Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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He ran up to Arthur. Dad. The Brit poring over a bubbling pot. No doubt concoctingsomething hideous. Otherwise known as dinner.
“Dad! Dad!” Alfred cried, tugging at Arthur’s sleeve.
“Yes, what is it?” Arthur murmured distractedly.
“I needs a nother band-aid.”
“I need, Alfred. No s.”
“Why do you need a band-aid? I’m the one bleeding here!” Alfred held up his elbow for emphasis.
Tearing his gaze away from the stove, Arthur quirked one, giant eyebrow. Behind him, Francis discreetly added a few spices into the stew.
“What? Still?”
“Yeah… You’ve been bleeding forever!” Matthew piped up, clutching unto Arhtur’s pant leg.
Arthur and Alfred jumped.
“Hey! When did you get here?!” Alfred yelled, pointing an accusing finger.
“Inside voices, Alfred.” Arthur reprimanded.
“I’ve been here before you came in! I’ve been helping Papa ‘help’ Dad!” Matthew shouted back.
“The same goes for you Matt-Hey, wait a minute!” Glancing over his shoulder, sure enough, Arthur caught Francis red-handed. Literally. The French man in the middle of sprinkling paprika.
“Busted…” The twins chorused.
“Th-There-There is a very good explanation for this…?” Francis offers feebly.
Arthur’s eye twitches. “You don’t trust me to cook dinner. Do you, Francis?”
“N-N-Non, non! O-O-Of course not, m-mon cherie!” Francis held up his hands defensively. The bottle of paprika mysteriously disappearing. “N-N-Non! I swear! …Oui, maybe a little.”
“I knew it! Gitface, you are sleeping outside tonight!”
“Be reasonable! I was merely doing it in self-defense!”
“Self-defense?! I’m cooking dinner!”
“My point exactly. Chemical warfare.”
Arthur cracked his knuckles. Francis slapping his hands over his mouth.
But it was too late…
“I dare you to say that again!” Arthur lunged forward.
“Mon dieu!” Francis yelped, falling to the floor.
“Hey! Daaaad! What about my band-aid?!” Alfred cried, joining the fray.
Matthew whimpered, huddling in the corner with his teddy. Cowering in fear until his over-zealous brother pulled him into the fight.
Ah, family bonding. And to think. That happened but a mere month ago. It already felt like another lifetime.
Francis sighed.
How could this happen? Why them? Why… Why Alfred?
Was it his fault?
Was there some way he could’ve prevented all this? Kept him safe?
Of all the things that could happen. Why to his son?!
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But entering his house… No matter how horrible or how tiring or simply how frustrating his work was… His spirits were always lifted when he walked through the door.
He would proudly announce his return. And not shortly after, the pitter patter of little feet would resound through the house. Alfred and Matthew tearing down the hallway and jumping into his open arms.
Their excited smiles and tender embrace was more than enough to brighten his mood. Always.
“Welcome home, Papa.” They would say. And Francis felt absolutely loved.
Then his husband would yell at him for being late. Before grudgingly kissing him on the cheek. Invoking sounds of protests from their little boys.
That day, however… No little boys came running.
Only Matthew toddling up to him. Sadly, almost somber. And clutching unto his shoulder like his life depended upon it.
He sent a questioning glance at Arthur. The man’s work as a writer allowing him to spend an ample amount of time at home.
His husband could only frown and lead him to the twins’ room.
Alfred was on the bed. Cocooned in the sheets. Fast asleep.
“He’s been like that all day.”
The boy had no energy. After a few minutes at play, Alfred immediately got tired. Opting instead to curl up in bed. And sleep.
And no matter how hard Matthew urged him. Nearly begging him to get up.
Alfred just simply… couldn’t.
Francis was worried by the sudden change in his son. Especially when such behaviour continued the next day. And the next day. And the next day.
Matthew even ended up crying. His tears a mixture of fear and frustration at his listless brother.
And if Francis thought it couldn’t get worse.
It did.
Alfred’s hacking coughs were painful to here. Even more painful to see. As the poor boy was nearly bent double. The coughs shaking his tiny, tiny body.
His frame had been chubby. Baby fat rounding his cheeks.
But now…
Alfred was so thin. So thin. His features were gaunt. His eyes deep set. It was obvious that the boy had lost a lot of weight.
It didn’t help that he could barely keep anything down.
And he was so pale. His sun-kissed skin a thing of the past. Leaving but a ghost of his former self. A shadow.
It was heart-breaking.
Alfred, the epitome of cheer and laughter. Brimming with Life, a quality so uniquely his.
It hurt. To see him lying on that bed. So unresponsive. So…
No, Francis would not think it.
“Papa… What’s wrong with Alfred? Papa? Papa?” Matthew would inquire. Burying his face into his Papa’s chest.
“Papa doesn’t know, mon lapin.” Papa doesn’t know.
Francis barked out a bitter chuckle.
Well. They certainly knew now. God did they know.
His laughter faded. As sobs spilled from his chest.
Why God, why? Why us?! Why him?!! You brought him to our arms, only to take him away? Why?!
Alfred had leukemia.
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Apologizes deeply for fail chapter and late update. Once I finish one of my stories. I should be making headway with all my kin meme fills!
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I don't and do want to read the next chapter
It strikes me deep
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But as much as I don't want to find out what happens next....I do. >_<;;;
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;A; Poor Francis!! OMG POOR AL!!! Poor Matt and Arthur!!!! What will they do now!? Oh!
Anon, this is just...wow. Really it is. I cannot wait to see how this will unfold
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