Somehow it hurts. It hurts to see Mathew curled into his side, pale and shaking like a child. It hurts to hear that he called Lucille and Michelle but not Alfred. It hurts to hear about Francis' severe depression from the gentle voice of Antonio, basically a stranger to Alfred, instead of his family. It hurts because Alfred knows he could help. He wants to believe he can, but he wonders if that just his hero complex speaking.
Alfred has always wanted to save people. He wants to be that shining hero in the movies who appears when someone is in danger, when they're alone and scared, and to bring them away from that place, to leave them happy and smiling like in the movies. Now, Alfred is feeling grossly inadequate. Maybe he's not good enough?
It makes sense the more he thinks about it. It wasn't just that Mathew hadn't told him, but both Lucille and Michelle too. Both of his younger sisters, even though he's closer with Michelle's, both of them should know how important this would be to Alfred. They should have known to at least tell him. But no one had. Not his siblings, not his Dad or Francis, he wonders if Antonio would have even told him if he'd had time.
He feels guilty for feeling like this when he knows Francis is feeling worse than him. Alfred feels selfish and horrible for making it about him, and he thinks that maybe that's why no one trusted him enough to tell him. He wonders if he'd made a mistake coming here. Maybe Francis doesn't want to see him. Maybe he should have made Arthur go alone.
There's a weight on his shoulder that's making him uncomfortable, and when he looks he sees that Mathew has fallen asleep, his swollen eyes shut and his breathing even and deep, his fingers still pinching just the slightest bit of fabric from Alfred's sweater. It's such a contrast to the Mathew from earlier, alone, afraid, and unable to breathe, and Alfred's fears get a little lighter. He feels like this is why he had to come. If not for Francis, for Mathew.
He decides to worry about Francis, and Arthur, and him and everything tomorrow. After everything that's happened, Alfred is exhausted, and he just wants to go to bed. With Antonio's help he manages to get Mathew upstairs in bed, and into his pajamas, and Alfred changes into his own too.
Antonio hesitates at the bedroom door.
"Alfred, are you okay?"
Alfred looks up from his suitcase in shock. It's a ridiculous question to be asked to him, especially when he has Arthur and Mathew who are very obviously not alright, and Francis who is the worst of them all. It's bizarre that Alfred is the one Antonio is asking. Alfred answers bluntly and honestly.
"Not at all."
Antonio actually seems to relax at this remark, and he attempts what Alfred thinks in an encouraging smile.
"Good. No one should be in this situation. But we'll all get better Alfred. All of us."
It's a promise that Alfred doesn't think Antonio can make, but one he desperately wants to hear. He knows it's not something Antonio can promise, but accepts it anyways.
"Yeah. We'll be okay."
This time, Alfred recognizes the look Antonio gives him, a mix of pride and regret. He doesn't have to be able to read minds to know the reason for each emotion, and he flushes a little under the praising look.
"Well, I gotta take care of my family, y'know?"
Alfred tacks on, glancing at Matthew's sleeping form on the bed, and Antonio laughs in relief.
"Si. We must take care of our family. Goodnight, Alfred."
Antonio disappears from the doorway, closing it behind him, and Alfred clambers into bed next to Mathew. He doesn't know what's going to happen tomorrow, but he's a little less scared. His family needs him, whether or not they know it, and Alfred is going to be there for them. In order to do that, he needs a good night's rest.
