Yes, I know it's been forever, but with good reason!
1) School is almost out for me
2) We'll be hitting the THREE YEAR mark with this story! Can you believe it?!
3) We're FINALLY getting to Project Rebirth! Woo!
So lemme know what you guys think? :)

Brothers

Fandom(s): Captain America and Hetalia: Axis Powers

Characters: Alfred F. Jones (Hetalia) and Steve Rogers (Captain America)

Genre: Friendship/Drama/Tragedy/Hurt/Comfort

Raiting: T

Summary: Steve Rogers has known his uncle Alfred Jones ever since he could remember. He was always there for him, even when no one else was.

"The ultimate value of life depends upon awareness and the power of contemplation rather than upon mere survival." - Aristotle

The phone call they were expecting never came. Every day, Steve would watch the telephone after getting home from school with Bucky, even asking Mrs. Barnes if anyone called and asked for him. The answer was the same every day. Bucky didn't ask and Steve didn't tell him who he was waiting for a call from, although it was obviously clear. As time went on, Steve's eyes glued onto the wall phone less and less and some days he completely forgot about the ringing he was expecting. On the quiet weekends, however, it was all he stared it as he took a break from reading a novel or sketching some cartoon characters. During the winters by the fireside Steve would huddle in a blanket Bucky gave him and watch the flames in almost complete silence.

The wind would howl loudly outside with car horns honking their usual cacophony and the chatter of pedestrians would flow in one ear and out the other as he remembered the heroic stories Alfred used to tell him. He would sit on his uncle's knee when he was younger and listen as the man unwove tales that weren't mentioned in the history textbooks, or stories that few people knew about, if at all. It would be the Indians versus the Cowboys and how the Wild West was won, how the Patriots overthrew a monarch three thousand miles away. And through every story that Steve listened to for as long as he could remember, Alfred's eyes twinkled with a fondness and almost nostalgic look on his face as he told his tales by the fireside with Steve always within arms reach of him. The boy grew to think that his uncle was almost like the living incarnation of the American spirit and dream.

During the first month and a half of living with Bucky, Steve barely spoke and spent most of his time sulking around the Barnes' abode. His sketches were one of the few ways he communicated, reflecting the boy's depression. Bucky asked him one night before dinner if he ever wanted to go back and Steve shook his head silently and continued to sketch away. He still hung onto that one sketch of the soldier he saw in the field, how his face looked worn but alert, a menacing figure despite the grime and dried blood that covered his skin and the fabric of his uniform. On some days it was all he drew - revisioning and revising something so many times to make it look almost lifelike. Bucky found one of his best sketches one day crumpled up beside the rubbish bin. The soldier looked almost identical to him, just a little bit older.

A check came for several hundred dollars every month addressed to a "Steven Grant Jones" from a "Mr. Jones". The boy took the money silently and cashed it into his bank account, the one that Alfred had helped him set up a few years back. He told Bucky that the money was for when he set out on his own in two or three years; he would find a steady job and get a small apartment somewhere.

Steve began to get ill frequently again. Pneumonia, several colds, bronchitis, the flu - he seemed to get sick every time someone batted an eye at him. Five out of the seven days of the week he was sick and bedridden. Bucky spent the better part of the two years Steve stayed with him taking care of him and nursing him back to health. And much to his guilt, he was feeding off of the Barnes' weekly food supply and occupying their space. As soon as he turned eighteen on the Fourth of July in 1938, he moved out and spent the holiday packing up and moving into his new apartment.

Bucky dropped him off, gave him a tight hug, and told him to ask if he needed anything. Steve didn't plan on asking for favors, but said thanks anyway. Bucky stopped him and pulled his frail body into a tight hug. "It's okay. You don't have to be on your own," he said. Steve swallowed harshly and slowly raised his arms. "'Cause I'll be there with you 'till the end of the line." At hearing the words, Steve's breathing became harsh as he hugged Bucky back tighter. He silently nodded his thanks and pulled away before his eyes began to sting.

He put the small suitcase down by the door after Bucky had left and looked around the apartment. It was a lot similar to the one he had grown up in, only smaller and more cramped in some areas. The room was a bit cold and dark with only a few lights in the place. The fireworks thundered outside with people screaming and cheering outside on the streets. The smell of barbecue and other delicious commodities seeped in through the drafty windows. Tomorrow he would start job hunting, but for now he slumped down onto the couch. The memories he tried to suppress were coming back at him tenfold. He cried for a good few hours.

Job hunting was harder than Steve thought. Hardly anyone was interested in hiring a lanky eighteen year old who was sickly pale and had barely any muscle on him. After day five, he landed a job scrubbing dishes at a lower end restaurant. The place smelled, wreaked even. Flies buzzed everywhere and drove him insane while some of the grime on the plates seemed to not want to come off no matter how hard he scrubbed. Occasionally he felt a rat crawl over his shoe, the one that the owner of the place thought he killed several times already. Steve fed it crumbs of cheese and other leftovers that he didn't keep for himself after his shift was through. In a lot of ways, the rat was a lot like him - unwanted and yet still alive.

Bucky kept taking him out on double dates, the girl he was partnered up with most of the time excused themselves to the bathroom and didn't come back or they just hung around Bucky's free arm and Steve became the odd third wheel as he followed them throughout the night. Sometimes he just told Bucky he was tired and headed home, which was usually not the case. He just wanted to be important again; he wanted to be important without leeching off of somebody else.

On weekends, he busied himself with the laundry and cooking himself meals that he could eat during the week when he didn't have time to have a good dinner. He would remember seeing his mother humming a tune that was on the radio with a smile on her face when he entered the room and sat by her, chatting away about his day in Preschool or Kindergarten, showing her his latest drawings and talking about the playground bullies that always seemed to be following him like his shadow did. Sarah's cooking was by far more superior to anything Steve concocted in his pitiful excuse of an apartment kitchen. The mold around the stove and sink made his skin crawl no matter how many times he carelessly glanced it the fungus.

Steve remembered his home smelling like freshly baked bread in the apartment he and his mother domesticated before Alfred whisked them away to the urban living of Washington D.C. The sun always seemed to light up the room and whatever air blew in through the open windows was pleasant and welcomed, warming to the touch. He remembered sleeping in a larger bed than he had now, almost curling himself into a ball just so his feet wouldn't dangle off of the edge. His mother would kiss him Goodnight, and she would also kiss the teddy bear Alfred gave him for his third birthday. He named it Matthew before giving it to him and Steven didn't ask why until meeting his Uncle Matthew at his fifth birthday party.

He spent whatever free time he had during the workweek in his apartment, reading and drawing to pass the time. By the time he got to Thursday, the food began to grow stale in the run down fridge he had in his apartment, as well as the milk he had bought two days beforehand. Maybe if he banked more of his scarce income he would be able to get a better apartment somewhere else. His income was that of a miser; he scavenged whenever he could, sometimes skipped meals simply because he didn't feel like eating after a rough day in the city or in the kitchen where he worked. He counted the hours until he got off on Friday and didn't have to return until Monday morning. Saturday and Sunday became his saving grace.

Much to his amazement, Alfred still sent him checks with the same amount despite the situation of the economy. He was tempted to write to him and ask how things were in Washington D.C. However, the riots outside and the chaos going on throughout some areas of the country who were still hurting over the Bonus Army situation a few years back told him it could be less than favorable at the moment. It were times like these that he wished he could ask his uncle for advice. Alfred always knew what the right thing to do was.

The weekends were also when he had time to see the short films in the theaters, catch up with the current events, go to church on Sundays, and finally go visit his mother and father at Green-Wood cemetery. The train ride to the station closest to the cemetery was about an hour and the walk there spanned another. The cold autumn air nipped at the exposed skin of his hands and face. He clutched his oversized coat around his frame as much as he could as he trekked onward to his destination. He passed section by section, fleeting glances at names and dates and the gifts loved ones would leave behind - stones, flowers, wreaths.

It was here that Steve could freely vent his frustrations without feeling like a burden to people; it was here that he cried and longed for days when his mother and Alfred were the two central figures in his life. He would never admit to anyone else that he missed his uncle as the hot tears streamed down his face in succession one after another as he sobbed about how lonely he felt, how Bucky was really the only person there for him now, how facing everything on his own was more frightening than he would like to admit.

With the way he looked now, even Bucky had a hard time connecting Steve to the friend he had when he was younger; his eyes didn't shine as bright and his skin was almost as white as snow. His hair was still its golden brown color, the only sign of health on his body. He looked completely different from the boy in the photograph that he carried in his breast pocket wherever he went, now creased and wrinkled with wear and age.

"Haven't seen you in quite a while," a voice called from behind him. Steve turned around to see Arthur approach him, wearing a black trench coat and a matching fedora. The sky above was overcast with dark gray clouds and a cold breeze blew through the green fields with the slabs of stone matching the sky above.

"Mr. Kirkland," the twenty year old uttered weakly. The blond man smiled grimly at the boy.

"Please," he began in a comforting tone. "Call me Arthur like you did when you were younger." The English man's hand clasped Steve's shoulder firmly. He looked down at the headstone. "Here visiting your parents?" he asked.

Steve answered him with silence and a small nod. Arthur sighed heavily. "I thought I might find you here. I couldn't seem to track you down." He chuckled lightly. "You're very good at hiding."

The young man looked up at him. "But I'm not-"

England gave him a knowing look. "Alfred told me what had happened. All of it. He tried looking for you for months. Called every police bureau in the state. No one had anything to give him. But he had an idea of where you were. So he sent you money, figuring if you wanted to come back to him, you would have."

Steve had begun cry again, not even realizing it at the mention of Alfred's name. "I'm sorry, Steven. I didn't mean to upset you…" Arthur closed his eyes and tried to compose himself before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small business card. He handed it to the teen. "I'll be in my New York office for the remainder of the year. Feel free to drop by and visit if you need anything," he gave a faux-smile.

Steve nodded his head, grasping the card with both hands while still holding the photograph. "Thank you, but I'll be-" when he looked up, Arthur was gone and a cold wind blew by. He looked back at his parents' headstones, swallowing hard in an attempt to relieve himself of the lump that had lodged itself in his throat. It didn't work. He shriveled up in his small coat and left the cemetery without looking back.

When World War II broke out in Europe in September of 1939, tensions worldwide had become increasingly thick. It was late 1940 now and the Lend-Lease Act was currently being drafted in Congress at the urgency of the president. Alfred gritted his teeth in the conference room and clenched his fists into the biceps of his crossed arms.

"We can't afford to get involved!" one adviser to the president cried out. "We're just starting to get back on our feet! We cannot let the economy tank again!"

"This is a matter of the FREE WORLD! If Hitler takes out England, we won't stand a chance! They were almost slaughtered at Dunkirk!"

Franklin Roosevelt gripped the handles of his wheelchair and grimaced as Alfred paced restlessly back and forth behind him. The country found it harder and harder to breathe. Abraham Erskine drummed his fingers patiently on the long wooden table, glancing to and fro at the shouting men.

"England can handle themselves. The last time we were dragged into an international war we lost a generation!"

"But if we-"

The scientist chose this time to interject. "But if we turn a blind eye, there will be no more future generations to proceed us." The room fell silent as Erskine continued to talk in a gentle but firm voice. "As being one of their former leading scientists, I have seen first hand at the weapons they are creating and the chaos they will bring to everyone. No one is safe as long as the Nazis continue this mad power grab!"

Sitting next to him, Colonel Chester Phillips gestured with his hands and spoke up, "Einstein here is no general, but he has a point. The Germans are blindly following their leader and chances are we're going to be the only ones able to stop them." He glanced at Agent Carter sitting next to him and then eyed the president.

President Roosevelt nodded his head. "Very well," he declared, picking up a pen and signing the piece of paper in front of him. "I'm signing off on Project Rebirth. If things are as bad as you say, I think it's about time I talk to my good friend Winston. Lyndon!" he waved the vice president over and tucked his reading glasses away into his breast pocket. "Gentlemen, Colonel, Doctor, Agent Carter," he nodded at the three respectfully before turning to look at America. "...Alfred," his voice carried a gentle warning that Jones had grown accustomed to. The country nodded his head and let his eyes follow after the president until they left the room. Afterwords, most of the other advisors from both the military and the West Wing gathered their things and departed the conference room.

Alfred trained his eyes on Dr. Erskine. "It's been a long time since you stabbed me with that syringe of yours," he frowned and raised an eyebrow. "Have you made any progress?"

Abraham froze and swallowed hard. "Yes!" he spoke quickly. "Quite a lot...All we need is a test subject."

Phillips walked up next to the scientist with Carter in tow. "We'll look at both men enlisting and possible candidates in the near future. If this war escalates to the degree we're anticipating, a draft might be instated."

"I'm well aware of the situation," Alfred smiled politely, clenching his fists once more. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other business to attend to." He abruptly turned on his heel and left the meeting room with a brisk gate before any of the three could open their mouths in retort. This is the price they were going to pay for not listening to Churchill in the first place - another world war with the stakes even higher this time. They were going to pay with the future if things didn't miraculously work out.

And Alfred would never have the chance to see Steven again.

From that day on, Alfred wore his dog tags wherever he went and carried a handgun under his suit jacket. The Nazis tried to cause commotion a few years ago when the economy was at its worst, they would try it again without a doubt.