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worldheadcanons · 2 years ago

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☆ stalker au: them calling you!

starring. . . gender neutral reader and america, england, france, + canada. warning for stalking (in general), minor descriptions of manipulation, and mentions of nsfw in every part except (loser) england’s.

author notes; silly weird idea of mine. i sort of want to make this into a full fledged au and include other characters and maybe develop a plot but i’m not sure.. let me know what you think and any thoughts or ideas you have! matthew’s part is the freakiest because i think the quiet ones are the weirdest.

alfred f. jones!

— he calls often because he just loves your voice. it’s alfred’s favorite thing to get off to after a long day. he likes the way he can, to an extent, hear you inhale and exhale on the other side of the phone. another thing jones enjoys about calling you is how easy it is. he could be calling from his own line at home or from a burner phone. he’s made sure that you won’t be able to tell the difference.

— alfred has a schedule. he’ll call you at least once a week and at most two or three times a week. occasionally you’ll ignore him which drives him to call you more. the phone will ring and ring and ring all day and night until you pick it up. he’s stubborn like that. you block one number, there’s at least seventy more calling you. in the end, you have no choice but to give in and pick up the phone.

— his calls are sly and almost flirtatious. they’re far too short though. jones loves the hint of curiosity in your voice the more he flatters you, cooing about you how special you are to him. then he says something creepy, something about how he wants to see you from a better angle than the one your window provides— suddenly you’re scared. you’re threatening to call the police. you ignore his next phone call and the one after that… eventually you come around though. you always come around. alfred likes that about you.

— he enjoys calling you just to watch you talk on the phone with him. he’s on edge when it comes to taking in your every response, physical or verbal. your expressions are addicting, he swears. sometimes you’ll put the phone to your ear, talking into it as you do some sort of housework. laundry, perhaps. jones will keep conversation light during this time so that you don’t mess up your work. he’d hate to get in your way.

— he’s got a voice fit for radio. his voice is hot on the phone and he knows it. sometimes alfred feels like you’re more into these calls than he is.. unlikely. but not impossible. he likes to ask questions often about you, your family, and your hobbies. it doesn’t hurt to ask things, even if jones already knows the answers. it’s funny when you lie and he has the chance to correct you. he’s sure he knows you better than you know yourself.

— “you know i love you, right? the cops won’t stop me from loving you,” alfred pauses slightly from where he is in your backyard, smirking to himself in the dark, “you know that too, don’t you, y/n?”

arthur kirkland!

— his voice is pretty distinctive so he calls less often than others might. kirkland would honestly rather not deal with the consequences of what might happen if you recognize him. he works with you, after all. it would be all too easy for you to put the pieces together, given how smart you are. arthur loves your intelligence.. and hates it at the same time.

— his schedule is sporadic and somewhat impulsive. most of the time he calls once every week although there are exceptions. when he’s feeling more desperate he’ll call once a day, recording it so he can listen to your voice over and over for comfort. when kirkland feels more paranoid he’ll drop all the way down to once a month. that was rare though.

— his calls are long by stalker standards. he doesn’t speak like a complete creep which keeps you on the line much longer. in fact, arthur presents himself as more of a secret admirer who’s too shy to face you. he loves the reassurance you give him, telling him that he seems like such a nice man and you’d love to give him a chance. you’re too sweet for your own good. he’ll slip every now and then, revealing personal details he knows about you but he’s quick enough to recover without you being too suspicious.

— kirkland doesn’t like to call and watch you, preferring to focus on one thing or the other. if he’s calling, he’s putting his full effort into the phone call. if he’s watching then he’s watching intently, taking note of your every move. alongside his call recordings, he has videos of you taken from outside your window or on a public bus ride.

— he’ll often try to muddle his accent when he’s speaking to you. if you ever happen to notice his accent and compliment it though, arthur will quickly drop the act just to hear you giggle through the phone. his first question is always ‘how was your day’ as he wants to scope out the mood of the call. if you’re sad then he’s consoling, if you’re happy then kirkland is cheering you on, if you’re angry then maybe he’ll be angry too and agree with you. whatever makes you happiest.

— “don’t let me keep you up, love. you’ve got a long day at the office tomorrow—“ arthur began, only to be interrupted by you asking how he knows you work in an office. “oh, you’ve mentioned your job many times before. you’re just too tired to think right now. rest well, sweetheart. goodnight.”

francis bonnefoy!

— calls a decent amount, enough for you to expect his calls but not enough for you to get bored. one thing francis will never let you get is bored. each call is slightly different from the last, making them special even if he’s openly flirting in all of them. he likes your voice a lot and doesn’t hesitate to coo into the phone about it.

— calls twice, maybe three times if you’re lucky, every week. bonnefoy just doesn’t want you to start thinking of his calls as harassment, even though they technically are. there’s no ignoring francis, as even though you’re sure you’ve heard him mention watching you go into work, you can’t seem to block him out for longer than a week. you hate the fact that you’ve grown accustomed to his voice and that you miss him even though you shouldn’t.

— his calls are full of flirtation and it’s not at all one sided. sometimes you’ll pretend you’re not interested and then you’ll start jabbing at him, calling him a creep and worse names. it’s competitive almost, a battle of wits hidden under the guise of romance. he likes to let you think you’re winning. it’s cute. he can almost hear your smirk over the phone.

— he likes calling you from the comforts of his own home, twirling his phone cord around his finger as he trades flirts and insults alike with you. his insults are fine tuned and specific so they hurt a lot, but he’s quick to comfort you before you can realize anything. “oh, *mon coeur! why must we fight *mon amour?” he’ll complain into the phone, stretching out on his bed before continuing on, “you know it hurts me to hurt you.”

— his french accent is rich. it translates nicely enough over the phone, sending a tingle down your spine whenever he speaks in his mother tongue. he’ll talk to you about his love for the most part but he also asks about your current health and whether or not you’ve eaten. you’ve lied to him once or twice and each time ends the same— with a meal delivered to your front porch within minutes.

— “you want to see me in handcuffs? you’re so cruel, y/n,” he puts on an upset tone of voice at first.. then he shifts to something more seductive. “you don’t need the police for that though.. just let me into your house, *mon ange.. and we can do whatever you like.”

matthew williams!

— matthew calls regularly, specifically in the early morning or in the evening when he knows you’re both free. he’s even worse than alfred when it comes to enjoying your voice in a sexual manner. you sound like an angel to him. he’s not above jerking himself off or humping a pillow while he’s on the phone with you. he can’t help himself. it’s unfortunate that you don’t know his name. he’d love to hear you say it, just once.

— he tries to contact you every other day but sometimes he skips because he finds himself busy with other things. he doesn’t get too upset at this. it’s not like calls are his only way of interacting with you. by the time he starts calling you like this, he’s already watched you sleep at least once or twice. not to mention the clothing he’s taken from you— don’t worry, new clothes will appear on the porch the next day. clothes that he hopes you’ll wear for him sometime soon..

— his calls are, at first, rather shy. he gets bolder as time goes on though, going as far as to mention the color of the delicates you’re wearing that day. he enjoys teasing you with the knowledge he has. he’ll sit there, watching from the bushes, and tell you openly how cute you look when you’re cooking or cleaning. whenever you threaten to call the police, he sighs into the phone. “you’re so mean to me, y/n, playing hard to get.” you hang up, he calls again and again and, well, you pick up. the cycle continues on.

— he doesn’t mind when you’re mean to him, calling him a creep or a freak. he’s into it, really. it won’t change anything for you to pick up on this and start praising him. he’s a simple man. your attention is what he craves. negative, positive, he honestly doesn’t care. it’s part of why he’s willing to admit every once in a while that he’s watched you sleep. things like that quickly grab your attention. he chuckles as he listens to you gasp and ask him to repeat himself. “what do you mean, you ‘saw me dream’ last night?”

— william’s voice is soft and gentle but husky still. it has a certain attractiveness to it, unfortunately. he enjoys having people deliver gifts to your porch and then asking you what you think of them. it’s so frequent, you can’t tell which packages are ones you’ve bought and which ones are ones he’s bought.

— he chuckles into the phone, “i take it you like the clothes i’ve bought you.” you ask him what he’s talking about. his response is simple. “i can see you wearing them right now.”

☆ TRANSLATIONS.

— *”mon coeur” means “my heart” — *”mon amour” translates to “my love” — *”mon ange” means “my angel”

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feynavaley · 7 years ago

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Hetalia Fanfiction – Arthur Kirkland’s Guide to Being a Big Brother Ch 3

Summary: (Human AU) After ten years of living as the youngest of four children, Arthur Kirkland is firmly convinced that older brothers are useless at best, a nuisance at worst. The introduction of six-year-old Alfred into his life is the first of many changes that force Arthur to reconsider his position.

The full chapter is under the cut, use your phone browser if you can’t see it from the app. Hope you’ll enjoy it!

Warnings: This chapter deals with death and mourning (even if it’s about a minor character).

———

Matthew, Part One

The months seemed to pass in a blur for Arthur. Before he could realize it, Thanksgiving came and went, and Christmas holidays made their appearance.

For the first time, all his brothers found themselves under the same roof as George. The awkwardness could be cut with a knife, but Alfred’s presence somehow mitigated the worst of the tension. The child’s poorly hidden antagonism towards Arthur’s older brothers had the odd effect of them trying even harder to win his affection. Bewildered, Arthur assisted to scenes of his usually grumpy older brothers transforming into tender caretakers for the bright-eyed Alfred, bending to any whim he expressed.

“They’re trying to steal him from me!” Arthur complained to his mother, “It’s not fair, I am the one who spends all the time with Alfred, he’s my little brother! Why can’t I have this, at least?”

At the end of the day, however, Arthur was still the first one Alfred looked for when he needed something, be it some help with his homework or reassurances after listening to a scary story, so it was all right.

Arthur’s brothers finally left to spend New Year’s Eve with their friends, leaving Arthur able to relax once again. Alfred was going to leave as well in a couple of days to spend the last half of his Christmas holidays with his mother. While Arthur didn’t mind the short respite, he knew he would find the house oddly empty after the first few days, just like the other time Alfred had gone to Canada. It was strange how used Arthur had already gotten to his younger brother’s presence – for how loud and annoying he could be at times, the way his cheerful disposition and genuine vitality brightened up the entire house was undeniable.

Just the day before leaving, Alfred came to Arthur’s room, his face slightly scrunched in the adorable way it did when he was trying to be serious.

“I need your help,” he declared, and before Arthur could ask what it was about, he continued in a single breath, “You read a lot, so must know a lot of books. I want to buy a gift for Mattie, and he likes reading and he’s often lonely, so I wanted to get him a book.”

“To Mattie?” Arthur couldn’t help but ask, his eyebrows rising.

Does George know about this?

Arthur was aware of Alfred’s strange fondness for who had to be his mother’s new partner, but it was inappropriate to say at least… and getting him a gift looked very close to stepping over the boundaries.

“Yep!” Alfred answered, beaming. “You know, I taught him to read the last time I saw him! And he’s actually pretty good at it—”

Arthur did remember that Alfred had come back from his last trip to Canada considerably more confident in his reading skills. He had to give it to this Mattie, pretending to be unable to read so Alfred would be forced to exercise was a truly smart one… Arthur had to admit Mattie didn’t sound that bad, from what Alfred said about him. He had to be a bad person, he was a home-wrecker after all, but maybe… Maybe he hadn’t known that Émilie was already married? Or he had started dating her only after the divorce? That sounded more likely…

“—so I need you to help me choose a book for him. He really likes animals, polar bears are his favourite.”

Alfred was staring at Arthur with huge, trusting eyes. Arthur’s chest constricted at the thought of not being able to grant his requests, yet…

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can help you with this,” he answered begrudgingly, “Yes, I read a lot, but adult books are different… I wouldn’t know what to choose.”

Alfred’s features scrunched in confusion before he let out a small giggle.

“What are you talking about, silly? Duh, it’s just Mattie! You know, my little brother Mattie? He’s very smart, but he’s still only four… he wouldn’t read boring adult books!”

… What?!

The time seemed to stop. Arthur could do nothing but gape at Alfred’s satisfied face as everything slowly fell into place. Alfred’s conviction that older brothers were awesome, that they had to take care of their little siblings… that hadn’t come out of nowhere. Alfred believed so because he was an older brother himself. And it completely fit his personality, Arthur couldn’t see him doing anything but taking care of a younger child.

It sounded perfectly logical, and Arthur couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before, yet… it was still a big revelation to swallow.

“Mum!” Arthur called, his feet carrying him out of the door without him even fully realizing it, with a confused Alfred in his wake.

“Mum, why didn’t anybody ever tell me there was a second child?!”

He had never seen Mattie, nor would he probably see him, yet it sounded like such an important piece of information… Not something that should be overlooked.

Aila turned sharply from the burner, her eyebrows raised in confusion.

“Come again?”

“Oh! You’re talking about Matthew, aren’t you?” intervened unexpectedly George’s voice.

He was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper – in his shock, Arthur hadn’t even noticed him.

He suddenly realized how inappropriate his question was – maybe, Matthew wasn’t even George’s child, and questioning about him was incredibly rude…

George, however, looked more surprised than offended.

“Oh, my…” he murmured, shaking his head. “I guess that it never came up in front of you, I hadn’t noticed… I’m sorry. Anyway, yes, I have another child, but he was born after the divorce so he lives with Émilie. I thought you knew. This is why I go with Alfred when he’s visiting his mother, so I can see him…”

“Oh…”

A part of Arthur’s mind registered the meaning of George’s words, but most of him still couldn’t come to terms with it. It was just… something too big. Too important. He couldn’t believe that he had never been informed about that.

“But I did tell you!” Alfred protested, pouting. “I’ve talked about Mattie many times!”

Arthur blushed as he realized how far his misunderstanding had gone, but he wasn’t going to let himself be embarrassed like that.

“Yes, but you never told me he was your little brother! You only told me that your mother lived with him in Canada. And since nobody else ever mentioned him, I thought he was her partner or something…”

Arthur’s voice trailed off as he realized how indelicate his words were. He risked a timid glance at his mother, but before she could say anything, George snorted.

“Mattie being Émilie’s boyfriend… Oh God, that’s gold.” He chuckled, shaking his head as he shuffled with his pocket. “I’m sorry that this never came up. I really am, Arthur. Anyway, this is Matthew.”

Arthur moved closer as George opened his wallet and extracted a small, squared picture portraying two children standing in front of a pond. Alfred was beaming, his eyes sparkling, and he had his left arm wrapped around the shoulders of a smaller child who looked surprisingly similar to him – and at the same time, was completely different. Matthew’s features closely resembled Alfred’s, yet they were subtly more delicate. His skin looked porcelain-white, even lighter than Arthur’s, his eyes were a startling lilac, and the wavy strawberry blond hair that framed his head and curled around his chin gave the impression of being incredibly soft. There was something about him that reminded Arthur of the small angels in the paintings Mr Vargas had shown him. It wasn’t only that – the child looked hesitant, his smile was fainter than Alfred’s, and he was almost hiding against his brother’s body as if he didn’t quite know how to behave in front of the camera.

Arthur kept staring at the picture until his mother’s hand landed lightly on his shoulder. Only then he raised his head, looking from her to George as he tried to sort through the lingering confusion at the unexpected discovery. He didn’t quite know what to feel.

“Does this mean that I have another little brother, now?” he asked at last, his eyes running back to the shy-looking child in the picture.

“But Mattie lives with Mama,” Alfred answered immediately, voicing Arthur’s own doubt. “And he’s my little brother. He’s not yours! You have me. And I have Mattie. I don’t share!”

He pouted, folding his arms across his chest as Arthur raised his eyebrows, taken aback by the reaction.

“Alfred!” George immediately scolded him, “Matthew’s your little brother, not your property! But…” he hesitated for a moment, his eyes running to Aila before settling back on Arthur. “I don’t know what Matthew is to you, legally speaking. I guess that he could be your stepbrother as well, but since he still lives with Émilie you aren’t really going to interact with him…”

There was something more to it. Arthur could tell it from the way George’s features were tight, but his mother’s hand tightened slightly over his shoulder, signalling that it wasn’t the right time to satiate his curiosity.

“Can we stop talking about this, now?” Alfred whined with a small stomp of his feet. “Arthur, you have to help me choose a book for Mattie!”

“Oh, yes. I can do that,” Arthur answered, trying to shake off the dazed surprise still enveloping him.

“You want to get a book for Mattie?” George asked at the same time.

Alfred beamed at him, puffing his chest with pride.

“Yep! I taught him to read last time I saw him! And yesterday Mama told me that he’s sick, so he won’t be able to play out with us… At least he’ll have a book to read!”

While Alfred’s words had sounded completely innocent to Arthur, the lines around George’s eyes tightened.

“He’s sick again? Wasn’t he sick a couple of weeks ago, too?”

Aila moved to stand next to him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Didn’t you say he’s four? This is normal. Children that age get sick very easily…”

George shook his head as he turned to look at his wife.

“Is it? I don’t really think so… Alfred got sick three times since he was born.”

Aila chuckled at that.

“Ah, but Alfred is the anomaly here, believe me – a little Superhero, I’d say—” she ruffled Alfred’s hair, who smiled with pride at her words. “Most children get sick quite often, with their immune system still in development. Trust me, I know – when Ali, Connie, and Dyl were little it was a nightmare. I could hardly go a week without any of them being sick… with Arthur it was a little better because he’s only one, but he was still ill quite often. I don’t think you should be too concerned.”

While George was nodding, there was still something off about the entire situation. Something Arthur couldn’t put his fingers on, but that was making him quite uncomfortable. Yet, he didn’t dare to ask.

“Well then,” George declared a moment later, getting up from the chair. “I think your idea is very sweet, Alfred – go get changed and then we’ll go looking for a book, all right?”

He was smiling again, and that was enough for Alfred – and almost for Arthur, too. He still wondered what everything was about, but a stern glare from his mother was all he needed to understand that it was grown-up matters he shouldn’t concern himself with.

Soon, Arthur’s mood was lightened again by Alfred’s visible excitement at the trip and he forgot his concerns as he found himself once again involved in his role as a mentor, flattered by the trust his younger brother seemed to place in him. They ended up choosing a beautifully illustrated book about a polar bear cub who was travelling in search of his mother and made many friends along the way.

Only a couple of days later, feeling strangely lonely in the empty house in spite of finally having a chance to relax, Arthur found the courage to ask his mother about Matthew and George’s uneasiness.

“It’s quite a complicated situation,” was the only answer he received. “It was a bad divorce, so George and that woman aren’t exactly on good terms now.”

In his mother’s pinched lips and sparkling eyes, combined with the way she had addressed George’s former wife, Arthur read an absolute disdain towards Émilie. There was something more to the story, something Arthur itched to know, but his mother’s stony expression told him that it wasn’t his place to ask.

A week later, Alfred came back, vibrating with excitement and full of stories about a snow-filled land and winter sports, eager to share everything with Arthur. Half an hour into a tale of his (exaggerated, Arthur could bet) prowess with the snowboard, Alfred was called down by his father.

“Oh, right!” he exclaimed suddenly, his hand going for his pocket. “This is for you!”

He handed Arthur a crumpled piece of paper before running out of the door. Perplexed, Arthur smoothened the paper through his fingers, his eyes focusing on a couple of pencil-written lines.

“ DEAR ARTHUR,

THANK YOU FOR THE BOOK. I LIKE IT A LOT. I WAS SAD WHEN THE BEAR COULD NOT FIND HIS MAMA BUT THEN HE MADE FRIENDS AND I WAS HAPPY.

SINCERELY,

MATTHEW ”

Arthur kept staring at the piece of paper as a smile tugged at his lips. He hadn’t been expecting an answer to his efforts, nor had been expecting to interact with Matthew – yet, those shaky words on a crumpled piece of paper made him feel some sort of kinship towards the young child. There was a connection between the two of them, now – not the same Arthur had with Alfred, but still something that couldn’t be ignored.

Thus began Arthur’s correspondence with Matthew. Every time Alfred went to visit the rest of his family, Arthur would choose a book for Matthew, and he would receive in change some written lines from the child. As time passed by, Arthur started selecting more difficult books, books that he himself had loved – Momo, The Endless Story, The Chronicles of Narnia, Harry Potter… – and the letters became longer and more elaborate, reporting Matthew’s impressions and thoughts. While they never met face to face, Arthur got to know him through those words.

Matthew seemed a smart child with a vivid imagination, yet Arthur had the impression that there was something holding him back, a sort of loneliness and insecurity that seeped through his words. Alfred’s tales about his younger brother seemed to confirm that.

“Mattie’s very shy,” he would tell Arthur, his expression as serious as it could get. “And he speaks so softly that sometimes people don’t even hear him. He doesn’t stand up for himself, doesn’t complain if other kids treat him badly. This is why I have to take care of him. Because I’m his big brother, and I’m the Hero!”

In his convinced words and earnest eyes, Arthur could understand more and more the way Alfred had formed his ideas about older brothers, and he found himself finally wholeheartedly agreeing with him. His brothers had been the problem, but maybe most people weren’t like that. Alfred wasn’t, and it was the same for Arthur. Taking care of Alfred had become one of his priorities, and it was starting to involve Matthew as well, even if in an indirect way.

It wasn’t until three years later that Arthur finally dared to ask George if he would ever be allowed to meet Matthew in person, and got the real story behind the divorce.

“You know, Émilie and I were together for years before getting married,” George told him, suddenly looking older than he was, his face signed by the age. “We had a pretty wild life. We would travel a lot, party… we had fun. When Émilie got pregnant with Alfred, we decided to get married, because why not? We loved each other, after all. And we weren’t so young anymore, it was time to start living more responsibly, anyway. Or so I had thought. While we never explicitly talked about this, I naively assumed that Émilie agreed with me as well – she had calmed down a bit, while she was pregnant. But then Alfred was born and she wanted to get back to her old life.”

George had to stop to take a sip of water, his features hardened in a way that almost scared Arthur.

“But the thing is, Arthur, when you have a child, everything changes. You can’t just go back to living the way you did before – your child is your priority, now. You have to care for him, to educate him, you can’t just spend the night partying in a club and getting drunk every weekend. So we started fighting. She said that I wanted to hold her back, that I didn’t want her to be free just because she was a woman. Never mind that I had completely changed my lifestyle, too. It got so bad that we ended up divorcing. And then…”

George took a deep breath, his voice breaking slightly. He was looking at Arthur without truly seeing him, his eyes had a hunted look.

“I did something truly despicable. You see, I was so worried about Alfred that I didn’t think about anything else, at the moment… Émilie didn’t usually get drunk when Alfred was around, she had only once and seemingly regretted it a lot. Yet, I was afraid that it was going to happen again, and I had the footage to prove it already had. So I used it, and got full custody of Alfred.”

A wry smile crossed his lips.

“But I didn’t know that Émilie was pregnant again. She probably hadn’t known either, when we started the practice, then she never told me… and Matthew was hers, now. To be allowed to see him, I made some private arrangements with Émilie – she can see Alfred, and I can see Matthew. But she’s the only one who has any legal right to Matthew, and she didn’t like that I got married again. I don’t think she’ll ever allow Matthew to visit or you to come with us, not until Matthew is quite older, at least.”

Arthur realized at that moment that he had been holding his breath. He exhaled shakily, staring wide-eyed at George.

“But… If she drinks… then Matthew…?”

George shook his head.

“Oh, she actually got better.” Bitterness coloured his voice. “I like to think that the footage shook her a bit at least, made her understand what she was doing. I can’t deny that I worry for Matthew, but there’s really nothing I can do about it. But believe me, if I had any shred of evidence that she was mistreating him in any way I would file a lawsuit straight away.”

Arthur nodded slowly, an unpleasant sinking feeling in his stomach. While Émilie wasn’t actively mistreating Matthew, Arthur couldn’t forget how his long letters and the eagerness he answered to Arthur with seemed like a cry for help. At the same time, Arthur was now old enough to understand that some situations were complicated, that sometimes there was no way to do the right thing. It left a bitter taste in his mouth that lingered even after he watched Alfred, the picture of happiness as he played in the garden with some friends of his – while he was happy for him, he couldn’t truly forget about Matthew. He deserved that, too.

In spite of his feelings, Arthur knew that there was nothing he could do about Matthew’s situation save responding his letters so he eventually accepted that he wasn’t going to see him for some years, until Matthew would be a teen and allowed to have more freedom of movement. While it was still very early, Arthur knew that George was trying to arrange for Matthew to spend an exchange year in America and Émilie wasn’t completely opposed to the suggestion, seeing how it could have a positive impact on her son’s curriculum.

Arthur should have known that things rarely go as planned.

One year later, he crossed the doorway one afternoon to find his mother waiting for him, unnaturally pale, clutching the phone. Even stranger was George, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.

“Mum? What’s wrong?!” Arthur asked immediately, his stomach knotting.

George raised his head at that, staring at Arthur with lost, wide eyes that made him look like a confused child. His features, paler than Arthur had ever seen, were slack with shock.

Arthur found himself paralyzed, his throat closing off as his brain tried to come up with an answer for George’s terrifying expression. At the same time, he didn’t truly want to think, because only something truly bad might have caused such a reaction, and…

“Arthur!”

Aila’s voice brought him violently back to reality. In spite of the confusion Arthur could see in her posture and hands, his mother’s face was set in determination.

“I need you to go pick up Alfred. Now. He’s at Tolys’s.”

A wave of relief washed over Arthur, letting him breathe again. His mother wouldn’t have asked him that if something had happened to Alfred, she would have taken care of that herself. In spite of that, something was still wrong. Something bad.

“What happened?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Aila’s eyes darted to George as her forehead furrowed. She hesitated a moment before answering Arthur.

“It’s Émilie. Car accident…”

Arthur’s blood ran cold in his veins.

“Is she…”

George’s broken sob was as good as an answer. Arthur could only stare at his mother, his mouth open in horror. He wanted to say something, but his brain seemed unable to produce any word.

How am I going to tell Alfred?

Alfred didn’t deserve that. Alfred was such a wonderful child, so happy and optimistic… and while he had quickly warmed up to Aila, even getting to call her ‘Mum’ after a couple of months, he was still close to him ‘Mama’. Losing her would be… completely devastating. Arthur couldn’t even imagine how it would feel… how could he even tell that to Alfred?

“Arthur!”

There was a frantic edge in his mother’s voice, she was trying to keep her cool but she was close to panicking as well, her hands were trembling – but of course, the situation must be horrible for her. It was a wonder that she could still be so calm, while George was relieving what she had with Henry… Arthur took a step towards her, forcing himself to straighten his shoulder to appear more adult.

“Mum, are you—”

Aila violently shook her head.

“Don’t worry about me, love.” She managed to offer Arthur a small, strained smile. “Just go and get Alfred, okay? You don’t have to tell him anything, George and I will explain the situation to him – just say that something urgent came up.”

Arthur nodded, unable to shake the numbness he was feeling. His mind was alternating between the thoughts of how strong his mother was, and how crushed Alfred was going to be.

Arthur was almost out of the door when another horrifying thought hit him like a punch in the gut, leaving him breathless for a moment.

“And what about Matthew?!”

Aila froze. A strange glint went through her eyes before she managed to compose herself.

“He was in the car too. He’s alive but… in the hospital. We don’t know how bad he is.”

Arthur’s head was spinning. He opened and closed his mouth, struggling for air.

In the hospital. We don’t know how bad he is.

Matthew. The gentle child who had no friends and took refuge in books, just like Arthur had done for many years. The child who smiled timidly from the pictures with Alfred, yet was apparently able to destroy him on the ice.

We don’t know how bad he is.

Arthur hadn’t even ever talked to him. And now he could be dying. He was eight years old.

“Arthur, please! I— Matthew will be fine, I’m sure. But now I need you to get Alfred.”

Arthur knew that his mother was lying. At the same time, he suddenly realized that she was relying on him. She was on the point of breaking down, yet she was forcing herself to be strong for George… Arthur wasn’t a child anymore. He should be helping as well.

With a jerky nod, he took off.

Arthur didn’t remember how he got to Tolys’s house, his brain stuck on thoughts about Matthew and Alfred, Émilie, and how everything would change now. Arthur didn’t want things to change.

“I need to get Alfred home. There was an emergency,” was all he could say as Mrs Laurinaitis opened the door.

Understanding shone in the woman’s gentle green eyes.

“I’ll get him for you,” she answered in a sweet voice, “But you need to sit down. And a glass of water.”

As he opened his mouth to refuse, Arthur realized that she was right: he needed to calm down. He was there for Alfred, who was going to have horrible news in a matter of minutes. Arthur panicking wouldn’t help one bit. He let himself be led to the kitchen by Mrs Laurinaitis’s gentle hand on his back and sipped a glass of icy water as she went to fetch Alfred, barely aware of the liquid sliding down his throat.

Arthur’s chest constricted as Alfred approached him, smiling in spite of the questioning glint in eyes. Those bright, innocent eyes. It could be the last time Arthur saw them.

“Is that a surprise?” Alfred asked, bouncing on his feet.

Arthur wanted to cry. Instead, he shook his head and mustered the best smile he could manage.

“Your Dad will tell you once we get home.”

And Alfred simply followed him, clearly confused about the entire thing but trusting. Arthur's chest ached with the knowledge of how much that expression was going to change.

When they arrived home, George had managed to compose himself. While pale, his expression was forcefully calm, but Arthur couldn't forget how he had seen him. As his stepfather led Alfred to the kitchen, Arthur's eyes remained glued to their back.

Only when his mother gently laid a hand on his shoulder Arthur diverted his gaze.

"What now?" He asked, his voice trembling.

His mother's sad eyes looked tired. She didn't lie.

"It isn’t going to be easy. Alfred might not have spent a lot of time with Émilie, but she was still his mother. And he's still very young. He's going to recover, but... It's going to take some time. This isn’t something that you can just magically make better, but... You can help. Just be there for him."

It sounded like a too abstract concept. The true meaning was ‘there's nothing you can do to help’.

As Alfred's tearful refusal to accept what had happened rose from the kitchen, Arthur had never felt that powerless.

For the following hours, he paced restlessly around the living room, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach. Meanwhile, Aila was occupied with an endless series of phone calls, arranging a flight to Canada for the following day and taking care of all the necessary things – arranging their day off work, cancelling a dentist’s appointment – Arthur couldn’t concentrate enough to listen. The only thing that mattered was that he and his mother were leaving as well. There was no way he was going to leave Alfred alone.

Alfred had stopped screaming after a bit, but Arthur didn’t see him again until hours later, when George emerged from the kitchen with his features signed by grief and the child in his arms. The sight of Alfred's pale, tear-streaked face made a horrible weight drop in Arthur's stomach.

“Sweetheart, I have to let go of you for a bit now, I need to make some call,” George murmured sweetly as Aila signed him to come closer.

Artur automatically stepped next to his stepfather, holding out his arms. It didn’t matter that Alfred wasn’t exactly light and Arthur himself sort of scrawny for his age – the teen received the weight of younger brother and didn’t let go of him when Alfred’s arms clamped around him. Instead, he returned the hold with the same intensity. Wordlessly, he sat down on the couch and wrapped a warm blanket around both of them. Alfred buried his cold, damp nose against Arthur’s neck as a small broken sob bubbled up his throat.

“Mama’s dead,” he announced after a while. That dull voice, so different from the one Arthur was used to, pierced his chest like a hot knife. “And Mattie’s in the hospital.”

Alfred raised his head, his impossibly blue eyes, streaked with red and wide in desperation, trapped Arthur’s ones.

“Why? They didn’t deserve it, they were good, why—”

Another keening wail seeped through Alfred’s lips. Arthur didn’t have any answer for him. He just hugged him with more strength, too numb to find some more effective actions.

For the first time since Arthur had met him, Alfred didn’t talk much. He spent the rest of the afternoon curled against his father or Arthur, his eyes glued to the television without seeing it. He did accept the food that was given to him but ate it as if he didn’t even know what he was doing, his face expressionless and his eyes dull. That night, he slept in Arthur’s bed, curled against his brother. He cried again before finally sliding into an exhausted sleep – small, soft sobs that pierced Arthur’s heart more than a full-fledged scream could have.

It didn’t feel like Alfred, it was like a shadow of the vital child he had always been. Arthur couldn’t let it go on that way.

He mulled over the dilemma the entire night, unable to fall asleep with Alfred’s cries still echoing in his ears, and in spite of that, he could find no solution, no way to console Alfred. But he had to do something.

“Alfred, your mother loved you a lot,” he started hesitantly as they were waiting for their parents at the gate of the airport, unable to stand his brother’s apathetic silence for another moment. “And… Since she loved you, she wouldn’t want you to be sad. It… it must be really hard, but…”

Arthur’s voice trailed off. He had never felt so pathetic and useless in his entire life.

To his surprise, Alfred turned his head, his eyes finally focusing on Arthur as he furrowed his brow.

“I know,” he muttered, “Dad said this, too. That Mama is gone and it’s going to hurt, but she loved me so very much…” He shook his head. “But it’s hard. I didn’t even see her that much, but I’m already missing her so much…”

Alfred’s voice was wavering. Arthur tightened the hold on his hand, waiting for him to start crying again, but Alfred didn’t. He took a deep, shaky breath before going on.

“But your Dad died too, didn’t he? How did you go on?”

Arthur found himself at loss, his chest tightening as he stared at Alfred’s too expressive eyes.

“I… I don’t really know,” he was forced to admit, “I was so little… I don’t even remember my father, so it isn’t like…”

For the first time in his life, Arthur found himself thinking of his older brothers with a pang of longing. Unlike him, they had gone through something similar and turned out… not exactly good, but okay. Maybe, they would have known what to tell Alfred. Dylan, at least. But they weren’t there, and Arthur would have to do.

Alfred nodded slowly before turning his head to stare at something that seemed to be far away.

“I’m glad that I got to know Mama, though,” he declared in the end. “It hurts now, but I also have so many good memories… I should keep thinking about them. This is what Dad said. And I have to be strong for Mattie, too.”

Arthur could only stare at Alfred as he shook his head, straightening his back. His eyes didn’t look dull anymore, but bright with a steely resolution. A wave of dizziness washed over Arthur as he realized that Alfred didn’t look like a child anymore.

He never strayed from his little brother and kept holding his hand for the entire duration of the trip, but he couldn’t help but study the features of his face. His little brother was growing up. Arthur didn’t know how to feel about it – concern for what Alfred was going through, that was sure, surprise at the unexpected development, but there was also something akin to a spark of pride at his unexpected maturity.

Alfred started getting restless again only once they approached the hospital, but this time for a different reason.

“Dad, Dad, how’s Mattie? He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?” he kept asking, concern showing through his features and widened eyes.

“Of course. There are good doctors, they’re taking care of him,” George would answer, but Arthur’s stomach twisted as the man’s hands clenched into too tight fists.

He tightened his hold on Alfred’s hand, stroking his palm in what he hoped to be a comforting gesture.

When they finally got off the taxi and in front of the hospital, Arthur’s stomach was completely closed off, he almost feared that he was going to throw up. With single-minded determination, they moved into the hospital in strides that got quicker and quicker until they were on the verge of running, a dizzying marathon to finally reach an answer.

The maddening march was stopped by a sudden cry.

“George! Oh Dieu soit loué finally somebody is here I’ve been here since yesterday and I can’t call Maman because her phone’s out of reception and nobody will tell me anything mon Dieu…”

Francis’s lament trailed off in some unintelligible sobbed French words.

Arthur could only stare at him, his face slack with shock. Rationally, he knew that it was Francis, and a corner of his brain was dutifully reporting hearing Aila mention that Alfred and Matthew’s cousin was in Canada while his parents had gone on a trip to Nepal, but that couldn’t be Francis.

Arthur had had the misfortune of meeting Francis before. His mother, Émilie’s older sister, was still on friendly terms with George, and the previous summer she had decided to send her sixteen-year-old son to America for a couple of weeks to let him “have a taste of the world”. Not murdering him had been a true exercise in constraint for Arthur, yet at that moment his chest was clenching at the wrongness of the situation.

The Francis Arthur knew was a self-conceited, vain snob who took care of his appearance as if he were a beauty peasant, with his lips constantly curled in a malicious smile and a flirtatious glint in his periwinkle blue eyes. The teen who was now sobbing in front of George, unable to put together a full sentence in English, looked as if he had been in an accident himself, with his long hair completely in disarray, his clothes crumpled, his eyes puffy and bloodshot on his sickly pale, tight features.

Alfred’s hold on Arthur’s hand tightened, suddenly reminding Arthur that there was something far more important he should be worrying about.

“Francis?” Alfred shakily, swallowing audibly.

Francis blinked owlishly as his eyes focused on his young cousin. He sniffled loudly – and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he gave a weak smile, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Oh dear, I made quite a mess, didn’t I? Forgive me, mon chou, I hope I didn’t scare you… you know, us Frenchmen are quite emotional, and I didn’t get my beauty sleep last night… I’m sorry for making this scene. I… I’m sure that Matthieu is going to be fine, it’s just hospital policy, you know? Since I’m not of age, they couldn’t tell me anything, but now that your Dad is here it’s going to be all right… Look, there’s a nurse coming!”

Sure to be told, a middle-aged woman with a tired face but tender eyes was walking towards them.

“Mr Jones? Dr Karplus is ready to talk to you about your son. If you’d follow me…”

“Is Mattie okay?” Alfred asked immediately, taking a step towards the woman, his shoulders squared in spite of the slight tremble of his voice.

The nurse smiled at him.

“He’s your little brother, isn’t he? Dr Karplus is one of our best doctors, he’s taking care of him.”

Arthur’s stomach clenched at her vague words and Alfred stiffened, but George squeezed his shoulder.

“I’m going to find out, I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can. Now be good for Mom, alright?”

The smile didn’t reach his eyes, but there was nothing to do about it. After a pat to Francis’s shoulder, George departed behind the nurse, leaving his scared family members staring at his back, clustered together as if the mere vicinity could protect them from the situation. Alfred was squeezing Arthur’s hand so tightly that he could hardly feel his fingers anymore, but no sound of complaint passed his lips. If cutting off his hand’s circulation was going to provide Alfred with some comfort, Arthur was happy to comply.

Aila was the first one to recover, suggesting in a forcefully cheery voice to go and get something to eat from the cafeteria. Arthur wasn’t hungry at all, his stomach seemed completely closed off, but it sounded reasonable. Besides, Alfred immediately nodded, even if he was still oddly silent.

The cafeteria was small, filled with too silent, ghostly people that made Arthur’s skin crawl with uneasiness. They ordered ice-cream, but Alfred seemed to be the only one eating with almost manic precision, while everybody else just pushed their food around. It wasn’t long before Francis excused himself with a fake, tight smile and almost ran away from the room, his shoulders shaking. Aila hesitated a moment before going after him with an apologetic glance to Arthur and Alfred.

Arthur’s stomach twisted as he watched her leave, but he bit his lower lip and refrained himself from calling her back. Francis was in dire need of comfort, after all, and for how much Arthur didn’t like him just thinking about spending an entire night alone, sitting on a plastic hospital chair as he waited for an answer that never came, made his chest clench. In spite of that, Francis had done his best to control himself in front of Alfred. Arthur could at least appreciate that.

Glancing back to Alfred as he shook his head, Arthur found his brother apparently completely engrossed in his meal, shoving spoonful after spoonful of ice-cream in his mouth with methodical accuracy. There was no tantrum, no tears, and at the same time, his face was slack, there was a sort of rigidity in his motions that was utterly un-Alfred, and reached Arthur’s chest like a stab.

Everything was falling apart.

Arthur wanted to console Alfred, but he didn’t know how except for pathetically sliding an arm around his shoulders. His younger brother leaned against him wordlessly.

Not long later, Aila and Francis came back. The latter’s eyes were suspiciously puffy, but his face had been washed from the tear-tracks and his hair tied back in a low pony-tail – sloppier that the ones Arthur had previously seen, but an improvement nonetheless.

Francis and Aila tried a couple of times to start a conversation, but their efforts fell flat as neither Alfred nor Arthur had it in themselves to pay attention to their words, let alone answer. The time washed over them with unbearable slowness, expanding in the too silent, sterile room. Ushered conversations started and ended at the nearby tables as nurses and doctors sometimes passed by, their rushed steps merging in the background noise. Instead of being calming, the silence and sterile smell were pressing over Arthur’s brain, closing off the walls of his throat. The only reason he didn’t start screaming or burst into tears was Alfred’s weight leaning against his side.

A corner of Arthur’s brain recognized the irony of the situation, but the rest was too occupied with not thinking to acknowledge it.

After what seemed centuries, Alfred suddenly jerked to his feet with a cry. His flailing elbow knocked the spoon on the floor, but nobody cared as four pairs of eyes focused on George’s quickly nearing form.

“Mattie’s going to be all right,” George announced before anybody could ask the question, the words rushing out of his mouth. “He… The accident was pretty bad, but he’s going to recover.”

Arthur found himself slumping against the chair, the tension he hadn’t been aware of until that moment washing away from his body. He could tell that there was something more serious, there was still some tension in George’s stance, but he didn’t think he was lying. While Arthur itched to know the details about Matthew’s condition, he knew that it probably wasn’t a good idea in front of Alfred.

Francis muttered something in French, exhaling in a way that sounded suspiciously close to a broken sob.

“Dad, I want to see Mattie!” Alfred cried out, a hint of desperation in his voice as his fists grabbed his father’s shirt.

George sighed before kneeling in front of his son, putting both hands on his shoulders.

“Now listen, Alfred: Mattie is going to be all right. I promise you that he is. However, he needs a lot of rest. It’s very important that he rests, this is why the doctors won’t let anybody except for me see him. And he’s sleeping right now, anyway. You wouldn’t be able to talk to him.”

“But I’ll be good!” Alfred protested desperately, his clenched hands trembling. “I’ll stay quiet and I won’t wake him up, I promise!”

George sighed.

“Alfred, I’m sorry…”

While his eyes were kind, his voice left no doubt over the fact his words were definitive.

For a moment Alfred stared at him, frozen, then, to Arthur’s horror, he started to curl up on himself, his shoulders trembling as a broken sob erupted from his lips.

“Alfred!”

Everybody moved towards him, but Arthur was the first to reach his younger brother, enveloping him in a strong hug. Alfred curled up against his chest. When George tried to touch him, he turned his head and buried it against Arthur’s shoulder.

“I want to see Mattie!” he wailed, hot tears soaking Arthur’s shirt. “Mama is dead, how do I know that Mattie is truly all right?! I need to see him!”

There was no comforting answer Arthur could offer him, he just hugged the trembling body tighter. Some people had stopped what were they doing, raising their heads to stare at them. An elderly woman sitting at the table right across them shook her head, Arthur didn’t know if it was out of pity or annoyance, but he didn’t care. He lowered his head and resolutely cut everything else off, focusing all his attention only on the small frame in his arms.

An exhausted sigh seeped through George’s lips, but he didn’t try to reach for Alfred anymore. Aila muttered something that Arthur didn’t understand, and their steps moved away, leaving Alfred alone with Arthur and Francis. When his cousin’s hand landed on his head, gently stroking his hair, Alfred didn’t shy away from the touch.

“I know that this is hard, but Matthieu is strong,” Francis murmured tenderly. “I want to be with him too, but right now… right now, the best we can do is let the doctors do their job.”

His features were so tight with grief that Arthur had to divert his eyes – but if Francis, in spite of having been close to Émilie, could manage to comfort Alfred, so could Arthur. He could try, at least.

“Do you hear this?” he murmured, pressing his lips close to Alfred’s hair. “You’re the Hero, aren’t you? Sometimes heroes have to make very difficult decisions.”

“I just want to be with Mattie…” Alfred sniffled, but at least he was listening.

Arthur tightened his hold around him.

“I know. But right now, you can’t. If you want to protect Matthew, you have to leave him to the doctors and listen to your father.”

Alfred nodded slowly, but he never stopped crying. When Aila and George returned a moment later, however, he raised his head.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffled, “I know I can’t come, Dad. Please take care of Mattie. And tell him I love him so much.”

George’s hand descended to ruffle his hair.

“I certainly will, sweetheart. But you can tell him yourself – tomorrow morning. Tomorrow Mattie is going to be better, and you’ll be allowed to see him. He might even wake up.”

Alfred managed a small smile at that, but it was so different from his usual ones that Arthur’s stomach clenched. Part of him wondered if he would ever see Alfred’s bright smiles again, but the thought was so painful that he immediately banished it.

Aila reached out to take Alfred’s hand, and the four of them left the hospital after George went away. Arthur would have wanted an update on Matthew’s conditions as well, but he couldn’t deny how much leaving the suffocating white corridors lifted a weight off his chest.

Alfred kept sniffling the entire time, and on the taxi, Aila took him on her knees and rambled over and over about how much she knew that it was difficult but Émilie had loved Alfred and she would have wanted him to be happy. She kept saying that Alfred wasn’t alone, that they would be with him. Arthur was having trouble concentrating on her words, his brain seemed numb, everything muffled. The only thing he could focus on was Alfred’s small hand, still clutching his one. It was trembling slightly, so Arthur’s hold had to be steady.

Aila’s words seemed to calm Alfred down until they reached his mother’s house – the place where they would spend the night. Staying there was the most logical choice, yet when Alfred’s eyes filled with tears as he looked around the house, the realization that he truly wasn’t going to see his mother again written in the silent, perfectly ordered rooms, Arthur wished that they could have rented a hotel room or an apartment somewhere else.

He expressed his concerns to his mother only to receive a tired shake of her head.

“I know that it might look like so… but it’s actually very important for Alfred to realized that his mother is truly gone. It’s— it’s hard, I know. And I know that you’re concerned for him and you’re trying to protect him, but… not thinking about it isn’t going to change what happened. I’m sorry…”

His stomach coiling with guilt, Arthur finally noticed the dark circles under his mother’s eyes, her tight features. He could only imagine which memories the events were stirring in her mind, yet she was being strong, single-handedly supporting two traumatized children (Francis might have been older than him, but after seeing his lost, tear-filled eyes, Arthur couldn’t think him as anything else). Arthur could try to help, at least.

He hovered close to Alfred for the rest of the time, trying to distract his brother with some light chatter and useless words of comfort. He did manage to make Alfred smile a couple of times, but the timid curling of his lips never reached his eyes.

After a dinner consisting of pizza that only Alfred truly ate, they all went to bed early, unable to stand any longer the heavy silence that permeated the house, seeping into their brains. Like the previous night, Alfred and Arthur slept in the same bed, and Alfred cried himself to sleep in his brother’s arms.

In the bathroom next door, the shower kept running for what seemed to be hours, unable to hide completely Francis’s loud sobs in the silence of the night. Arthur couldn’t sleep.

He was still wide awake when Francis came back (for once, Arthur hadn’t complained about sharing the room with him. Even Francis was one more person keeping away the crippling solitude that seemed to be creeping over everybody) but too numb and dazed to pretend to be sleeping.

Francis offered him a small smile in the dimly lit room.

“Is Alfred sleeping?” he asked, and at Arthur’s nod, he sighed. “Your mother told me what happened to Matthew. He has a lot of bruising, obviously, he broke three ribs and basically shattered his collarbone – painful and it will be slow to heal, but that alone wouldn’t be so serious. The problem is that one of the broken ribs punctured his spleen, so there was a lot of internal bleeding and they had to remove it. The spleen, I mean. And… your mother didn’t tell me this, but I think… I think they weren’t sure if he would survive, in the beginning. He’s still in the ICU, this is why only George was allowed to see him, but they will move him out tomorrow if nothing takes a turn for the worse.”

Arthur could do nothing but nod. He hadn’t even allowed himself to be worried about Matthew, his mind completely wrapped around Alfred, but knowing what was going on lifted a small weight from his chest. His breath had been caught in horror when Francis had listed Matthew’s injuries – they sounded horrible, especially for the frail body of a child of eight – but at least now he could know for sure that he was going to be all right.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Francis shook his head as he lay down on the mattress. There was a long moment of silence, Arthur had started thinking that Francis was already asleep when he spoke again.

“They had a doctor’s appointment. They were supposed to come back with lunch, I was waiting for them – and they never did. It was just – a moment. A drunk driver. And I was home, thinking that they had just been caught in the traffic…”

Francis’s breath hitched. Arthur wanted to say something – anything, but his mouth seemed frozen, and the moment was already broken.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you this, I’m just being overdramatic because I’m tired.” Francis’s voice sounded stiff. “I’d better sleep I guess. Goodnight.”

Without any other word, he turned on his side, giving his back to Arthur. No sound went past his lips, but Arthur could see his shoulders shaking in the moonlight. He clutched Alfred’s sleeping form close to him, his stomach churning with dread.

Arthur didn’t manage to get much sleep that night. When morning finally came, he was dazed and hollow, his mind could only concentrate on trying to provide to Alfred’s need.

Francis seemed to have recovered, smiling affably as he tried to lighten the atmosphere conversing with Aila, but after the previous night, Arthur was sure that it was a farce. He found himself admiring his acting abilities.

The breakfast and morning preparations went on in a rush, and soon they were back on a taxi, headed towards the hospital. Alfred kept bouncing his feet, his eyes bright with resolution at the thought of finally seeing his little brother. Recalling Francis’s words, Arthur couldn’t help but pray that Matthew was truly going to be all right – he wasn’t sure that Alfred could have taken it, otherwise.

For once, fate seemed to have decided to give them a bit of respite.

“Matthew is awake,” were the first words that seeped through George’s lips as soon as he saw his family. He hugged Alfred and Arthur and gave a quick kiss to Aila’s cheek. “He’s still quite groggy and he doesn’t know what happened, so you have to be careful, but—”

“So I can see him?!” Alfred interrupted him, almost vibrating on the spot, his eyes wide.

George nodded, his smile so wide that it almost seemed real – maybe it was, Arthur reasoned. Maybe the relief at seeing his younger son on the road to recovery could be enough to make him forget the rest for a while. There was still something Arthur didn’t like in the way George had worded his answer, but he didn’t have time to process it at the sheer mind-numbing relief that left his head spinning when George nodded.

While George and Aila stopped to talk with a doctor, Arthur, Francis, and Alfred were finally led to Matthew’s room by a middle-aged nurse with a tender smile.

“Now, Matthew is awake but he has been through a lot, all right?” she said as she stopped in front of the door. “So, you must not agitate him. He’s hooked up to a lot of stuff – it might look scary, but he needs that to recover. And he is recovering, I promise.”

The last words seemed to be directed at Alfred, who nodded solemnly.

“I won’t get scared,” he declared, looking at the nurse with unwavering eyes. “I just want to see Mattie.”

He almost sounded like an adult, and the nurse nodded, clearly convinced.

“All right then. But let me stress this one last time: he’s still quite confused. So, don’t ask him any questions or stress him in any way, try to keep him calm. I’ll be right here if anything happens.”

Arthur only vaguely registered her words, all he could think about as his stomach twisted and turned was what would lie behind the door she was opening.

Alfred immediately ran into the room, followed shortly by Francis. Arthur hesitated, suddenly feeling like an intruder. He had never even seen Matthew before aside from some pictures.

When Arthur finally gathered enough courage to step into the room, Alfred had already climbed on the bed next to his younger brother, murmuring sweet words as he gently stroked his hair and face. Arthur had never seen him like that, looking so tender and mature. Francis had stopped next to the bed, giving his back to Arthur.

And then there was Matthew. The sight of the child made Arthur’s chest clench. If he had looked small and slender in the pictures, now he was minuscule, drowned by the big bed. His skin was so pale that it almost looked translucent, barely darker than the white sheets around him, even his lips were devoid of any colour. His strawberry blond hair was spread over the pillow, framing his head in a shiny halo that reminded Arthur of a burial painting. The machinery connected to the small body didn’t certainly enforce an impression of vitality – small, twin tubes were attached to his nostrils, and IVs connected to bags with clear liquids were hooked to Matthew’s thin wrists. The scene made Arthur’s stomach coil – but Matthew was alive. His eyelids were fluttering, and the bloodless lips curled in a minute smile at Alfred’s words.

Hesitantly, Arthur walked closer to Francis.

“See, Mattie, I’m here, everything is going to be all right,” Alfred was rambling, “Just see, everything is going to be all right and I’m going to take care of you. You gave me such a scare, you know? But it’s all right. It’s going to be all right.”

In spite of the slight tremble in his voice, his hands were steady, his eyes focused.

Matthew seemed to be gaining awareness by seconds, the pupils in his half-open eyes struggling to focus.

“Al…?” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as a small crease appeared on his forehead. “Why…?”

“He came to see you, mon lapin,” Francis supplied helpfully, taking Matthew’s hand. “You got hurt. How are you feeling?”

Matthew blinked, his frown deepening.

“It hurts…” he mumbled, his words slightly less slurred than before. “What…”

He tossed his head from side to side, growing restless as awareness came back to him.

“Where’s Mama?” he asked, a note of fear in his voice that made Arthur’s chest clench.

Matthew’s lilac eyes fell on Arthur. He stared at him for a moment, uncomprehendingly, as Arthur tried to force his lips into a comforting smile. Matthew’s pupils widened in realization. Arthur had a moment to recognize the panic in his eyes before he burst into tears, a wail seeping through his lips.

Everything seemed to burst into motion at that – Alfred screamed as well, Francis called for the nurse who was already running into the room, but Arthur could only stare at Matthew’s scrunched face, the tears streaming down his cheeks, he couldn’t even breathe, the walls of his throat seemed to close off – and suddenly, hands were around his shoulders.

Arthur let himself be dragged away and out of the room. Before he could fully realize what had just happened, he found himself sobbing against his mother’s shoulder.

“It’s okay. Shh, it’s going to be all right. You were very good with Alfred until now, I’m sorry that I didn’t have more time to look after you…” Aila was saying, rubbing circles on his back.

Arthur sobbed even louder. It wasn’t all right. Everything was falling apart, and there wasn’t a single thing he could do to make it better.

Sometime later, after any emotion had been drained away from Arthur along with the tears, leaving him staring numbly at the floor, Francis came looking for him.

“Matthieu isn’t upset at you,” were his first words, and the pity in his eyes was so visible that Arthur had to divert his gaze. “Actually, he’s now feeling very sorry for causing that scene. It’s just… Matthieu is a very bright child. Apparently, he has some memories of the accident, and he knew that Tante Émilie would never allow you here, so seeing you… it could only mean one thing. But… now he’s very upset at upsetting you. He’s a very sweet child, you know…”

Arthur did know that. Probably even more than Francis himself. Biting back the tears, he got up and followed Francis to Matthew’s hospital room.

In spite of being barely awake, Matthew started apologizing and saying how delighted he was to meet Arthur, but Arthur couldn’t go past the way he had cried, he could barely concentrate on what was going on. He didn’t complain when they got kicked out of the room because Matthew needed to rest.

“It isn’t your fault,” Alfred declared immediately, “Matthew has actually wanted to meet you for the longest time. He’s just…”

He shrugged. Seeing his little brother seemed to have given him strength, but he was still a child who had just lost his mother. Arthur squeezed his hand.

“I’m not upset,” he lied, “I’m just sorry that all this needed to happen.”

“Well, it did,” Alfred murmured, sounding far older than he was. “And we gotta deal with it. And I’m going to take care of Mattie.”

The resolution in his voice made something strange stir inside Arthur’s chest.

And I’m going to take care of you while you do it.

He straightened up, gathering strength at the thought. He didn’t know how Alfred managed to be so positive – but he was still going to need Arthur. And Arthur was going to be there for him, and Matthew as well, for how long it might take.

The following days, Arthur didn’t see much of Matthew. The child spent most of the time sleeping, and when he didn’t, he was the real picture of politeness with Arthur – all smiles and nice words. But his eyes were empty, and his enthusiasm faked. He often just stared at the wall, looking lost somewhere far away.

Arthur knew that Matthew probably associated his presence with the trauma so he didn’t want him there, which was normal, but the knowledge didn’t stop the pain the pierced his chest. He thought that he had connected so much with Matthew over the letters… and now, the child was a closed box.

Luckily, Alfred seemed to be taking the recovery much better than Matthew. Or maybe it was Matthew’s apathy that spurred Alfred – Arthur couldn’t tell. Alfred had slowly gotten active again, and even if his eyes looked harder, sometimes his smile looked genuine. He was still clingier than usual, but Arthur didn’t mind. If he could do one single thing, he was happy to.

The day of Émilie’s funeral came a week later. Francis’s parents had finally been contacted and hurriedly left Nepal, and Matthew had been deemed well enough to get out of the hospital, even if he was still strongly debilitated.

The church was packed with people, mostly Émilie’s friends and colleagues from work, then some other relatives from Europe. Francis was sitting between his parents, his head resting on his mother’s shoulder, and George’s figure on the first row attracted stares, but the heads quickly turned away at the sight of Matthew, still weak from the injuries and painkillers, balanced on his hip. Alfred was sitting next to him, with Arthur on his other side.

He had refused to leave his little brother’s side and stay on a bench at the end of the church with his mother. He didn’t care about how ‘inappropriate’ it might be – George had to worry about Matthew, and Alfred needed his support. Nothing would change that, and when Alfred started sobbing against his shoulder while Marianne and after her other people talked on and on about what a wonderful and lively woman Émilie had been, Arthur knew that he had made the right choice.

The eulogies sounded strange. They all mentioned how active Émilie had been, what a wonderful person she was, painting her as an angel, but nobody mentioned Matthew, or how Arthur knew she would often leave her son alone, almost to fend for himself. Nobody mentioned how she had saved his life, either, shielding him from the broken glass that had killed her. Arthur found himself wondering if the Émilie everybody talked about existed at all – but she had loved Matthew, for all her flaws.

After the funeral, they all moved to the courtyard for a lavish reception – the epitome of hypocrisy, if one had to ask Arthur, but Alfred shook his head.

“Mama would have wanted it like this,” he declared with a small smile. “Mama would have wanted everybody to be happy.”

Arthur soon found himself under a gazebo with Francis, Alfred and Matthew, whom his father had had to finally put down to attend to his duty as a host. Matthew was leaning heavily against Alfred, his pain something beyond tears. Arthur knew that the adults were concerned because, while always polite and receptive to everybody’s questions, he didn’t seem to be reacting, and after he had been taken off the IV he had never truly started eating unless he was forced to.

He seemed almost dead, the contrast with the vitality Arthur remembered from the letters made his stomach clench. So, he did the only thing he could do: he tried taking Matthew’s mind off the present.

He had found Bridge to Terabithia on Matthew’s side-table when exploring his room, and it was oddly fitting. Matthew didn’t react at first when Arthur started reading – but soon, a spark of interest seemed to light his eyes. Both him and Alfred shifted, bending closer to Arthur. He took note of it, but he never stopped reading.

He didn’t stop when Francis came closer, or when with a knowing smile he sat next to Matthew and started feeding his younger cousin apple slices. Completely engrossed in the tale, Matthew automatically accepted the food and chewed on it without protesting.

Arthur kept reading even when his throat started hurting, barely stopping to take a sip of water, because something wonderful had happened: a small smile had curled Matthew’s lips. Arthur couldn’t have wanted anything better.

Aila and George found them still sitting there at the end of the reception, when Arthur’s throat was so dry and scratchy that it almost felt on fire. As George took him in his arms, however, Matthew offered Arthur a small smile that did reach his eyes – sad instead of dull.

“Thank you,” he murmured shyly, “That was beautiful.”

At that moment, as Alfred reached to take his hand, Arthur suddenly knew that he was going to do it. It was going to be hard – but Matthew was as much his little brother as Alfred was, and Arthur was going to take care of him.

(word count: 10,769)

———

Notes:

Émilie Williams in an OC (but she’s very loosely based on Nyo!America). She’s the daughter of a French Canadian and a British Canadian (hence her English surname) but she was raised in Quebec.

Marianne Bonnefoy is Émilie’s older sister and she’s inspired to Nyo!France. She’s 8 years older than her sister, she attended a boarding high school in France and built her life in France after that. She eventually met and married Francis’s father (Pierre Bonnefoy, an OC).

The first book Arthur chose for Matthew is a real book. I remember that I liked it a lot when I was a child, it had this kind of melancholic atmosphere but the end was very sweet… I can’t remember the name or the author, however, and I don't have access to that book at the moment.

Why I have changed Lithuania’s name from ‘Toris’ to ‘Tolys’. [x]

English isn’t my first language, I apologize for any mistake. Feel free to let me know if you spotted anything!

Thanks to the people who liked the previous chapter, and a special thanks to @headphonemaiden, @ono-its-ryane, @tru-dat and @verymemeingfulart for reblogging it! (also, @notice-me-hetasenpai if you want to reblog this?)

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