APH America One Shots

Last Angst Fic Before Happy Stuff Resumes

"He never loved me."

Matthew eyed the empty bottles thrown haphazardly across the room, and back again to
his brother slumped against the wall. It was an
unusual sight to say the least. Alfred didn't get
drunk.

Or least to the point where he was barely
functioning. He had always been the more
paranoid of the two, the one who talked about the
dangers of letting his guard down.

It was sad in a way, really.

"He likes me, sure," Alfred continued, talking
more to himself than anyone else. Matthew
wasn't even sure he knew he was there. "Likes
who I am, likes the man I turned out to be. Likes
the idea of me as a son."

Matthew's eyebrows shot up in surprise at that.
He thought his brother was talking about a
friend, a lover maybe. Not...this.

"I think he liked raising me. I think he liked-"
Alfred sighed, banging his head against the wall.
"Liked the earlier days, being my big brother,
liked how it felt not having to be alone anymore.
Having someone to take care of, you know? I
think he liked the thought of saving me from the
same loneliness he felt or some other bullshit
excuse like that."

Alfred nudged a piece of glass on the floor, idly
swishing the liquid in his bottle back and forth. "I
think he needs me, but I don't think he loves me."

What was the right response to that? 'Sorry you
feel like that' or 'Grow up and stop whining about
the past'? Both sounded right and horribly wrong
at the same time. This was something deeper,
deeper than Matthew could possibly understand
He wasn't really sure how he felt about that.

Another thing Alfred and Arthur shared that he
would never get to be a part of.

As for now, the only thing Matthew could really
think was 'holy shit'. He'd always known Arthur
hadn't really cared about him, or at least loved
him deep enough, in a way that never had to have
excuses for it to be known. But he'd
thought...he'd thought if Arthur could find it in
his heart to ever love anyone, that, well, it would
be Alfred.

"But I can't hate him," Alfred said. "I mean, I love
him. He's my dad. But he doesn't, doesn't, love
me back."

Alfred finally looked up at Matthew, eyes glazed
over, but still analyzing Matthew in a way that
made him squirm. "Don't think he ever loved me
back, but you. I think he loved you at some point.
Maybe still does. You're Matthew after all. Sweet,
wonderful, perfect Matthew, the golden child,"
Alfred spat. "Everyone loves you, and they hate
me."

And suddenly Matthew's throat was so painfully
constricted, he briefly wondered if he swallowed
glass. It was unsettling seeing his brother look at
him with so much anger, borderline hate. Except
that wasn't right, it was Matthew who should be
angry, not the other way around. Alfred didn't
have that right. Alfred who had everything.

Right?

Ignoring his brother's internal turmoil, Alfred
continued his rant no longer paying attention to
him. "He loved that damned pedal stool, the one
he put me on, show me off to the world as his
best creation." Bitter smile hard with empty
amusement, he raised a half-empty bottle.
"Alfred Kirkland, best damn soldier there ever
was."

Matthew wanted to sock him in the jaw, or flat
out run away. He did neither.

Alfred tried to take another swig, but his hands
didn't seem to want to cooperate with each other,
and he fumbled with both hands until he
dropped the bottle altogether. It was sad, really,
to see him reduced to this.

And Matthew watched, helplessly, as his little
brother started to cry.

"I just don't get it, Mattie." Alfred rubbed a hand
against his eyes in an attempt to stop the tears. "Why doesn't he love me? What did I do wrong?"

Alfred was much, much too out of it to care about
platitudes, which was a small mercy since
Matthew had none to give. So instead, he sat on
the floor besides his brother. And before he could
even attempt the hesitantly reach out with an
awkward one-armed hug, Alfred tipped over and
slumped against him, clumsy hands grabbing at
his jacket.

"I love you, Mattie," Alfred muttered into the
fabric. "Love you so, so much, and I'm sorry
Arthur doesn't love us."

Matthew wrapped his arms around him in what
had to be the weakest, shittiest hug ever. He
couldn't even remember a time when they'd
properly hugged each other. They were more the
type to insult each other, hit each other, or maybe
awkwardly say they loved each other before
conveniently having to leave at the same time.

"Hey," Alfred said, face brightening. "At least you
got other people who love you. Got the whole
world. Lucky, lucky you." He chuckled. "You're
not the only one who wants to switch places."

Matthew choked on a laugh-sob. "Sure, Al, if you
say so."

Alfred looked troubled for all of three seconds
before he forgot his train of thought completely.
"This jacket makes you comfy. Like a comfy
leather couch. I'm gonna take a nap and you can't
stop me."

"Okay," Matthew said, for lack of a better response.

It was only after he heard his brother's soft breathing that he let himself begin to cry.