When Alfred found out that he had a brother, he was ecstatic.

He'd always wanted one, especially a younger one—blissfully ignoring his dad's explanations that Matthew was older than him—and now that he had one, he'd do everything he could to make up for the lost years.

So naturally, he made intensive research on what brothers did. More specifically, what good big brothers did. He jotted down extensive notes (ignoring a solid majority of the advices) and was almost proud of his work as his dad sighed, zipping up the suitcases.

"Get off the internet, Alfred. We're going in an hour."


Alfred used to be glad that he was able to meet his brother again.

Was. Past tense. Now he wasn't sure anymore—not when he was stuck in the guest room, right next to Mattie's room, listening to sounds his younger (older) brother should not be making.

"Le quatre-quart - sirop! - ressemble à," the soft voice paused, "ah, un pet de poisson."

A shiver ran down his spine. Of course it wasn't his brother! His Mattie was never... never a creep! It must have been the—the country. Yeah! He knew that they shouldn't have left Mattie to live in Canada. Canada just wasn't as good as America, that's why he turned out like this.

He should have had convinced his dad to make Mattie come back to the good ol' USA. His papa's cooking was heavenly, but it wasn't worth the person his brother turned into.

"Tu, hng, sais que la..." The other voice groaned. The other voice. Alfred hated the other voice, because he was defiling his little (older) brother. Corrupting it.

Once he got out of this stupid room, he was kicking Gilbert Beilschmidt's ass into next week. (Forget the fact that the same guy had been the one to teach him his moves.) He'd make the guy regret he ever crossed Alfred F. Jones. And defiled his brother. Yes.

Another groan and Alfred suppressed his whimper.

"Consistence du cerveau?" Mattie purred—oh no, he did not hear him purr. In French. Alfred refused to believe.

"Putain, Mattie- est comme la mélasse!" Mattie's laughter rang, but damn if he heard a tinge of sultriness in that sound. Alfred clutched onto the pillow in his hand, determination set in his eyes, and prepared to stand up, but then the voices resumed.

"Oh? Your... birdy's awake, eh?" He did not just say that. Mattie did not just say that. Alfred stared at the door, horrified. His brother! His pure, innocent, maple-syrup chugging, pancake eating brother did not just say that!

Rustles of sheets—and sounds of limbs maneuvering around one another—gave him unpleasant mental images.

"So freakin' naughty- Recouche-toi Gilbird." Gilbert's voice, however, made his blood boil. That was it. He was not taking any more of this. Throwing his pillow to the side, he stood up, fist clenched and ready to make his point.

After all, Gilbert himself taught him how to deliver his... meanings with a good smack.

"Je vais appeler la police, frangin!" Mattie's voice cracked. Alfred whimpered. Perhaps nevermi—no. He's Alfred F. Jones. He had to protect his brother's innocence from groping old bastards. Gilbert was a few years older, but that still made him an old bastard. Yes. He nodded to himself, ignoring the pitiful noises inside his head, and opened the door.

"Je sais que tu écoutes, Mattie." There was a unison of long groans and Alfred's resolution broke.

He ran out of the house, wondering where it all went wrong.


Matthew and Gilbert shared a look before cracking up.

"Matthew Williams, do not let anyone tell you that you're anything short of gorgeous."

Matthew wiped his tears away, stomach still hurting from the laughter. "Will do."


A/N: I actually had the help of an actual French with the French.

So basically I imagined this to be an AU where Alfred and Matthew were separated early on—Alfred went with Arthur to USA while Matthew was with Francis in Canada. Gilbert was, at some point, in America, where he attended the same school as Alfred and taught him how to fight. Then he moved away to Canada, where he struck a relationship with Mattie. So they both speak French.

Then Alfred discovered that he had a brother. This just got worse from there.

- Le quatre-quart - sirop! - ressemble à, ah, un pet de poisson : The four quarter cake- syrup!- sounds like, ah, fish fart.

- Tu, hng, sais que la (consistence du cerveau) -putain, Mattie- est comme la mélasse! : You, hng, know (brain consistency)- fuck, Mattie- are like molasses!

- Recouche-toi Gilbird : Go back to sleep, Gilbird.

- Je vais appeler la police, frangin! : I will call the police, brother!

- Je sais que tu écoutes. : I know you are listening.

- Eloignez-vous de la bordure des quais. : Get away from the platform edge