Work Text:
Bring your child to work day. Such an arbitrary date is rendered an impossibility to the Scotland native reluctantly known as ‘Scottie’ by his coworkers. Whether some may see this as sad or not depends on their perspective, but he doesn’t have a wife, girlfriend, side-chick, friend with benefits, baby mama, streamer, pornstar, favourite prostitute or even the will to adopt a kid to both in his eyes and to his name. What he does have as an alternative is his little brother Arthur, and he’s as close to a child as he’s willing to get. A little shit, really. Gets on his nerves, constantly over the smallest things. But he'd be lying his ass off, if he said he wouldn't risk his life to ensure his safety. He has other siblings too, sure, but they’re all self-sufficient, including the only other one he’s living with.
Beep. Beep. Beep. His system–prescribed annoying alarm wakes him up. It’s attempt at a catchy tune has been waking him up for as long as he’s had this phone, because who cares enough to change it? He looks at the time: Six o’clock on the dot. The alarm is shut off and he gets his own section of the morning routine done like clockwork. At this point it’s a clean six-thirty. Time to wake up the boys.
First door.
“Dylan, wake the fook up.” He knocks on the door.
Nothing.
“Dylan!”
Still nothing.
He barges in, throwing a water bottle at his head.
“Jesus, did you really have to do that?” Dylan groans, flailing his arms.
“Yeh didn’t answer the first two toimes.” Alistair explains. “Did yeh sleep well?”
“Well I’m up now, and I was sleeping fine until you threw a bottle at my head.” He sits up and looks at it. “Is this full?"
“Use it for drinkin’.” He says. “It clears yehr head early in the morn’.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. Now get ready.” Alistair leaves the room, making his way to the second door he has to open today.
This time he whispers, grazing his knuckles against the wall to make the sound instead of directly knocking, “Arthur. Toime to wake up, laddie.”
No response.
“Arthur.”
Still no response.
He opens the door, his feet meeting a single lego brick on the ground before his eyes are able to warn him. He holds in a shout as he maneuvers around the rest of the toys. He shakes him gently.
Arthur groans, throwing his Beatles blankets over his unkempt blond head.
“Yeh’re comin’ with me t’work today. We’ve got t’get ready.”
He pokes his head out of the blanket before shooting the sleeves of his yellow submarine pyjamas and saying “Lift me.” His shared eyes of jade gleaming at him, nearly taking attention from the family 'caterpillar eyebrows’. He always hated that comment, almost as much as he hated—
“Scottie, lift me.”
That nickname.
“The name’s Alistair, laddie.” He lifts him.
“Noooo, it’s Scottie. Dylan told me.”
“Of course he did.” He grumbles to himself.
“Let’s go, Scottie. You have a job to do.” He slaps his back like he was a horse.
“Did Dylan teach you that one too?”
“Nope.”
Before he can realise it, Arhur has already bathed.
“Get back here! Yeh’re gonna hurt yehrself.”
“Nananananana, you can't get me.” A trail of wet footsteps follow him.
“Dylan, a little help?”
“I'm making you breakfast.” He responds. “It's entertaining.”
“I’ll show you”—
He was too distracted. He was going too fast. His head hit the floor with a thud.
“Scottie?”
The Scot remains silent, hearing the pattering of little footsteps.
He shakes him, voice trembling, “...a’e you dead? Scottie?”
He stays silent for just a moment longer.
“Dylan?” Arthur starts to cry. “Is he dead?”
“Laddie, laddie. I'm not dead.” He sits up in an undertaker–esque fashion, cradling him in his arms. “Don't cry. Shush, shush, shush.”
One cradling, dressing time, a healthy serving of toast and sausages; eggs and beans; black pudding and white pudding later leads them to their own destinations: Dylan to school and later in the day Ludwig's house while Alistair and Arthur find themselves inside the spotless walls of white that make up his workplace.
An expansive lobby with sits and tables of metal galore greets them before an awfully short Czech woman has the opportunity.
“Hey, Hedvika.” Alistair greets her, leaning on the desk. “Still plannin’ on overthrowin’ Ms. Braginski?”
“Alistair, my people didn't get their independence for me to still be a secretary. It pays well enough, admittedly.” She peers over the desk. “Who's this roztomilý chlapeček ?”
“Introduce yehrself.” He nudges Arthur forward.
“I'm Arthur.”
“Nice to meet you, Arthur.” She says. “My name is Hedvika. Can you say that?”
“He… hedik.”
Alistair snickers.
She glares at Alistair, presumably resisting the urge to strangle him due to a child being in the room, before looking back at the little Brit with a smile. “Not quite. Try again. Hed-vi-ka.”
“Hed…”
“Yes.”
“Vi…”
“Yes.”
“Ka.”
“What's that together?”
“Hedviiiika.”
“Good job.” She claps, pulling something out of her purse. “Here's a lollipop… If you can tell me how old you are.”
The little one counts on his fingers a few times, before he proudly presents a matching amount of digits to accompany his “Five.”
Another clap, “Very good.” She reaches into her back again, “Here's another one for you.”
“Really? Thanks!” He smiles.
“I’d love t’stay and chat t’yeh, but time is money.”
“You two have a good day.”
Arthur waves frantically.
Up the elevator, they enter Alistair's office. This time it actually has colour in comparison to the frankly drab hallway. Shades of blue and pink and purple splattered around the room.
“Hey, Scottie.” The entire office shouts in unison.
Before Alistair can silently flip them off, a tall, tanned blond dressed in a brown bomber jacket approaches the two. “Who's this little dude?”
“My little brother, Arthur.”
“Sup, Artie. I'm Alfred.” He holds his fist out for a fist bump. “Can I call you Artie?”
“No.” He reciprocates.
“Okay. Well, do you want a coke?” Alfred pulls one out of his pocket.
“Scottie said I shouldn't be drinking those because they'll make me as fat as you.”
Alistair stares at Arthur, wide–eyed. He told him not to repeat that to anyone. The little shit looks up at him and smiles, giving him a thumbs up. Silence chokes the room before a chorus of raucous laughter straight out of a sitcom nearly explodes his eardrums.
“You're killing me.” A flamboyant Frenchman cackles like the vampire he stole his shirt from, walking towards the two. “Red, zhat was perfect. You ‘ave to tell ‘im things like zhat more often.”
“Hey, Francis.” He stifled a groan. Red was better than Scottie, sure, but it wasn't by much.
“Nice to meet you, Arthur. My name is Francis, and if you keep saying stuff like zhat we're going to become good friends.” He holds his hand out for a handshake.
“Hi…” Arthur shakes his hand.
“I need to go work. Have fun.”
“Bye…” The Brit waves. He tugs on Alistair’s pants.
“Yes?”
“Why does the pretty girl with the funny accent have a beard?” He tries to whisper.
“That’s a boy.” Alistair says.
Alfred laughs aggressively at Francis as payback. He stops when he realises no one is joining him. “Anyway, little dude, I have someone for you to meet.”
From behind Alfred, clutching a stuffed moose and a bottle of maple syrup bigger than his head is a near mirror image of him.
“Brad, you remember Alistiar, right?”
“My name is Matthew.” He says, voice soft. “And yes I remember him.”
“Yeah, yeah, Andrew.”
“Hey, Matt.” Alistair gives him a fist bump and ruffles his hair.
“This is his little brother, Arthur.”
“Hey, Arthur. I’m Matthew.” He says. “I bet you never met a canuck before, eh?”
“Ca-wha?”
“A canuck.”
“Huh?”
“A Canadian.” Alfred explains. “Mom had him during our time up north.”
“Ohhh.” Arthur says. “No. Never have.”
“Happy to be your first.” He smiles. “You like hockey?”
“Nah, only football and cricket.”
“Oh. You want a freezie?” Matthew puts the bottle down to hand him an ice lolly.
While Alistair is tempted to take it away, realising what happens to him when he has sugar, but because it’s from a new friend, he allows it.
“Thanks.” Arthur opens the package.
“Speaking of people for you to meet.” Yao, a Chinese man with hair that reaches his lower back approaches the four.
“Whoa. She’s even prettier than the boy.”
Alfred snickers, keeping his volume low to avoid death.
“I’m a boy.” Yao responds, kicking Alfred in the side.
“Whoa… Alistair, you never told me boys can be pretty too.” Arthur tugs at his pant leg.
“It’s because your brother is in the closet.” Yao smiles at Alistair.
“I came out in high school, Yao.”
“I know, I know. I’m just playing with you.” He grips his shoulder as he brings him in for a hug.
“What’s closeted?” The children ask.
“It’s when someone hides something about themselves to others.” Alfred attempts an explanation.
“Don’t be so vague.” The Asian and the Scot say in unison.
“It’s when someone hides whether they like boys, girls, everyone or no one to most people.” Alistair explains.
“Oh, okay.”
“So Alfred is closeted?” Matthew asks Alistair.
“Mark, I like girls.”
“Then why did I catch you kissing Ivan?”
“He what?” Ivan’s voice is heard from afar.
“Nothing, ba— Ivan.” Alfred shouts back. “Ignore him.”
“That was supposed to be a secret, Chris.” He whispers to his little brother. “I gave you that moose toy because you said you’d stay quiet about it.”
“Sorry.” His head hangs low.
“It’s okay, Jett.”
“Did ya say my name, mate?” A buff Australian with a shark tooth necklace interjects.
“Cousin Jett?” The Brit’s face lights up.
“Artie!” He holds his hands out for a hug Arthur leaps into.
“Slow down there, ya little cackleberry.” He ruffles his hair, ruining the effort Alistair put into styling it.
“Scottie, come ‘ere.”
Alistair does an oddly complicated handshake before hugging him with several pats on the back on both ends.
“Also, Alfie. Ya gotta learn your own brother’s name, alright? I’m the only person other than him who bothers to keep correcting your chook a— butt. It’s Matt or Matthew in full.” He lets go of both of the United Kingdom brothers. “I gotta get back to work.”
Yao coughs.
“Right, Yao. You had something you wanted to say.”
“I have someone for Arthur to meet.”
From behind his back, needing a little assistance, is a smaller version of him with much shorter hair.
“This is Kiku. Kiku, say hi.”
“Whoa. So many pretty boys.” Arthur comments, holding his hand out for a high five, as does Matthew.
He looks at both of them and bows in silence. Once he’s stood straight, he runs, likely expecting them to follow him.
“There he goes.”
Arthur looks at Matthew. Matthew looks at Arthur. They nod. They run after Kiku. Bobbing and weaving simultaneously, The Brit pretending to dribble and The Canadian gliding on the floor as if he was in an ice skating rink.
Kiku is standing right in front of the bathrooms.
“Maybe he really wanted to go.” Moose hugger suggests.
“He would've gone in himself.” Tea drinker responds.
Kiku gestures for them to follow him with two fingers, running with his hands flying behind him into the girls bathroom.
“Arthur, what is he thinking?”
“Dunno. Let’s follow.” Arthur runs through the door only to be pulled up by the collar.
“Another one of you маленькі милашки?” A thick foreign accented woman with a thick foreign accent kicks the door open. “This is the girl's bathroom.”
Matthew jumps back at the sight of her. “Sorry, ma’am. I tried to talk to them about it.”
“You must be Matthew. Alfred speaks very fondly of you.” She places them down.
“He does?”
She nods, “That leaves you two.” She pauses, stroking her chin. “Kiku and Arthur, так?”
“Yes, Ms.”
“Please, call me Yekaterina.”
“Ye-wah?”
“Call me Kat.”
“Kitty.” He substitutes.
“That works. Now close your eyes, you three. I have gifts for you.” She reaches into her bag as they comply. “And hold your hands out.”
In Arthur's hands is something fluffy. His hands feel out for whatever it could be.
“Open.”
“A stuffed bulldog?” A smile is plastered onto his face. He looks over to Matt who's blushing instead, staring at a stuffed brown bear. He looks over to Kiku. His face is neutral, observing a dragon. “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.”
He squeezes her.
Matthew follows suit.
Kiku does not, or at least he thinks he doesn't. It's hard to see with boobs in his face, so he lets go. The Canadian had the same idea.
“What's wrong? Not a fan of dragons, I take it.” Her tone is damped from how cheerful it was to only average amounts of cheerful.
He looks down, looks up at her and gives her a big hug before bowing and running off again.
“We better catch up to him, eh?” Matthew says.
“Yes.” Arthur nods. “Thank you, nice booby boy.”
“Нема проблем.” He doesn’t know what she said, but he bets it was cool. “And I'm a girl.”
They go towards the rest of their day. One full of fun and adventure.