"Bust a Move!"

Disclaimer: I do own nothing, not even my name. I probably stole it from someone.

Summary: "Don't forget me!" They both shouted before on of them hopped on the train. But they would forget each other, not knowing that their biggest treasure would lose to the hands of time. They waved goodbye, seeing their ways parting for good.

Treasures from an old Friend,

Unexpected Treasures

Alfred's eyes had been focused on the old treasure chest covered with dust in a corner of the old dusty attic for the past twenty minutes. He tried to remember why it was locked, almost turned into dust and why that part of the dusty attic where Matthew and he never looked or came, was its final resting place. Much like his old shed. If he didn't wore a watch, Alfred couldn't tell if time passed by; it was a Friday evening, Matthew had gone out for a walk and the few rays of moonlight didn't reveal much accept more dust than Alfred though was hanging in the atmosphere in his house.

Alfred rubbed his eyes and scratched his head. His blonde hair was still wet from the shower he took half an hour ago and the scent of Matthew's soap he had used still hung around him. He loved the smell of lavender. Just like Matthew; a reason to hug his brother more often.

He held the rusty lock in his hand, it was small. Like the ones used for keeping the secrets of a diary hidden and only to the writer visible. Others had to live with only knowing the cover. Maybe this chest was just like a dairy; who had the key, would know what was inside. Because he didn't own that particular key, he would never know what was so special to be locked away.

He yawned. The blonde couldn't recall why he went to the attic in the first place. As soon as he saw the chest in the corner, he was mesmerized by it and eager to know what was inside. Like a greedy pirate. His curiosity would win from anything, even hunger and sleep. Matthew often joked that his love for the spring would even lose to his curiosity. Alfred always laughed the hardest, knowing it was true.

Maybe it was time to give up; Alfred thought when he glanced at his watch. It was past eleven, meaning that Matthew could be home already and they could do something fun before it really was time to crash and sleep. Alfred loved spending time together, now that they lived under the same roof again.

A single glance on the chest before giving up, Alfred stood up and walked towards the stair on his bare feet. Inhaling the scent of lavender mixed with the scent of old stuff, he walked down stairs into the kitchen. Greeted by his brother, Alfred sat down on a kitchen chair reaching for an apple from the fruit bowl.

"How was your walk, Matthew? You were gone for a long time." Alfred bit his apple and leant beak. "It was nice. I went down the street, stopped by Marie's for a drink, ran into Peter and went back through the park. It was not too cold, so I didn't wear my jacket." Matthew paused to sniff and placed his mug of hot chocolate back on the table. "Do I smell lavender? Did you use my soap again Alfred?" A grin appeared on Alfred's face. "I couldn't resist. I just love the smell of lavender!"

x~

The big hand on his watch hit the 12 while the small one still hung at 4. Alfred had been up for almost an hour; the blonde couldn't sleep without knowing what was inside the treasure chest. Last night, Matthew and he talked a little bit before going to bed. Alfred had remembered why he went to the attic in the first place; Matthew wanted him to repair the light in the library because reading with a flashlight wasn't a thing his little brother liked.

Alfred promised he'd do it the next morning, but laying in bed, he couldn't sleep. The treasure chest was in his mind, in his dream. Damn curiosity.

Behind the treasure chest he had found a small box filled with keys. Dairy sized keys. The box was bulging of the keys that were the end of his sleepless night.

Alfred was sitting on the ground, only wearing his pyjama pants with a flashlight next to his foot and the box filled with keys. He was trying the last one he picked from the box. This had to be the one, the blonde thought a little tired. The box was almost empty, there were only three keys left but they didn't feel right.

Alfred turned and twisted the small key in the lock, pulled and hit the box. Dust flew from the cover of the chest and partly clung to his hand. He blew it away and glanced at the cover. A few words were shown underneath the thick layer of dust. They were golden and shimmered.

He bent his head to get a closer look and read the letters. "Treasures from Friends". But the phrase on the cover reminded Alfred of nothing. For him it was just a simple sentence on a chest.He turned the key one more time, this time the cover sprang open; revealing all its secrets.

The treasure chest was filled with toys. A plush duck, a wooden boat made of an old clog, two pair of clogs hidden under the sail of the small boat, an ear belonging to another stuffed animal looking like a rabbit. The inside of the chest smelled like dried flowers, but not like lavender. The smell didn't ring a bell, didn't remind him of what he hoped. Nor did the stuff inside the chest.

Alfred's hand reached for the duck with the red scarf. It had only one eye, the other was replaced by a button. The thread that held the animal together came out through a hole in his wing, revealing that the stuffed animal was old.

The duck had covered a letter. Alfred opened the envelope and began to read the drawings on the blue paper;

'Dear Alfred,

Today, my little sister and I met a man named Herman. He told us a story about a duck named Alfred. It made me thing about you. It was funny.

My mum and I made a stuffed animal that looks like the duck.'

A small drawing of a girl with a ribbon in her hair was drawn in the beginning of the line. 'Liked it and even the baby inside my Mum's stomach thought it looked nice. It kicked. I hope I get a little brother; I don't like little sisters anymore. You're lucky you only have a little brother; I maybe get two little sisters.

The duck, Alfred J. Kwak is a present for your birthday. Kwak is a Dutch word for the sounds that ducks make. But you call it Quack, I guess. When we come over this summer, I'll tell you everything about the duck! I got a book from the man.

See you next summer! Maybe than I can read the book and write my own letters, I only drew pictures so it looked like I made it all by myself.' On the bottom of the letter was a boy drawn with brown hair, a scar on his face and orange clothes next to a girl with a green dress, a father with moustache and a mother with a swollen stomach. They were waving towards Alfred, who realized now who the writer of the letter was.

Alfred hugged the duck, inhaled its familiar smell that dragged up a memory.

~Flashback~

"Look Mummy! I got a stuffed duck; its name is Alfred too! It's from..." Little Alfred almost pushed the duck with the red scarf into his mother's hands so she could see it better, but she was talking to someone on the phone. "Not now Alfred. I'm talking to someone, which means I'm busy. Go show Matthew your new present." She gently pushed him into the direction of the kitchen, where Matthew was drawing a picture for his brother.

"Alfred, what's that? Was that the package from the mail? Did it come from that country across the ocean?" Matthew was excited, just as excited as Alfred had been before his mother didn't show much interest in his new birthday gift as he hoped she would. He was proud of it.

"Yup. The duck is called Alfred. Just like me!" Alfred threw the duck on the table and climbed on the chair next to his brother. "But you can't call him after you. That's stupid!" Matthew grabbed the wing of Alfred J, as well as his brother did and they pulled. Until the fabric from Alfred's wing ripped.

"Mum! Matthew broke my present! He ripped it and now it's broken! Matthew you're the stupidest brother someone can have!" Alfred cried, jumped from the chair and ran towards his mother, finding shelter in her arms. "Mummy, it's his fault! It's ripped!" Tears streamed over the blondes face, his small finger pointing towards the duck in Matthew's arms, who had tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry Alfred. I didn't do it on purpose."

"Alfred calm down. Mummy's going to fix your present. But first you have to listen to me; it about your friend coming over this summer." Alfred stopped crying – making little sobs- and his attention was focused on what his mum had to tell.

"I was talking to his mother on the phone. He and his sister can't come. Their dad's going to have an operation during their summer vacation; it's too expensive to get them over here. His mum told me that he was very sorry."

The news didn't brighten Alfred's day. To him, his birthday was ruined; his friend couldn't come this summer and his brother just ruined a birthday gift. The blonde sobbed. In the kitchen he pulled the duck away from his brother and held it tight. Stuffing escaped through the gap in the duck's wing, making it even sadder than the whole scene looked.

That part of the memory would always stay with Alfred; it was the first gift made by a friend, ruined by his brother.

~ End Flashback ~

Alfred could remember that he got a call that evening. Before he knew who the caller was, a story filled his ears. The story was about a duck named Alfred Jonathan Quack, who survived an accident with a car but lost his six brothers and sisters and his parents. He was all alone but found by a small mole who served as his father and raised him. Alfred learned new things about life and helped saving a princess from a mean crow named Dolf and when Alfred got older; he married a female duck and got two children. The story ended with 'And they lived happily ever after.'

Alfred forgave Matthew for the accident after hearing the story about Alfred and how lucky Alfred was to still have one sibling; they lived happily ever after too.

Alfred smiled with his eyes focused on the old stuffed animal. He felt sorry for forgetting his precious gift, for forgetting his friend.

That night, for the first time in many years, the stuffed Alfred J. Quack slept next to Alfred F. Jones in the same bed.