Though the initial shock of the situation was completely incapacitating, Arthur was able to shake himself into sanity after only a moment's pause. Alfred was on his doorstep, at his feet, unmoving, bleeding. This was the first time he had seen him in years, but why now? Why like this? What on earth could have caused the boy to be in such a retched state? The overwhelming confusion consuming the man's thoughts was quickly replaced with panic as he dropped to the ground, propping the other man's torso up and shaking him by the shoulders in an attempt to break his unconscious state. The boy gave no response to the gesture, his head only rocking loosely on his neck as his shoulders were pushed back and fourth. Arthur stopped his motion instantly as he noticed the boy's face beginning to wash pale from the loss of blood. He knew he had little time as he positioned Alfred's arm over his shoulder, lifting him from the ground. The boy was heavy, and awkward to support, but the man managed to stagger him into the bedroom where he laid him down onto his own bed. He whipped his head around, looking for anything that could help to stop the boy's bleeding. Grabbing spare blankets from the dresser by the bed, he climbed over the boy's waist, straddling him, and applied a strong, steady pressure to the gash on the man's chest.
There was nothing else he could do. He lived too far from the city to call for help, and he didn't have much medical training. He had never owned an automobile, and he certainly couldn't carry the injured man into town. He could only sit there, trying to stop the bleeding, until another option presented itself. He felt useless.
The minutes seemed more like hours as Arthur sat still, holding the sheets to the man's chest, his arms being pushed away and drawn back by Alfred's slow, shallow breathing. The man felt helpless, only able to do this much, but at least now he had time to think clearly. Carefully, he scanned his surroundings, trying to think of what his next move would have to be. The room was practically bare, the only things in sight being the closed window and nearby nightstand. The framed picture of the boy with the rifle caught the man's attention once again. He stared at the young, lively lad in the photograph and remembered how full of life he had been, how strong. He lowered his gaze to the man underneath him. His eyes were closed and his expression weak and pained. Blood was smeared through his hair, over his face, and soaked his clothes in a deep red. His glasses were bent and the left lens was broken, but somehow they had managed to stay resting on his nose. Scrapes and cuts covered the boy's face, and a faint bruise seemed to be forming on his cheek.
"What happened to you?" Arthur whispered to the unresponsive body beneath him, not expecting a reply. By now, he was used to not being acknowledged by the boy. He was used to the boy pulling away in his young ignorance. He had become accustomed to being told that he was unwanted, unneeded. And he could still picture that memory of the boy insisting on his own independence as vividly as if the same rain from that very night were still running through his blond hair. The rifle he had given the boy demanding the same freedom as the fire blazing in those wild blue eyes. But that was all in the past now, right?
It seemed like so long ago that he had seen Alfred- like years had passed since they had talked. But now, here he was, sitting right on top of him, trying to stop his bleeding by pressing bunched up cloth against his chest. The whole thing just seemed so impossible. The man wondered, for a moment, if it were possible this was all merely a dream. He wondered if he was still underneath his warm covers, simply experiencing a realistic nightmare. Looking down, he watched the bed sheets soaking up the crimson blood and reassured himself that this was, in fact, happening.
To Arthur's relief the bleeding eventually seemed to stop. Leaning forward, he held his forehead over the boy's mouth, not wanting to release the pressure he held just yet, and felt a shallow, steady repetition of warm breaths against his skin. Sitting back up, he slowly relaxed his pressing on the wound until he had completely removed his hands. No more blood came from the cut. Arthur placed two fingers on the side of Alfred's neck and counted the beats. His hart rate seemed to be normal, if not a bit fast, but nothing of much concern. Slowly lifting the bundle of cloth, Arthur carefully inspected the wound that was visible through the boy's torn shirt. The cut was a nearly perfect gash that extended from the left side of his upper chest to the right of his abdominals. It was straight, but filled with dirt and filth. Arthur knew he would have to clean it before he could apply a dressing. He thought for a moment, trying to sort through his best options. He could clean it with a wet cloth, but there was a lot of blood, and what if there were more wounds on his body? No, he had to be more thorough. He had to make sure that the man's body was completely free of anything that could cause him infection or sickness. Once he had decided what to do, he had to devise his means of movement carefully.
Little by little, Arthur lifted himself from Alfred's body. He moved consciously, lifting his leg over the boy and carefully placing it onto the ground beside the bed. Standing, he carefully slid his arms under Alfred's shoulders and knees, wincing for a moment at the sudden pain that shot through his hand. He had completely forgotten about his burn. It throbbed as it felt the pressure between the unconscious man and the bed sheets, but there was no time to give into pain now. He braced himself and took a deep breath. He just had to get him to the bathroom. It wasn't very far. Summoning as much strength as he could muster, he lifted the man from the bed and held him in his arms.
For a moment, it was as if a feeling of nostalgia washed over Arthur. It was strange to hold the boy again, but it brought back such welcome memories of times before they had grown apart. The man could almost see the boy from the picture, asleep in his arms, but the unquestionable weight of the unconscious man proved the reality of the situation. Gradually, the man took his first steps towards the doorway of the room. The hallway seemed to go on for miles as the man strained his body to complete its task. Alfred was very strong and well built, thus, he was very heavy. Arthur, on the other hand, was somewhat meek and almost feeble. It was a struggle, but he managed to carry the boy down the hallway and into the bathroom where he slipped him into the dry tub.
Without much thought, he slowly began to undress Alfred. First, he lifted the man's torso so that he could support him as if he were sitting upright. Sliding the sleeves from his arms, Arthur carefully removed the man's leather jacket before undoing the buttons of, and discarding, the ripped shirt underneath. With his chest revealed, Arthur could now see the extent of the gash on the boy's chest. It was long, deep, and would almost certainly leave a scar. It was a real miracle that the bleeding had stopped when it did, otherwise things could have gotten much worse then they already were. It also became apparent to Arthur, that Alfred's right arm had been dislocated at both the shoulder and the elbow.
To Arthur's surprise and confusion, the fly of the boy's pants was already down and it seemed as if they had been put on very sloppily. Ignoring this, the man continued to lay Alfred down in the tub and supported his lower back with his arm so that his hips were in the air. Pulling firmly, Arthur was able to remove Alfred's pants from his waist in a quick motion before lifting his ankles slightly in order to eliminate his shoes and finish taking off his pants. The man's suspicions were proven correct as he removed the boy's boxers. Alfred was cut and scratched from head to toe, and multiple bruises seemed to be forming on his skin. Arthur already couldn't believe what he was seeing, but as he turned the showerhead onto a gentle spray and watched the water slowly revealed what was underneath the dirt and filth he felt his heart nearly tear apart.
Alfred's body was beaten and bruised all over. It seemed like at least two of his ribs were broken, and his arms were covered in deep lacerations as if they had been bound by some form of wire. There were various cuts along his torso and thighs as if someone had gone at him with a knife for fun, but upon turning the man over to clean his back, it became very apparent to Arthur what had really happened.
The man's back and shoulders were cover in straight, crisscrossing cuts and sores as if he had been whipped hard and repeatedly. The skin on the nape of his neck was torn and looked as though it had been bitten and ripped. The man's behind had been scratched, bruised and seemed to have long thin burns that ran down it, onto the back of his thighs and up to his waist. His ankle must have been twisted, for it was swollen and already blue with bruising. But the thing that made Arthur's heart sink the deepest, that made him almost want to be sick, was one of the last things that he noticed about his brother's beaten body.
As Arthur was washing away the dirt and blood from Alfred's thighs, he noticed the blood leaking from his anus. At that moment, the man remembered how the boy had been standing before he had passed out; his legs had been somewhat apart, and his posture had seemed so broken. The look in his eyes had not only been one of pain, but of embarrassment and shame. Looking down at the man's boxer's he noticed the white residue that he had overlooked before, and he knew exactly what had happened. Alfred, his own brother, had been beaten and raped.