I really, really should not be starting anything new. Seriously. I've got other fics to work on. But I've had this idea ever since I had to do a project in English and it simply refuses to leave me alone.

Since this is based on history I will try my best to remain as historically accurate as possible. Please note that many places and people in here may be entirely fictional and were made up out of necessity. It's much easier create fake history rather than butcher the real deal, right? But hey, don't worry. I'll be sure to remain as accurate as possible in terms of the main point of this story. First, however, some of you may not be familiar with the subject material I will be writing about so before we start, here's a brief history lesson (yay, history, right? XD).

The New Poor Laws (1834-1871):

During the Victorian Era in England, a series of laws were passed known as the Poor Laws. These were supposed to reduce the cost of taking care of the poor as well as to help take them off the streets. Thanks to these laws, the workhouses were formed. Workhouses were essentially a place where poor could go and work hard in return for food, clothing, and shelter, as well as education for children. However, conditions within the workhouses were deliberately harsh so that people wouldn't want to work there. Families were separated, everyone was forced to wear a uniform, the food was bland and the work was difficult, and rules were strict. Children were even sometimes shipped off to mines or factories. In addition to this, the poor were subjected to the cruelties of unkind masters and matrons who abused the rules and treated them terribly.

So basically, you just need to know this: workhouses = very bad. We understand, yes? Think of them as something like prisons, because that's basically how horrid the conditions were. They were gross and the poor weren't treated nicely at all. Hence, these laws were really unpopular among most Victorians.

On a side note, Scrooge briefly mentions the laws and the workhouses in the novel A Christmas Carol. It does take place during the Victorian Era, after all.

Long author's note is long, but you really need to know this to understand the story, if you didn't already.

Now on with the first chapter~

I.

In the Face of Desperation

There were some days that Arthur Kirkland wondered if his life would have been different had his parents been alive, or had his relationship with his brothers been just a little bit better. As it was, however, things had already happened that time would never change and that he could never change. He wasn't about to lie and say he was satisfied with his life thus far; in all honesty, he was entirely displeased with himself and his circumstances, for more than just a few reasons.

The Kirklands had been a highly esteemed family. They had owned a large, beautiful home as well as several villas, and had more money than what they knew what to do with, most of the time. The people within the family were reasonably well-liked and had a prominent place in society. They were comfortable with their wealth and never could have imagined a life without their vast amount of money. Perhaps it was vain, but it was in this family that Arthur had grown up. His parents had told him constantly as a child that keeping a hold of their wealth was important, and was raised with the mindset that nothing else could hold a candle to the value of money.

He was apprenticed to his father, just as all his brothers before him had and just as his little brother after him would be, once he was of age, that is. Though he and his older brothers were close in age, they almost never got along; they had only ever put on a front to please their parents. Their little squabbles and scuffles were always kept to themselves.

Arthur put up with his brothers, enduring their taunts and sneers and realizing that they only did what they did out of hopeless envy. He felt esteemed to know his father favored him over his elder siblings and was more than proud to be a Kirkland.

Arthur had never cared much for the poor. Truth be told, he never really spared them a thought or even a glance if he were to pass them in the streets. He didn't find them disgusting or filthy as the rest of his family did, but he never pitied them either. He always pretended that they didn't exist, pretended that he didn't see them as he passed by, pretended he didn't see the pain and longing clouding their eyes as they watched him, eyes fixated upon his expensive clothing.

It was better that way, he had thought. If he were to pay no attention to them, the problem would simply not be there.

It wasn't the right way of thinking, and deep down, he knew this. He simply chose to ignore what his conscience was telling him and hung on his father's every word and belief. It was his father's advice that mattered most, after all. He was the one person Arthur most respected.

As much as he tried to live up to his father's expectations, there were always things he hid from him. Such has his sexual preference for men over women. Oh he knew he couldn't deny it, not to himself. He had tried, truly, but no woman had ever really caught his eye and he more often than not caught himself watching the handsome young noblemen he so often saw at his parent's parties.

Despite this, he only ever wanted to please his father. Whenever his father brought him a woman, a possible bride, he could only at most tolerate any woman. He got along with them for his father's sake, and that was that. Mr. Kirkland had never once suspected a thing about his son never liking the young girls he introduced to him; he only assumed that the women were never to his liking. His father had once joked that he was 'a difficult one to please' and Arthur had only replied with a nervous chuckle.

Though it seemed superficial, he had loved his life. It wasn't only because of the comforts and luxuries that came with being rich, oh no. The one thing he missed was having his family, and that was the one thing he could never have back again.

The day it had happened had begun just like any other day might have.

Arthur awoke, had breakfast with his family, played with little Peter in the garden. He helped his father with work and learned embroidery from his mother (as feminine as that was) before he had alone time. During this time he would often sit alone in their personal library and read. He would read until his vision blurred, he would read until he could fill his brain with no more words. However, something was different on this night. His parents were out, as they usually were at this time. They usually went to have dinner, attend a play, or show up at some sort of private party thrown by an acquaintance.

But tonight felt different. Arthur recalled trying to figure out why. Peter? No, he was already asleep, tired out from a day of dashing about in the garden with Arthur. His brothers? They didn't live with them anymore, they each had homes and wives of their own. So what was this strange prickly feeling he couldn't quite shake? Figuring he must simply be tired or something along those lines, Arthur had put down his book and decided to go to bed. Perhaps that would make the feeling go away.

He had slept restlessly that night. He had nightmares that he couldn't remember even a little bit of when he awoke. Feeling worse than before, Arthur headed downstairs, only to come face to face with the family's butler.

The man looked grim. Grimmer than usual, even, since he was normally a stoic fellow. He only wordlessly handed an envelope to Arthur. And envelope whose contents would send his life into a downward spiral.

His parents had been killed. Robbed and shot, the both of them. He recalled a strange numbness overtaking his entire body. He recalled dropping the paper, letting it slip away between his suddenly cold fingers. He remembered the butler, kindly putting a hand on his shoulder and asking if he was quite alright.

From that point on, life was a blur.

His brothers found it more or less amusing that the Kirklands had met such an unfortunate end, but of course they only showed this side of them to him. In front of others they were nothing but solemn and filled with grief. It was such a lie that it deeply disgusted Arthur.

He and his brothers had a disagreement. A big disagreement that involved traded blows and thrown objects. A disagreement that left him staring at the outside of his brother's front door, sore and angry and in utter shock, and wondering how he'd gotten there.

They were done with him, they'd said. Done with a blasphemous little brother like himself and don't think that they didn't know his secret. Oh, they knew. And that was only another reason for them to despise him. He had monopolized father, and was on the verge of corrupting Peter, too. He was a disgrace to the Kirkland name.

Thus he found himself on the streets, the cruel wind whipping through his hair and tearing at his clothes. And on the streets he stayed, for quite some time. How long, Arthur couldn't be certain. He had lost track of time long ago.

Reminiscing exhausted him.

As much as he hated thinking of the past, he sometimes wondered how Peter was...and wondered if he missed him, even a little bit.

He leaned back against the wall, clutching the ragged blanket more tightly about himself. It provided essentially no warmth, but it was better than nothing and had been something of a lucky find. As lucky as that may have been, he still hadn't eaten in what he was sure was days now and had no time to consider anything about his situation lucky.

And oh, the irony of his situation now. He hadn't bothered sparing the poor a second glance and now he was one of them. Was this divine retribution for not caring? Maybe. Perhaps that's all this entire thing was. A sarcastic snort of laughter left him.

He was tired of living like this. He had no home and was entirely alone. His brothers couldn't have cared less about his well being. It was better off for them if he was dead. He curled deeper into himself and considered something he had been for a while now.

At first he thought he could endure this, but as time went on, it became apparent that death was his only option if he were to stay out here any longer. He was wasting away and he knew it. He could feel it in his very bones.

His usually vivid eyes had dulled to a disgusting shade of moss green and his hair was caked with grime and even more untamed than it usually was. What was left of his clothing had dulled to a sickly gray color and his shoes were nearly completely worn down. The bags under his eyes stood out starkly against his pallid skin and seemed to be almost permanent now. He was already a slender person and was now surely stick thin. He didn't want to know what he looked like beneath his clothes so he didn't chance it, but he could tell whenever he looked at his hands that he was so much thinner than he used to be.

Death seemed almost pleasant, now.

As nice as the thought seemed, he didn't really want to die. He would live on if he could help it. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

There was one way. One way he could escape this fate. It was the only way and he wanted to avoid it if he could help it.

He had heard things from people about them. The workhouses, that is. They would provide you food and shelter in exchange for work. But the work was painfully difficult and the workhouses themselves were frowned upon by nearly everyone...but for some people, it was the only option left. An option that was slowly beginning to seem like Arthur's only choice.

So Arthur closed his eyes and thought. He thought of his father, tall, strong, and handsome, even as he aged. He thought of his mother, fair, beautiful, but sharp tongued and clever. His chest ached as he thought of them. They would surely want him to live, right? And then there was Peter. Arrogant little Peter who was something like his only friend.

When he opened his eyes, Arthur knew what his choice was. His mind was probably already made up.

The workhouse it was.

Besides, it couldn't possibly be worse than this.

There was a time when Alfred was happy.

Though their parents had died when they were quite young, he couldn't recall being any happier than he was when he was with Matthew.

Matthew was his younger brother, and he was a shy, gentle soul. He usually made Alfred feel a little better even when his day had been absolutely terrible. His encouragement was sometimes absolutely required for Alfred to even get through a particularly bad day.

Despite this, he was happy. At least, for a while. He worked hard and worked often, he worked to pay off their debts and worked to keep a roof over his and Matthew's heads. It was the most he could do for his brother, but Matthew never complained.

Though they were lacking money, they had each other and for a time, Alfred was sure that was all he needed.

He worked three different jobs a day, sometimes four or five if he could. Matthew worried about him constantly, but Alfred brushed it off like it was nothing. And it was nothing, really. He would do whatever he had to in order to keep his brother off the streets. He would protect Matthew, without fail. He had no doubt it was what their parents would have wanted, and it made Alfred feel just a little bit better about things to have someone to take care of.

But just as he took care of them financially, Matthew took care of them in a different way. Ever the optimist, Matthew was the only thing standing between Alfred and complete loss of hope. He remembered telling Matthew this once, but he had only stared at his brother with wide eyes, not sure how to respond. Later, however, Alfred had laughed it off and thrown an arm around his little brother's shoulders, telling him that it was all just a joke and that he shouldn't worry about him at all. To that Matthew had smiled weakly, still not entirely believing him but accepting his words nonetheless.

At one point, Alfred had nearly worked himself to exhaustion, much to Matthew's worry. All he remembered was waking up and seeing Matthew's stark white face and remembered him asking to never do that to him again. In addition, he had insisted that he take up a job or two as well. Alfred had strongly disagreed at first, but Matthew refused to budge. Reluctantly, he agreed to let him take up a job.

After that, things were going well again.

Alfred had little interest in things like romance or courting, and he hardly had the time to think about such things, anyway. Occasionally he would catch a young woman staring at him while he was at work, her eyes fixed on his toned figure as he worked. He would only pause in what he was doing and smile and wave in return, usually causing her to gasp and dash away as quickly as one could in skirts that billowy. (He never did understand why women dressed like that, honestly. He supposed it was the fashion, though.)

He found it a little funny, really. He got along well with women, for the most part - that is, if they even had the courage to talk to a poor man like him. Most didn't, but those who did were quite charming and certainly made their interest in him apparently. It was flattering, really, that the opposite sex was attracted to him. The ironic part was that he wasn't even sure if he had an interest in women.

Well, perhaps he did and simply didn't have the opportunity for much experience. Then again, he wasn't interested in romance in general so it was too soon to say exactly what his preference was, or if he even had one. Mathew often told him he should find a nice woman and settle down rather than working so hard, but he would brush it off with a smile and a laugh, saying he didn't need any of that right now and that no woman could measure up to how amazing he was. At this, Matthew would usually roll his eyes and drop the subject.

He didn't want or need anyone else in his life. After all, he would just be dragging someone else into his issues. He really didn't want to force anyone to live his life. No one deserved that.

But his life was fine, he convinced himself. It was fine as it was. Money was scarce but they could pull through, right?

Perhaps, Alfred later realized, he was only lying to himself even then. Perhaps his entire so-called 'happiness' had always been just a farce. He really didn't like thinking of it like that, though. He liked to believe that he was happy at some point in time. Or he would swear on the Queen's name that happiness really must not even exist.

Things were getting worse. He didn't notice at first, since Matthew hid it so well, but it was clear he wasn't quite as energetic as he used to be. His brother was even paler than usual and looked something like a wilted flower. He tried to cover it up whenever Alfred was looking, but when he thought he wasn't, he would droop and make it obvious that he was anything but fine.

As time passed, it became apparent that Matthew was probably ill and that they certainly didn't have the money to deal with that. Alfred forced Matthew to quit his job and stay at home, hoping and praying that just a little bit of rest would make whatever he had go away. But that didn't happen. He still looked terrible, he still coughed every night even though he tried to stifle them and hide it from Alfred, he still swayed on his feet when he was standing perfectly still.

They were running out of options now. There was only one thing Alfred could think of.

Perhaps Matthew would despise him for doing this, but it was the only way he could think of to save his brother. Matthew was all he had left anymore. He didn't want him to die.

In reality, Matthew was only his half brother. There was still some of Matthew's family alive, and they were certainly not fond of Alfred, but it was the only thing he could think of. He had to save Matthew. He had to.

So he set off that day, more than prepared to beg on his knees.

He was gone nearly all day and when he came back that night, Matthew came to him at the door, worrying incessantly. Alfred could only smile halfheartedly before taking one of Matthew's cold hands in his own and telling him what he needed to do. Matthew refused, violently. No, he didn't want to go live with the family he barely knew and no, he didn't want to take all the money they had left and no he definitely didn't want Alfred to work himself into exhaustion or wind up on the streets or something equally as terrible.

But this was one time he wouldn't be swayed by his brother.

It was a few hours later that Matthew was taken away in a carriage, shooting Alfred an accusing look out the window as they drove away.

There was nothing else that could be done. Alfred had made his choice and now at least Matthew had the opportunity to live. If he were to stay in their ramshackle little home with Alfred any longer then where was no way he would live. He would only waste away slowly.

Alfred figured he could manage on his own. He was strong, both emotionally and physically and wasn't about to give in to something like poverty. No, despite how poor he was, he had spirit and nothing could crush that.

Not even after he lost his home. Not even after he was forced to quit from all his jobs. Not even after he was sitting in an alleyway.

He had done the right thing and he wouldn't wallow in regret. He would get over this, he had to.

Even though that was how he felt, things were looking grim. If he didn't find work or food soon, he would starve to death out here in the streets like an animal, like so many others surely had and still did every day.

He was wondering exactly what he would do with himself until he heard about it. There were murmurs, disgusted murmurs at that, but he still heard them. He practically jumped up and ran over to one of the people, grabbing them by the shoulders, asking if they perhaps knew where this workhouse was? They only shot him a look before walking away.

Alfred wasn't exactly very up to date on politics, but he had heard a little about the new laws. And the more he listened around, the worse it sounded. Some of those rich, snobby types turned their noses up at the idea of getting rid of the workhouses, saying it took the filthiest of cretins off the streets and out of their sight. Truthfully, Alfred had always had a strong desire to punch people like that in the nose, maybe just once. But he refrained from it, figuring it really wouldn't help his situation.

Mind made up, he followed where those murmurs took him and knew that his infallible spirit would help him through this. Whatever this was.

He wondered at the back of his mind if he would ever wind up regretting this, though.

"Lazy arses! Who gave you permission to laze about like this?" A crack of the man's whip sent the stragglers scattering, returning to their respective work areas.

Arthur scowled, hating every minute of this with his very soul. He wasn't stupid enough to voice his opinions or try to slack off, however. That just got you into even worse trouble.

It was a well known fact that the master here was a damnable bastard who couldn't care less about the well-being of the workers. He cracked his whip sometimes just because he could, making some who had felt the bite of it before jump. Arthur had felt the lash of that whip maybe once or twice, but he hadn't actually received punishment that involved a serious whipping. He didn't even want to imagine what that might feel like. He steadied his tool over the pile of old, rotted bones that lay before him and continued crushing them, not even flinching in disgust. He'd just gotten used to it, he supposed.

He heard the crack of the whip sound several more times, his sizable eyebrows furrowing even further. Oh if he could he would turn and toss his tools at the man's head, but he was sure that would just land him in prison. Oh, wait, he was practically in prison now, so what did that matter?

Arthur sighed as he continued working, knowing that sulking wouldn't make him feel any better about things. Why had he joined the workhouse in the first place? Oh, right. He had no bleeding choice. Curse it all.

He was so focused on venting his bitterness on crushing the bones that he jumped when his table mate tapped him on the shoulder, looking a little apologetic.

"Would you mind if I borrowed that? Mine broke." He indicated to one of Arthur's extra hammers. Arthur only nodded in response, focusing on his task as he turned slightly to hand over what the man had requested.

And he froze for a moment. He swore to himself that there was no way he'd ever find another man attractive again as long as he was in this hellhole, but there was no denying that this man...this man was stunning.

"Um...?" The man tugged lightly at the hammer that Arthur was suddenly gripping very tightly, refusing to let go of.

"Ah, er, I apologize." He said quickly, his voice raspy so he quickly cleared his throat and handed the hammer over. "Here." He whispered, not wanting his voice to crack again and not relishing the idea of the master overhearing them talking.

Arthur swore that when he smiled he felt his knees go weak slightly so he quickly returned to his work, crushing the bones with a newfound fervor. He was sure that if he continued at this rate he would have the most done out of anyone there.

"So, what's your name?" Arthur frowned; was this man stupid? He had hoped that would be the end of their conversation and that he could maybe occasionally glance over at him out of the corner of his eye just because he was definitely easy on the eyes, (especially when one was trapped in a place like this) but he didn't relish the idea of being overheard by the master from hell who's favorite pastime was whipping the poor and decrepit. Strangely enough, though, he found himself answering in a whisper again before he could stop himself.

"Arthur." He whispered, his voice having gone hoarse again. The man smiled, his cornflower blue eyes practically glowing in the dimness of the dingy workroom.

They both fell silent for a moment as they continued working. It had been so long since someone had asked for his name. Arthur had to fight the smile that was making his lips twitch. No, none of that now. None of that. This was neither the time nor place (and certainly not the place) for something like this.

"I'm Alfred." He replied, and though he wasn't looking, Arthur could hear a smile in his voice. "Haven't seen anyone around my age here. Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine." Arthur replied quietly, and it really was. Oh, it really was. He nearly smashed his fingers along with the bones more than once, but managed to somehow fill his quota by the end of the working hours.

Later, as they were lined up for supper and served the inedible looking gray glop that the workhouses called 'food' Arthur's heart felt lighter than he had since he'd joined the workhouses. Perhaps even since his parents were murdered. All of that seemed like ages ago, now.

As he took his seat on the bench, shifting just right so he wouldn't wind up with an arse full of splinters, he hadn't expected to be joined by Alfred, shooting him that brilliant smile again before digging into the gruel.

Little did Arthur know that Alfred would become his light in this place that dripped with darkness and despair.

For the first time since his parents died, Arthur allowed himself to feel the tiniest, smallest spark of hope.

Oh goodness me. I wrote this all in one sitting and let me tell you, I haven't written so many words at once in a long time.

I realize that my portrayal (brief as it was in this chapter) of the workhouse may not be entirely accurate. This chapter was only meant to give you a preview of how life will be for Alfred and Arthur in the workhouses, though it will be touched on further in future chapters. The main intention of this chapter was backstory, as you can see, I'm sure. Their stories are very important and will play roles later on. For now though, I'm going to add some extra information not mentioned above just in case anyone gets confused.

-Arthur is 22, Alfred is 19. So I kept Alfred's canon age the same while I made Arthur a bit younger.
-The year is 1840 and it starts off in about the fall.
-The workhouse here is loosely based off the Andover workhouse, which was actually one of the most scandalous workhouses out there. Look it up if you don't know what it is, haha.
-This is slash. Therefore there will be romance. It won't be easy, but it will happen. XD Rating may or may not go up, I'm thinking about it. Let me know if you guys would like it to actually go up later or if you prefer it to just stay the same.

So that's all I have to say! I haven't written a historical story before and this is such fun so far. Again, I apologize profusely for any and all inaccuracies but I will do my best to stay as true to history as possible. :)

Thanks for reading, and I do hope you'll review. -bow-