Alfred never really paid attention when taught properly how to apply anything to a piece of toast. So when he was using the jagged blade, holding the bread with his left hand, and spreading the marmite to toward it, Arthur had little time to react before the boy promptly stabbed himself.

He dropped the knife and screamed. Arthur was at his side in an instant and put his bleeding hand underneath water. Alfred was breathing heavy and let it run over the wound while Arthur went to get the first aid kit. Matthew watched from the table with wide eyes, pretty much traumatized by the sight of his brother bleeding like that.

The older of the brothers returned, and was proud of Alfred for not crying yet. He gently took Alfred's hand in his and began nursing it, "Alfred you can't guide the knife toward you," he instructed and the 8 year old hiccupped and wiped his eyes. Arthur took his good hand when he was finished wrapping the other one and cleaned the knife, "Now, Alfred, here's how you properly spread mar- Alfred?"

He watched the boy scoot away, shaking his head. He clutched onto his injured hand, "I-I don't want any anymore." He said and Arthur looked at the jar. He didn't blame the kid, Arthur wouldn't have an appetite for it, either if he just impaled himself while trying to apply it to toast; Even if it was the boy's fault in the first place.

Arthur put everything away and got out some cereal for his younger brother, who was still clutching tightly to his hand.

By age 10 Alfred had successfully banned all marmite from the house (with a little help from his twin). He couldn't stand when he opened the fridge and it was in the side door, glaring at him. Tempting him to come and try it again.

At the grocery store, Alfred would always force his family away from the aisle that held the malevolent spread. He didn't want him around at all.

He wasn't obsessed with staying away from it, he just thought of ways to avoid it when the time came. It wasn't like he was constantly thinking of how to avoid it, but it came up from time to time. He would always get riled up and jump on the couch, then start preaching about how it was the devil's work, while his brother watched with extreme amusement and their father, Francis, sighed and rubbed his temples.

By age 16, they were both fed up with it. Arthur, who was now 23, had devised a plan. He came to visit them and had a milkshake for Alfred. He shut the door and called into the home. He heard a few bangs from upstairs as he put his bags down and Alfred appeared at the bottom of the stairs and was running toward him, "Alfred calm do-" he was promptly hugged and he laughed, almost dropping his milkshake. He found it adorable (but slightly annoying at the same time) that Alfred was still so clingy to him.

"I brought you something."

"Milkshake! Badass!" he snatched it and began to drink it.

Arthur watched closely, "Where's Papa?" he asked, as Alfred began to smack his lips.

"Shopping with Mattie. Arthur… What flavor is this?"

"Oh?" Arthur glanced at him, a slight gleam in his eye that Alfred couldn't make out.

"…Is this from that crazy shot downtown that makes milkshakes out of anything?"

The Brit's smile grew wicked, "Why yes, it is."

Alfred's blue eyes widened, "You didn't…" his grip on the cup loosened and Arthur tilted his head.

"Didn't what?"

The door opened, though neither of them noticed through their intense stares. Francis and Matthew, each holding paper grocery bags, looked at each other before looking back at the two, not moving.

"Is what I think is in here, in here?"
"I don't know, what do you think's in there, Alfred?"

He knew Alfred hated even saying the name of it, but at moments like these, it was kind of fun to watch his brother squirm.

"You did!" Alfred dropped it and paled, then ran to the kitchen to wash his mouth out with Coke. Arthur, by some miracle, had been able to catch the cup before it hit the ground. He followed Alfred, determined.

Matthew and Francis ignored them and busied themselves with putting the groceries away.

"You're such an asshole, Arthur!"

"Oh please you've deprived me of marmite for a third of my life, I think I deserve some payback!"

"Don't say that word in this house, Mister, do I have to wash your mouth out with soap, too?" he held up the soap and saw the cup in Arthur's hand, "You still have it!" he accused, pointing at it, "It's demonic!"

Arthur slowly advanced toward Alfred, "Oh come now, Alfred, you want it," he held it out to him and Alfred backed up until his tailbone hit the counter. He pointed at Arthur, shaking.

"Don't you dare."

"Oh? Alfred's afraid of some marmite?"

"Arthur I need to get into that drawer, can you move so Al can stop quivering in fear right in front of it?" Matthew was ignored.

"You know I am- What're you doing?" he screeched as he the straw got closer to his face, "Don't. Don't- ARTHUR!" he shut his mouth as the straw stabbed his lips.

"Open up, Alfred~"

Al shook his head, so Arthur put it up his nose.

"OW!" Alfred pulled away and tried to push Arthur away, who had to stop from breaking out into hysterical laughter. While his brother's mouth was open, he was able to aim the straw and get in. Alfred looked completely grossed out, both because it was up his nose and most importantly because what was going to be coming up the straw. Arthur held his chin so he couldn't pull away.

"Drink it, Al. Or I'll dump it all over you."

"H-How much?"

"All of it."