Broken Mirrors

Alfred F. Jones always felt like there was something missing from his life. It's been a long time since he gave up on finding out what that one thing was. He didn't know where to look, and the feeling pinned him to the wall every morning. But he didn't know what to do. There really wasn't anyone who could tell him what to do, for surely they did not know. And yet, he desperately felt someone should know. The only question to that... Was who? The father who hated him now since declaring he was fine on his own? The other father, who he knew loved him, but still didn't really understand a lot of things happening in his life..? Even his closest friends, he feared, would only up and leave him, or laugh at him for something like this.

He stood in front of his mirror, trying to figure things out himself, but he only stood there, staring right at himself for a good twenty minutes, with his music softly playing in the background. It was around four in the morning, but Alfred couldn't sleep. It wasn't the cold air swarming inside from the screen on his window, or the emptiness of his own bedroom.. But it was this complete dread that seem to fill his entire being, shaking him whole. He didn't see himself in the mirror anymore. It was someone else... Someone who looked an awful lot like him, but wasn't quite him. His hair was longer, his glasses rounder, and his eyes were softer, less blue, and slightly more violet. Alfred tried to focus on one thing, but when he did, the person became him once more. Was he just seeing things?

Alfred glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It was pretty late for him to not have slept at all. Perhaps it was just his mind playing tricks on him. But it was a shame, really. Who was that, that he saw in the mirror, if not himself? He felt it was something he would not learn for a long time, but he also knew that is was about time he left, and did something about it this time. He was going to get some help... But not from a professional. He was going to talk to his father who adopted him so long ago. Alfred knew that he was bound to have answers.

Wheat blond hair bounced up and down as the quick steps of the young man dictated. The cowlick that stood up had refused to be pushed down once again early this morning, but Alfred didn't really care today. He was in a bit of a hurry, scrambling out the door with a Captain America t-shirt and unzipped jeans. His glasses were skewed on his face as he clambered into his truck, messily putting the keys in the ignition, and firing his engine to life. A flash of blue shone down the road as Alfred sped his way to the one place he knew his father was at: a pub.

Arthur Kirkland was a proud gentleman with a knack for getting drunk often. He owned his own bar just a hop and a skip away from where his son, Alfred lived. In other words: across an ocean, and down the road from there. Arthur was just opening the pub, the one at the corner of the way. He wasn't actually expecting people to come in right away, but sometimes there was that occasional person who just needed a drink to start their day, or they were just laid off, and needed something to drown away their worries for a while. What he definitely wasn't expecting was for his son, who lived in another country, to come bursting through his just cleaned glass door with a loud shout.

"Dad!" he called out.

"Alfred, your zipper is down."

His cheeks didn't redden, nor did Alfred seem to care. "Dad," he said again, "I need your help with something."

Arthur was taken aback. Alfred F. Jones, the son whom he had adopted, who had decided early on, that he could live on his own, was asking him, for help.

"My dear boy, what is it?"

"Lately, I've been feeling that there's something missing in my life... Do you know how I'm feeling... And maybe... Do you know how to get rid of this feeling?"

Arthur let out a heavy sigh. He should have known something like this would come up... The two were so close that it was bound to one day, one would know/remember the other was gone. But right now, it didn't seem to be the case in remembering. Not even the most powerful of spells could get rid of this from the brain.

"Listen Love," Arthur started, putting an arm around Alfred's shoulders, "there is something that your papa and I have neglected to tell you, and that is something we hoped would never come up again."

Alfred looked into Arthur's green eyes, not even commenting on his eyebrows as per usual. He was baffled. What was his own father hiding from him? "Wha...What do you mean?" Alfred asked his father, his eyebrows knitting together with a look of deep confusion.

"Please sit down.. I'm going to call Papa."

Alfred nodded, finding his way to the couch just up the stairs of the bar. Arthur turned around the sign, putting up a note stating that there was some issues with supply and they will be open again soon. Arthur then went over to the phone, and rang up his husband who was just about to go off on a business trip, and was currently finishing up a few things at his office building right there in London.

"Mon Ange," the Frenchman answered, knowing who it was right away.

"Shut it Frog, this is important here. Alfred just came to me, and he's asking me something that I think you should really be here to explain..."

The man on the other end almost dropped the phone, knowing immediately what his husband was talking about... Something that they had hoped to never speak about ever again, for it was just too hard for one, if not both men to hear. Alfred is only twenty-one, but that seemed to be enough for him to realize something was wrong … Both of his parents hoped that they would never have to explain anything along the lines of his brother again... But alas, the time has come, and therefore, there was nothing that could be done besides explain what has happened, and why there is something wrong. Otherwise, they both knew that, Alfred would go on his own to figure this out, going to others. Both men knew that they should feel lucky that he came to them first and foremost. Who knows what would have happened otherwise.

There was dead silence in the living room of the small flat as Alfred and Arthur waited for Francis, Arthur's husband, to arrive. Neither of the two volunteered to speak up, but it seemed both of them were just fine with that. Though, after a while, Alfred began fidgeting, becoming impatient for his other father to come home. What was taking him so long anyway? He didn't know.

Despite the dying minutes passing by, the sound of a purring engine was heard, but suddenly cut short as the driver killed it, the sound of heavily rushed movement was heard approaching the door, and soon, a man with waving blond hair burst into the living room, his blue eyes flying between both his husband, and his son. He went to Alfred, and gave him a hug, his eyes already showing his concern and sadness.

"You've grown, Alfred," was all he said before looking to Arthur. "What is zhis about now?" he asked, though he already knew. The tone in Arthur's voice made it apparent it was about their other son, Alfred's little brother. And the way Francis spoke now, made it quite obvious he knew about the reason they were gathered.

"Okay, so you guys clearly know something. Spit it out," Alfred demanded, crossing his legs and folding his arms, much like Arthur did when he demanded answers.

Francis would have laughed had it not been for the reason this conversation was happening. Even with the image of Arthur's face when he would point it out, Francis could not bring forth a smile. Though he would never admit it out loud, Francis had always favored Alfred's brother over the child himself. Unlike Alfred, the other child was quiet, and obedient. He loved everyone, and never fussed. Both children were very intelligent, but Alfred never really liked that. They were both skilled in other things, and that was just fine... But sometimes, it's those exact things that draws other people to others. Then that horrible thing had to happen to his baby angel. And that's why he was so stagnant on not talking about it... But the time has come where it can wait no longer.

The blond Frenchman left the room, returning with a small shoebox. It was wrapped in a red white blanket that made some sort of distorted design. Alfred stared at it in fascination, wondering what the heck it was... But he also knew that he was going to find that out shortly... His parents just had to... Get their bearings.

There was a term of silence that continued on longer than Alfred would have liked, but that's just how it happened, and he couldn't control that, he knew. Another thing that crossed his mind was that this was much more serious than he had originally anticipated, which will complicate things a lot more than he really wanted. But that's just the way it would be, and really, there wasn't a thing he could do about that, he was afraid.

Finally obtaining what was necessary, Francis took hold of the end of the blanket, taking it off with great care, as if he was afraid that the thing would break if not handled correctly. The box itself was a plain blue, and full up to the brim with random stuff. Looking closer, Alfred could see most of it, was newspapers and newspaper clippings. There were a couple other things too, but it was the clippings that stuck out the most. There were pictures there, of him, of his family, but there was an extra person there too... He kinda looked like Alfred, and was about the same age... There was a single picture of him and Alfred too, as well as a picture of just him.

"Who..." Alfred was almost too scared to ask. "Who is this boy... The other one in the pictures...?"

Arthur handed over another newspaper with a massive headline.

MISSING CHILD TAKEN FROM SCHOOL

Matthew Bonnefoy-Kirkland, a six-year-old at Hetalia Elementary, was

last seen packing up his backpack at the end of the day, ready to go to

his father, Arthur, with his brother, Alfred. There was no suspicious characters

in the area, which is the biggest mystery of this entire thing.

The article continued to say more, but Alfred was done looking at it. How could he not remember? His own brother! Looking at the date of the paper, and the age stated in the article, Matthew was just two years younger than Alfred himself.

Alfred closely examined the picture of his little brother. He was cute, his face just radiated innocence and purity. He had light colored, wavy hair that hugged his face even nicer than Francis' perfect locks. He had round, oval shaped glasses, contradictory to Alfred's rectangular ones, as well as the difference in Matthew's odd curl and Alfred's cowlick. What else was Alfred forgetting? He couldn't believe he could forget someone so important to him, someone so close to him... And he was just now remembering? He was ashamed of himself for it. Alfred wanted to find his brother now... But... It's been nearly thirteen years since he was taken... No one even knew if Matthew was even still alive.