Arthur Kirkland's Guide to Being a Big Brother

Matthew, Part 2

Notes: Hello... uhm, this shouldn't have taken so long, but it was somehow really hard to write. I have to thank the people liked this, and in particular ColorQueen4567 who commented on the last chapter, which meant the world to me.

I also owe an apology for disappointing people with the last chapter, I understand that it was quite a tone shift from the previous ones. Mind you, the story was always supposed to go this way, however I hadn't truly considered what it meant and I understand that from the summary and my other notes there was nothing that indicated the fact that the tone was going to get darker. I'm sorry about this, I'll try to be more considerate next time.

Now, without further delay, let's move to the chapter. 

Disclaimer: The cover art for this chapter is a work of ハイジ (pixiv member ID=1657223)

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Matthew, Part Two

The weeks after getting back to Canada weren't easy – they were probably the hardest period of Arthur's life. There must have been other times like that after his natural father's death, but Arthur had only vague recollections of one of his brothers dragging him away while their mother burst into tears; he had been too young to fully understand what was happening.

Now he did, and knowing that he could do nearly nothing was tearing him apart.

Alfred seemed to be recovering quickly – the smile had returned to his lips along with the sparkle in his eyes, but his nights were plagued by nightmares that could be calmed down only if he was held by somebody. Usually, that task fell on Arthur, who didn't mind. The bruises blossoming on his skin as a result of Alfred's kicking didn't matter if he could do something to help.

At the same time, Alfred had gotten incredibly clingy – he always had to be around at least one family member, and Arthur caught him checking manically the clock around the time George and Aila were supposed to come home, growing restless with every minute of eventual delay. The only way to keep him calm was to distract him with stories – or to have him spend some time around Matthew, but Arthur wasn't sure it was a healthy coping mechanism.

Matthew was recovering as well, but at a significantly slower pace that wasn't helped by his injuries. He had spent the first week on bedrest, still dazed from the painkillers. He looked often uncomfortable, fidgeting as if he wanted to be anywhere but there, but he hardly ever cried. The last time Arthur had seen him cry had been after Francis had left. Matthew had declared to be tired and asked to be carried to bed, where Arthur had found him later curled under the blankets, with tears sliding down his cheeks and his face contorted in agony because the muffled sobs were disturbing his still healing ribs.

Aside from that occasion, however, Matthew hardly ever voiced his distress, be it physical pain or any other kind of emotional turmoil. He spoke when he was spoken to, his voice soft and gentle, but the grief written in his pale features and in his lost, haunting lilac eyes made Arthur's skin crawl with uneasiness. He didn't know how to deal with that, how to help. He was used to Alfred's loud tantrums and tears, that resigned silence left him helpless. The only thing he could do was to read, hoping to divert Matthew's mind from his loss.

Strangely, it seemed to work. Matthew's growing alertness was followed by timid questions – did Arthur like the book? Who was his favourite character? Matthew could see that there was an easier way to solve the main issue, how could the characters not realize that? – he would even smile, sometimes. His smiles were different from Alfred's, too – softer, shyer – but Arthur realized after a while that Matthew didn't seem to mind his presence.