep it for another hundred, if it could survive that long.
The tension grew in the kitchen as Alfred visibly struggled with trying to control himself. Finally, something caved, and the teen sat back down, folding his arms over his chest. “Fine! How did you get them than, if you can come up with a good enough excuse!”
“Well, if you must know… There is some truth behind France calling me the erotic ambassador…” Arthur admitted taking his seat as well, head hung in shame. Admitting that to Alfred just felt wrong, and it made his skin crawl. “You see, I really like it rough, and Allistor really does seek to please me—“ He was interrupted by an odd sound escaping the Alfred, who’s eyes had grown the size of saucers.
“I did not need to know that!” Alfred snapped, his eyes narrowing at the Englishman. Arthur blushed having had to go so far to clear his lover’s name, to the point where he embarrassed himself in front of his adoptive younger brother. Though the more he thought about it, the more he would rather have his rugged Scotsman nearby. He hadn’t seen Allistor for several days.
“Right. Sorry. But if you ask questions, you should be sure you want to hear the answers.” Alfred rolled his eyes, and downed his tea. Arthur crinkled his nose at the sight. That wasn’t very attractive.
When Alfred slammed the teacup down, it cracked much to Arthur’s dismay. He huffed, and leaned back in his chair. Hadn’t the boy learned any manners over the years he had lived? Arthur swore that he must have raised him better than that.
A thick silence fell between them, and both looked at random points in the room. The normally talkative American was unusually quiet and restrained, not once breaking the silence that had befallen him in order to scream something outrageous.
The clock ticked, and Arthur sighed, standing up. Alfred’s baby blue eyes shot over to him, watching him with some indescribable emotion that he couldn’t place. Arthur picked up the empty teacups and platters, and walked over to the kitchen sink with them. A moment later, and they were clean, set out on the dry rack for the time being.
“Care for some scones?”
“No thanks. I stopped at McDonald’s before coming here.” Arthur rolled his eyes. How could that be described as food? Though he had to admit it did taste lovely when he felt like he needed something quick, and greasy to sate himself with. Still, his scones would always be much better.
“How long will you be staying this time?” Arthur asked, curious, because really, the American had showed up out of the blue, explaining that he would be there for a while. This was of course no problem for Arthur, since he had come to expect the American’s random visits when he was least expecting it.
“Week tops. It all depends really.” Arthur could guess who the final key to the equation was. Alfred would be staying for as long as he could without Allistor around. Of course this would probably end in an ugly situation.
“Alright then. I’ll have to run to the market then and stock up on supplies,” Arthur said smiling softly. He remembered Alfred’s ability to eat everything and anything. He had raised him after all.
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“Hurry up and unlock the door!” Arthur hissed, feeling his arms starting to weaken beneath the weight of all the groceries he had bought. He heard Alfred grumble something, and the sweet sound of the door finally opening. “About time!”
“What the fuck?”
“Wot the feck?”
Something inside of Arthur died when he heard those two voices. One American, and the second so strongly Scottish… It was obvious that things were not going to turn out well. Of course with only his luck, such a thing would happen. He groaned, cursing the fates that seemed to enjoy torturing the English Nation so much.
“Artie…” Allistor growled, averting his dark green eyes from the contrasting light blue eyes of Alfred, to look at the English nation. Arthur huffed, before pushing past both, and into his house. He was in no mood to deal with the childlike argument that the two would get into.
“Do not start with me! The both of you just show up out of the blue, and expect me to welcome you in with open arms!” he snapped, marching straight to the kitchen, and setting down the bags of groceries. Arthur heard the door slam shut, and had to resist the urge to scream. Alfred was obviously still outside, and probably locked out, by the sounds of his screaming.
“Allistor, you have ten seconds to remove your arms from around my waist before I kill you,” Arthur growled when he felt those familiar, strong arms encircle around him. He heard Allistor sigh, and the pounding of Alfred’s frame against the front door.
“Cannae Ah come see ye once in a while wit’oot that brat showin’ up?” Allistor asked, leaning back against the wall, and watching as Arthur began putting everything away. It seemed that it was happening every time the Scotsman showed up to spend some quality alone time with Arthur that the brat made his way there.
It pissed him off.
“Yes, you could, if you called once in a while instead of popping up out of nowhere when I least expect it! You two both have no manners! Go let him in before he breaks the bloody door down again, you brute!” Arthur snapped his eyes narrowing as he shot a glare at the older. Allistor was the eldest of the Kirklands, and was supposed to be the most mature out of all of them. Still, it seemed as though the Scot only wanted to behave like a mischievous child.
The pounding began to occur more often, and with a resigned sigh, Allistor went to do as he was told. Arthur tried not to cry when he heard a strangled bellow from one of them, and the breaking of some delicate piece of decoration. It wasn’t like anything in his house was valuable or anything.
Growling, Arthur stalked to the front entrance, and glared at the two who were in a mess of limbs, various cuts on their faces. He gasped when he saw his china collection scattered over the floor, broken. Delicate pieces of glass, once beautifully hand crafted lay over the floor, broken into a million pieces.
“You gits! look what you’ve done! Do you know how old those were!” he screamed, his fists clenching at his sides as an overwhelming amount of fury ran through him. He felt hot, angry tears begin to form in the corners of his eyes, stinging painfully. He hated them. Both of them. They couldn’t stand for him to be happy. They couldn’t at least pretend to get along once in a while just for his sake. They couldn’t let him have his happy family, could they?
“Artie, donnae cry!” Allistor said, finally managing to free himself from the mess, and moving quickly to hug him. It was like the last straw that broke the camel’s back. Here Allistor was, after having done something that he had known full well would upset the younger Kirkland, and he had the nerve to hug him? It was merely too much for Arthur to handle. He pushed Allistor away, and slapped him across the face.
“Don’t you dare touch me! Neither of you! Get out!” he screamed, ignoring Alfred as he began spilling out apologies. The smaller male pushed both of them out of the house, and slammed the door shut behind him, locking it as he began to sob.
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“That escalated quickly,” America said softly, looking at the shut door, absently wiping at the blood trickling down his face. Allistor shot the teen aged nation a glare, holding back the urge to punch him in the face. Arthur was already pissed off at them, so he had to avoid doing anything that would make angrier.
“Aye. An’ it’s yer fault,” he growled, turning on his heel, and marching to street where his truck was parked, just out of sight. He was surprised that Artie hadn’t noticed it upon arriving home from the market.
“Wait up!” Allistor resisted the urge to once again punch America in the face as he heard the blonde following him. On a good day, he was able to withstand the American’s idiotic behavior, but the day he had had so far was bad to say the least. He knew exactly why the idiot had showed up. As if there was any questions as to why he would do it.
“Ye better back oof,” the Scotsman said, turning around to look America dead in the eye. The younger nation paused, and tilted his head to the side, playing himself off as innocent.
“What? You want more space? Alright! No need to growl at me dude!” The innocent smile on his face aggravated Allistor to no end. If he didn’t keep himself under control, he would wind up murdering the blonde idiot. As much as he would love to do that, he had Arthur to think of. He wouldn’t risk ruining their relationship over a moment of blind fury and pure hatred towards the blonde teen.
“Nae. Ah’m sayin’ tae back oof from Artie. Ye really donnae think that Ah ken why ye came here?” Allistor said his eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Yer wee crush on him is gettin’ oot o’ hand. He’s wit’ me, an’ nae ye. Get over it.”
There was a noticeable change in America’s body language after the Scotsman spoke, his muscles tensing, as though he were holding himself back from throttling the other. “You’re just scared. You know Arthur likes me, but you’re too chicken to face the fact that he may possibly only be with you, just to try and get over me!” America snapped, a vicious smirk dancing across his lips. There was something in America’s eyes, something full of malice towards the red head. He was challenging him. As though he would be a better match for Arthur, like he thought that Allistor would let his lover be snatched away by some immature teenager with a hero complex. Allistor growled, and before either knew what happened, he punched the blonde nation.
Allistor stared in shock at the equally surprised teen, unable to comprehend what had happened. He had lost control, and full out punched the other in the face. Alfred brought a hand up to his reddened cheek, and moved his jaw about, testing it to see how much damage Allistor had caused. There was a slight popping sound as America’s jaw slid back into place, and Allistor winced at the sound, which only served as proof that the red head hadn’t been able to keep a handle on his anger.
“Feck, Ah didnae mean tae dae that,” Allistor said, instantly regretting his momentary lapse of control. He grunted when he found himself on the ground, America having swiped his feet out from underneath him with a quick kick. pain danced up along the back of his head, and for once he was thankful that he was indeed hard headed. Had he been a mere human, Allistor was sure the impact would have been enough to easily knock him out and cause damage.
It didn’t take long after that for things to escalate into a full out brawl. The duo were rolling around on the ground, trading punches and jabs, doing whatever it took to win. America was obviously stronger, but Allistor had more agility, and a better sense for brawling. His country was known for their bar fights. Pain was lashed out, back and forth, neither of them ceasing for a moment to think of the results their actions might have in the future. All they knew was that they wanted to kill the other as much as the other wanted to kill them.
“What are you idiots doing!” Arthur shrieked, coming out of the house when he finally noticed the brawling nations. Neither of them seemed to notice him as they continued to beat at one another, snarling and cursing. He ran over to them, thick brows furrowed as he caught America by the shoulder, and tried to pull him off of Allistor. The duo twisted, and Arthur yelped as he was dragged down with them, and caught a powerful punch from one of them to the face.
The fighting stopped as soon as they realized that Arthur was between them, tears streaming down the side of his face, his cheek split open.
“Artie!”
Allistor cursed as he pushed the American away, and hugged the sobbing Englishman to him. Horror ran through him as he realized he had punched his lover, and brother, in the side of the face, hard enough to actually split the skin. He held onto the smaller tightly to make sure he wouldn’t try to get away from him. Realization hit him hard as the world came back into a view point which showed more than red, and left only the desire to hurt America as much as he could.
“Artie, Ah am sae sorry. Ah didnae realize it was you,” he said, apologizing as he ran his finger down the side of Arthur’s face, his dark green eyes displaying his sadness. Arthur squirmed, his sobs subsiding slightly as he relaxed in the Scots arms. Despite the situation they were in, it calmed Allistor’s racing heart to know that Arthur was still able to find comfort in his arms.
“You bleeding idiots! T-The both of you…” Arthur hissed between his sobs, trying his best to weakly glare at both of them in turn. America sat off to the side, stunned by the unforeseen turn of events that had taken place so rapidly. The younger nation looked shocked by the recent change of events, and seemed unable to process the words needed to say anything to Arthur. After a while, he managed to gain a grip back on his common sense.
“Arthur… Dude, I’m so sorry,” Alfred apologized. Allistor’s eyes narrowed and he held the prized nation closer to him. He didn’t trust America enough to not come over and steal away his lover. The words Alfred had said earlier, they were floating in his head. The other couldn’t be trusted. He wanted Arthur for himself, even though Arthur was with Allistor. America was a threat to them.
It had been because of Arthur’s heartbreak that they had gotten together in the first place anyway. Perhaps America had been right. He was afraid of losing Arthur to him.
Without another word, Allistor stood up, taking Arthur with him in one smooth move. He glared at America, before heading back to the house, and entering it, making sure to shut the door behind him, and locking it. He wouldn’t let that brat back in to Arthur’s house, even under threat of death. Artie was his, and Allistor would not share him with America.
“Come on Artie. Let’s get you a band-aid—“
“Unlock the door Allistor.” The cold, monotone sound of Arthur’s voice shocked the elder Kirkland, who paused in his steps. Arthur looked up at him, his emerald green eyes hiding away all emotions. “Unlock. The door.” Without a second thought, he did as he was told, sliding the lock across, giving Alfred access to the house if he wanted it.
“Art—“
“Shut up. Put me down.” Once again, Allistor found himself doing as he was told. He set the other down lightly on his feet, his brow furrowing as he tried to understand what was happening. Arthur moved down the hallway, avoiding the pile of glass shards that had been swept into the corner, and towards the bathroom.
Allistor tried in vain to do something other than stand there on that spot, but found himself unable to move. He had let Arthur down, and did the one thing he had sworn to never do. He had hurt him. He had been so stupid, and blinded by rage, he had punched the American in the face, and proceeded to give Arthur a reason to hate him.
The door opened behind him, and the cursed American stepped in, ignoring the red head’s presence. Allistor watched as Alfred walked down towards the bathroom, and entered it without a single scream or shout from the nation in there. Surely, had he done that he would have been kicked out of there without a single thought, right?
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Allistor sat at the table in the kitchen, sipping at his tea he had made. It was nowhere near as delicious as any tea Arthur would make, but it would have to do. He just had to ignore the fact the two had progressed to one of the bedrooms, and the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. Even if Arthur still went for America… He would be able to move on. Wouldn’t he?
This sort of pain he had grown accustomed to. Arthur had caused it enough times back in their childhood and the teen years. So why would this time be any different? He didn’t know. It just felt off, as if this would somehow be different. As though this time… The recovery would be worse.
“Artie… Donnae dae this tae me…” he whispered under his breath, staring into the murky colored drink set before him. “Ah’m sae feckin’ sorry…” He placed his face in his hands, inhaling sharply through his teeth. At least seven ribs broken and a heart that would need more that a bandage to heal. For all he knew, they could be fucking one another at that moment, America just eager to rub it in that he had won.
Time ticked by slowly, and he didn’t move again to touch his Goddamn awful tea. He ran a hand through his hair, huffing. Allistor stood up, and walked over to the fridge, and opened it, deciding he way as well make something for supper. Thankfully, Arthur had enough ingredients to make a simple stew for supper.
“When the lovebirds are done,” he sneered. It made him sour to think of the possibility of losing Arthur so soon and suddenly to Alfred. He gritted his teeth, biting back the tears that were threatening to spill forth on him. There was little he was able to do at that point, other than face whatever would be coming his way.
He set about to preparing the stew, desperate for something to keep him distracted from the thoughts of Arthur and Alfred. He didn’t want to think about what the two could possibly be doing. He didn’t want to think about anything anymore. He just wanted to move past the horrific day, go back in time, and find Arthur still happy, put up with America as best as he could, and be rewarded with some cuddle time with his lover.
He stared at the pot on the stove as he waited for the potatoes and meat to boil, reaching into his pocket to pull out his, surprisingly still intact, cigarettes. Allistor sighed, setting one of the cancerous sticks between his lips, and lighting it with a bit of his magic. It was almost an instant relief when the wave of nicotine infused smoke rushed into his lungs, soothing his frayed nerves.
Slowly, Allistor exhaled, reaching over to open the window for the smoke to get out. It was bad enough he was smoking inside, Arthur would kill him if he at least didn’t open a window.
Then again, at that point it seemed like dying was the better option.
“Feckin’ traitorous mind,” he growled, taking another deep drag off of his cigarette. It would be best if he acted like those two hadn’t gone off by themselves for so long. There was no reason to even nod at it if Arthur did decide to dump his sorry ass for Alfred… He had to admit, but that American was smarter than he appeared.
A thought popped up into his mind, and he nearly broke his cigarette as everything seemed to sink in. There was no way… It wasn’t possible… Had Alfred really been that smart that he…
Had he planned this all along?
Allistor dropped his cigarette on the floor, and stepped on it, using the heel of his boot to extinguish it. He growled, the smoke slipping out past his teeth, almost as though he were a dragon, breathing out smoke. He smirked, and marched towards the front door, after turning the stove off.
If America wanted to play with fire, he was going to sure as Hell get burnt to a crisp.
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A/N: So in this, Arthur is a wee bit out of character, but that has to do with the psychological stress he is under. Which will be revealed next chapter. If you’re still interested, anyway. Heh. The long awaited sequel of No Way Out. Finally.