Here we are again, finally. Thank you all for your encouragement and kind words, it really means a lot. <3

Warnings: The usual about me not being a medical professional and some characters thinking that they know better than they actually do in regard to medical issues.

I really hope you'll enjoy the chapter! And if you can, please review. :)

Chapter Five

Arthur observed his boys from a corner of the room.

The gentle rise and fall of Matthew's chest under the white sheets – aided by the ventilator, that much was true. And, at the same time, it was still moving. The vitals were still weak; the fever a bit too high, the blood pressure a bit too low (and that was all Arthur could understand and he was too afraid to ask for any specifications for anything he might discover would probably make things worse) but the monitors weren't an ominous, empty black.

A rational corner of Arthur's brain knew that they had been lucky. Matthew wasn't out of the woods yet – but the fact alone he wasn't dead and his conditions hadn't worsened was nothing short of a miracle. Things had started going downhill so fast… a few more minutes, and there could have been nothing to do.

Arthur knew that because he had been told so – repeatedly – by Dr Oxenstierna, Dr Wang, Tiina herself, and Gilbert Beilschmidt via Francis, apparently.

Arthur still couldn't bring himself to believe their words. "Sometimes, there is luck in misery," Francis had said – a clear encouragement to see the silver lining in their situation.

Arthur didn't agree with him. Even if it came with pretty packaging and a consolation card, rotten luck was still rotten luck. In an even crueller twist, rotten luck wasn't the sole culprit to blame.

Of course, there was no denying that Matthew had always been unlucky. Yet, it was something that could be worked around. Arthur not noticing he had been feeling sick – for days, most likely, which notion made his stomach churn – wasn't an issue of bad luck. No matter what everybody around Arthur kept insisting, with their pitying eyes and sickeningly soft smiles, that was neglect. Pure and simple neglect.

Then, of course, there was Alfred.

Alfred who was now sitting on the chair in front of Matthew's bed, slightly bent over his little brother. His fingers threaded through Matthew's hair in a gentle, soothing motion as he talked. It was mostly a stream of memories, fragmented recollections of the good time they had spent together. Of how strong and determined Matthew had managed to be, so many times. And Alfred's voice, for once, was soft and rich instead of too loud. Laced with such tenderness that it reached Arthur's chest like a stab.

He had almost forgotten Alfred could talk like that.

In fact, there were many things Arthur had forgotten about Alfred. When had he started seeing his younger brother as an edgy and rebellious teen – as an opponent he needed to defeat – instead of he the kind-hearted, if a bit overzealous, boy Arthur knew him to be?

Many small accidents had started forming a rift between them. Stubbornness – on both their parts – had dug it deeper. The constant pressure and stress weighting down on Arthur's shoulders certainly hadn't put him in the right mood for negotiations, either – but that wasn't an excuse.

On the other hand, pretending that Alfred was without faults would be disingenuous as well. Alfred had taken plenty of wrong decisions, lately. The matter with his failing grades and unwillingness to put any effort into school – for how Arthur was still convinced to be in the right – was no more than a triviality, if confronted with everything else that had happened. During that sleepless night, Arthur's thought has lingered several times on what Alfred had confessed the previous day. For how firmly he had held his conviction that Alfred's brief companionship with those wretched Jones twins had been a mistake, Arthur hadn't been aware of the full entity. If he let it sink, the fear for what had happed to Matthew – and how much worse it might have been – made him feel ill and shaky. In spite of the evident regret Alfred had displayed, Arthur doubted he had truly grasped how severe the episode had been. That was something he alone was accountable for.

Yet, Alfred had never had ill intentions. Guilt didn't shine so bright in the eyes of somebody who did. Alfred had simply been – and still was – a boy who had acted on the impulse to follow what he thought was right, too young to fully grasp the consequences and implications of his actions. A boy who, as it was natural at his age, was still in need of the guidance of an adult to make his way through life.

Arthur should have been that person.

And Arthur had utterly, irredeemably failed.

The issue wasn't that Arthur hadn't tried – but he hadn't been enough. There was more to being a paternal figure than stern rules, groundings, and punishments. There was a balance to be found – a balance Arthur had failed to accomplish on the ground of not even realizing he needed to. Perhaps, being too young himself played a part in it.

Four years earlier, the day of George and their mother's funeral, Alistair had tried to warn Arthur about it. Arthur still had a perfect recollection of the rage that had tightened his chest at those words. Lately, they had come to his mind a lot, accompanied by Alistair's solemn eyes. He had always dismissed them. But now, a painful weight dropped to the bottom of his stomach as he finally realized how right Alistair had been.

Arthur had been – and still was – too young to be qualified as an adequate caretaker. Alfred had Matthew should have never been entrusted in hands.

"Arthur?"

Alfred's hesitant voice jerked Arthur back to reality, making him realize that he had completely lost focus of his surroundings.

Alfred had turned his head and looked at him, his blue eyes soft and vulnerable in a way Arthur hadn't seen in a long time. Years, maybe.

He swallowed down the bile that scorched his throat and forced his stiff lips to curl into a pitiful resemblance of a smile.

"Is there anything you wanted to tell me?"

"You know, I was thinking… Everybody says we should keep talking to Mattie. But, it feels kind of... pointless after a bit. I know I'm rambling, I'm hardly making any sense at all. So… What about reading something to him? And… I could do it myself, I guess. But you're really good at reading out loud, so…"

Arthur cursed himself for his lack of foresight. In spite of Alfred's usual chattiness, talking to Matthew's unresponsive form took a heavy toll on him. Arthur should have known, he had had to face the same feeling of powerlessness for the entire night.

"Of course," he answered readily, plastering a small smile on his face. Inwardly, he slapped himself. That wasn't the right moment to focus on his own issues. "Did you have anything in mind?"

Alfred's hopeful expression fell.

"Oh… no, not really. I could have gotten something from home, but…"

"I didn't think about it," his regretful eyes finished for him as his voice trailed off.

Why had Arthur ever wanted Alfred to bear more responsibilities? Alfred wasn't an adult. His shoulders shouldn't curve down under a weight he wasn't old enough to carry.

"There's a library in the paediatric ward," Tiina's soft voice intervened, "We don't have too many titles, but it's still better than nothing… You might find something of your liking."

"Oh…" Arthur needed a moment to shake himself. "Yes, I think that could work. Francis said he would stay in the lounge, didn't he? I'll text him and ask him if he can bring us something."

Arthur's fingers dove into his pants' pocket in an automatic motion, just to find it empty. He stilled in confusion.

"You left your phone on the side table," Alfred informed him, waving the device.

By the time Arthur had processed his words, his younger brother had already finished composing the message. Arthur still couldn't recall getting the phone out or placing it on the side table.

Damnit, I'm starting to slip.

It was probably due to the sleepless night, but he couldn't afford to. Trying to compose himself, he shook his head and then turned towards Tiina.

"Thank you."

The nurse was already back to working at the charts on her tablet.

"You're welcome. As I have already told you, I'm here for everything you may need," she said in a gentle, smooth voice, without raising her head.

Arthur knew that she was implying much more than simple material assistance. During the previous afternoon, she had tried multiple times to get him to talk. She had never been too pressuring, but Arthur wasn't fooled by her soft exterior. In her eyes, shone the iron will of a mother. She wasn't going to give up.

But neither was Arthur. With Matthew still so sick, his own mental state was the last of his concerns.

Perhaps, Alfred could benefit from Tiina's support instead. While he seemed to have mostly calmed down from his earlier crying fit, Arthur wasn't going to delude himself into thinking his little brother could be past such a traumatic experience.

"Francis said he's going to get something," Alfred reported as a placed the phone back on the side table.

The silence stretched between them. Arthur tried to stir his brain for something to say, only to find it empty. The constant throbbing behind his forehead didn't help his concentration, but Arthur wasn't naïve enough to pin it down as the sole responsible. It had been so long since he had carried out a normal conversation with Alfred…

At last, Alfred broke the silence as he took a deep breath and straightened up.

"And while we're waiting… I guess there's something I should tell you."

Alfred sat rigid, with his hands clenched over his knees. The determination he had schooled his features in couldn't completely hide the small glint of fear in the eyes that looked straight at Arthur.

Arthur's heart skipped a beat.

After the revelation of the previous day, he wasn't sure he was ready for something similar… but Alfred himself had decided to confide in him. It was a big step, Arthur couldn't show him any rejection. He forced his neck to bend into a small nod of assent, hoping his feature wouldn't show his inner perturbation.

Arthur took another deep breath to stall the confession, he ran a hand through his hair in a nervous motion before talking.

"I guess Francis didn't tell you why we were late, did he?"

A pang of guilt flared up in Arthur's stomach. After his initial supposition that Alfred must have been trying to avoid him had been proved wrong, he hadn't spared a second thought to the issue. How had he allowed himself to forget so easily?

Alfred must have extrapolated the answer from his expression, for his eyes widened in surprise.

"Wow, he really didn't, then. He must have been waiting for me to tell you… I thought so since you didn't mention anything, but that's kind of unlike Francis… wow. But, well… anyway. While we were getting in, I ran into Braginsky and some other teammates of Mattie's…"

Arthur's brow rose in confusion. And what about it?

A moment later, his tired brain provided the answer. His eyes widened, and Alfred's lips curled into a wry smile at his reaction.

"Before you ask, yes, they were here to check on Mattie. Apparently, they were supposed to have hockey practice this morning. When Mattie didn't show up and nobody answered the phone or anything, they were afraid something bad had happened. Because, you know how the doctors said Matthew's ruptured appendix might have been caused by a blow during hockey?"

Arthur was aware of that, but he had regarded it as a piece of little importance, with so much more pressing matters in his mind. He had spared his thoughts to it just to picture Matthew getting a blow and then trying to hide his pain as if nothing had happened, like all the other times he had been hit while playing and he had turned out to be fine, if a bit bruised (in spite of the way Arthur's heart had stopped beating for a moment any time he had witnessed it). Nothing relevant enough for anybody to take notice. They would have called for help, otherwise. Yet, if Matthew's teammates' first thought had been to check at the hospital…

"Well, looks like it didn't go unnoticed. Mattie screamed and fainted."

Arthur held his breath. For a moment, he thought he must have heard wrong – but Alfred went on talking, his voice steady.

"But when he recovered, he insisted he was fine. I don't know how they could have bought it—"

"But the coach!" Arthur blurted out in a strangled gasp, unable to hide the incredulity from his words. "The coach told me they would take any sign of potential injury seriously, that the parents would be alerted and medical help called! He assured me that in person, otherwise, I would have never let Matthew play! How could a person fainting be overlooked?"

Alfred winced.

"I guess he said that, didn't he?"

Only at that moment, Arthur recalled that Alfred had been a strong advocate for Matthew playing hockey – something about him building character and laying off steam. His continuous pestering had been a heavy factor in slowly eroding Arthur's resolve of not letting Matthew play.

"Well, he might have… but apparently, the coach wasn't there. But they still did the practice, and when Matthew got hurt, they let themselves be convinced that he was going to be fine and let him go on. Just like that."

For a moment, Arthur could only gape at Alfred. Then, the true meaning of his words slowly sank into his brain. There was a soft gasp at his left – the first indication of surprise Tiina had ever given – but Arthur barely registered it. The astonishment turned into anger, making his blood boil.

"What's the meaning of this?! Were they out of their minds?! Playing hockey is dangerous enough – but without adult supervision?! It's against every school rule!"

Arthur turned his head towards Matthew. He was still lying on that cursed bed, with his cheeks hollow and his skin grey, his features slack. First, in immeasurable pain, and now, barely alive. Depending on machines for something that should have been as natural as breathing.

His appendix would have needed medical care in any case – but Matthew could have been awake. His eyes tired and foggy from the pain relievers, but open. His too pale lips curling into a faint smile to reassure his brothers that he was fine, even if he still wasn't. His fingers, still clumsy from the anaesthesia, fumbling to reciprocate Arthur's hold around his hand.

All that. All that would have been possible, if only a group of teens hadn't decided they were above the rules and prioritized an extracurricular activity over the health of a young boy.

Arthur wanted at the same time to scream and to be sick. His ears were buzzing.

"You aren't going to be as foolish as to blame those children for this, are you?"

The smooth voice made Arthur start. He whirled towards the door to meet Francis's face – set in the determination as he stood at the doorway, with his arms crossed and a blue book held against his chest.

"Only two people can stay inside," Tiina remarked automatically, her voice strangely weak.

Francis nodded.

"I won't step in. But I cannot let you go on with this nonsense either, Arthur. The kids made a mistake – but they didn't know. Just like you didn't know when you left in the morning without checking on Matthew. You cannot pin the blame on them, Arthur."

Francis's words were like a punch to Arthur's chest.

Whatever they did, Matthew wouldn't have attended the practice at all if I had noticed he was feeling sick – as I should have.

That didn't mean they were innocent, however.

"I was furious when I found out," Alfred chimed in hesitantly, "I punched Braginsky in the face. That's why we ended up being late."

Alfred's eyes were bright with fear, everything in his stance conveyed remorse.

'Good,' Arthur was about to snarl.

A bitter corner of his brain reprimanded Arthur for his hypocrisy – wasn't he always telling Alfred down for being too irrational? – but he smothered it down. That was Matthew they were talking about. Their sweet little brother who had to be protected, who didn't deserve anything bad happening to him. For once, Alfred had been right.

Then, Arthur's eyes met Francis's hard stare. Rationality once again took control of him, spreading cold inside his chest.

This isn't the example I want to set for Alfred.

Besides, Francis was right. Arthur couldn't extinguish his own guilt by pouring it over somebody else's shoulders.

"But that was horrible," Alfred continued in a small voice. The way he looked at Arthur was almost like a call for help. "Because Braginsky didn't defend himself and he just… took it. I really don't know what I could have done to him, if I hadn't been stopped. And that… that really wouldn't have been right. It was… it was so awful, Arthur. I was scared."

Alfred was trembling. Tears welled up at the corners of his bright, earnest eyes.

Arthur's heart shattered.

"It's all right," he said, walking towards Alfred. "You apologized, didn't you?"

At Alfred's small, weak nod, Arthur offered him a gentle smile.

"Then it's all right. Clearly, hitting Ivan was wrong – but you have been under intense distress, I think a misstep can be forgiven. And if you owned up to it and learnt from it, you've got nothing more to apologize for."

Arthur enveloped Alfred in a hug. His younger brother wrapped his own arms around him and buried his head against Arthur's stomach. He didn't cry, this time, but he was trembling heavily. Arthur rubbed circles on his back.

"Have you calmed down, now?" Francis asked at last from the doorway.

Arthur let out a tired exhale.

On the bed, Matthew hadn't moved, oblivious to all the commotion going around him. Was there even any point in wasting energy on finding somebody else to blame before Arthur knew for certain what would become of him?

"My reaction was exaggerated," he admitted. Apologizing to Francis felt like acid corroding his mouth – but Arthur would have to suffer a lot worse, if he ever wanted to be absolved for his sins. "And I won't berate Ivan or any other of the boys for this. That said – by deciding to practise without their coach, they expressly went against the rules. This time, it had horrible consequences, but it would have been wrong anyway. Disciplinary actions against this need to be taken."

Inside Arthur's embrace, Alfred stiffened.

"They're just kids, Arthur," Francis said with a tired sight.

"Ivan's only two years younger than me," Arthur pointed out, scowling. "Or even one, actually. If I'm not mistaken, he was born in December. He's not far from turning nineteen. Doesn't sound like much of a child to me."

The maturity gap was made wider by Arthur being a college student and Ivan still attending high school. Nevertheless, Arthur couldn't bring himself to think about Ivan as a child.

Francis only regarded him with a pitying look. The three-year difference between the two of them had never seemed more significant.

At last, the silence was broken by a voice Arthur wouldn't have expected.

"I'm sorry, but I must say I'm with Arthur on this," declared Tiina, "What they did was incredibly reckless. I'm not saying the boys should be blamed for the outcome, but they should have never decided to practice without supervision. They should all know better. This should be brought up to the school administration – the team should be at least on probation."

Everybody gaped at Tiina. She hadn't spoken unkindly, nor did she look aggressive – but there was something threatening in her scowl. Arthur found himself thinking that he wouldn't have liked crossing her.

Tiina gave a soft smile at their reaction.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gotten so incensed. But, in a way, I am personally involved in this – I wasn't sure before, but since you mentioned Ivan Braginsky… My younger cousins are on the same hockey team. And I am appalled that they took such a dangerous decision. They might not be old, but they should definitely know better. I will be talking to their parents about this."

Arthur had the strong impression that somebody was going to be grounded for life. It was only fair, of course. Then, why didn't it make him feel any better?

The answer came with Alfred's voice.

"They already all feel awful, anyway. And… in their defence, Tolys apparently did try to warn us of what had happened. He said he had left me a message on the phone. But my phone wasn't available, so…"

A weight plummeted to the bottom of Arthur's stomach. His limbs turned into heavy stones.

Alfred's phone…

Arthur had been the one getting the phone away from Alfred. At the time, it had looked like a just punishment, even if a bit too stern. Now, it was another piece completing the dreadful puzzle that was getting clearer and clearer in front of Arthur's eyes.

If only I hadn't been so unreasonable…

"Nobody is trying to say it's their fault, honey," Tiina stated. Her voice managed to be firm without losing any of its sweetness. "They certainly didn't mean this to happen. It's a very unfortunate accident – but still an accident. That said, they shouldn't have been playing hockey in the first place. They all proved that they weren't mature enough to foresee the potential consequences of their transgression – and this needs to be addressed."

Arthur almost wanted to scream.

And what about me? How can you look at me in the eyes and tell me it's not my fault?

But Alfred's fingers were still grasping his sweater. He felt lost, vulnerable. If Arthur let his temper get the best of him, he would once again leave his little brother alone.

He swallowed bile.

"Mattie's going to feel awful if the team ends up being dismantled because of this," Alfred commented in a small voice.

'If he doesn't die first,' a cruel voice taunted Arthur from a deep corner of his brain.

But if Alfred had managed to gather enough strength to think about Matthew's survival, Arthur couldn't let his mood plummet again.

If Alfred convinces himself that Matthew is going to make it, it's going to be even worse when Matthew does die.

Arthur sank his teeth into his lower lip to smother the dark thoughts clawing at his chest.

"Did you get the book, Francis?" he asked as he released Alfred from the hug.

Fortunately, Francis nodded instead of questioning the abrupt change of topic.

"Howl's Moving Castle," he explained, waving the blue tome in his right hand. "Matthew loved it, didn't he? I know it was a few years ago, maybe it's a bit childish for him now, but—"

"No, it's perfect," Alfred replied as he got up from the chair to get the book. "He used to be obsessed with this book when he first read it. He pestered me so much to read it as well…"

Alfred's voice trailed off. He stopped in front of Matthew's bed, his eyes growing dimmer.

"I never listened to him," he concluded in a small voice.

Arthur couldn't bear to look at him so dejected.

"Well, this means you'll hear the story for the first time, now," he declared, and tore the book from Alfred's hands before settling down on the chair that had been previously occupied by his younger brother.

As he opened the book and leafed through the pages to reach the beginning of the story, he spied out of a corner of his eye Alfred taking position on the armchair near the desk. Arthur waited for him to look comfortable, then he took a deep breath and started reading.

Arthur had always loved reading out loud. There was something more immersive in the way his voice filled the room, empathizing the emotions the setting conveyed as it got softer or higher, faster or slower. It wasn't long before Arthur found himself almost lost inside the book, his surroundings blurring at the corners of his perceptions.

The book itself helped. It was a book for children, that much was true – but at that moment, it was what made everything all better. It had been so long since Arthur had last read a book like that… he had never stopped reading even just a few pages every day – it was such an integral part of his soul that he couldn't part from it – but with his spare time dwindling, he had had to combine business with pleasure. In the last two years, his reading had almost entirely consisted of classics that were required or would be otherwise useful for his classes. There was no denying that Arthur still found great satisfaction in reading those books as well – yet, there was something different that came with reading a book just for pleasure. None of those thought-provoking and renowned classics had ever stirred inside him that total contentment that came out of reading good children's books. Arthur didn't know how he could have forgotten that. Reading such a simple yet pleasing book, he felt almost like a part of his soul was being reborn. His muscles finally lost their tension, even the stubborn headache softened.

Even the dryness of Arthur's throat was a pleasant sensation, in its familiarity. For a moment, Arthur's surroundings dimmed around him. He was still aware of Alfred and Matthew around him – but he could almost pretend they were still at home. Still children, tucked inside their beds and with Arthur reading them a bedtime story while Aila and George hovered at the doorway, their faces lit by soft smiles as they observed their children.

For some long, glorious moment, Arthur could almost pretend that everything was still alright.

The illusion was then shattered by the sickening, gurgling sound as Tiina adjusted the machinery to suck out the fluid accumulated inside Matthew's lungs.

Reality washed over Arthur like a wave, making his insides twist. He was still inside a hospital room, Matthew was still fighting for his life.

And Arthur, one of the major culprits to blame, didn't deserve even an instant of solace. The book was heavy in his hands. Almost a physical evidence of how much Arthur had let his life – and the life of his brothers along with him – be reduced in shambles.

Arthur masked the sudden catch of his voice under a cough and went on reading. For how much he wanted to stop, he couldn't let Alfred know that there was something wrong. Arthur might not be adult enough to be a good stepparent, but he could at least pretend to. Which involved not burdening his charges with his own insecurities, most likely.

So, Arthur ignored the painful churning of his stomach and read on.

The farce was put to an end when everybody was kicked out of the room in time for Dr Oxenstierna's mid-day check-up.

"We should grab some lunch, since we are at it," Francis declared as soon as he spotted Arthur and Alfred.

Alfred perked up a little. Arthur consoled himself with the thought that at least, he didn't have to worry about his little brother wasting away without food. He followed Francis and Alfred without complaints, letting Francis's voice fill the space between them as he talked about the quirky costumer his co-workers had told him about when he had phoned for a check-up. Arthur didn't care, he let the words merge with the background noise. He couldn't deny the pang of gratitude, however. Francis was distracting Alfred in a way that was far beyond Arthur's current abilities, between the stress and the lack of focus caused by the former.

When he closed his eyes for a brief moment and massaged his forehead to try and ward off the headache, he could almost see Alistair glaring at him.

'Not good enough. Even Francis is better than you,' his older brother's sharp blue eyes seemed to say.

Arthur could only swallow down bile and open his eyes just in time to counter Alfred's questioning stare with a weak but hopefully reassuring smile. From then on, he made a conscious effort to stay present in the discussion. Francis's words still washed over him, but he made a point of humming and nodding from time to time. That seemed enough to reassure Alfred.

As soon as they stepped inside the bar, Arthur's stomach turned at the nauseating smell of food that hit his nostrils. How could he think about eating, when he didn't even know if Matthew was going to survive?

Arthur wasn't intentioned to waste money on food he would have gotten rid of, but Francis ordered a plain toast for him before he could refuse. At that point, throwing a tantrum would have only served to alert Alfred of the fact Arthur wasn't eating enough. Arthur could do nothing but scowl at Francis's pointed stare.

"Add a double coffee as well, please," he decided then.

It probably wasn't going to help his stomach, but Arthur needed to focus. The way his order made Francis's frown deepen for a moment was only an added bonus.

"I'm not sure it would be good for you," Francis started in a chiding voice, but Alfred's eyebrows rose in alarm and he couldn't go any further.

Arthur barely suppressed a smirk. If Francis was going to use Alfred's presence against him, he should expect the favour to be returned.

Francis was simmering in irritation when they sat down at a small table with their food. Normally, Arthur would have found that amusing – but at that moment, he was only hollow.

He forced himself to nibble on his toast and zoned out as Alfred and Francis made some small talk. The bread was like cardboard inside his mouth, and it weighed like a stone inside his stomach. For how much Arthur tried to wash it down with coffee, he ended up feeling queasy before even finishing a slice. He set the remaining piece on the plate, nauseated by the mere sight.

"You have to eat it all, at least," Francis commented with a frown.

"Have you eaten anything since yesterday?" Alfred added, the concern ringing clear in his voice in spite of his words being slightly muffled by the sandwich he hadn't stopped chewing on.

The picture made Arthur's stomach flip.

"Of course I have eaten. And I'm going to finish this, no need to worry – I just thought my phone vibrated. Wanted to check if I had gotten any new message."

Ignoring the way Francis's brow furrowed at the two blatant lies, Arthur took the phone out of his pocket. He barely managed to keep the surprise from showing through his features as he realized the red led signalled he actually had an unread message.

His heart skipped a beat when he opened the notification.

"Bloody hell," he couldn't help but swear in a hoarse voice as reality washed over him like a cold shower.

Francis and Alfred started.

"What is it?" Francis asked urgently, bending over the table and towards him.

Arthur shook his head.

"Nothing bad. Actually, I could even say it's good news… I just received an e-mail saying that my Monday and Tuesday classes are cancelled due to a power outage at the campus that is going to require some maintenance works. It's just… I had completely forgotten I had classes to attend."

Arthur's head was spinning.

The entire ordeal felt suspended in time, detached from reality. From the moment he had heard Matthew's scream, everything had been enveloped in a frantic haze that had prevented him from thinking about anything but the emergency at hand. Part of his brain had almost behaved as if the world around him had stopped existing.

But the world kept spinning, the time flowing. Arthur's other incumbencies didn't have the grace to vanish into thin air in order to leave him some time to grieve. They were still pressing down his shoulders, clinging to his throat tightly enough to almost cut off his breath.

"I'm not going to school tomorrow," Alfred declared firmly, straightening his back. His features were set in determination. "Look. You have my word I'll start working harder and I'll fix my grades, if that's what it takes – but I'm not leaving Matthew's side until he wakes up. That's not negotiable."

Arthur's head was reeling.

"I wasn't going to say you had to go to school," was the single, lame answer he could offer, "This is more important."

He didn't know what to say. Alfred, offering to study?

'You underestimated him,' a cruel voice mocked Arthur from a corner of his brain. Arthur smothered it down with a big sip of coffee that scalded his throat.

Alfred looked about as surprised as Arthur was feeling.

"Oh," he muttered before going back to his sandwich.

"A few days aren't going to change much," Francis reasoned, "I'm sure your teachers will understand."

Francis was right. Moreover, if Alfred actually ended up abiding by his promise, he would make up for the lost times after those two days more than he had the entire year.

Arthur couldn't say the same for himself, however. Even without classes, there was his part of the group project he still needed to work on, the last final due the following week with a paper he still hadn't started… he didn't know how he could have forgotten.

Nothing of that mattered, with the condition Matthew was in – but Arthur still had to do it. He felt like his throat was closing off.

"Arthur? Are you all right?"

Arthur answered to Francis's concerned question with a firm nod.

"As well as I can be, given the situation."

Get a grip of yourself!

He couldn't have Alfred or Francis worry about his academic life, and at the same time, he had to work on his project.

Well, I have an entire sleepless night ahead of me. I can make use of it, at least. I have to ask Francis to bring my laptop…

The thought of spending the night working on school projects instead of keeping Matthew company stung like a betrayal. However, Matthew loved hearing about what Arthur did at school. Arthur pictured himself inside the sterile room, illustrating the techniques he was going to employ in writing the script to a comatose Matthew, with the ventilator whirring in the background. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time, the last threads of sanity threatening to snap as he once again realized how much he had let his responsibilities slip through his fingers. How utterly he had failed.

But Alfred and Francis were still in front of him. Arthur needed to calm down.

He drank the rest of the coffee in a single sip and shoved the toast in his mouth, swallowing almost without chewing.

"I want to get back," he declared, jerking up from the chair. "The check-up must be almost over – Dr Oxenstierna will want to talk to me."

A glance at the table revealed that Alfred had yet to finish eating and was staring at Arthur with wide eyes.

"You two can stay here for a bit longer," Arthur amended in a kinder voice, "You know Dr Oxenstierna will want to talk with me alone. I'll write Francis a message as soon as you can get back inside, all right?"

Arthur didn't wait for an answer. He stopped for a moment to squeeze Alfred's shoulder in what he hoped to be a comforting gesture, then he took off in long strides. His head was spinning, his stomach churning. He needed to be alone and contemplate his failures, and at the same time, he couldn't afford the break-down doing that would have ensued.

And, by the time Arthur was back to the ICU room, another concern was added to the pile pressing down his chest.

Dr Oxenstierna's face was an impenetrable mask. Neither positive nor negative seeped through his stern features; his sharp, bright eyes seemed to cut into Arthur.

For a moment, Arthur forgot to breathe. The whirring of the ventilator fused with a buzzing in the background.

Then, like in a dream, the corner of Dr Oxenstierna's lips curved into the slightest smile.

"Matthew is responding well to the new antibiotic. His temperature has finally gone down to acceptable levels and his blood pressure went up a bit. His conditions are still severe and he's still extremely weak, it's too soon to talk about taking him off of life support – but things are definitely looking up. If he keeps improving at this rate, we may even talk about decreasing the sedation."

Arthur's legs went weak at the enormity of those words. He stumbled and had to catch himself against the edge of the bed for support.

"Is… is this true? Is he truly getting better?"

Matthew didn't look any different. Still asleep. His ashen face still slack.

But the doctor's assessment couldn't lie. When Dr Oxenstierna nodded, Arthur was ready to burst into tears. He pressed a trembling hand against his eyes to try and collect himself.

Thank you. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you…

Arthur wasn't religious, he didn't even know who he was praying to. Yet, he felt like he should address his gratitude to somebody. The smiling faces of George and Aila danced in front of his eyes.

Thank you for giving Matthew back to us.

Matthew's survival wasn't certain, yet. Nevertheless, the fact there had been an improvement made Arthur's chest burst with joy. For the first time, hope blossomed inside his chest. Arthur would have the time to reflect on his faults later. Now, it was time to be grateful – and, more importantly, share the good news with Alfred.

The smell of coffee filled his nostrils. Ushered conversation buzzed inside Alfred's ears like white noise, without him being able to detect any word. And, in front of him, Gilbert stirred his coffee, the spoon clicking against the ceramic mug from time to time.

After having shared Alfred's joy at the news Matthew had started to improve so much he had been taken off of sedation the previous night and was likely to start regaining consciousness within the day, Gilbert had fallen silent and concentrated on his breakfast.

Alfred's muscles stiffened a bit more with each moment of wait. Gilbert didn't look angry, but there was some tension in his posture that had never vanished. Not to mention how unusual that silence was for him.

At last, Gilbert raised the mug to his lips and drank most of its content in a single, long sip. He took a deep breath as he placed it back on the table. His red eyes focused on Alfred's face.

"You're probably wondering why I wanted to talk with you, since the matter with Ivan is now solved and nobody pressed charges." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed again. "To tell the truth, I myself don't know where to start… but well, I guess a good point would be this: do you know why I became a paramedic?"

Clearly, Alfred didn't. In truth, he didn't know much about Gilbert in general; he was just familiar with him because he was Ludwig's older brother and they had met a few times. Due to his eccentric appearance and behaviour, Gilbert was hard to forget. However, Alfred couldn't say he was close to either of the Beilschmidt brothers. He had started frequenting Ludwig because he was Felicia's best friend (or boyfriend in denial, but that was only Alfred's opinion) but they had never been too close. After Alfred had met Allen and Allyson, Ludwig had never made any mystery of his dislike towards them or the behaviour Alfred had picked up from them. On his part, Alfred had regarded him as too stern and stuck to the rules. They had drifted apart as a result. Now, Alfred discovered that he regretted it – but it had nothing to do with what Gilbert was trying to tell him, most likely.

He shook his head, and Gilbert resumed talking.

"I wasn't expecting you to… Well then, let me tell you a story. You know that Ludwig and I live with our grandfather – so, you must also know that our parents died in a car accident. What you probably don't know is that Ludwig and I were in the car as well. I was seventeen, at that time. Barely older than you are. And I was a full-fledged troublemaker, even if I wanted to call myself a rebel. I scorned school and picked every opportunity to get into a fight with my parents. I don't even remember what we were arguing about, that afternoon. It might have had something to with the fact I had been late and delayed the entire family, but I can't be sure. I remember my father scolding me about something…"

Gilbert's voice softened, his eyes glazed over as if he were looking at something far away.

"…and then, my mother yelled. I remember it so clearly – she yelled, because she had seen a truck swerve. I turned just in time to see it coming straight at us. Then, there was only confusion. The truck struck our car and sent it over the guardrail. It flipped over. My parents both died on the impact. But Ludwig… Ludwig was still alive. He had hit his head, so he was unconscious – and there was also something wrong with his breathing. I, instead, was mostly unscathed. I could reach Ludwig. Touch him. Potentially, help him – but I didn't know how to do that. I could only listen as his breathing got more and more strained. I thought I was going to witness him dying without being able to help."

Gilbert stopped to take a breath. Alfred didn't move, the horror kept his limb paralyzed.

"And then, an ambulance arrived. It was a paramedic who extracted Ludwig from the car, who did everything to keep him alive. And, in the meantime, he also talked to me and reassured me. His name was Frederich, but he told me to call him Fritz. And not only he saved my brother's life, he also changed mine. Seeing him work, I realized two things. One was that I wanted to have the same medical knowledge, in order to be able to help my family on my own in case it was needed. The second was that I wanted to be like Fritz. I also wanted to help people – to be the reason somebody could still hug their loved ones instead of having to bury them. And that's why I'm here now."

Silence fell between them. Alfred slowly started becoming aware of the chatter around him again, but he had eyes only for Gilbert.

He didn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry…" he muttered awkwardly, as Gilbert downed the rest of the coffee.

His stomach coiled as he thought more clearly about the situation. He wished he couldn't relate, but he did. And painfully so.

Gilbert shrugged.

"Eh, it was a long time ago. I've gotten over it. But, it was hard at first. For a while, I blamed myself for everything. I started thinking the accident might not have happened if my father hadn't been distracted by arguing with me, that we wouldn't have been in that place at that moment if I hadn't delayed our leaving because I wanted to throw a tantrum… I think you can understand this."

Alfred did. So much that he found himself unable to hold Gilbert's piercing stare. Instead, he lowered his eyes on a napkin and started playing around with it, folding and unfolding the corners with the tip of his fingers.

"And seeing you yesterday reminded me of myself. So full of rage and misplaced guilt. So… what I am trying to say here is that whatever happened isn't your fault. As a person who went through the same shit, my words count twice as much. All right?"

Gilbert waited until Alfred had raised his head before going on.

"And second, I understand all your anger and frustration – but also your fear at feeling so helpless. So, if you ever want to talk… I'm not a therapist, which I think all of you should see, by the way, but… sometimes, you don't need a therapist but just an older friend. I can be that for you, if you need it. You can just give me a call, all right. I can give you my phone number, or—"

"I don't have my phone," Alfred interrupted him, "I forgot to ask Arthur where he had put it, yesterday. I guess I can ask Francis, though. And… thank you."

The last words were said in a small, soft voice. Alfred didn't like how vulnerable Gilbert made him feel. Yet, after that talk, he was also feeling somehow lighter.

Gilbert smirked.

"Nah, don't mention it. I'm here to help. What kind of person would I be, if I didn't put my superior experience at use to help others? Now I gotta go to work, though. See you around!"

Even as Gilbert's voice had taken a teasing intonation, his smile was genuine. Alfred stared at the man walking away before shaking himself.

Gilbert eventually forgave himself.

While it wasn't exactly the same situation, Alfred couldn't deny the similarity.

Could I truly forgive myself, too?

Alfred's stomach flipped. He didn't know, it was still too early. But, as he thought about Matthew finally getting better, at the fact he would soon be able to see his brother's eyes again… warmth spread inside his chest. Finally, he could believe things could be fixed.

There was also another part of Gilbert's tale, one Alfred mulled over as he walked to his brother's hospital room. Gilbert had found a way to channel his energies into helping people. Alfred wanted to help people, too.

Lately, he had been thinking big. Becoming a celebrity, having money for charity… it would be good, of course. But, would it truly be the same as helping people so directly? Alfred didn't know. What he knew was that he felt like his eyes had been opened to another possibility.

He shook his head as he pushed open the door to Matthew's ICU room. He would have time to think about his future career later. For now, all he wanted to focus on was something he had neglected for too long, his family.

There was an annoying sound. It whirred constantly in Matthew's ears, like a fastidious mosquito, but more regular. Then, there was the beeping that came with it.

Matthew wanted to go back to sleep. He had the feeling that he had been asleep for a long time, but he felt exhausted beyond belief.

Yet, the noise slowly brought him back to the brink of consciousness. And with the noise, came the discomfort. Matthew's body was so heavy it felt like it was made of stone. His stomach throbbed, his chest burned from deep within. His throat was painfully dry, something alien scratched it.

Matthew wanted to whimper, but he couldn't.

At last, he was aware of the strong hand grasping his too weak one, of the fingers that brushed his hair away from his forehead. There were voices, too. Talking slowly, tenderly.

Even without being able to make out the words, Matthew could recognize his brothers.

He wanted to call out to them, but he found himself unable to. He couldn't move, either – just bend his fingers, barely.

Panic mounted inside Matthew's chest, constricting it. The beeping peaked up madly. The voices were urgent, now.

Matthew wanted to call out to them, but his body wouldn't answer.

At last, with a titanic effort, Matthew managed to pry his eyelids open.

His brother's blurred faces welcomed him from above. They were haggard and worn out, with concern clouding their eyes. The smiles curling their lips looked out of place.

Arthur cupped Matthew's cheek with his hand.

His mouth was moving. This time, Matthew grasped part of the words.

"…need to calm down. We're at the hospital, you…"

The blood ran cold in Matthew's veins.

We're at the hospital.

Arthur was still talking, but Matthew could hear him no more under the ringing in his ears.

At the hospital.

He didn't know why he was there. All he knew was that everything hurt and he was so weak he couldn't lift a single finger.

But, they were at the hospital. And Arthur was there with him, another concern that should have been avoided had been dropped on his back.

Out of the corner of his eye, Matthew could almost see Allyson address him a smirk. The cruel glint in her brown eyes could be nothing but satisfaction.

'Looks like I won, Mattie-kin,' she whispered in a cruel voice, 'I was right all along.'

Matthew burst into tears.

(word count: 8,206)

Notes:

Tiina (Kristiina) is Nyo Finland
Felicia is Nyo Italy

I'm doing my best, but English still isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistakes or oddly-phrased sentences!

And if you have any questions or want further updates/information, you can also find me on tumblr under the username feynavaley.

Until next time! :)