Alfred and Matthew had been the children of Arthur's first wife, who had died when the two were ten. A little before they turned fourteen, the Englishman had finally found a new wife and remarried. The February before they turned sixteen, Peter, their half brother, had been born.

The Christmas that they were seventeen, Arthur's second wife died. And Peter was left behind as Arthur dove into his work.

He hadn't even celebrated his second birthday yet, and Alfred felt as if the boy had lost not only his mother, but part of his father as well.

The first time Peter had called him "dad", Alfred had been seventeen.

The bubbly, barely two year old blond looked up at him as Alfred scooped up another spoonful of yogurt for the toddler with wide eyes and said it in a clear voice.

"Dad."

And Alfred looked up, the spoon falling from his hands and onto the table. Peter went to grab at the spoon, before sticking it in his mouth. The teen was at a loss as to what to say to the child.

Peter stared up at him, brows furrowing as he repeated himself.

"Dad. Mo'yogurt?"

"I—Peter, no," he said softly, reaching to retrive the spoon from Peter's mouth. "No, I'm Alfred. Dad is at work. Dad—I'm your brother, not your dad. Daddy's at work, he's busy but he's your dad. Not me."

But Peter had just blinked up at him and gurgled, before attempting to snatch the spoon again.

They had never quite stopped Peter from calling Alfred "dad" after that. Arthur was never there when he said it, but soon enough even he noticed that Peter had begun calling him "Mister Arthur."

Arthur was almost never home now.

Alfred mused on it as he ran his fingers through Peter's baby hair, the blond curls giving the child almost an angelic look. Peter whined as the other gave a small smile, humming as he picked up the boy from his bed and rocked him slowly, shushing his little squirms and cries. It was barely dawn, but the three year old had been roused from his sleep somehow. Alfred, who now slept in the room next to Peter's, in order to take care of him in these times, had immediately swept to the child's room, plucking him from whatever bad dreams plagued him.

"Shh, shh, we don't want to wake up Mattie, Peter, do we?"

More sniffles. Peter dug his head against Alfred's shoulder blade as he began to cry.

"Don't cry, don't cry. It's alright. Arthur will come home soon. He's just on a trip."

Peter sniffled and looked up at his brother, tears glistening in his eyes. "Mister—Arthur?"

"…yes," Alfred replied in a whisper, though it broke his heart to hear Peter call Arthur that way. "Yes, he'll be home soon."

Sometimes, Alfred wondered quietly as he dressed Peter for daycare, if Arthur even realized that Peter was growing without him. The fact that Peter had started calling his father "Mister Arthur" when he was two and a half was just the start of what rift had started between the two. And now, with Peter nearing his sixth birthday, Alfred nearing twenty two, the man wondered if things would ever be "normal" for the child.

Peter still called Alfred dad, despite how they were brothers and not father and son. Alfred couldn't ask Peter to stop. Something always tugged at his heart before the words left his throat.

The three brothers—Alfred, Matthew and Peter—were sitting down, having their dinner, Despite how Matthew had moved out after college, he still came for dinner most nights. When asked, he would shrug and say something along the lines of "family tradition", and Alfred didn't question it. It was nice having more then two people at the table. Arthur almost never made it home before Peter's bedtime.

Peter finished his dinner first, as always. Excited, he looked up at Alfred, eyes wide. "Dad! Can I go and play now? I'm all done?"

With a small smile, Alfred nodded. "Go ahead, Peter," he said softly. "I'll get you ready for bed soon enough, alright?"

"Okay! Thank you, Dad!"

And with that, the boy flitted away and Alfred went back to being consumed by his thoughts. As if he could read his twin's mind, Matthew spoke up.

"Are you sure that it's okay? For Peter to call you like that? How long has it been since he started? I can hardly remember."

Alfred continued to prod at the food with his fork, silent, unable to answer Matthew's questions. He honestly had never had a big appetite, so he usually saved his leftovers for breakfast and lunch. Matthew bit on his lip and sighed, looking down at his own empty plate.

"You know, his teachers are going to question it if he keeps calling you that. Dad's the one that goes to the meetings, right? What if they think you and dad—"

"No. He's at work when those go on, and I have a flexible enough schedule where I can go to them in his place. I drop off and pick up Peter from daycare every day."

Matthew fell back into silence, before standing up and grabbing both of their plates. "Well fine," he said smoothly. "But I still don't see why he's been calling you 'dad' all this time. I mean, he calls me "Mattie" still, and I was taking care of him just as much as you were back when he started this."

Alfred could do nothing but give a shrug as his plate was collected. "I don't see a problem with it," he countered. "He needs a father figure in his life. And I'm old enough to technically do it."

"That doesn't make it okay."

Alfred bit on his lip, before shaking his head and looking up to his brother, blue eyes slightly moist.

"He needs me to be that for him.."

[ A/N a new story, which is simply a bunch of connecting drabbles. The second chapter will be posted within the week, depending on whenever the first chapter gets a warm welcome or not.

It's nice to be writing again. ]