So I was originally planning on having this be twice as long, because I was going to include Alfred's reactions and thoughts to what happened. But as I was reading through the first part, I thought it would read better to stand on it's own. So sorry for the shortness.

I will be working on a chapter that focuses on Alfred and his thoughts and feelings from the last chapter. It'll be the next update (whenever that is).

Anyway, please enjoy. Also, I'm really on the edge about the flashback, so if you guys could, tell me in your reviews if you liked it or not! I was trying to go for a poetic feel for the first part of it!

I had some feedback saying that the French was a little off last chapter. I've been using google translate. If anyone knows a better translator, please tell me!

I hope I edited this enough!


Chapter Eight: One Pile of Grass


8 years ago

Today it smelt like rain, even though the sun was out and the clouds were white and few.

It smelt like rain even though the ground was dry, and the air wasn't humid or wet.

It smelt like rain because to Arthur Kirkland, rain was associated with sadness.

It had rained when he was five, on the day the girl he had a crush on called him icky and weird.

It rained when he was seven, when he was riding his bike home and crashed, breaking his leg.

It rained when he was twelve, when the doctors found a malignant tumor in his father's brain.

It rained when he was thirteen on the day his father started chemo.

It drizzled cats and dogs when he was fourteen and the doctors said his father only had six months to live

It sprinkled lightly all day on his fifteenth birthday, when he and his mother sat by his father side all day, and then watched and cried as he took his very last breath, hearing him say "I love you" one last time.

But today it didn't rain. On all the days it should've rained, it didn't. The day of his father's funeral… it was beautiful and sunny, with god-damn song birds chirping; a butterfly even had the gall to make an appearance and land itself on Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur wanted it to rain; if it rained it would be like the earth was mourning his father's death. But instead the weather was perfect. Like it didn't even care that he and his mother had lost one of the people they loved most.

The whole service Arthur barely listened to the pastor giving the sermon. He could care less about some crack-pot rambling about how the 'Lord' works in mysterious ways, and how his father was now in a better place. As far as he was concerned, there was no Lord. When his godfather got up to give the eulogy(on account of Arthur and his mother being too distraught to be able to give a speech.) Arthur let his ears perk up and listen closely to his father's best friend.

He could hear his mother sniffling and squeezed her hand tighter, handing her his handkerchief.

He listened to his godfather talk about he and his father met in the service. How he introduced his father and mother at some crappy bar, and that his father basically made an ass of himself in trying to make her laugh.

Arthur smiled lightly when he heard his mother give a small laugh at the memory.

Then his godfather spoke about the day his father found out his mother was pregnant. How his father was so happy and scared, and wouldn't talk about anything else for weeks besides his future son or daughter.

Arthur could feel his eyes get wet when his godfather looked directly at him and said how much his father loved his family, how if his father had to choose one day to live over and over, he'd choose the day Arthur was born.

When the service was finished and everyone went to the Kirkland's home for the reception. His mother's friends and sisters all brought multiply casseroles and baked goods for the reception, and most people gathered in the family room to eat and swap stories about his father.

Arthur, not wanting any company went to their small backyard and sat down on the ground, mindlessly pulling grass out and placing them into a pile. He wished he was back at their old home in England, where there was a swing set and slide, and a fort he had assembled with his dad when he was six. Instead he was in his new home in New Jersey. They had moved there when he was twelve for some job his father was offered, plus they had some distant relatives in that area. Obviously he had taken it before they knew about the tumor.

"Are you sad?" A young voice asked. Arthur looked up to see a young boy he didn't recognize dressed in a black suit. Arthur, not wanting to be rude to a kid who looked no older than nine, nodded and looked away. He could see out of his peripherals that the boy plopped down to sit next to him, and began to mimic him by plucking grass and putting it into a pile as well.

"I would be too. Do you miss him?" The boy asked, looking at Arthur with curious blue eyes. Once again Arthur nodded.

"Yes. He was my best friend." Arthur murmured, glancing at the boy for a short moment.

"Well… if you ever get lonely, I'll be your best friend, Arthur!" Arthur looked a bit confused as to how this boy knew his name. He decided not to think much of it and assumed that this boy must've been one of the many, MANY members of extended family from his father's side. Even his father hadn't known every extended family member.

"Thank you. That's very nice. What's your name?" Arthur said. The boy smiled and offered his hand to Arthur.

"Peter! Peter Kirkland!" Arthur smiled slightly for a second, and shook the little hand.

"Peter, how do you know me?" Arthur asked, even though the fact that they had the same last name let Arthur know they were somehow related, he still felt the need to ask.

"I'm your…" Peter looked confused for a moment before he got a look of 'oh, that's right!' on his face and continued, "… I'm your third cousin!" He said proudly. Arthur nodded.

"Arthur! Come inside and get something to eat. Your mother said you haven't eaten all day!" Arthur looked over his shoulder to see his mother's older sister calling him. Sighing he nodded.

"I'll be right there." He called out. His aunt smiled comfortingly at him and went back inside the house. Arthur stood and looked down at Peter.

"Well I'm heading inside now, do you want to some?" Arthur asked. Peter shook his head.

"No thank you, me mum said we'll be leaving soon, so I think I'll just go find my parents." Peter then hoped to his feet and disappeared inside the house. B y the time Arthur got inside, he wasn't able to spot the boy anywhere, but he could see a minivan pulling out of the drive way. Arthur didn't think much of it and assumed that was probably Peter's family leaving.

After having his aunt fix him a plate of food, he went back outside to eat, sitting down in the spot he had previously occupied with Peter.

If one looked closely though, they would only find one small pile grass.

Present day

When Arthur woke up, he found himself in his bedroom, lying on his bed. Looking over he saw Francis sitting at a chair beside him.

"What happened?" Arthur asked his voice hoarse. Francis jumped slightly, obviously not noticing his friend had woken up, and looked over, startled.

"Mon cher, you're awake!" He stated. Arthur rolled his eyes and sat up in his bed.

"No shit Sherlock… What happened?" Arthur repeated. Francis sighed.

"You had some sort of schizophrenic freak out when you were out with Alfred and passed out." Francis explained. Arthur furrowed his brows and thought back to the last few things he could remember and groaned, remembering what had happened.

"You apparently woke up at the café, long enough for the paramedics to deem that you were alright and didn't have a concussion. I suppose you have Alfred to thank for that."

Alfred. God, he must've been so freaked out. Arthur looked down at his lap as Francis continued.

"He somehow dragged or carried your dazed self out of the café and into a cab, bringing you here, after getting the address from Mathieu. You've been passed out in here since." Francis said, pausing, waiting for Arthur to respond. When he didn't, Francis went on.

"That was about two hours ago." Arthur nodded.

"Did he say anything?" Arthur asked hesitantly and shyly. Francis shook his head.

"No. He seemed very… unnerved. He just dropped you off, told me what happened and left before I could explain anything to him." Arthur grimaced and pressed his hands against his eyes, groaning.

"Don't worry. I texted Mathieu, he said he would explain everything to Alfred when he got home." Arthur sighed, slightly relieved and leaned back against the bed.

"Now, will vous tell moi what happened?" Francis asked. Arthur hesitated for a moment.

"I saw one of them… I… I felt one of them touch me."


You guys should know by now that 'vous' is you, 'moi' is me, 'mon cher' is my dear, and 'Mathieu' is Matthew; and if not, well, there they were!

I know many people wanted or maybe thought or hoped Arthur's hallucinations to be his fairies and mint bunny, but I decided long ago when I first started writing this story not to use them as schizophrenic delusions. And here is why:

A theme in this story is distinguishing reality and hallucination, what's real and what's not for Arthur, and honestly, if Arthur was having hallucinations about fairies, wizards, mint bunny, and elves; then I don't think he'd be as distraught or as stressed, and he'd probably wouldn't have tried to commit suicide; because it'd be easy for him to distinguish real and fake if he hallucinated about fairytale creatures.

But don't worry, England's magical friends will somehow be incorporated into the story, but I won't tell you how!

So stay in tuned for Alfred's take on things! And tell me what you thought of this chapter! Did you guys like the flashback?