Warning: Not as happy as the title may suggest.

Rainbow

. . .

Matthew wakes up to a surprising sight. His brother, Alfred, is underneath the covers with him, a pillow pressed against half of his face as if trying to smell it. For a second, Matthew feels like they're children again, pretending to hide out together in a zombie apocalypse. And for a second, he feels as if everything is normal.

But it's not. Matthew knows this very well when memories of last two nights(one in an inferno, one in a hospital) hit him, bringing tears to his eyes. He remembers the crash, the explosion, the awful, heart-wrenching screams, and he remembers hurried whispers of, "I love you, please don't die," only now he isn't sure whose mouth those words had fallen out of. He doesn't want to remember, for his family's sake, he likes to think, though he knows fully it's for his own sake, his own sanity.

They used to say it was impossible to separate him and Alfred. They were joined by the hip; they were Alfred and Matthew, Matthew and Alfred, and one couldn't be without the other.

Matthew almost laughs at the falseness, because look now, look, one of us is dead.

Tears fall from his cheeks to a red tie that connects him to his brother.

. . .

Alfred stirs in his sleep when he hears a small sniffle. His eyelids flutter open, July-sky blue eyes slowly coming into focus. He notices three strange things. One is Matthew lying next to him, because they hadn't slept in the same bed since they were little. Two is that Matthew is crying. The third strange thing is the red tie loosely wrapped around them(though somehow it just feels right).

"Hey, Mattie," he murmurs. He wants to assure him that everything is okay, there's always a rainbow at the end of every storm, I'm here to protect you so please, please don't cry, but the words don't form.

So he reaches out simply to wipe away an escaped tear on his brother's cheek. Instead, he finds his finger going right through the skin of his brother.

He is confused, even moreso scared, when he puts an arm around Matthew and discovers that he can't touch him. He feels no warmth from the other, only a frightening nothingness. Then he remembers.

"Matthew," he finally manages to utter, but Matthew doesn't seem to hear him, preoccupied with the sobs that rack his body.

. . .

Francis is the first one to come downstairs. He prepares breakfast silently, cooking an omelet. He doesn't notice the small amount of salt that's spilled on the floor, and if he does, he pays it no heed.

He retrieves four plates and sets the table, and when he reaches the fourth spot, he stops.

("I'm sorry," the doctor said. "He won't make it.")

Three heartbeats later, Francis takes the fourth plate and returns it to the cupboard. He feels the urge to slam the cupboard door shut, just to rip the maddening quilt of quiet that's settled over the household, but stops.

He knows it wouldn't make a difference.

. . .

Arthur wakes up with a splitting headache worse than any hangover he'd ever experienced before. He makes his way downstairs to find his son and his husband already eating breakfast.

Francis nudges a plate towards him. Arthur takes his seat and mutters a small "Thank you." The empty seat across him is perturbing.

. . .

Alfred and Matthew both ask at the same time, "When's the funeral?"

Francis doesn't meet either of their eyes, choosing to stare at the salt shaker. "Friday," he mutters.

Arthur slams his fork down, rises, and leaves the room without another word. Francis sighs, running a hand through his wavy locks.

Alfred grits his teeth and just scoots closer to Matthew.

. . .

"I love you," Matthew mumbles to Alfred on Friday. They stand together in front of the grave side-by-side, hands clasped, red tie dangling from their wrists.

"I love you too," Alfred says. "But if you're trying to say goodbye to me, I won't listen to you." It's childish, he knows, but what he's not ready yet, and oh, god, he's starting to cry and damn it stop it stop stop stop you're making it worse.

Matthew cracks a small sad smile. "I hope you never change," he says truthfully.

"I won't," Alfred says, sniffling. "As long as you promise not to end up with that albino kid."

Matthew chuckles this time. "No promises," he says. "But I hope they have hamburgers in heaven."

"I'd love that."

"I know you would."

Alfred holds his brother's hand tighter. "I love you," he repeats, as if it'll be the last time they'll see each other again. And who knows? he thinks. Maybe it is.

"I love you too," Matthew answers.

"I'll try to visit as often as I can," Alfred says with a laugh.

Matthew's eyes flicker sideways to look at him in slight amusement. "I'll be waiting for the day," he tells him.

Alfred closes his eyes, smiling in content.

And just like that, he's no more.

. . .

Here lies Alfred F. Jones, the tombstone reads. Below it is the span of years he lived. On his grave is a rose.

Matthew knows he's gone.

And sometimes, he'll look down to a crimson red tie around his wrist connecting them.

Sometimes, he'll cry at the memories.

But always afterwards, he'll smile, because he knows that the tie will forever hold, connecting him to his brother until they could see each other again.

After all, at the end of each storm, there's always a rainbow.

A/N:

The red tie - there's this story I heard about that when two people are really close, they're supposedly connected together by a red tie. I decided to play around with it a little bit, and voila, this was born. I'm so sorry for banging out this strange creature of what used to be a cute little plot bunny!

Also, I was tired of Matthew the one dying in all of the stories I read. So...I killed Alfred instead? *shot*

Unedited, so any and all mistakes are mine.