Jesus’s Best Friend is the Easter Bunny
Summary: Easter one-shot where Alfred and Arthur argue the true meaning of Easter Sunday.
Arthur had long since come to the conclusion that loving Alfred came with side effects to his health. The young American man seemed to exist in high definition, while Arthur sometimes felt he was still figuring out the colors.
There was Alfred's volume, his reckless heroism, his baffling confidence in things he absolutely did not understand. Today's contribution to Arthur's steadily deteriorating health specifically was a six-foot-tall Easter Bunny costume currently draped over the back of a chair.
Arthur sat at the table. His posture was rigid, and his eyes narrowed in the way that suggested Alfred had already said something profoundly stupid.
And it was only 8:00 in the morning.
Alfred, by contrast, was louder than an air raid siren, as if sheer volume might drag Arthur to agree with his outrageous proposition.
"C'mon, dude," Alfred insisted. "Please."
"You haven't even tried it on."
Arthur didn't even attempt to conceal his indifference. The apathy sat on him like a well-worn coat. There was never a dull moment when Alfred's antics came into play. Sometimes it was better to let him talk and just let him get it all out. Sometimes Arthur had to reel the git back in.
"I don't need to. I will not be humiliating myself in a ridiculous costume."
"It's not ridiculous," Alfred shot back, grinning. "It's fun."
"Fun for whom exactly? Certainly not for the poor sod trapped inside that... felt monstrosity."
Alfred continued to plead his case like a man arguing a case before a very unimpressed judge. "Okay, first of all, it's not felt. It's high-quality synthetic fur."
"That does not help your argument, Jones."
"And second," Alfred continued, ignoring him. "Kids are gonna love it. You'll make their day!"
“I am not,” Arthur said with a precise calm, “getting into an overgrown rodent costume.”
“It’s not a rodent,” Alfred corrected, raising a finger. "It's the Easter Bunny."
"I don't care. I'm not doing it. I would suffocate."
Alfred laughed, undeterred. "You would not suffocate."
Arthur raised a brow. "You're asking me to climb inside a fur-lined oven in the middle of April."
"It's spring, it won't even be that hot on Sunday. C'mon, it’s for the community! The event already has everything lined up. Egg hunt, bake sales, little games, and all that jazz. This is the one thing they're missing."
"They can continue missing it," Arthur replied “The community can survive without witnessing me in felt—excuse me, in high-quality synthetic fur, and oversized feet.”
“Dude, think about the children.”
“I am,” Arthur snapped. “I am thinking about the lifelong trauma they’d endure.”
“No man, kids practically worship the Easter Bunny!"
“Alfred, they would cry.”
“Some of them might,” Alfred conceded, “but you’d win them over! Just do a little dance for 'em."
“Oh, do keep going." Arthur, with sarcastic approval, encouraged, "You’re really selling it now.”
"Look, the mayor already asked me,” Alfred said, a little more urgent now. “They need someone in that Easter Bunny suit."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. "And your first thought was me?"
"My best thought," Alfred corrected, grinning. "C'mon, man. You'd be perfect. You've got the whole...vibe."
Arthur stared at him, slightly mortified. "What 'vibe' does one require to impersonate a rabbit?"
Alfred looked like a man about to pitch the deal of a lifetime. "Beats me, my dude, but whatever it is, you've got it!" He finished with a wink.
"Oh, yes, brilliantly convincing."
"Okay, I butchered the reason, but admit it, you're good with kids, and we both know it."
"I'm tolerant of children," Arthur corrected. "In controlled doses. Not while dressed as a six-foot rodent."
Arthur exhaled slowly through his nose, pinching the bridge like it might fend off the oncoming headache. "Alfred, can’t you leave me alone long enough for me to finish my morning tea?"
Arthur stared at him for a moment, then set his mug down with a soft but decisive clink. “No.”
Alfred exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was dealing with someone impossibly stubborn. “Lame. You’re being unreasonable!”
“I’m being unreasonable?"
“And boring.” Alfred pouted, his lower lip slightly pushed out, eyebrows drawn together.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Arthur muttered under his breath. It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Alfred was a grown man, not a child being denied sweets, and yet he somehow managed to look wounded. “If it is so essential that someone prance about as a giant rabbit, then you do it.”
Alfred recoiled at the mere suggestion. “Me?”
"Yes, you," Arthur spat. "You're the one who's enthusiastic about the idea, and you seem to enjoy embarrassing yourself."
"You're the perfect git for the job, if I say so."
Alfred rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I can’t be the one to do it.”
“How convenient,” Arthur muttered. “And why not?”
“Because,” Alfred said brightly, “I’m already dressing up as Jesus.”
Arthur blinked once. Twice.
“I beg your finest pardon,” he said flatly. “You are doing what?”
“Jesus,” Alfred repeated. “And my finest pardon is all yours man!”
Arthur just stared at him, trying—failing—to process.
“And you thought,” he said slowly, “that the natural pairing to that was… a six-foot rabbit?”
“They’re Easter’s dynamic duo!” Alfred beamed. “We'd be like the official representatives of Easter, very important!"
“No, they are not a ‘dynamic duo’ .” Arthur looked at him at a loss, unable to contain his disbelief. “One is a religious observance,” he said. “The other is a pagan-adjacent symbol involving eggs and a mammal that does not lay them. Merging the two is nonsensical."
“It absolutely is!” Arthur stared back at him, incredulous. “You want to stand there, dressed as Jesus Christ—”
“Very respectfully, yes.”
“—while the Easter Bunny stands about beside you, distributing colorful eggs.”
Arthur’s voice lowered, almost horrified. “And you see no issue with this?”
Arthur nodded once. “Then I believe we are done here.” He stood from the table and set his unfinished mug in the sink before he did something drastic with it.
Alfred followed, meeting him in the middle of the kitchen. “Dude, you’re overthinking it."
"You're under-thinking it!" Arthur countered. “This is exactly what’s wrong with modern celebrations. It’s a complete collapse of meaning.” He stormed off.
“It’s just a suit… why are you freaking out on me man?” He said, once more, following after him.
They moved from the kitchen to the sitting room, but the discussion followed them. Arthur stopped and turned around. He finally allowed his arms to cross over his chest, which was always a sign he was losing patience.
Alfred stood a few feet away across from him, looking entirely too relaxed for someone on the brink of being verbally dismantled.
“Alfred,” Arthur addressed him carefully, as if speaking too quickly might somehow confuse the already confused boy, “what, exactly, do you think Easter means? Please explain to me why, in your mind, a rabbit distributing sweets is related to the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ."
Alfred shrugged. "It's the day Jesus came back," he stated. "And the bunny celebrates it."
Arthur stared at him. "The bunny... celebrates it."
"Yeah." Alfred grinned and continued, much to Arthur's horror. "That's his whole thing. He brings eggs and stuff. It's like a birthday party for Jesus, but y’know, for a comeback instead. "
Arthur stood there like he'd been physically struck. Never in all his years... "That is not—that's not it. Is that really your answer, Alfred? A comeback party?
"Well, he did come back, didn't he?" Alfred pointed out.
Arthur’s eye twitched. "...Oh Lord, forgive him, for he does not know of what he speaks."
Alfred squinted a little, like he was genuinely thinking now. “Spring?” he offered.
"Easter Sunday," Arthur straightened slightly, slipping into that precise, instructive tone he used when giving lectures, “is a Christian holiday commemorating the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. The Easter Bunny is a folkloric figure.”
Alfred chuckled. "C'mon, man. I know that."
Arthur narrowed his eyes. He didn’t believe him for one second.
“Yeah,” Alfred said quickly. “Yeah, totally. Resurrection. That was implied. Which is why the bunny fits.”
Arthur quirked a brow. He was almost afraid of what the idiot was going to conjure up next.
“Well,” Alfred said, brightening, “you’ve got Jesus coming back—big moment, very dramatic—and then you’ve got the Easter Bunny, who celebrates it,” Alfred beamed. “It boils down to that, really.”
Arthur closed his eyes briefly, summoning patience from some distant, rapidly depleting reserve. “Alfred, how is it that you’re circling the concept and somehow missing it entirely. The blasted bunny is not a participant in the resurrection!"
Alfred frowned. "Then's why's he there?" He demanded.
"That's exactly my point! He shouldn't be! One is a foundational event in a major world religion, and the other is a rabbit that distributes confectionery.”
“Yeah, but they happen on the same day,” Alfred argued. “That’s not a coincidence.”
“They may be on the same coin, but it’s two very separate sides.”
Alfred shook his head, unconvinced. “No, no, they planned that.”
“They did not ‘plan’ the rabbit, Alfred!”
Alfred hesitated. “...You don’t know that.”
Arthur made a strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh and a cry of despair. “I can assure you, with absolute confidence, that Jesus Christ did not coordinate with a giant rabbit.”
Alfred rubbed his chin, thinking. “I mean… it would be kind of a power move if he did.”
“You cannot,” Arthur said, eyes wide and pointing at him now, “possibly believe that the Easter Bunny is the main focus of the day."
Alfred’s hesitation was brief—but it existed.
“…Alfred,” he said, quieter now, which was somehow worse.
Alfred shifted his weight. “I mean… the bunny’s the one everyone gets excited about. Not the—” Alfred stopped himself, recalibrated, “—the theological concept.”
“That does not diminish its significance!”
“Well, no, but the bunny’s more approachable. Definitely cuter than Jesus on that cross. Ouch."
Arthur pressed a hand over his face now, dragging it down slowly like he was trying to reset himself physically. “You cannot reduce a sacred observance to a fluffy bunny." Arthur dropped his hand, looking at him with something bordering on genuine distress. “Do you have any idea how profoundly insulting that might be?”
Alfred blinked. “To who?”
“First of all, it's 'to whom?' and to—” Arthur shook his head, exasperated beyond words, “—to the entire concept."
"To Christians, Alfred! To anyone who actually observes the religious aspect of the holiday!”
Alfred hesitated. "Do... Do they not like the bunny?"
Stay calm, he told himself. Stay calm or you will actually have a stroke in this living room and Alfred will learn nothing from it. Arthur exhaled and tried very hard not to start shouting again. It's not the boy's fault that he was American. He was alarmed by this developing conversation, but he supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised. Alfred was among the populous who believed chocolate milk came from brown cows.
"Well, Alfred, some people might argue that the Easter Bunny undermines the significance of the resurrection. It trivializes it. Reduces it to—to sweets and bunnies."
Alfred shrugged. "Well, the bunny is the main focus."
Arthur looked like he might actually faint. What's worse, he was certain that if he keeled over right now, Alfred would probably try to perform CPR on him while arguing his point.
"I'm just saying," Alfred continued, "branding-wise, the bunny's doing a lot of the heavy lifting."
"You git! You cannot apply branding logic to a religious event!"
"Dude, level with me, it clearly does. You've got families getting together for barbecues, eggs and candy, people show up—"
"And miss the entire point!" The air was crackling now. Arthur stared at him like he was desperately trying to salvage something, anything from this conversation.
"Easter is about the resurrection of Jesus Christ." He said with finality.
Alfred nodded. "Right. And the Easter Bunny celebrates that."
Arthur's already unsteady composure finally cracked. "The fucking rabbit doesn't celebrate that!" He shouted. "The stupid bunny is an unrelated, sugar-fueled mascot that you have somehow elevated to a religious importance! That’s blasphemy!” He hissed.
Alfred winced slightly at the volume of his voice, but he rallied anyway. "Okay, but if he's unrelated, why is he the one making people smile and laugh?"
Arthur opened his mouth. Then closed it. He opened it again, and for a moment, there was nothing. No sharp retort. No immediate correction. Arthur stood there, utterly defeated by the sheer immovable confidence of Alfred's misunderstanding.
"...I need a drink," Arthur muttered. It wasn't even noon yet, but God help him, he needed a drink.
Alfred perked up. "Oh, are we celebrating something?"
Arthur shot him a glare so severe it could crucify.
"No," he said flatly. "We're coping."
Alfred watched him walk away before calling out to him.
"So is that a yes on the bunny costume or—"
