"How much did you get?"

"A fifty, and you?"

"Forty," Alfred grumbles, staring down at his failing math score from his most recent test. He knew this was coming, and yet, that doesn't make the situation any easier to deal with. "Arthur's going to make me eat liverwurst and blood pudding for three days when he sees this."

Toris makes a sympathetic noise and clicks his tongue. "This bites."

"Maybe our teacher won't say anything if we don't get it signed. Maybe he'll forget."

"I don't think that'll happen. Besides, he's going to remember because this means we can't go on the trip."

"The trip?"

Alfred smacks a hand against his forehead and lets out an abject moan. He'd almost forgotten. The class is scheduled to go on a trip to a memorial ground and museum for the soldiers lost in the Great War next Wednesday, which excuses them from their normal lessons. A failing grade, however, means that he and Toris will be exempt from going.

Which is really quite unfortunate because they'd both taken the liberty of having their permission slips signed already, and now it's going to be twice as difficult to show their math tests to their parents because they'll also have to explain the fiasco with the trip.

"So, what're we going to do now?" Toris asks, wringing his hands nervously. "Maybe we should just tell them as soon as we get home today. That way, we'll just get it over with, and they won't be too angry because we'll at least have told them the truth."

Alfred scoffs and shakes his head at once, absolutely disgusted with the mere idea. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! We're not going down that easily! We have to at least try to cover this up. Come on, Toris. Haven't I taught you anything?"

"I don't know, Al. This doesn't sound like a good—"

"Trust me on this. I'll come up with something and let you know the game plan, okay?"

Toris chews on his bottom lip and clutches his stomach like he always does when he's anxious or uncertain about something. It's almost as though he has a physical aversion to mischief and disobedience. The poor boy has never given himself the opportunity to get a proper scolding, and what kind of a life is that? "Okay, I guess…"

"I kinda know what Arthur's signature looks like," Alfred suddenly says, recalling the curves and slant of the man's penmanship. "We can sign the tests for them."

"That's the worst idea ever."

"Is not!"

"Is, too!"

"Well, do you have any better ideas? Forget it. Just tell your dad then if you're too chicken. I have to go home, but I'll see you before class tomorrow," Alfred says somewhat sharply before heading off in the direction of the house, test paper already stuffed into the bottom of his bag.

It's an accident.

He doesn't mean to see the letter, but there it is, just sitting innocently on top of Arthur's desk in the study, practically calling Alfred to come and take a look at it. He knows snooping is wrong. He knows that if the information were meant for him, Arthur would let him know, and yet, he still sneaks into the study while Arthur is on the phone downstairs because it's so tempting.

The letter is tucked beneath one of Arthur's leather-bound encyclopedias, but it still manages to stick out like a sore thumb to Alfred because he recognizes the type of paper it has been printed on, as well as the specific pattern of the stationery.

Carefully, he slides it from underneath the book, adjusts his glasses, and narrows his eyes to read it.

Mr. Arthur Kirkland,

This is a follow-up response to an inquiry made several weeks ago. A new record indicates that a Matthew Jones, aged 13, currently resides at:

6000 Bell Avenue

Chicago, IL

Please note that we cannot confirm the accuracy of this information.

-The Children's Aid

An address! This is it! He might finally be able to find Matthew after being separated for four whole years. He wishes Arthur would've shared this with him, and for a moment, a burst of hot-red anger pops in his chest and makes him want to scream. How could Arthur hide something like this from him? This might be his chance to find Matthew once and for all, and what does Arthur do? He stows the letter under a damned encyclopedia.

Well, if he's going to be so secretive about all of this, then perhaps Alfred should just go out looking for Matthew himself. He could go to Chicago and check out this address and see if Mattie really is there. After all, Arthur doesn't seem too eager to begin the search himself, and who needs him? He's big enough to make the trip on his own, surely.

And then, a genius idea strikes him. The trip.

He folds the letter into a square and stuffs it into his pocket before racing down the stairs and to the front door, barely managing to get out a "I'm going to Toris' house!" to Arthur before he heads outside and sprints across town. His heart feels like it's beating a million beats per minute, and by the time he makes it to Toris' place, he's completely out of breath.

Ivan answers the door, as expected. "Alfred? Why do you look so tired?"

"C-Can Toris come out and talk for a minute? It's really important."

Although Ivan seems to have the urge to question Alfred's motives, he decides to let the matter rest for now and instead calls for Toris to come on over. When the boy is in sight, Ivan retreats back into the house and gives them space to talk in private, for which Alfred is immensely grateful.

"What's going on?" Toris asks, a little frightened and taken aback by how exhausted Alfred looks. "Did you run here?"

"Yeah, I have something really, really, super important to ask you," Alfred pants, leaning one hand on the doorway to recover. "Do you think of me as your best friend?"

"Yeah, why—?"

"And you would do anything to help me, right? Cause that's what friends do, and I'd do the same for you."

"Well, yeah… Where are you going with this?"

Alfred clears his throat and says, firmly, "Chicago."

"What?"

"We're going to Chicago," he whispers, checking to make sure Ivan isn't around to hear. "Our parents will think we're going on the trip, but we're actually going to Chicago."

"But I don't want to go to Chicago!" Toris whispers back, sounding completely exasperated. "What's there for us to do in Chicago anyway?"

"Mattie, my brother, might be in Chicago, and I want to find him."

"Oh."

"So are you coming or not?"

Toris looks down at his feet and ponders everything. Alfred can tell he's put the boy in an extremely uncomfortable situation, but he's assured that the impromptu trip to Chicago will be good for both of them. He'll be able to find Matthew, and Toris might be able to break out of his shell a little. An adventure every now and then can't be bad, especially if it's for a well-intentioned cause.

"How are we going to get there?"

"We can take a train. I know how where the railroad is because I was taken to the station in Chicago before they brought me here on the Children's Aid train. We can take the money our parents will give us for food and souvenirs and use it for train tickets instead," Alfred says, coming up with the details as he goes along. It's all being pieced together. This must be fate. Never again will such a perfect opportunity arise, he's sure of it.

"O-Okay, I'll do it, but only because I want you to find Matthew, too."

At his willingness to help, Alfred suddenly is overcome with guilt. What gives him the right to boss Toris around and risk getting him into trouble? He shouldn't make him do anything he's not happy with. "On second thought, don't feel like you have to do this. I was just excited, but I know it's not an easy thing to just sneak out like this, and—"

"I want to do it," Toris replies with conviction.

"But we're probably going to get into trouble."

"I know."

Alfred cracks a grin, playfully punches Toris in the shoulder, and is reminded why they've stayed such good friends over the years.

He doesn't like tricking Arthur like this. It really isn't fair to him, but Alfred doesn't have much of an alternative. He knows the man is going to be furious with him if he finds out. In fact, he may never forgive him, and yet, this is something Alfred knows he must do.

That being said, it's still very hard for him to look Arthur in the eyes on Wednesday morning, especially when he goes to such great lengths to make sure he's well cared for and has everything packed for what he believes to be a school trip.

"You have the money I gave you, yes?"

"Yeah," Alfred murmurs, swallowing heavily. He is queasy with shame. "I'll be okay, I promise."

"I know. Stay with your group and don't get into any trouble. Are you sure you don't want me to walk you to the bus?"

"I'm sure. I don't want you to be late to work."

Arthur nods his head and hugs Alfred tightly, shoulders already taut with worry and concern. He cards a hand through his hair, presses their foreheads together briefly, and then pats him on the back warmly. "All right. You don't want to miss your bus. Remember, if you feel unwell or want to come home for any reason—"

"I'll tell my teacher," Alfred dutifully responds, feeling a strange sting of self-hatred in his heart. "Bye, Arthur."

"Goodbye, my boy. Enjoy yourself. I'll see you tonight when you return."

Oh, if he only knew…

Alfred strains a painstaking smile, picks up his backpack, and trots out the door. When he turns around for a split second, he sees bright green eyes blinking back at him, and he has to press a fist to his mouth to keep from being sick. He really feels downright awful for putting the man through this.

And when he sees the math test on top of everything else…

No, there's no time to think about that right now. He rushes off in the direction of the school and to the meeting place he has arranged with Toris. They're meant to meet at the river and follow it upstream, where the path is well hidden behind thickets of trees, so they won't be seen by any of the townspeople. The walk to the train station is quite long, and the last thing they want is for someone like Gilbert or Mr. Honda to witness their departure.

Toris is already there when Alfred arrives—punctual as always. He's carrying his own knapsack packed to the brim with sandwiches and thermoses of soup because, apparently, his father insisted he bring extra food with him in case the lunch provided at the "museum" is insufficient.

"I've never lied to him like that before," Toris laments, a little jittery and on edge. "What if we get lost? Or we get on the wrong train? Or—?"

Alfred rolls his eyes and squeezes Toris' shoulder. "It's going to be fine. I know where we're going."

It's a thirty minute walk to the train station, which doesn't seem so bad at first, but the trek also includes a tiresome hike up some areas laden with high hills. It doesn't take long for their thighs to start aching and their feet to protest. It is, however, a minor obstacle, and they manage to get to the train station in good time anyway.

They purchase their tickets and get on the ten o'clock train, which arrives in a cacophony of somniferous clanging and is shrouded in a cloud of charcoal smoke, prompt and according to schedule. Boarding is easy enough, and they find a pair of seats by the window without any trouble.

Once they are settled in, a sense of accomplishment and triumph swaddles them. Here they are. They're actually on a train to Chicago, and there's nothing that can stop them now. They're on their own, completely unsupervised and left to fend for themselves. The exhilaration that comes with leaving home for the first time dawns on them, and they can't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. For the first time, they feel like men.

You only get to do so much in one life, and by God, Alfred swears he's going to find his brother, even if he has to flip the entire Earth upside-down.

The train grumbles a lazy moan and begins to move, gradually gaining speed until eventually they are racing through fields of grain and wildflowers, the sun beaming merrily against their window.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Toris whispers, clutching his knapsack with both hands.

Alfred nods, lost in thought. "Me neither… Hey, do you think we'll find him?"

"Matthew?"

"Yeah."

"I think there's a chance."

"I think so, too," Alfred readily agrees.

"What's going to happen if you find him?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you going to make him come back with you?"

Alfred frowns. "I don't know. I haven't really thought about it. It'd be up to him, I guess. I just really want to see him to make sure he's okay."

"What if he has a good family, and he wants you to stay with him? Would you move in?" Toris wonders, a curious look in his eyes.

"I don't think Arthur would like that. He'd be sad."

"But maybe your brother is more important."

"But," Alfred falters, "Arthur is important to me, too."

"What if you have to choose?"

"I can't choose something like that."

"But you left Arthur to look for Matthew, so you chose already, right?"

Alfred makes a choked noise of complaint in his throat. "It's not… I didn't leave him forever. Just for a day."

Toris shrugs his shoulders and has one of those moments where he acts much older and wiser than he has any right to be. "What difference does it make?"

Alfred wants to argue that there is a difference, and a big one at that, but he gets ridiculously tongue tied against his will and is left to sit back in the tepid silence.

Maybe it's because part of him worries Toris is absolutely right.

Something is… wrong. Arthur can't quite place his finger on it, but the sense of impending doom in his gut just won't go away, no matter how many times he gets up, takes a good look around the room to make sure everything is in its rightful place, and attempts to calm himself with a sip of tea.

At first, he's tempted to think he's merely being dramatic. This paternal unease in his chest is probably just due to Alfred not being in the house. He's fretting too much. The boy is most likely perfectly fine and having a swell time with his friends on his class trip. After all, he's being well-supervised by chaperones in a controlled environment filled with historical significance and cultural artifacts.

Everything is fine.

The phone is ringing downstairs. Batting away the rest of his concerns, Arthur rushes to answer it. Who would be calling him in the middle of the afternoon? Is there an issue down at the firm?

"Hello?"

"Mr. Kirkland?"

"Yes, how may I help you?"

"I'm calling in regards to Alfred's unexcused absence from school today."

Arthur twists the cord of the phone between his fingers and glowers. "There must be some sort of misunderstanding. Alfred is on a class trip."

"That's impossible. His name was not recorded on the attendance sheet this morning. He never boarded the bus."

And just like that, Arthur's heart somehow manages to plummet to the very bottom of his stomach. "I-I beg your pardon?"

"If he had gone on the trip, his teacher would have marked his name down this morning, Mr. Kirkland."

"I see…"

A knock on the door puts the conversation to a halt, and after promising to call again, Arthur hangs up the phone and goes to tell whoever is on the porch to get lost because he has bigger problems on his hands at the moment.

He doesn't know who he expects to see before him, but it certainly isn't Ivan. His old friend is uncharacteristically disheveled. There are flyaway hairs dancing on one side of his head, his left shoe is untied, and the collar of his white coat is so askew it almost seems deliberate.

"Toris didn't board the bus today," he blurts out before Arthur can even greet him. "I don't know what to do. He could be anywhere! What if something happened? What if someone kidnapped him or—?"

Arthur reaches a hand up to touch the other man's shoulder in an attempt to quiet him. "Alfred has also disappeared."

"So then… They're together? But where could they be?" Ivan says breathlessly, looking horribly pained.

"Alfred has a habit of sneaking off to Gilbert and Ludwig's shop. I'll give them a ring and see if they know anything. Let me just find the phone number…"

Hastily, Arthur climbs back up the steps and jogs to his study, clearing books from his desk as he searches for the number to Beilschmidt Sweets. He reaches for his encyclopedia to move it aside, and that's when it dawns upon him that the letter from the Children's Aid is missing. He makes sure it hasn't fallen somewhere on the floor, and when he's positive there's no trace of it, he returns to Ivan, a woebegone expression on his face.

"I daresay I know where they are. We need to leave for Chicago right now."

"Chicago?" Ivan asks, disbelief lacing his voice.

"I'll explain on our way there."

Arthur grabs his coat and leads the way, hurriedly locking the door before making a beeline for his car.

"Wait!" Ivan stops him. "It might be faster if we take the train."

"Faster if you take the train to where?" a voice asks. Francis comes strolling out of his house, arms folded over his chest as he approaches the pair, curious as always.

Arthur groans and rubs a hand over his forehead. He really doesn't need the man meddling in this. "I don't have time for your monotonous drivel today, Francis."

"The boys are missing," Ivan supplies, stressing the severity of the situation so as to prevent a fight from breaking out between the men.

"Alfred and Toris? Missing? Then I'm coming with you," Francis insists.

"Oh, no, you are not."

Ivan puts a hand on Arthur's arm and says, "Let him come. The bigger the search party, the better."

"Fine, you can come."

"Fantastique! In that case, I'll get Gilbert as well."

"Of course you will," Arthur sighs, too emotionally drained to argue.

Fortunately, Ivan manages to get a hold of the situation, and before long, their ragtag party of four are on the earliest train leaving for Chicago.

Gilbert provides some much needed humor to the crisis. Arthur and Ivan each add their own helping of worry and seriousness because when they find the boys, so help them God they're going to be sorry. And Francis… Well, Francis is just there to irritate everyone.

But they are a team, nonetheless. A determined team, and no one is allowed to suffer without the other.