Okay, so sorry for this late update. I don't even really have a good excuse.

And it's kinda short, but that's where I wanted to end this chapter. I'll try to get the next one out sooner.

However, I've been going back and editing old chapters (for grammar and little things like that) so those will be fixed up for here and then converted in to PDF to be posted on my deviantART account, so that should take up some time, but getting out a new chapter holds more priority. So yeah, enjoy~

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As soon as Matthew walked through the door, his nostrils were filled with a thick cloud of smoke. He squinted, the dark gas stinging his eyes. He wheezed and felt his inhaler in his pocket for reassurance before running upstairs to the semi-safety of his room. Ever since Thanksgiving, after his father and brother got into a huge argument, resulting in Alfred storming out, Arthur Kirkland had not been doing well, to say the least. For Matthew, there were ups and downs to this.

Arthur had begun to bust out his hidden box of forbidden things. Matthew knew that the smoke filling the air wasn't simple tobacco. And he also knew that the little hints of white powder in the kitchen weren't sugar. Matthew was just grateful that there weren't any needles. For now, anyway.

Because of Arthur's high spells, Matthew was able to do more things behind his father's back. When Arthur was high, he was pretty damn high. He usually couldn't remember anything from that period of time. Nor could he think straight enough whilst under the influence to notice Matthew's absences. The boy took advantage of this and took time to go to the library and study, run errands, work extra hours, and most importantly, hang out with Gilbert more.

Gilbert had proven to be a really good friend. Once they started actually hanging out together, Gilbert stopped hitting on him and they fell into a very close, platonic friendship. Matthew was grateful for that. The only other person he had to confide in was Alfred, who was gone. Matthew didn't tell him everything about his life. He kept it at that he and his father didn't get along too well and that his father was very strict. Gilbert only told him that his parents were also very strict and expected a lot from him. But he was keeping more back, Matthew could tell. But he would wait for Gilbert to tell him, as Gilbert was doing with him.

But the positives didn't fully make up for the negatives. Arthur was usually high, but there were those moments when he came back down and had a sober moment before going back up. And in those moments, Arthur was faced with all of his troubles again. They were fewer, but the beatings were worse. As soon as Arthur remembered his messed up life, he went looking for Matthew. He would blame the boy for everything that was wrong in his life, taking out all of his anger on the boy. Often times, Matthew would call up Francis, who would either take him to a hospital or have one of his friends take him. Sometimes he'd walk over himself. A couple other times, he'd be knocked out cold and wake up, having to call an ambulance from blood loss. The excuses were endless. Bullies, a fight with a neighbor or a friend, he fell, he got attacked by some dogs. Matthew refused to tell the doctors the truth.

Matthew sighed and tried to focus on his school work. His head hurt too much to concentrate. He removed his glasses and massaged his forehead, finally deciding to go get some aspirin. He went over to the bathroom and downed a couple pills and glanced at the mirror. He looked like mess. His hair was tangled and greasy, little specks of dried blood around his forehead. A bandage was wrapped tightly around his forehead, padded over a gash on the left. Bruises marked up his face and his arms. He knew that the oversized white dress shirt hid away more bruises and bandages. He was wearing one of Francis's shirts because his were too tight to hide the bulge of the bandages, They were uncomfortable to wear in that state, as well. Matthew sighed and splashed his face with cold water before cautiously trekking downstairs.

He grabbed a garbage bag from the kitchen and began to pick up all the empty bottles and trash. He cleaned up the vomit on the floor and scattered food around the living room. He tried to febreeze away the stench of weed, but it didn't do much. He shook his head. He peeked in his father's bedroom, only to find him past out. Matthew walked in and tilted the man's head to the side and tucked him into the blankets. He set a glass of water and another pair of aspirin on the side table. Sure that Arthur was indeed out cold, Matthew grabbed a warm washcloth ad wiped up his father's face with it.

Despite the fact that his father hated him, Matthew still felt obligated to care for him. He felt a need to make sure he was alive and not dying. Matthew had only heard horror stories about the foster system, especially for older kids like him. He supposed Alfred could possibly take custody of him, and Francis as well, but the chances were slim. When it came to orphans, the court preferred couples and people on a special list over the people that actually cared about the child. At least Matthew knew how his father worked. He knew his weak points, his strong points, when to stay away, everything. A new person meant he'd have to figure it all out again. And Matthew was certain that he wouldn't be able to handle that. So he took care of his father and tried to mask up his life.

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"Francis, have you talked to Alfred lately?" Matthew stood in the back of the store with the drink cooler, refilling it with soda. Francis was in the back room, doing paperwork.

"Alfred? Yes, he calls every week or so to ask me how you're doing. And we chit chat about things."

"Does Alfred know that you offered to help me become a prostitute?" Matthew held his breath when he heard Francis freeze. But the man recomposed himself and continued writing.

"No, he doesn't. Why are you asking so many questions, mon cher?"

"Because he said that he knew that I wasn't a prostitute because he talked to you."

"What in the world did you say to trigger that conversation?"

"All I did was tell him that I'd give Father's lawyer guy a blowjob to make him sway in our favor rather than Father's," Matthew sighed. "Was that crossing the line?"

"Yes, with Alfred, it was more than crossing the line. It was running 300 miles in from the line." Francis sighed. "Matthieu, you have to understand how much Alfred cares about you. You have to understand what he's done to try to keep you innocent and as much of a normal child as possible. He gave up any trace of a normal childhood he had in order to try to preserve yours. By telling him you were willing to give some man a blowjob to make a sort of profit, you were basically taking all his efforts and hardships from the past and throwing them into a giant fire."

Matthew paused and looked up towards the back room. "What in the world are you going off about? Alfred just worked a lot when he was a teenager. That's not giving up a childhood. I'm probably going to have to work that much, too. With college coming up and being the only breadwinner right now, I think might have to go job hunting soon. Taxes don't pay themselves, you know. And I can't milk that much money off of this little place."

"Matthieu, you don't understand. Alfred worked really late hours, remember? He wouldn't come home until well past midnight, right?"

"Well yeah, but-"

"What types of job do you think go to those hours? Huh? Restaurants close at ten. Stores aren't open that late. He was too young to work in a bar or a club. What type of job do you think a thirteen-year-old does until two in the morning?"

Matthew froze, his face going pale. Everything made sense now. Francis's new job opportunity, Alfred freaking out, those nights where Alfred would go to bed late and wake up sore, why there were always an abundance of painkillers and condoms in the house. Matthew always assumed the painkillers were for beatings and the condoms were his father's, but now… Matthew shook his head though, locking away the revelation and pretending it never happened.

"He must have worked at a 24-hour fast food drive in or something then." Matthew cut Francis off as he began to speak again. "Are you the one selling drugs to Father?"

Francis was silent. Matthew scoffed. "So it is, huh? I can't believe you. Money's just money to you, isn't it?"

"No, Matthieu, please listen. I turned him down. I do not sell him drugs. But he's persistent and he threatened to sell you to the slave trade if I didn't at least tell him where there was another dealer. So I told him to go to one of my friends. But my friend only deals baby stuff. Nothing too harmful. That's why I sent him there. That's better than him finding a heroin dealer. Right?"

"He wouldn't really sell me, you know. It was an empty threat. He used to use that on Alfred all the time when we were younger."

"No, but I don't want him finding the hardcore stuff and killing you while he's high."

"Fine, I guess it's a little better than when he was just drunk all the time. But still. You promise our friend won't give him anything other than weed?"

"Eh, maybe some shrooms, but that's about his extent. Where your father gets coke is beyond me, however."

"He has a large supply under his bed from the past. It's always been there. Ever since my mom died."

"Ah." The conversation stopped and Matthew finished up with the drink cooler and hen the chips.

"Francis, can you let me a go a little early? No one's here, anyway, and it'd be nice if I could meet up with Gilbert on time for once."

"Sure, no problem. Take a twenty from the register if you want. Have fun."

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"Gil, this game is so stupid." Matthew whispered as the giant mutant octopus, which Gilbert played as, latched onto the ship.

"What are you talking about? This is so awesome!" Gilbert stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth in frustration. He couldn't get the octopus to swallow the ship whole.

"I can't believe somebody thought up a game like this."

"I can't believe you don't like it." Gilbert paused the game.

"Hey Mattie, what happened to your forehead?" Gilbert asked, motioning towards the bandage.

"Oh, I got into a fight at school is all." The lie rolled off his tongue too easily.

"You? You got into a fight? As in little old Matthew Kirkland got into a fight?" Gilbert didn't believe him, of course.

"Well, the other guys pick on me. Nothing new." Another one. They just kept rolling.

"Who are these ass holes? I'll beat them up for you, Mattie!" Gilbert stood up. Matthew began to panic.

"It's nothing, okay? Just don't bother, alright? Please, Gil, just calm down." Matthew started hyperventilating. Gilbert noticed and immediately switched from angry to concerned. He made Matthew sit down and handed him his inhaler.

"Okay Mattie, just calm down, I won't do anything. Sh, sh, it's okay. Really-"

"Itwasmyfather." Matthew mumbled between breaths. Gilbert stopped and moved to kneel in front of him, to look in his eyes.

"What?"

"I lied. It was my father. Not any kids at school." Matthew paused to regulate his breathing back to normal. "My father is a drunk and is now high all the time and when he's sober, he beats the shit out of me. Please don't tell anyone, though. I don't want to go into foster care. It's better if I know how my tormentor works than diving into a place where I'm completely ignorant. Please, Gil, swear to me that you won't tell."

Gilbert brushed the hair out of Matthew face, pausing over the bandage. He sighed and hugged the blonder boy. "I won't tell, Mattie, just because you asked me to." Gilbert paused, thinking hard. "You should really tell someone, though. Someone who can get you out of there, Mattie. I can't stand seeing you broken like this. I love your smile more than anything, you know that?"

Matthew only shook his head. "I can't. I only have to bear this for a little while longer and then I'll be home free. I won't be legally attached to him anymore. It'll only be five more years."

There was a thoughtful silence between the two boys. Finally, Gilbert turned towards Matthew.

"You know, Mattie, I'm such a hypocrite."

"Hm?"

"My parents pretty much hate me. I'm the eldest. I'm supposed to be handsome, athletic, smart, a good leader, creative, caring, and all these other things. But here I am, a below-grade-level student in Strategies who only sits in front of the TV all day and only doing things for myself. And I'm a mutation. I have freaking albinism. No chick will ever want to mary me. And my parents will disown me if they ever find out I'm bi. I mean, at least they don't beat me. Anymore, I mean. When I was a kid, they tried to shape me up into a perfect child and enforced that with the good old German belt. Didn't really work there. Now they just pretty much ignore me or remind me how much of failure I am. Or how much better of a son Ludwig is. I mean, they still kind of care, because I'm still their son, but they'll always be disappointed. I'm a hypocrite for telling you to better yourself when I can't even better myself. And for me, all that is is standing up to them and proving to them that I'm better than what they think I am. But I can't. So how hypocritical of me to tell you to try to get authorities in on your life to get you out of there when I can't get myself out. I guess it's easier to tell someone than to do it yourself.

Matthew slid down from the bed and sat next to Gilbert. He sighed and rested his head on Gilbert's shoulder. The boys sat there for a minute in silence, their breaths matched and even as I they both thought over their lives.

Finally, Matthew decided to speak. "You know, Gil, I'm really glad you became my friend. How perfect for fate to put together two troubled kids with family issues. It's almost kind of funny in some weird sick way. Here I was, dumping all my problems on you. You can dump your problems on me, too, you know. It should be a mutual thing."

Gilbert only laughed and ruffled Matthew's hair. "Okay, enough angst for now, SSBB. Let's do this, bro."

And with that, both boys picked up a controller and started the game.

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R&R, please! :)