"I still think this is a foolish idea, Francis. It's too late to go out for ice cream!" The British man snapped as he helped one of the young boys button up his jacket.
"Nonsense, Arthur. It is only eight and the ice cream place isn't even far. The boys only have church to worry about tomorrow! You worry too much." Francis brushed off, making sure he had his wallet in his back pocket.
Arthur rolled his eyes, "Yes, well I still think this is rather dumb. There's still some ice cream in the freezer!"
"But Dad!" Alfred, the boy Arthur had just been helping, whined, "We only have vanilla and I hate vanilla! I want triple chocolate supreme." He insisted, giving his best pouty face. Francis let out a chuckle at the display while Arthur remained unconvinced.
"Whatever, just be home soon, alright?" He reminded, leaving his family at the door to return to his book in the family room.
It was a decision he would regret for the rest of his life. If only he had urged them to stay home, or perhaps if he had decided to go with them things could have been different. But the past was done and nothing could change it now.
As it was, Francis, Arthur and Matthew left the small home that spring evening with only thoughts of ice cream on their minds.
Walking to the small little shop was simple and uneventful and Alfred was soon delighted with his triple chocolate surpreme while Matthew, his twin, was satisfied with his scoop of strawberry in a cup so as not to have it drip all over his hand.
Alfred wanted to eat at the parlor, but Francis knew Arthur would nag him for staying out longer which would decrease his chances for fun Papa and Daddy time, which he greatly craved. And so, the trio left the small shop and trekked down the sidewalk in the darkening light.
Alfred spent the time talking about his comic books, his heroes, his adventures in school and everything in between. It was hard for the elder man to follow along the rapid slew of information but he tried his best to understand the endearing little boy.
However, it was this attempt at focusing on the one child that he forgot about the other, if only for a moment. But a moment could be a millennium in some cases and this just so happened to be one of those cases.
They had just crossed the street when Matthew realized he had dropped his favorite little polar bear plush that his Papa had given to him. He had been too focused on his ice cream to notice the loss of his favorite toy. He looked around frantically, only to find it in the middle of the street they had just crossed.
Quickly, he slipped his hand from his Papa's, unnoticed and rushed back into the street. He wiped his strawberry coated hand on his shirt and bent down to pick up the little plush.
It was at this point that Francis realized he was missing a twin, and turned back around. And then he heard a stranger cry out, "There's a kid on the road!"
His heart clenched suddenly as he feared the worst. He let go of Alfred and started to rush back toward the street shouting out a, "Stay right there, Alfred!" as he ran. He saw Matthew picking up his bear and turning back toward the direction of the curb when a bright light blinded him. He flinched, squinting his eyes only to see a car careening toward him.
The little boy froze in fear.
There were some shouts from the sidewalk, but the loudest was the desperate shriek of a parent calling his son's name before diving for him.
Alfred saw it all in slow motion.
He had neglected to follow his Papa's instructions and pushed past some of the bystanders to reach the curb. He saw his Papa fling himself into the street and roughly push his brother out of the cars path. Matthew fell back, hitting his head hard on the pavement.
But Alfred didn't really look because all he could see was his Papa being hit by that same car and being run over as the car continued driving on in a drunken path. There were gasps and screams around but Alfred didn't really hear any of them.
Everything was quiet except for one person screaming.
Himself.
He darted into the street, pulling away from a stranger who tried to hold him back, shrieking all the while, "That's my Papa!" He struggled but finally reached the motionless bleeding body.
The Frenchman was covered in blood, and it seemed as if part of his body had just caved in but Alfred couldn't care less. He wiped away the blood on the others face in some desperate attempt, begging all the while, "Papa wake up, please. Daddy's gonna be worried and Mattie's hurt and Papa please wake up you're scaring me and Papa why won't you talk there's blood in your hair you always worry about your hair! You need to wake up and fix it please wake up I love you Papa and so does Mattie and Daddy and please." He repeated in a hurried slur of pleas and prayers. He started to sob.
Francis never responded.
He wanted to lie there for the rest of forever but then he remembered his dear brother and forced himself to crawl over to him.
He'd hit his head on the pavement and he was bleeding a lot but Alfred could tell he was ok because he saw him breathing. It still didn't make him feel any better.
He didn't know how long he sat there between the two bodies nor did he know who called 911 but at some point his Papa and brother were being carried into an ambulance and he was taken with them.
He didn't speak to any of the paramedics as they questioned him. He just sat there, huddled up and crying to himself because half his world was missing and he didn't know what to do.
It was only when they reached the hospital and they wheeled his family away and made him wait in another room that he remembered.
"Daddy! You need to call Daddy! Please, please!" He begged one of the nurses there.
She looked down at him sadly, "Daddy's already here, sweetie. He's in the other room. They're going to do their best to save him alright?"
Alfred stared at her like she was an idiot, his frustration festering in his broken heart. "Not Papa! Daddy! Daddy's at home…He doesn't know anything! You need to call Daddy!"
The woman straightened up in confusion, "What's the number?" She asked, and Alfred gave her the number that Arthur had made him memorize in case of emergencies. He never thought he would need it.
Arthur rushed to the hospital the minute he hung up. He had been worried when his family hadn't returned home, especially when Francis refused to answer his phone. He had no idea it could be as bad as this, although he was still painfully unaware of all the gruesome details.
He entered the hospital, walking briskly with a sort of panicked aura around him. He headed his way straight to the information desk until he was barreled into by a small child. He looked down to see his little Alfred clinging to his leg as tightly as he could, trembling and crying.
He picked him up without a second thought, hugging him to his chest, "Alfred, shh. It's going to be alright. Everything's going to be alright." He whispered, petting the boy's hair short dirty blond hair.
But Alfred wasn't listening. He shook his head, pulling away, "Papa's dead Dad. Papa's dead. I know he's dead! I saw him—I—Dad I want Papa back!" He pleaded desperately.
Arthur's heartbeat quickened and he quickly tried to assure himself that this was all nonsense and Francis was merely hurt. Alfred had to be wrong. He had to be. He was only a child. He couldn't be right.
The man spoke to the lady at the main desk who quickly escorted him to a room where Matthew was lying. He was unconscious and the nurse spoke of a concussion. Arthur was jittery and nervous and frustrated seeing his baby boy with an IV and a bandaged head, completely unresponsive to his comforting touches. He didn't like not being able to do anything to help his child.
"Where's Francis?" He asked the nurse, as she was about to leave.
She seemed to look at him questioningly, "You…You don't know?" She repeated slowly, sadly.
Arthur felt his heart clench but he refused to believe it.
"Francis Kirkland Bonnefoy was dead before he reached the hospital." She stated, "I'm very sorry for your loss but there was nothing we could do."
Arthur stared at her. He stared at her for a long while with a penetrating disbelieving gaze as if he was dissecting her tone in order to see if she was lying or not. His chest hurt. His head hurt. His eyes seemed to burn.
"That can't be true. It can't! That damn French bastard wouldn't leave me that easily! Where is he! You're lying! Tell me where he is!" He suddenly shouted, anger flaring.
"D-Dad…Dad papa's gone. He's gone!" Alfred insisted where he sat beside his sleeping brother. His father only seemed to ignore him, continuing to glare and shout at the nurse who seemed more than frightened.
She kept trying to calm him but finally gave up and agreed to show him the body. Arthur left with her and Alfred was left alone with his brother. He couldn't stop crying and sniffling and shaking and being alone in a room of just machines and his sleeping brother was not helping him. He mumbled a "Be back soon, Mattie" and left the stark room to follow after his father.
The two adults slipped into a room a ways away, followed closely by the small boy. On the stretcher lay his Papa's body, the blood cleaned off from his face although it still coated his clothing.
Alfred watched as his father gasped at the sight and rushed toward him. He gripped the metal bar beside the stretcher until his knuckles turn white.
"Francis…Francis what the hell do you think you're doing! This isn't funny! Wake up! I could never shake you off this easily! You said…You said I'd never be rid of you you liar! I hate you!" He cried out, and Alfred flinched from where he stood by the door but only watched on as his father crumpled before him, descending into sobs.
Alfred looked away as his father wrapped his arms around the dead man, clinging to him and begging him to come back. He listened as he started repeating that he loved him and that he needed to come home and cook and be French and soon Alfred found himself running out of the room because he just couldn't see his father act like that.
He hurried back to his brother's room and sat on one of the chairs in the corner, curling into a ball. He didn't how long it was his father came back into their room but when he did he seemed different. Something weighed heavily on his shoulders and his emerald eyes seemed to dull.
He said nothing to the trembling boy and simply sat beside him. Alfred uncurled himself and look up to his Dad for some sort of guidance because he was so tired and he couldn't cry anymore and he just didn't know what to do anymore.
His father gave him no answers. He simply held his face in his hands and trembled and Alfred wondered if he was still crying. He had never seen his dad cry before and it only made everything so much worse.
"D-dad? Dad it's gonna be ok…Ri-right? Just like you said?" He tried pathetically, tugging at the man's shirtsleeve.
Arthur shook his head not looking up, "No, Alfred. I'm afraid nothing's right at all."
So...I havent really been in the writing mood at all lately. But this story idea has been swimming around in my head from before I even thought of Clinging and so i was like fuck it i'm writing it. No promises on how often this will be updated.
Also...Usually my stories have a lot of humor in them...Not so much this one. This is going to be a dark and depressing look at family, mostly through the POV of young Alfred. And yeah.
So thanks for being so patient.
My other stories will update eventually but i just am not feeling very lighthearted at the moment orz.
Reviews are always nice.
Love you guys!