Here, have a sad story, I hope you like it.

Through the past few years Arthur's dreams had become more hazy, blurry, he could no longer make out faces or keep track of the dream's plot. But he was happy, and he knew he didn't want to wake up. He couldn't remember what was so bad about his waking life, but he was happy here.

The colours were vivid, the smells and sounds were pleasant, everything seemed perfect. There was a blanket under a tree and a beautiful girl waiting for him, the girl of his dreams, the mother of his children, and there was always so much laughter.

He felt his chest tighten, the vision blurring and turning black, his chest tightening and an odd dizziness filling his head as he began to wake up, he felt the happiness drain from his mind, the feeling giving way to confusion.

He blinked himself awake, his head throbbing and his mouth sour, he sat up slowly, looking at the space on the bed beside him. "Am-Amelia..?" he whispered, frowning. He felt her side of the bed, it was stone cold, it hadn't been slept in. He felt a pang in his gut, he closed his eyes and focussed. She was still in the house, she had to be, he strained his hearing, sure he would be able to hear her.

There were noises coming from the other room, but they weren't her.

If they weren't her, then who were they?

He forced his legs off the edge of the bed, willing himself to move his heavy limbs.

He looked down and frowned. There was something different about himself, but he couldn't put his finger on it. The soft spinning of the room stopped him from concentrating.

A loud knock came from the bedroom door, Arthur's head snapping up at the sound. The door squeaked open before he could say anything, and a small boy walked in.

"Daddy," the boy said with a smile, "Are you coming out for breakfast today? Francis is teaching Mattie to make pancakes."

Arthur frowned down at him, confused, "Alfred…?" he looked the boy up and down, "You've gotten big. How old are you?" he asked slowly.

Alfred laughed softly, "I'm 9, silly daddy," he said, continuing to smile, "Is your memory being weird again?" he reached out to pat Arthur's head.

Arthur shook him off, giving Alfred a soft, faked smile, "What do you mean? …Alfred where's your mother, is she with Francis and Matthew?"

Alfred's smile fell from his face, and he withdrew his hand quickly, "Oh…" he looked down at his feet, "It is being really weird again. I have to get Francis."

Arthur frowned, "Alfred? What are you doing?" He forced himself to try and stand up, he couldn't balance correctly, and flopped back onto the bed with a loud 'humph'.

Alfred gasped and stepped back as Arthur tried to get to his feet, he looked back towards the door, as if readying himself to run. He let out a soft sigh as Francis entered the room with Matthew held tight in his arms.

"Alfred, mon cher, I told you to leave your father alone," Francis said softly, walking into the room and stopping at Alfred's side, running his fingers through Alfred's hair, "Your food is ready, go back into the kitchen, have as much as you want."

The child squirmed slightly, "But Francis I-"

"Go on," Francis said sternly, "We'll be out in a moment."

Alfred whined softly and left, looking back as he closed the door behind him.

Francis swallowed hard as he came to the edge of Arthur's bed, sitting on the edge and bouncing Matthew in his arms, "Arthur, do you feel like getting out of bed today? Matthew and I made pancakes."

Arthur glared at the child in his arms, "Matthew… That's not Matthew, Matthew's a baby. What are you talking about Francis. Why can't I move? Where's Amelia?"

Arthur frowned and watched as Francis practically jumped from the bed, holding Matthew away from him, "Oh, I see," he said, the tone of his voice changing.

"That's not Matthew," Arthur insisted, "…It can't be."

Francis nodded, "I assure you mon amie, it is him. He is 4 years old, do you not remember?"

Arthur stared at the boy, frowning softly, "My Matthew is 4? But…I…"

"Oncle" the boy in his arms squeaked, "J'ai faim…"

Francis bounced him softly, hushing him, "I know, little one, I know, give me a minute."

Arthur grit his teeth, feeling his hands curl into fists, "Was that French?" he asked, aghast, "You're making him speak French?" he growled, "Where's Amelia? She wouldn't let you do this, where is she?"

Francis exhaled slowly, frowning softly through despair, "Arthur… Je suis desole… I never meant to teach him it, he just picked it up."

"Stop speaking it in front of him then, you foul man! Where is Amelia? Why won't you tell me where she is?" Arthur felt himself fuming, his face growing hot and tears pricking his eyes.

Francis exhaled slowly, his frame softening, "…She's dead Arthur, she died when Matthew was born. You know this…"

A breath caught in Arthur's throat, and immediately he felt sick, his mouth hung open as memories suddenly sparked in his mind. Slowly he turned his head, frowning at Francis, "Get out," he said slowly, "Get out of here Francis, I don't want to talk to you."

Francis groaned and bit his lip, looking down at Matthew, "Matthew, let's get you your breakfast ok?" He looked back at Arthur, "I'll come back in a moment to help you dress."

Arthur shook his head, "Don't bother," he spat, "I doubt I'll be leaving the room today. Just get the fuck out of here Francis."

I hope you enjoyed it, please leave a review.