AN: Really into Hetalia lately. This is a present in progress for my own America 3
A darker look into Alfred's love for his father Arthur. The rating will go up.
I'm a big softie, so I'll do a softer story as well.
Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, USUK would be established cannon. Not to mention have way more screen time.
EDIT OF MASS DESTRUCTION: For any of you cutie pies wondering why chapter one popped up in your alert instead of a nice, juicy chapter three, yes there is a reason. Two actually.
I hated a nice bit of that draft. It seemed rushed…Because it was.
The most important reason and I can NOT believe no one caught this before I did. There was a phone in that chapter. It's waaaay before Alex Bell time. Silly me. Ah well, stretches. I hope you like this new chapter one better. I certainly do. *blows kiss
Alfred is in love.
Arthur Kirkland led his ward down the hall by hand, slow enough to keep the boy from tripping, although his grip was tight, tight enough to have a normal human howling in pain.
Alfred isn't human.
The two nations rushed across the marble floors of Englands's home, Arthur mumbling curses beneath his breath as blood trailed behind them in unsteady streams. Alfred kept up with his 'father' without any hassle; Arthur could even start running now, and Alfred could keep up, even with the slash across his stomach. Alfred let out a not-so silent moan of pain, which sprung Arthur into action.
Alfred loves how much Arthur loves him.
England scooped the boy up into his arms and flew down the stairs to the living room where he had hung their coats. With surprising skill, Arthur managed to hold his wounded son and dress them both in the covers while rushing out the door. Of course it was snowing. Arthur held Alfred as close as he could to shield him from the falling cold. It was dark, bitter and black as midnight as the elder nation rushed along the snowy path to the village America called home. It was barely nightfall, dark thanks to winter, and his trail was lit by the lanterns and candles that filled the streets. A human couple quickly pointed him in the direction of the nearest clinic when he shouted his dilemma at them, and, quick as a flash the Brit found himself bursting through the front doors as the man in charge was preparing to leave.
"My son was attacked by a bear." Arthur spoke suddenly, his voice steady even as his body shuddered in fear. The doctor turned his attention to the shivering Alfred and quickly led him back into his office.
"I'll have to set up my equipment, go into the room at the end of the hall and set him on the table." Arthur did as he was told, increasing his grip on Alfred's hip as he rushed into the room.
"The doctor will be back soon Alfred." Arthur turned to look his ward in the eyes to calm him. Alfred bathed in the attention, one of his hands buried in Arthur's shirt. He listened to Arthur's comforting words and gentle caresses with a face of discomfort.
"Arfur.." He whined, eyes teary. "It hurwts Arfur." Arthur's body stiffened.
"I know Alfred." The older nation looked close to tears as he set him gently down on the table. "Just be patient. It'll be over soon." Alfred let his tears fall, pulling Arthur closer so the older man had to lean over him to let him bury his face into Arthur's shoulder. England began to sing, combing fingers through wet, blond hair to keep his mind off of the pain. With his eyes closed, the Brit didn't notice the smirk that had appeared in Alfred's lips. The boy held back laughter, careful not to tear his wounds.
Alfred is faking it.
Arthur held Alfred's hand as the doctor tended to him. The young nation blocked the conversation out, letting his attention stray to his father's expression. His brow was furrowed, his bangs matted to his skin with sweat. His heart was beating loud enough for Alfred to hear, and he was biting his lip enough to draw blood.
All for Alfred. Just for Alfred.
"He'll be alright then Doctor?" he asked through a pant, fatigue catching up to him at last. The doctor replied with words Alfred didn't hear, and Arthur was made to cease his fidgeting and allow the nurse to tend to his feet. Arthur scoffed. "It's just a bit of snow. My feet aren't going to fall off." Alfred whined softly, and Arthur's attention was off of his own shoeless, frozen feet, and back to his son. "You're doing great Alfred. Hang it there." The younger blond nodded, squeezing his father's hand before drifting off to sleep.
It was three days before Arthur was given a pair of shoes and allowed to take his son back home. In a proper carriage this time, as the doctor had firmly insisted. The Brit was much too relieved to argue.
Arthur was entrancing to watch as he fretted over Alfred's every whim. Thirsty, hungry, too hot, too cold..Anything and everything was at Alfred's doorstep.
"Sleep wif me Engwand?" He asked one night, soaking his words in sadness. Arthur melted instantly as solemn blue eyes met his own. He had run himself a bit ragged the past week, but smiled brightly at the small request. Anything. Alfred could have anything at all.
"Of course I will." He promised as he tucked the boy in and kissed his forehead, leaving only to change quickly into his pajamas. Alfred watched him leave, toying with the bandages around his waist as he smirked victoriously to no one but himself.
As if Alfred couldn't have flung the bear away. Silly Arthur.
He deserved this fretful panic. Alfred concluded, frowning at the thought of Arthur's pet frog, hogging Arthur's attention, craving in madly like an addict craves relief. Alfred could share with the faeries, figured the young nation, but his line in the sand began with France.
"Alfred?" The gentleman returned, slipping into the room and placing a cool hand on his son's forehead. "I've returned." Alfred gave him a weak smile and nuzzled into his hand.
"I wuv you Engwand.." He said as a whisper, watching Arthur blow out the candle and slip into bed with him.
"I'm so sorry Alfred.." he apologized for the thousandth time for nothing, holding his son gently to him. "I love you too, and I won't let anything hurt you again." Alfred nodded, faking another moan of pain. Arthur kissed his forehead again, whispering soft apologizes.
Once again he misses Alfred's not-so secret smirk.
Alfred is the greatest bull-shitter in the entire world.