The Returned (APH/Hetalia)

Chapter 3

A/N: Woops, missed another Sunday, sorry! Anyway, now that I have explained/given you random amounts of information, I will continue this story in 3rd person narrator (Is that what it's called?), it will no longer be from Alfred's point of view. Please enjoy!

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Arthur came home pretty late that day. Even though their town was quite small, he still seemed to have plenty of paperwork to finish. He was a police officer, but since almost nothing ever happened in their town, it soon became a very boring job. He often had to fill out papers in the office, instead of being out in the field, which he so greatly disliked.

He had gotten a text from Alfred earlier that day, saying that he would 'hang out' with Mathias and Gilbert, but Arthur knew that they were eventually going to end up hosting some sort of party. They always did. As long as they didn't get in trouble or drank any alcoholic beverages, then it was fine by Arthur.

As Arthur drove into the driveway, he noticed that the lights in the kitchen were on. Did Alfred forget to turn off the lights again? Bloody hell, I really need to talk to him about this, when he gets home. Arthur thought as he turned off the car and unbuckled his seatbelt.

He got out of the car and suddenly footsteps could be heard from inside of the house. He stopped in his steps and thought of worst case scenarios. Alfred isn't home, so who is in my house? Is it a thief?! Or is it Francis again? Bloody wanker, I've told him a million times not to enter MY house without permission. This is no longer his house, so what does he want? (Worst case scenarios, am I right?)

Arthur decided at that it probably was Francis sneaking around his house again, so he closed the car door and angrily set off towards the front door.

"I swear to God Francis, if you are snooping around in our stuff again looking for something you 'forgot', then I will punch in the face and leave you outside to be eaten by a bloody bear! Or something..." He mumbled the last bit to himself before finally unlocking the door.

He stepped in, threw off his shoes and hung his jacket on the peg. He walked into the kitchen with anger rushing through his veins as he expected Francis to be standing behind the counter smiling at him smugly.

Much to Arthur's surprise, it wasn't Francis, but a young boy whom he had tried so hard to forget. He was sitting on a chair by the counter, eating an apple. Arthur was speechless, thinking he was hallucinating; he rubbed his eyes and took a step back.

The boy just looked at him curiously taking a bite of his apple while staring at the confused Brit. After countless of times trying to convince himself that he was hallucinating, Arthur looked straight into the young boy's eyes.

It felt almost impossible for him to speak. He could feel a giant lump in his throat as he tried to form words to ask the questions, which were racing through his head. He began to feel dizzy and soon lost his balance. The boy quickly grew worried for him, so he hurried to his side to support him.

Arthur held a hand to his head as if to stop the headache he was having at the moment. He was sweating and panting as he tried to recollect himself. The boy was sitting by his side wearing a worried expression. Arthur looked at him for a little longer before reaching out to him to touch him to convince himself that he was, in fact, real.

He grabbed his shoulder lightly staring into the boy's purple eyes, which were filled with worry. After moments of silence between them, the little boy spoke up.

"Are you okay, dad?"

Arthur exhaled sharply as tears began to form in his eyes after hearing his lost son's voice after six years.