Father's Day

Author's note: Just a little thing I wrote for a belated Father's Day   Inspired by my parents because this pretty much happened yesterday morning XD My mom tried to cook pancakes, she burned them...yeah lol Alfred has taken on my role here ^^ Anyway, enjoy my random dysfunctional family fic.

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It was Father’s Day and everyone was sleeping but him. Arthur smiled to himself as he prepared the pancake mix. He was going to surprise them all with a good breakfast. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Francis’ face when he ate them. He heard a noise and turned, hoping that it wasn’t Francis.

It was just his oldest, Alfred. “Alfred, good lad. Could you help me here?”

“…what are you doing, Dad?” he said groggily, blinking his eyes behind his glasses.

“What’s it look like? I’m obviously making pancakes.”

Alfred’s eyes widened then. “Oh shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“N-Nothing! So, uh, what’s the occasion?”

Arthur frowned and hit him with the spatula. “It’s Father’s Day, you twit!”

“So…shouldn’t Mattie and I be doing the cooking for you guys?”

The other man blushed slightly. “I...wanted to make these mostly for your father.”

“Ooooh.” Alfred plopped himself down at the dinner table and watched as Arthur stirred the pancake mix. “So what do you want me to do?”

“Go wake up Matthew and set the table. I’ve got things covered here.”

Alfred feared for his stomach as he heard the pancake mix being poured. His brother was lying halfway off his bed facedown when he went to go get him. “Hey, Matt!” he whispered. “Maaaaaatt!”

“…hrm…wha?”

“Get up!”

“Whyyyy?”

“Dad’s making pancakes.”

Matthew bolted up and stared wildly at his older brother. “Seriously?!”

“Yeah,” Alfred nodded sadly. “He said he’s makin’ ‘em for Papa.”

Matthew reached for his glasses and stumbled out of his sheets. “But…Dad can’t—”

“I know.”

“Are you both going to help set the table or not?” Arthur growled from the kitchen. “Ah, good morning, Matthew.”

“Morning, Dad…”

“Now these are almost done, so Alfred, you go get your father up when I say, all right?”

“Kay…”

The two watched as Arthur attempted to flip the pancakes. One ended up off the stove completely, while another slid across it. Matthew was cringing in the corner. “Ah, almost done,” Arthur said with a smile. “You can go get your father now, Alfred.”

Al nodded and walked down the hallway and saw his father splayed out across the bed sheets. “Papa,” he said. “Papa, get up!” The blonde man stirred and rolled over. Alfred sighed and walked in to poke him. “C’mon, Papa, get up.”

“Hmm…? Alfred? Mon dieu, it is too early…” he groaned.

“Dad made pancakes.”

Blue eyes shot open. “He did?” At the nod he received, he put a hand to his face. “Mon dieu, I knew it was only a matter of time before he tried to kill us all off…”  

“Papa…?”

“Non, non, I am coming.” Francis pulled on some pants and walked out behind his eldest son.

Arthur’s face lit up when he saw them emerge from the bedroom. “Good morning, Francis,” he said pleasantly.

“Ah, oui, mon cher. Alfred tells me you made pancakes,” Francis greeted, kissing the other on the cheek before sitting at the table with Matthew. Alfred took the seat across from him.

“Yes I did.” Arthur presented the plate to him with a dazzling smile. Francis saw the stack of partially burned pancakes and felt like crying. “Eat as many as you like.”

“C-Can I just have a bagel?” Alfred asked.

Arthur frowned. “Don’t you want pancakes?”

“Well…um…”

“He can have some of these with me,” Francis said with a forced smile. “Can’t you, Alfred? After all, I cannot eat so many at once.” He turned to Matthew. “You will help also, Mathieu.”

Both boys inwardly groaned and took two pancakes from the plate. “I know I haven’t cooked them in awhile, but I hope they taste all right,” Arthur said from the stove.

Francis swallowed a piece and nearly gagged it back up. Alfred, after seeing his reaction, looked down at his burnt pancakes and whimpered. Matthew was lathering his with maple syrup so as to kill the taste. Francis shook is head and drank some milk. He then proceeded to give Alfred hand signals, telling him not to eat the pancakes.

Arthur came back over still smiling with another plate, but ended up seeing the hand gestures and paused. “What are you doing, Francis?”

“Nothing, mon cher. Just…enjoying the food.”

The Brit narrowed his eyes and looked from Alfred (who was biting his lower lip and trying to hide a laugh) to Francis (who’s lip was moving upwards into a grin).

“YOU HATE MY COOKING, DON’T YOU?” Arthur suddenly bellowed, pretending to sob and throwing the plate of freshly burnt pancakes onto the table.

“What? Of course not, mon cher!” Francis cried, wanting to laugh at the overdramatic performance. “These are the best pancakes I have ever had!”

“Shut up!”

“I’m being serious!”

“No, you’re just trying to make me feel better. I know they’re burnt; I can see the looks you’re giving them.”

“So wait…you knew they were bad and still gave them to us?” Alfred said with wide eyes.

“Well I didn’t want you to starve!” Arthur wailed, leaning against the counter. “But all that hard work was for naught, was it?”

“Starving would have been better,” Alfred mumbled to Matthew.

“Cher Arthur, calm down,” Francis cooed. “I love your cooking.”

“No you don’t, you bloody frog. I burnt breakfast, I ruined Father’s Day; I’m just a failure. I don’t know why you’re with me.”

Francis chuckled. “Oui, you burnt breakfast, but that doesn’t mean the day is ruined.”

Arthur sniffed and picked up the plate of pancakes from the table. “I’ll just throw these out then…” But when he tried to, the pancakes didn’t move from the plate or each other. Everyone stared at the pancakes before breaking down in laughter.

“Oh that is bloody disgusting,” Arthur managed to get out between laughs. “Certainly gives a new meaning to ‘food that sticks to your ribs’, I’ll say.”

“Mon cher, next time let Mathieu make the pancakes,” Francis wheezed out.

Alfred was doubled over on the table laughing so hard that tears were coming out of his eyes. Once Arthur picked the pancakes off the plate and threw them away, Francis pulled him down into his lap and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“Thank you,” he whispered.  

“For what?” Arthur blushed furiously. “All I did was burn pancakes.”

“Yes, but you burnt them just for me.”

“I didn’t mean to burn them, you—” He was silenced by a kiss. Alfred and Matthew gagged to each other. Arthur pulled back, face bright red. “L-Let me go, old man,” he grumbled.

Francis smiled. “Happy Father’s Day, Arthur."