Chapter Text
Two words sparked something inside of him.
"You fat-ass, aru." muttered Yao in disgust, sick of how Alfred continued to ramble on about his beloved hamburgers, and how the school didn’t have jack shit on McDonald’s.
Normally Alfred would laugh it off and say, "The hero's ass is supple, not fat!" and he did, much to no one's amusement.
But then something similar happened again in Geography. "Like, seriously Alfred, you like, totally need to keep the food out of your head. You’ll start to get… fat." Feliks shuddered, seeing the little milkshakes and fries Alfred had been doodling in his notebook. Al flushed a little and put the notebook away.
At lunch he eyed his burger thoughtfully. Usually, he would have eaten about four of them
by now, but today was not a usual day. Around him the usual group of assholes ate and chatted amiably, like there wasn’t a care in the world.
Across the table, Matthew swallowed a bit of his drink. He raised an eyebrow at his oddly silent twin. Always the intuitive one of the two, he asked in his quiet voice. "Is everything alright, Al?"
Alfred, for once, heard him. "Huh? Oh yeah, Mattie, just fine." He said, flashing a bright smile. (It was fake, noted Matthew, who, being the generally more intelligent one of the two, could tell.)
'He has great acting skills,' thought the confused Canadian, 'but why is he using them?'
Everyone at the table ceased conversation and stared as Alfred abruptly stood up and dumped
his uneaten burger in the trash. He left the cafeteria, hands in his pockets, without looking
back.
Francis turned to Arthur, just as confused as everyone else (well, everyone else who bothered to care, anyway.)
"But he loves his hamburgers, non? Perhaps he has decided to stop being such a glutton!" he
scoffed.
Arthur felt a weird twisting sensation in his gut, and smacked Francis. "Mind your own
business, frog." he said, pursing his lips disdainfully.
However, he wasn’t terribly good at hiding the concern in his tone.
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Alfred scuffed his Sketchers against the curb of the sidewalk as he walked home alone.
'Another day, another hoard of insults.' he thought dejectedly. This time one had been "Argh,
dummkopf! It's not that difficult to understand!" from a frustrated Ludwig in biology. He had
only been repeating the same question over and over, because he didn’t understand anything except that the mitochondria was the powerhouse of the cell. But what the heck was the difference between meiosis and mitosis?
Al thought, afterwards, 'He's right. I am an idiot.' Why was he so damn stupid? Ludwig had
been trying to help him and he just wouldn’t get it. He stayed after for extra help on the subject, and received barely any more patience from the teacher than Ludwig had given.
When Alfred told Matthew not to wait up for him on the bus, and, upon explaining the reason,Matthew had eyed him skeptically. However, he only said, "Good for you, Alfred." and went on his way.
Reaching into his pocket, Alfred found his house key wasn't there. Groaning, he went to knock on the door and paused. No one would be home yet, Mom and Dad were at work, and Mattie-
Oh. Mattie was home.
Alfred wanted to curl up into a ball and cease to exist. He couldn't even remember his brother. They had shared a womb for nine months, and he couldn't remember his own brother. He decided that he didn't deserve to interrupt Matthew from whatever he was doing, probably homework, so he shrugged off his jacket and backpack before pulling out a notepad.
Hey Mattie-
I need to go for a walk. You can leave my backpack outside, dude. Tell Kumajirou I left him some fish in Area 48. He'll know what that means.
-Alfred F. Jones.
He had almost written "The hero" in there before the scathing comments made their way into the front of his mind. The comments had almost always gone in one ear and out the other, but now the memories rang in his head as clear as day.
"Alfred, stop it with the hero nonsense!"
"Shut up, aru!"
"Alfred-san, please be quiet."
Okay, so the last one had been more of a polite request than anything, but it still implied the same thing: everyone hated him.
Well, he didn't hate himself!
…Right?
The American stood up and pasted the note to the door with a smiley sticker. He truly couldn’t see why people hated him.
'Oh, sure you don't.' said a nasty little voice in his head. Alfred took off at a brisk pace down his street.
'You're fat, stupid, ugly, and your ego inflates your already thick skull! You can't hold a conversation without bragging about how 'heroic' you are, even though you've never done anything remotely heroic in your entire life!'
'That's not true!' he protested- against himself? 'There was that one time I-'
But his mind drew a blank, and the little evil Alfred laughed.
After several minutes of walking, he found himself sitting on a bench in a nearby park for a long time, deep in thought, doubting himself. There was a slight sound to his left and a person sat next to him, which he didn't entirely notice until they spoke.
"Hello, Alfred." said a very familiar voice.
He looked up, surprised. There was Arthur. "Oh, hey man." He glanced up; shocked when he saw the sun had set long ago. He shivered, and for the first time he realized how cold he was without his beloved bomber jacket, which was still on the porch at home.
Speaking of which, his parents were probably having a heart attack right now, wondering where on earth he was, while Matthew tried to calm them down. He cursed himself internally and made to get up and leave- but realized it would be rude of him to just get up and leave Arthur there. Arthur was his best friend after all- wasn’t he? Alfred was suddenly filled with more doubts. It was true, Arthur often had time to spare a snooty criticism of Alfred’s less than healthy habits, but the two of them were thicker than thieves. Right? It occurred to Alfred, with no small amount of shame, that he actually didn’t even know that much about the bushy-browed fellow.
While he wrestled with this internal dilemma, his body was suddenly encased in warmth and he looked up at the Briton again in surprise.
Arthur just shrugged, stood up, and extended his hand.
'He’s too nice,' thought Alfred miserably, accepting the hand nonetheless.
"I'll walk you home." said Arthur.
Al just nodded.
They walked in silence, the only sound being their footsteps against the pavement and the distant rumble of the highway. Arthur peered at Alfred out of the corner of his eye. There seemed to be something on his mind, but if he wanted to talk about it, he certainly would have done so by now.
Wanting to start a conversation anyways, he said, "So, why were you half-frozen on a park bench at eight o'clock at night?"
Alfred sighed and shrugged, pulling Arthur's jacket closer around his shoulders. He inhaled unconsciously, breathing in the calming scent of Earl Grey tea.
"I was just going out for a walk and lost track of time." he said.
Arthur raised one over-sized eyebrow. "Oh? And how long were you sitting there?"
Alfred scratched the back of his head, thinking. "I dunno. I got home at around four." he said.
Arthur looked up at him in surprise, but, upon sensing Alfred’s discomfort, didn’t push the subject any further.
They turned onto the American's street. When they walked up the steps, Alfred saw that his jacket, backpack, and note were gone. He shook off Arthur's coat a bit reluctantly.
"Thanks for walking me, Artie." Alfred said in false cheeriness, but sincere gratitude.
Too worried to correct the American for using that dreadful nickname, he merely bid his farewell and went on his way.
Hopefully Alfred would snap out of this phase of his soon.
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Alfred shut the door quietly behind him and turned around to face his mother. He did his best to ignore her, making for his bedroom. She cleared her throat as he began walking up the stairs.
"Where have you been, mister?"
He paused. "Out and about."
After a pause she sighed; the tone of his voice told her that he wasn't going to elaborate. "Alright, just- keep your cell phone on you next time."
He nodded. "Night, mom." he said.
"Good night, honey."
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One morning, Alfred woke up positively ravenous. His mouth watered at the scent of pancakes wafting up from the kitchen below. He jumped out of bed, a huge grin on his face, before he remembered why he was so hungry in the first place. Memories again flooded his mind, and his grin faded.
"Fat."
"Ugly."
"Stupid."
"CAN'T YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT?!"
And the truth was, he realized, that he couldn't, in fact, do anything right.
Suddenly losing his appetite, Alfred sat back down on his bed. The excited shout of "PANCAKES!" died on his tongue. He didn't deserve to eat.
When Matthew came into Alfred's room ten minutes later, the latter was lying on his bed in his boxers, hand behind his head and staring at the ceiling.
"Al? Are you going to eat something and get dressed?" he asked softly.
"Mmm? Nah, I don't feel so good today, Mattie, I'm not going to school." he murmured.
The Canadian blinked. "Oh, alright. Feel better, eh? We have a test tomorrow." he said.
Alfred just gave a noncommittal grunt and went back to his self-loathing.
As Matthew shut the door behind him he thought, 'He really doesn't look that great. I hope he gets better soon.'
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Arthur tapped his foot anxiously, mentally begging the bell to hurry up. After seeing Alfred's twin brother arrive at school alone, his mind had switched into overprotective mother mode. He had to confront- oh, what was his name? Marcus? Malcolm? Matt? Ah, yes, Matthew.
He needed to know where Alfred was, and WHY THIS BLOODY BELL WAS MOVING SO SLOWLY.
=BEEEEP=
"Finally," muttered Arthur, putting his stuff away and making his way to the cafeteria. It took a minute to actually locate the Canadian- he was just so hard to spot! - and found him in the middle of the so-called “Bad Touch Trio”, blushing furiously. They all appeared to be fighting around him- “Oh, brother.” he sighed irritably when he realized what was happening, and it certainly wasn’t fighting.
In a rare moment of the three nitwits noticing Matthew, Francis was trying to grope him, Gilbert was flirting with him, and Antonio was reaching over him to grab a tomato from Lovino.
"Matthew," he stated uncertainly.
"Oh, hey Arthur!" The Canadian looked quite relieved to see him, and pried Francis' wandering hands off his chest and thigh. The Frenchman pouted.
"Look, if you're wondering where Alfred is, he's at home, sick or something." Matthew said, as if reading Arthur’s mind.
"Sick?" echoed Arthur, the thought foreign to him. Alfred came to school every day if he could, except for the rare occasion when he got really sick and his mother had to physically force him into bed. So it must be pretty bad, he fretted.
"Well, he looked all pale and he had circles under his eyes. He hasn't been acting right lately, either." said Matthew. He creased his brow. He couldn’t fathom what could possibly be wrong with his brother.
Arthur released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "Oh. Alright, then. If he's feeling better later, tell him I'll be dropping off his homework for him.
The both knew very well that Matthew could have gotten Alfred's homework for him, but eh, whatever. Matthew wasn’t one to pry.
"Alright-” and then his attention was grabbed by an insistent self-proclaimed Prussian- “yes, Gilbert, I do know why the Gilbird crossed the road."
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Arthur knocked on the door of the Jones' house. Matthew answered it. "Come in, Arthur. Al's feeling alright, if you want to go up." he said. Arthur nodded and made his way up to Alfred's room, waving at Mr. Jones in the kitchen on his way, and knocked on the door.
"Come on in." muttered a tired voice. The Brit did so.
'Okay, this is NOT Alfred's room,' was his first thought. It was so… tidy. There were no random articles of clothing strewn about. The pictures and posters adorning the walls were straight.
The boy on the bed… didn’t seem like Alfred, but it undoubtedly was. "Hello." said Arthur, still a bit flabbergasted by what his eyes were showing him.
Al looked up, his normally electric blue eyes dull. "Hey, Artie."
The Brit cleared his throat, awkward for the first time in his best friend's presence. "I brought you your homework." he said. 'Lame.' he thought, mentally berating himself for that wonderful greeting. He placed the papers neatly down on Alfred's organized (!) desk.
"Thanks dude. You can sit, if you want." He gestured to the clear chair.
Arthur obliged. After a moment he asked softly, "How are you feeling, Al?"
The former waved his hand dismissively and managed an insincere half-smile. "I've got a headache, nothing bad, really-"
"No, I meant emotionally." interrupted Arthur.
When he was greeted with silence he went on. "Lately you've been quieter, eating less, thinking more- and cut the bull, we know there's nothing physically wrong with you today. Your brother knows it, too. Not to mention the fact you haven't mentioned how heroic you are once in the past week."
Had it really been a week? Alfred couldn't remember the past few days; hadn't he walked home with Arthur from the park only yesterday? "Artie, what day is it today?" he asked suddenly.
Arthur, caught off guard by this abrupt and completely off-topic question, blinked. "Thursday. Why?" he asked.
Alfred counted back. It had been a Monday when he decided all his imperfections needed to be put to rest. Where had he been this past week?
Noting Alfred spacing out- finally, something normal- Arthur snapped his fingers, jerking the American out of his daze.
"What? Oh, yeah. I'm fine Artie, calm your tits. The hero's always fine!" he said.
'Well, that certainly is more like it.' thought Arthur. But something seemed… off. The smile didn't entirely reach his eyes and his cheeriness seemed forced.
"Al, remember there are always people who care a lot about you. You know you can tell me anything." said Arthur gently, placing his hand on Alfred's ankle.
Alfred sighed and removed his glasses. He rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I know Artie. Thanks again for bringing my homework." 'If I ever get around to doing it,' he thought dully.
Arthur got up, and, not knowing what else to say, pat Alfred's leg, and went to leave the room. He bit his lip and paused in the door frame. "I do care for you Alfred, I really do." he said softly, before leaving.
A single tear rolled down Al's face. "Don't lie, dude." he whispered.
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Alfred whimpered inaudibly and clutched his stomach. He glanced at the clock. Eleven minutes until lunch time; his lunch consisted of a granola bar. Even that much was a lot for him lately.
'How pathetic are you? Can't even go three days without food?' taunted the little voice in his head. That controlling voice that he HAD to listen to or he would get fat again. Horribly, disgustingly fat.
He needed to reach his version of perfection. He owed it to the people around him- the people that supposedly cared for him- to be perfect.
Appetite lost, he discreetly threw the granola bar in the trash as the bell rang and made his way to the cafeteria. He sat down at the usual table, silent yet again. No one else had been quite right around him since Alfred first 'recognized' their 'criticism.'
"Ve~ Alfred, aren't you going to eat anything?" Feliciano asked innocently, sitting between Ludwig and Kiku. Alfred laughed and scratched the back of his head. It had become a nervous tick of his to do that.
"I forgot to pre-pay for lunch this week." he said automatically. The little voice in his head praised him for this fast excuse.
"You don't always have to pre-pay, aru. Here, I'll lend you some-" began Yao.
Alfred, in a sudden moment of remembrance, snapped his fingers and sat up, rummaging through his pocket for something. A minute later, he pulled out a fat envelope. He handed it to Yao with a tired smile. "Here's that cash I owe you from that one time…" he trailed off. There had been many times Yao had lent him a few bucks here and there. It was a hefty amount, hence the fatness of the envelope.
Yao numbly took it, surprised. He honestly thought he'd never get that money. "Thanks, Alfred."
Alfred flashed a genuine smile, and the table relaxed a bit.
Arthur, who had witnessed this very strange exchange, had a feeling deep in his gut that something was very, very wrong.
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Alfred turned his test over automatically. 'After all that work, and just a B+,' he thought bitterly.
Arthur was confused. "Alfred, that's an excellent grade!" he said encouragingly.
The American sighed. "Oh well, I'll just do better next time."
He knew he'd have to eat less and work harder. He had been studying nonstop, doing almost nothing else day after day after school.
Mr. and Mrs. Jones were becoming increasingly worried due to Alfred's solitude. He hardly ever came down for meals, and when he did, he never ate anything.
He was definitely losing weight, but kept his bomber jacket on at all times until he reached perfection. Couldn’t have anyone seeing his fat rolls until they had been pulled into taught, firm skin. What perfection was, he wasn't sure of yet, but he would know when he got there.
The little voice in his head was praising and critical, helpful and patronizing. "Don't tell, never tell," was that number one rule, never to be broken. On some level Alfred knew others would disapprove of what he was doing to himself, but the voice merely scoffed when he thought about it.
'They would just be jealous of you Alfred, jealous of what we have. You're going to be perfect and they won't. You are going to make them wish they were you.'
Because Alfred kept that same jacket on at all times, no one noticed his extreme weight loss yet.
'At least they don't call me fat and a pig anymore,' he thought.
'It's not enough! They must compliment you, must worship your body!' scolded the voice.
So Alfred kicked up his already intense exercising. He would not come out of this a twig, he would be strong.
In gym the next day, he was happy to find his shorts were much too large. He glanced up at Yao, biting his lip. He really didn't want to do this, but…
"Hey, man, got an extra pair of shorts I can borrow?" he asked sheepishly.
Yao blinked. He looked down and, indeed, Alfred's shorts were falling off his hips. "Yeah, here aru." the petite Chinese boy passed over a red pair of shorts.
"Thanks, I'll bring them home and wash them." said Alfred, slipping them on. They fit nicely.
Yao blinked again. "You really don't have to-"
"But I want to." interrupted Alfred. 'No need to pass on my filth.'
He studied the American for a moment. "Alright, whatever."
They headed to the gym together. Alfred was positively ecstatic at his high quality performance in their dodge ball game. He permitted himself to act almost normal again, cheering when he hit people, and cheering others when they hit people, too.
Ludwig threw a quick snake-eyes in Alfred's direction and he reached out to catch it when he was hit with a wave of dizziness and stumbled, the ball hitting him right in the crotch.
There were a few "Ooh, that's got to hurt." from both sides, and even Ludwig himself looked a bit guilty.
Alfred paid them no heed and sank to his knees, half in pain (seriously, a rubber dodgeball thrown by a burly German right in the vital regions? Come on.) and half because his world was spinning violently.
Why was his vision so fuzzy? Was the floor supposed to tilt at this angle towards his face?
He heard something that distinctly sounded like "Alfred, can you hear me?"
He was so tired… so very, very sleepy… The world around him was warm, like blood.
"Al?"
But blood was red, and this was black darkness.
"Alfred-"
"Someone get the nurse!"
Why was everything so heavy?
"Oh my god-"
"Call 911!"
"No, he'll be alright- get water-"
There was a dark abyss at the very edge of his consciousness and he was suddenly terrified he'd fall into it. Float towards the fog, the murkiness- better to feel nothing than to be nothing-
Something moved his body- which he felt oddly detached from, and didn't know if he liked it or not- and water was suddenly tossed on his face.
Alfred was pulled out of the darkness so abruptly it left him reeling. He sputtered and coughed, trying to sit up, unable to see anything, panicking-
"Easy there, Jones." said Coach Hedervary. He blinked a few times, waiting for his vision to come back into focus. His heart was pounding hard. Someone handed him his glasses and he took them gratefully. A small crowd had formed around him.
He immediately felt defensive. All their eyes were boring into him, judging him, hating him- the whispers were suddenly all he could hear, he was drowning in all of this-
"Can you stand up?" asked the coach, interrupting his train of thought. Alfred nodded and shakily got to his feet.
"What are you all staring at?" he snapped. They all quickly backed up, wide-eyed, unused to Alfred's scowl.
"Go to the nurse and lay down for a bit." said Coach Hedervary. Alfred nodded but stumbled a bit on his way to the door. "Kirkland, go with him- make sure he doesn't pass out on the way." she ordered, tapping said Brit on the shoulder. Arthur had the strange image of a frying pan fly through his mind and hurried after Alfred, just in case that frying pan happened to be real or something.
Arthur went up to the American and draped Alfred’s arm around his shoulder. "What happened in there, Alfred?" he demanded.
Al wasn't entirely coherent yet and just shrugged. "Let's see what the nurse says." His voice was a little slurred. Arthur’s alarm was growing, but he merely nodded.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Arthur helped Alfred through the door and lay him down gently on a nearby cot. The nurse asked Arthur to step aside after he explained to her what happened.
A few minutes later she came out and smiled at Arthur. "He'll be alright, Mr. Kirkland. He must have just gotten dehydrated or something. Would you mind telling his brother what happened? He's passed out." she said. Indeed, Alfred was snoring on the cot, and Arthur felt a smile creep its way out despite himself.
Arthur nodded. "Of course." Just as he turned to leave, a voice murmured from the cot.
"Artie..."
He turned to Alfred. He was still out cold; he must be sleep talking. Arthur blushed a cherry red. Why on earth was Alfred saying his name in his sleep? His chagrin faded when he really took in Alfred's appearance from afar.
Now that he wasn’t wearing his bomber jacket, it was clear to see that his normally pleasantly plump cheekbones were sharp and angular, as were his shoulders. His hair and eyes had lost their shine; Nantucket looked flat. Not to mention his skin was so pale, it had completely lost its golden tan.
Something was indeed not right with him. Arthur determined then that when his friend awoke he would get a stern talking to until Alfred caved and told him what was happening.
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Alfred groaned, clutching his stomach in agony. He was so hungry…
In a way, he was proud of himself for having so much self-control and willpower. Never had he gone so long without eating. His abdomen growled weakly for food, pleading with him to make it stop and just eat already…
It never occurred to him there was such a thing as too much restraint, and that eventually, something was bound to explode.
He returned the clean shorts to Yao on Monday. Of course, by then, Arthur had all the rumors that had been passed along in speculating whispers about what happened to Al straightened out- another thing he had to be grateful to the Brit for. Arthur had been so busy stopping people from spreading the lies that he had forgotten to hound Alfred for the details of the truth.
Yao looked very disgruntled- he, too, had began to look at Alfred more closely- and he didn't like what he saw. "Thank you, aru."
"No prob." grinned Alfred, his pale skin stretching unflatteringly over his pointy cheeks.
Yao frowned.
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Kiku knocked on Alfred's door, and the shouts of three different men came from inside; "I'm cleaning!" "Playing video games!" and "Studying!"
Finally there was an exasperated sigh and Mrs. Jones opened the door. She smiled cheerily when she saw who it was. "Oh, hello Kiku! You're here right on time. Alfred's upstairs, I'll go get him- please do come in-" she rambled, herding the small Japanese boy inside.
"Thank you." He said. Alfred came downstairs a moment later.
"Yo, Kiku, my man! Brought those new video game demos?" Alfred’s smile was painfully big.
Kiku blinked. This was… fake, somehow. "I'm good, Alfred-san. And you?" he asked politely.
He shrugged. "I'm awesome, the hero is always awesome!"
They both knew it wasn't true.
"Not as awesome as Gilbert," mumbled Matthew, walking past Alfred to the kitchen. Alfred frowned.
"Stay away from him, Mattie." he said sharply. Mrs. Jones tutted at him.
"Now now, Al. Your brother is more than capable of making his own decisions." she said, smacking him on the bottom with a towel. Al stuck his tongue out at her.
"Would you like to play the games now?" Kiku asked timidly, holding up his demos. Alfred nodded, a little too enthusiastically.
Matthew came back with some chips. "Hey, Kiku, got three-player on those?" he asked.
Kiku nodded. "Want to play?"
Matthew shrugged. "Sure."
Alfred fist-pumped the air. "Aw, yeah! Prepare to be beaten, Mattie! HAHAHAHA!" Everything that came out of his mouth was so forced that Kiku was beginning to regret coming over.
The Canadian rolled his eyes and followed his twin into the living room, Kiku in pursuit as well.
*Six hours later*
"Ha ha! Maybe next time you guys will be able to beat the awesome heroic me!" laughed Alfred as he led Kiku to the door.
Kiku smiled faintly. "Hai, maybe. Good bye, Matthew-san, Alfred-san!" he said, leaving. As he walked home, he thought about what had happened. He had been more focused on watching Alfred than the game. Something was wrong with his friend, and it bothered him immensely to not know what it was.
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Alfred had trouble moving the next day. Several minutes after he actually woke up, he got up and staggered to the bathroom, not without major difficulty. His stomach felt awful and after a lurch he dry heaved for a few minutes. All that came up were some cheese bits from the night before and rancid stomach acid.
When Matthew came up to wake Alfred, and upon seeing the room empty, went into the bathroom to find Alfred sagged on his knees. He was trembling slightly, gripping onto the toilet bowl with knuckles whiter than even Gilbert’s albino skin. Matt immediately rushed to his brother's side.
"Alfred? Are you alright?" he said, panicking slightly.
"Mattie?" he murmured. Alarm bells went off inside Matthew’s head.
"Yes, it's me- can you walk? We need to get you to bed-"
Alfred staggered to his feet, leaning almost all of his weight on his twin.
'He's so light,' thought Matthew, surprised.
"Mattie?" Al mumbled as they slowly made their way to the bedroom.
"Yeah, Al?"
"I don't…"
Matthew was really starting to freak out, Alfred's eyes were half-closed and he seemed to be struggling to stay awake. "Alfred? Alfred, listen to me. I need you to stay awake- whatever you do, do not fall asleep, okay? You need to stay awake." he said desperately, hoisting Al up on his feet yet again.
"I… I don't think I can, Mattie… Mattie, ever noticed fat how am I?"
"What?" said Matthew, confused, struggling to make sense of that weird sentence. Alfred's words… were out of order? 'Oh, maple, that's not good,' he thought. Why was Al so delirious? They reached the bedroom and Matthew lowered his brother down onto the bed. Matt put a hand on Al’s forehead, and was further concerned because he had no fever- so why was his brother delusional? It didn’t make any sense.
"I'm fat, Mattie, but now I'm prettier, right?" he giggled feebly.
Matthew felt his blood run cold. Everything fell into place then.
The change of attitude. The solitude. Alfred's refusal to eat in front of anyone- he had never been eating at all, had he? The change in appearance, his desire to do better in school, him passing out in gym class- and now this.
"Oh my God," muttered the Canadian, horrified. How had he not noticed this earlier?
"Hmm? Hey Matt, I don't feel so good."
"It's okay, Al, everything's going to be alright, just stay here, and please, don't fall asleep!" begged Matthew, standing up. He felt wracked with guilt.
Alfred began to cough violently and Matt was back at his side in an instant, holding him close until the fit subsided. He was even more freaked out when Alfred's elbow came away with blood and more mucus on it.
"Okay Mattie… the hero can do anything…"
He got up and ran downstairs, screaming all the while, "DAD! MOM! QUICKLY, CALL AN AMBULANCE!"
Mr. Jones looked up from his newspaper in alarm and Mrs. Jones rushed into the room, eyes wide. "What? What happened? Adam?" she demanded, looking to her husband, who shrugged.
Matthew tripped on his way downstairs, but caught himself on the railing. Chest heaving erratically with panic and guilt, he wailed, "It's- it's Alfred! I went into the bathroom this morning- and he was there- and now he's coughing- blood- oh my FUCKING GOD!" He was almost not able to get the words out, too distressed was he.
His parents didn't need an explanation at this point. They hurtled up past Matthew and slammed Alfred's door open. He was lying exactly as Matthew left him, eyes closed, perfectly still- and he wasn't breathing.
Mrs. Jones screamed and fainted. Her husband caught her. "Amelia! Shit- Matthew, take your mother somewhere out of the way- give me your phone!" he said desperately, handing Amelia off to his son, who had calmed down a bit and was in shock at this point.
"Y-yes, of course!" he said, tossing his cell phone to Adam, and then dragging his mother to her bedroom.
"Do CPR on your brother!" Mr. Jones barked, furiously pounding 911 into the phone. Matthew took a deep, steady breath, and sprinted over to Alfred, staring down on him helplessly. He tried to remember his training at that health course he took over the summer, and cried out in despair because he couldn’t remember, and oh god Alfred was going to die and it’d be all his fault-
"Matt, come on now, remember this- check for a pulse!" ordered his father. Matt took another deep, trembling breath and pressed two fingers to Alfred's neck- and it was there, fluttery and weak, but there.
Meanwhile, Adam was yelling into the phone, giving the emergency services the information they needed to know, demanding they get here as soon as possible.
"My son is lying on his bed, not moving, not even breathing- yes, we have a certified CPR person working on him- his brother Matthew- I'm his father-"
Matthew blocked out the sounds of desperation and continued the chest pumps and rescue breaths- he tasted the vomit- and still, Alfred refused to breathe.
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"He'll wake up soon." was probably the only part of the doctor's speech Arthur and Matthew heard.
"Can we visit him?" asked Mr. Jones. Dr. Bondevik nodded, a small amount of sympathy appearing on his stoic face.
Words like "therapy," “anorexia,” “heart attack,” “electrolyte imbalance,” and "lucky to be alive" were heard and they merely floated in one ear and out the other. The whole situation was so daunting by itself that these words lost their shock value almost immediately.
Matthew glanced at Arthur. The Brit had been silent ever since he told him that Alfred was, in fact, alive.
Matt sighed and buried his face in his hands. He should have known, should have read the signs and acted upon them- but since Alfred failed to notice his problem himself, perhaps the blame didn’t rest solely upon his shoulders.
A hand was placed comfortingly on his shoulder and he looked up at his mom. She wiped his tears and smiled sadly at him. He hadn’t realized he had been crying, and now that he knew, he sniffled pathetically.
"It's not your fault, Matthew. He hid it from everyone."
The Canadian sighed again, and wiped his face angrily. "He did, but we still- I should have done something sooner, I knew something was wrong-"
"We should go see him now." interrupted Arthur. His voice sounded dead, his eyes dull green. No one protested and they followed the doctor, who had been standing there awkwardly for some time now and was waiting for them to ask to go to Alfred's room. Mrs. Jones turned to Matthew and Arthur.
“Is it alright if us two go in first?" she asked tentatively, as if nervous they would object. Matthew shrugged and Arthur nodded.
They came out ten minutes later, Mrs. Jones crying softly into her husbands side. "He's not awake yet." said Mr. Jones.
“I don’t care.” said Arthur quietly. “I still want to see him.” No further explanation was needed, and Arthur walked into the room, trying to prepare himself for the sight before him, and feeling his heart drop anyway.
The American looked a hundred times more vulnerable, there in that hospital bed, with a feeding tube sticking out of his nose and an oxygen mask on his face. There was an IV attached to his wrist, too.
Matthew sat down on Alfred's left side and took his bony hand. He remembered all the times Alfred would wave his hands around and shout about how heroic he was, and how much he needed a hamburger right now.
Those hands that hadn't held a hamburger in five months, probably.
Yes, it had been five months since the day Alfred had stormed out of the cafeteria, uneaten hamburger in the trash. Some animal at the dump had probably long since eaten its remains by now. Everything had gone downhill so quickly.
He glanced at his brother. He could only hope things would be alright.
"Alfred? Can you hear me, love?" whispered Arthur, taking Alfred's other hand. Alfred groaned hoarsely. Cerulean eyes fluttered briefly before opening completely. Confusion was visible there, and then fear, and then his emotions finally seemed to settle on sadness and resignation towards his position. He settled for making a brief eye contact with Arthur before looking down in shame.
Matthew released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and narrowed his eyes. Ever since Alfred had been admitted yesterday he had been a ball of stress, pacing, ripping his hair out- and he had been holding in his anxiety and worry. Right now, however, he needed to let off some steam.
"Alfred fucking Jones. When you're out of this hospital, I swear I'm going to personally make you wish you were back in here, you asshole." he hissed, squeezing his brother's hand. Alfred winced, but Matthew paid no mind.
"Do you have any idea at all how fucking scared I was?” His voice broke for a moment and he gasped a sob back in, tears leaking out of his eyes again. This proved to make him even angrier, and if Al hadn’t been feeling so incredibly guilty and terrible, he might have found his brother amusing. “I walked in on you- and you looked like you were fucking dead. I THOUGHT YOU WERE FUCKING DEAD, YOU LITTLE SHIT!" he shouted, which was really just a normal talking voice by everyone else’s standards.
Alfred kept his eyes downcast, seeming to accept every word without complaint.
Matthew calmed down a bit. He sighed."Look, I'm sorry, but please. Why?" he asked, back to his soft voice. Alfred looked pleadingly at Arthur for help and the Brit shook his head.
"You hid it entirely from us Alfred, we have no idea what’s going on in your head right now. You need to explain it to us." he said sternly, giving the twins both the impression that Arthur was a lecturing parent.
As much as he wanted to protest, Alfred nodded instead, swallowing his pride. He stared Arthur in the eyes.
Matthew watched them look into each other's eyes for a moment and felt like he was intruding on something private.
"Well," he cleared his throat, blushing slightly, and stood up, giving his brother's hand one last squeeze, "I'm going to go get some lunch." And he left, not sparing a glance backwards because his ears were still pink.
The two sat there for an awkward moment, neither able to think of something to say without it ending up with one or both of them yelling or crying. Finally, Arthur, who was still reeling from the guilt and the anger and the worry that had consumed the better part of his night, broke the silence.
"Alfred," he began. "There's- ah- something that I-uh… I want to tell you…"
Alfred raised an eyebrow, gesturing for Arthur to continue. He didn’t speak.
"Well- seeing you… like this… makes me wish I told you sooner- maybe I could have stopped this from coming so far." He cleared his throat. "And, well- you and I have been best friends for a while now- and- uh- oh, fuck me, I’ll just blurt it right out-” and he said, very quickly in one breath, “IloveyouAlfred.”
Alfred blinked and cocked his head, confused. Arthur had said the damn words too fast, Al hadn’t quite understood. Arthur’s face went red and grimaced sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.
"Er- right. I said that… that I love you."
There was a moment of silence, in which Arthur's face became increasingly redder. Finally, the silence had dragged on long enough that Arthur was about ready to get up and leave, certain that he had just made a huge mistake and cost his friendship with Alfred for good. "I understand, that is, if you don't- feel the same- mmph!"
Alfred, using the last of his strength, had pushed himself forward and pulled Arthur down for a kiss, ripping the oxygen mask off his face. It wasn’t anything special like in the romance novels, thought Arthur, but he was much too shocked to particularly care, allowing himself to flutter his eyelids closed, and press back against those chapped lips whose entrance hadn’t been breached by genuine food in months.
A moment later they broke apart, rather reluctantly, as Alfred’s arm, which had been holding him up, began to shake. Arthur pressed his forehead to Alfred's and looked him squarely in the eye once more. Besides the impromptu love confession, there was more to get off his normally reserved chest.
"We'll get through this, Alfred.” and here he paused a moment, as the words he said next were still rather foreign to him, “I love you no matter what, you sodding git. You are beautiful. Don't let anyone make you believe otherwise." Arthur was pleased he said it regardless.
And for once, Alfred believed him.