Alfred had the worst job imaginable. It wasn't the kind of job that someone low on cash picked up. It wasn't something repulsive, like cleaning sewers or farming mushrooms. Alfred would have gladly taken any of those kind of jobs in exchange for his, except that he was very good at what he did, and someone had to do it.

On this particular day, however, Alfred wished no one had to do it.

He marched up the cobblestone walkway, past the finely trimmed rosebushes, and onto the fading blue porch where two rocking chairs sat.

He grasped the golden knocker and let it fall once, twice, before standing at attention in front of the clean white door.

Alfred kept a blank face as a short blond man pulled it open. He kept a blank face as the man took in his military uniform, his many fancy strips and badges and medals. He kept a blank face as the now trembling blond man glanced at the paper in Alfred's hands.

"No," the man cried.

Alfred kept a blank face a he unfurled the paper and read:

"Dear Arthur Kirkland, I regret to inform you that your brother, Scott Patrick Kirkland, has been mortally wounded in battle."

The man fell to his knees in front of Alfred and pulled his face into his torn blue jeans, sobbing. Alfred finally let his blank face turn into sympathy, and crouched down in front of the man. His uniform caught on the edges of the rough wood on the porch. Sand stuck into his palm when he pressed it on the boards for balance. Thick, heavy tears rained onto it.

"Hey," he whispered. "Hey."

The man did not look up, but offered a short bellow that tore at Alfred's heart to hear, one so full of pain and loss that Alfred's own throat tasted spent.

"He's not even properly American!" Arthur roared into his lap. "He wasn't even supposed to join up! He wasn't supposed to die!"

Alfred pressed his lips into a thin line. He stretched out a careful hand and laid it on Arthur's back, rubbing slow circles. Arthur sprung up and grabbed onto the lapels of Alfred's uniform.

"He's all I have left!" Arthur screamed. "Don't you understand? He's...he was all I had left."

…

A short oneshot to loosen my rusty bolts, and to depress all of you. Thank thenamesiggykirkland for, as always, inspiring me to write.

-Mallory