Author's Note: Aksjhfka hello again! And welcome to a new chapter! I have to tell you though, I really kind of hate this one, but in the interest of forwarding the story and not leaving ya'll hanging too long, I am posting it anyhow :T So have a boring semi transitional chapter and then I promise PROMISE, we'll meet up with Arthur again in chapter 6! Also if you reviewed chapter 5 before and I accidentally deleted your review I'm sorry D: I noticed a mistake the first time around and reuploaded and I dunno if I wiped out any reviews :T Anyway, that said! Enjoy! c:
-Crow
Chapter 5
An In-Body Experience
The darkness he experienced the second time was far different than the first, though not necessarily as pleasant. His body felt stony and leaden, his head ached, and instead of the bickering between immortal beings that had roused him the first time, his ears were filled with the barely audible sound of Matthew's very familiar and very tiny voice. Bleeps of the heart monitor and the rhythmic, almost soothing whoosh of the respirator punctuated it in cold medical staccato, but he could hear him in the weary, yet hopeful midst of reading through the complete collection of Grimm's Fairytales aloud loyally at his brother's bedside. His voice sounded exhausted and thin, like he had been reading for weeks on end in vain hopes that somehow, Alfred would respond. Though Francis knew Matthew to be far more pragmatic than that, and if what the demon had said about his condition was true, he already knew he was never expecting his brother to awaken. Still, the devotion was evident in the shaky retelling of The Tailor in Heaven that retained all the hope that he might one day see those bright blue eyes and hear that booming laughter again.
"One very fine day it came to pass that the good God wished to enjoy himself in the heavenly garden, and took all the apostles and saints with him, so that no one stayed in heaven but Saint Peter," he began with a heavy sigh, forcing himself to continue with the words in the book with as much enthusiasm and charm as Alfred had once read the very same tales to him as children, "The Lord had commanded him to let no one in during his absence, so Peter stood by the door and kept watch. Before long some one knocked. Peter asked who was there, and what he wanted."
Matthew cleared his throat and shifted up in his chair to amplify his voice and act out the parts once the dialogue came into play.
"'I am a poor, honest tailor who prays for admission,' replied a smooth voice. 'Honest indeed,' said Peter, 'like the thief on the gallows! Thou hast been light-fingered and hast snipped folks' clothes away. Thou wilt not get into heaven. The Lord hath forbidden me to let any one in while he is out.'," he read with a little more zeal and a tiny sorrowful laugh.
"This is so stupid. Sorry Al, I'm just not as good as you."
Overwhelming empathy for the unfortunate fictional tailor welled up in Francis as he slowly regained consciousness. Matthew grappled once again to find his voice, but in its stead a sudden very familiar, and much louder voice pierced the reverent quiet of the hospital room.
"Dude! This is a trip! I'm a freakin' ghost! Total out of body experience for sure! Oh hey, I remember that book! We used to act out the stories together when we were kids!" Alfred's voice sounded, then paused, "…Man I look like crap! Mattie does, too. Wonder how long he's been here? Poor guy, he needs to get out more!"
Francis did have to give him one thing. Matthew's voice had almost coaxed him to remain in a peaceful slumber. It was Alfred's that helped to clear the fog of coma and near death and bring his mind back to the surface.
"C'mon Frankie! Wake up already! You gotta see what I can do!" he cajoled.
That earsplitting laughter sounded again, surprising Francis that it was not followed by the sound of shattering glass, and he heard him twirl overhead to the other side of the bed.
"This is so totally cool! I can fly and pass through walls and no one can see or hear a thing! It's like watching a movie! Starring me! Bet this place has been full of drama and sobbing and everyone begging me to wake up. Oh hey, someone even brought fresh flowers! Wonder who they're from… One of my many sexy admirers I'm sure! Heh! Sunflowers, too!" Alfred chirped approvingly, though he paused and a hint of trepidation crept into his voice, "Wait a sec… Sunflowers…?"
Francis allowed him rabble on to himself as he focused on doing exactly what he had just been nagging him to do. Fingers twitched atop the coarse fibers of the cool blue hospital blanket. Lashes fluttered against cheeks flushing with color after the pallor of near death had lingered too long about them. Alfred let loose with a garbled scream of ire and finally, Francis felt his jolted spirit take hold of his new body and his throat close around the respirator as all of his slumbering neurons revved with life. He lurched weakly off the bed in protest, one hand lifting to remove the offending device, but he heard the book clatter to the ground, Matthew's panicked call of Alfred's name, then for the nurses outside, and all manner of alarms going off.
Returning to the Earthly realm was less of the beautifully romantic reawakening he had imagined, and more a frenzied blur of forced breathing, shouting, and hands on his body as the respirator was gently extricated from his throat and he gasped his first breath of air on his own. He coughed and choked for it, but forced his eyes to open to the chaos as baffled doctors and nurses alike checked his charts and his vitals. All he saw was the bright florescent lights above him, a flailing, translucent Alfred out of his peripherals swatting frantically at the cheery bouquet of sunflowers beside his bed, and finally Matthew's tear streaked face as he craned over him and cupped his hands tenderly around his face.
"Al? Oh my god, Al? Can you hear me? Alfred! Alfred, please! Say something! Alfred!" he begged.
Francis parted his lips, starting to call him by the French form of Matthew which had been his own pet name for his friend, until he heard the first syllable out of his throat in a painfully American voice that was distinctly not his own and halted himself immediately. It was only then he thought back to what Alfred had called him in their brief interactions and made sure to use the appropriate term of endearment for the frantic looking youth at his side.
"Ma… Mattie?" he managed to whisper in Alfred's muted voice with a smile, throat burning in protest of words after lying unused, but with genuine warmth.
Tears of joy poured down Matthew's cheeks as he threw himself with a cry against his chest, much to the chagrin of the baffled nurses and doctors attempting to discern just exactly how a comatose, nigh unto brain dead man could have simply woken up with no warning whatsoever. He murmured something incomprehensible through his relieved sobbing, Alfred continued to shriek and rant in the background, unheard by anyone but him, and Francis summoned all the meager strength left in his earthly form to comfort his sibling. He was able to run a hand messily through the younger Jones' wavy blonde hair before he was yanked away to the side and then laid back acceptingly to endure the torment of medical panic and curiosity. At least one person in the room knew the truth, and he was the only one who needed to.
For what seemed like an eternity the doctors shone flashlights in his eyes, took his blood pressure, and tested his reflexes. They removed the bandages from his head to inspect where the fractures once were, took copious blood samples and jabbed, prodded and felt in so many places Francis began to wonder if he hadn't died at all and was merely in yet another strange fetish club with his best friends after a few too many. Matthew remained anxiously at his bedside, ignoring the behests for him to leave and get some air or some coffee or anything but hover while they attended to him, but before long, there was nothing left to do but leave to confer and study the data. For all they could tell, it was as if Alfred had simply awoken from several months of peaceful, unexplained slumber, completely healed with not a sign of trauma to speak of. The stumped medical professionals appointed Matthew back to his sentinel position with a list of questions to ask him and slowly filed out one by one, scratching their heads and checking charts for the umpteenth time.
Matthew watched them go, reaching out to take Francis' hand and holding it protectively. Francis finally relaxed and sagged back into the hospital bed with a relieved sigh, only for Alfred's translucent and faintly glowing face to suddenly appear in his field of vision. His eyes went wide and he suppressed a yelp of fear, which came out as a strange choking squeak, garnering an unwanted frown of concern from Matthew who could not see the frenzied spirit of his brother currently gripping his own body by the shoulders.
"Oh thank God they're finally done molesting me! Listen Frankie, I need you to do me a solid and get up RIGHT now, and chuck these sunflowers out the window!" he commanded, pointing a finger at the offending bouquet.
Francis' eyes shifted over toward the sunny yellow flowers placed with obvious care in a glass vase and felt Matthew's grip on his hand tighten.
"Al? You okay? Should I call the doctors back?" he asked warily.
Before Francis could even devise a logical excuse Alfred leapt off of him and took a vicious flying roundhouse kick at the sunflowers again, only to have his leg pass harmlessly through them. He seethed in frustration as the blooms merely swayed pleasantly, as if tickled by a warm summer breeze, and floated above them with his fists balled and teeth gnashing.
"You'd better start freaking out right now, because if you were really me and you saw this, YOU WOULD BE FREAKING OUT ABOUT NOW!" he yowled.
Curious, Francis lifted his eyebrows and nearly began to ask why exactly the gift was so heinous when he heard Matthew whisper beside him again.
"Al?"
The fact that Matthew was still perched beside him had nearly completely slipped his mind. Not only that he nearly failed to respond his new name and remember that he really was supposed to be answering when addressed as such. He had almost entirely forgotten that now he truly was, in a sense, Matthew's older brother, his Al, Alfred F. Jones and that he was to play his part in his final performance, but after a moment of clarity he turned back and looked up into the worried blue eyes that mirrored his own, smiling comfortingly as he reached out a hand to caress his cheek.
"Sorry, Mattie," he apologized, shivering a little at the sound of Alfred's voice coming from his lips, "I'm okay. I'm fine. I'm totally fine. Better than fine, really. I promise. You really think something that stupid would be the end of me?"
Matthew seemed pleased at the added bit of Alfred flair he added at the end and threw his arms around his neck once more with a tearful chuckle.
"I shouldn't have but… God Al, I was so scared. I… I really, really thought I was never going to see you again," he breathed, "Thank God… Thank GOD you're okay. I-I can't believe you really came back. Th-They said…"
Alfred seemed to forget his crusade against the accursed sunflowers as Matthew trailed off, unable to say the words, and began to cry again. He frowned and drifted over to his brother's side, and Francis made sure to wrap his arms around him, hugging him close.
"Hey. Hey don't cry. Please don't cry. Believe it. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. How long was I out?" he inquired sleepily, despite knowing the answer full well.
Silence ensued in the wake of his question, as if Matthew was afraid to tell him, but eventually he whispered the reply mournfully into his neck.
"Two months, two weeks and three days."
Two months, two weeks, and three days of hell for Matthew, he was certain, and he was just as certain it had been even more of a living nightmare for his precious Arthur. His heart wrenched in his chest as a scant flash of his face illuminated his imagination, wondering where he was at that very moment, what he was thinking or doing, if by some mystical chance he was thinking of him, too. Francis could scarcely believe he had been delivered back unto the same plane of existence with him again after his harrowing journey between Heaven and Hell and that seeing him was once again only a matter of a phone call, rather that some impossible cosmic communication. Though actually seeing Arthur would have to wait until the shock of his reawakening had passed and he was freed from the confines of the hospital. Until then, all he could do was assume the role of big brother, one he often ascribed to himself anyway and more than happily performed for his sweet little friend.
"Holy hell…" Francis breathed, tensing and artfully feigning shock at the earth shattering news.
"I know…"
"That's a hell of a long time."
"I know…" Matthew continued, his tone lightening, "You owe me for all the terrible soaps I endured watching over you."
"Soaps? Really…?"
"And talk shows. The bad ones. The ones with paternity tests and drag queens. On the same show."
They pulled slightly away from each other in amusement, and their eyes met once more in the silent observance of the gravity of mortality and fragile, beautiful human life. Francis' heart, Alfred's heart, raced in his chest as Matthew's deep azure gaze seemed to scour his very soul, certain he would see past the shell of the body and into the true soul beneath. His lips moved, his irises flickered, and much to the Frenchman's surprise his lips cracked into a crooked smile. A snort of a giggle bubbled merrily from him, and Francis could not help but smile and join him as they both broke into relieved hilarity. Together they laughed, Matthew wiping his face and celebrating in the release of the grip of fear and worry that had choked him for months, and Francis sloughing off the awkwardness of stepping into a personality far beyond his own. He was certain he could do it. He had to, he reminded himself, for not only his own soul, but for the second half of it that still dwelled deep within the being of another.
"Were you here every day, then? For me?" Francis finally asked as the mirth died down, though he knew the answer already.
He had always been fond of Matthew for his quiet sweetness and dedication and needed not ask to know he had been his brother's guardian for the duration of his convalescence.
"Mmhmm. Of course I was. Francis-" he replied quietly, his voice breaking on the name he clearly still found difficult to say, "F-Francis gave me a paid leave of absence so I could stay with you and… Take care of things…"
The painful sound of his name made it all too obvious he was still mourning his death. It was oddly eerie, the first incident of seeing grief for him, but it served as a valuable reminder that he had entered a world that now lacked one fabulous Francis Bonnefoy. He wished dearly he could comfort him and let him know that everything would turn out for the better, or so he hoped, but the angel and demon's words as they drafted their contract rang in his head and he knew he would have to remain silent until the subject was breeched. Deciding to change the subject for both their sakes, as there was no way Alfred could know his brother's former employer was deceased, Francis glanced back at the sunflowers and narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"That was decent of the guy. So then who brought the lovely flowers?" he asked.
Formerly a subdued and silent spectator, Alfred suddenly went rigid and leaned threateningly over his brother's shoulder.
"Don't go there, Frankie. Do not even go there!" he warned.
Matthew frowned and recoiled slightly, and Francis saw worry flash over his delicate face.
"Um… W-Well," he started, eyes flicking skittishly away.
At first Francis thought he seemed reluctant to name the criminal because he was concerned for Alfred's memory. The hard swallow, the hand through his hair, and the nervous little cough as he thought of how to gently break the news told him otherwise.
"I um… It was just… Okay, don't get mad at me. I know you don't like him, but Ivan was very worried about you so I let him in a few times during visiting hours and he brought a fresh bouquet for you every week. He really is very nice, I don't know why you hate him so much," he informed him sternly.
Alfred screeched again and covered his ears with his hands, floating up toward the ceiling as he snarled and spat.
"Ugh! Gross gross gross! I can't stand even hearing the freak's name! Mattie you traitor! I can't believe you let him into my room! When I was in a coma and couldn't even punch him in his big stupid commie nose no less!" he wailed, turning back to Francis with a venomous glare, "Okay you got your stupid answer, NOW will you freak out for me, PLEASE?"
As highly amused as he was, Francis found it so difficult not to laugh he had no choice but to finally comply and fully assume his new role. He rolled over and curled into a ball, growling much the same way Alfred had as he waved a hand dismissively at the flowers.
"You have got to be kidding me! Gross! Don't even say the freak's name!" he repeated, "And get those flowers the hell out of here! I can't believe you actually let him into my room, you traitor!"
Matthew appeared struck for a moment before he closed his eyes and sighed.
"But Al they're just-"
"I don't care! Get them outta here! Take them to the kids' ward, or a cute receptionist, or the morgue for all I care! I just don't want them in here!" Francis hissed petulantly.
"Right this second? But you-"
"Now!"
A beleaguered wince marred Matthew's face that looked to Francis he was suddenly wondering if he didn't like his brother better in a coma. At the very least, it seemed his acting was convincing enough. The younger blonde got up resentfully and shuffled over to the nightstand by the bed, then picked up the flowers with a half-hearted glare. Muttering something indiscernible under his breath, he apologized and promised to return soon and hurried out the door to dispose of the offending token. Alfred sighed loudly in relief and drifted down to perch on the edge of the bed while Francis sat up, a mischievous and salacious grin on his lips.
"Ivan, is it?" he purred suggestively once he was certain Matthew was out of earshot.
Alfred cringed as if a chill had suddenly run up his vaporous form.
"Shut up! It's not like that! He just owns the bar my old college buddies and I like to go to! That's all!" he protested, "Besides! You wake up in MY body and that's the first thing you got to say to me? Don't we have more important stuff to talk about?"
Ignoring the second comment, Francis was silent for a moment before he hooded his eyes and grinned.
"And yet he comes to your bedside so loyally, bringing you a symbol of his love, waiting so anxiously with bated breath for his sleeping beauty and his true love to awaken, to gaze into those eyes as blue as the sky and deep as the ocean so he can confess his eternal passion for you at last and seal it with a k-" he began in his usual sweepingly dramatic tone before Alfred groaned and cut him off.
"Dude, chill out with the fairytale romance shit! It sounds really freaky in my voice! I made out with the guy once when I was super hammered and we didn't even do the nasty! I don't think we did, at least. I don't remember much of…" Alfred pondered, looking ill before shaking his head to clear it, "Ugh… But anyway now he's gone all creepy stalker on me and I can't shake him off!"
Francis laughed brightly.
"I hardly call bringing you flowers when you are in the hospital being a stalker," he chortled.
"Yeah well you don't know the guy like I do. He's like seven feet tall and all Russian and morbid and disturbing and he NEVER takes off this scarf he's always wearing that one of his weirdo sisters gave him. Even in the summer! They came from Russia because they were all poor and miserable or whatever and life sucked but then they choose to open a seedy little bar? Who does that? I swear he's like part of the mafia or something. They're running drugs out of that place or arranging hits or- Or worse!" raved the American, gesturing wildly with his arms as he outlined the sins of his admirer which only solicited another smarmy grin from the French spirit inside his body on his own lips.
"For someone you claim to loathe you certainly know a lot about him," Francis teased again, much to Alfred's horror.
"I do hate him! He's a freak, probably some kind of rapist or murderer or something, I can't understand a word he says through that annoying accent, and he is always, ALWAYS smiling like he knows something I don't! Or like I have something on my face or I smell or something and he isn't gonna tell me and just enjoy it while he lets me make an ass of myself!" he continued virulently.
His fury and ranting were quite adorable, and rather familiar, Francis remarked fondly to himself as he laid back down into the hospital bed and closed his eyes in preparation for Matthew's imminent return.
"I bet he came in and gave you longing, loving kisses while you were asleep and looking so delightfully sweet and innocent…" he murmured smugly.
Alfred froze, jaw dropping open and gaping like a fish, and he screamed in sheer revulsion as he flung himself off the bed, babbling incoherently. He sailed through the air, vanished through the bathroom door and subsequently through the back wall, his wails echoing after him unheard by anyone but Francis as he sat up and watched him go. He laughed, but the slight motion caught his eye in the mirror on the wall and for the first time as he sat up and squinted his eyes against Alfred's terrible vision without his glasses he finally saw his face peering back at him from the polished glass. Granted, he was still pale and a bit gaunt, his cheeks sallow and his short, sandy blonde hair matted and mussed, but it was undoubtedly Alfred's ever-cheerful face he gazed back into. He looked down at his hands as well which were broader, rougher and lacking the familiar manicured nails and the light dusting of hair Arthur had always relentlessly teased him about and waggled the alien digits in wonder, missing the door creak open and footsteps reenter.
"Al?"
Francis was quicker to respond to his new name, and looked up with a casual, carefree grin.
"Yeah?" he chirped.
Matthew smiled sheepishly and skittered back to the chair beside the bed.
"I'm sorry," he whispered suddenly.
Genuinely confused, Francis raised a brow.
"Huh? Sorry? Sorry for what?"
"Sorry I let Ivan in, I should have known better and… Sorry I got mad at you for taking the flowers out. I-I gave them to the cute receptionist, like you said," he said miserably, hanging his head, "I-I was just… I've been so-"
Matthew could barely bring himself to finish as he fought off tears again and cupped a hand over his mouth.
"Hey… Hey what's wrong? Look I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have gotten so mad at you. It was just kind of a shock to wake up to, you know? And I'm fine, really! You heard the doctors, and I'm right here in front of you talking and even yelling! Everything's gonna be fine," Francis soothed, reaching out and taking his hand.
"I know, I know all that, it's just… After your accident… Francis, my boss at the bakery, you remember? He um… He was in a car accident and he… H-He died," Matthew choked.
The report of his own death rang cold and strange in his ears and his heart again, but the second time at least he could gasp in false shock and comfort him properly. It would be the first of many incidents, he was sure.
"Oh, Mattie… No… No, I'm so sorry," he breathed, squeezing his hand with very real sympathy.
"He was one of my best friends. The sweetest person who ever-" Matthew continued, his voice wrenching in his throat, "A-And the bakery was shut down until we all decided to reopen it in his memory, because he would have wanted it that way. B-But it's just not the same. No one comes anymore, we can't get to his recipes, and we're flat out just not as good as he was. Work has been miserable and on top of all that I thought I was going to lose you, too. And then I would have been alone…"
In that singular tragic moment, Francis realized the monumental task he had taken on at last. Matthew was reduced to tears again and he tugged him into bed with him and folded him into a powerful embrace, letting him release his sorrows against his chest. And he was only the first. So many lives remained where his death had left a gaping, aching hole. Not only Matthew, but Feliciano and Elizaveta at his bakery, Antonio and Gilbert, his family, everyone he had known and crafted his perfect, picturesque life with. His task to win back the heart of his beloved was only the beginning of the mire and maze he could see looming before him.
"Shhhh shhh. It's alright, Mattie. I'm here, you still have me, and I'm sure Francis would be proud as hell of you for trying to carry on his legacy," he said firmly.
"I hope so," Matthew responded meekly.
"I KNOW so," Francis replied with an ironic smirk, "And he wouldn't want you blubbering on like this over him. Especially not since you got your bro back! So come on, buck up, and you can tell me everything that happened while I was out."
Matthew lifted his head and looked into his eyes in wonder of his courageous sibling as a smile crept slowly across his face. A slight glow filled the corner of Francis' vision and he knew without even turning to look that Alfred had returned to hear the tale as well. In his always-quiet voice that never seemed to rise above a whisper, Matthew began from the beginning and recounted life in Applewood as it had occurred every day since the fateful night he had shuffled off the mortal coil. The two supernatural cohorts listened together, preparing themselves, and taking comfort in the simple narratives of the life they had both been absent from. Each had been granted the power to shape their own destiny and each waited anxiously like warriors around the briefing before the greatest battle of their lives. The real test was yet to come, for a wounded, grieving Arthur would be the fiercest foe to contend with, but both took comfort and pride in the fact that, at least for the moment, they seemed to have passed the first.
And survive his first test he has indeed! Matthew seems to buy it, but now he has a whole lifetime of friends and family to contend with, and he hasn't even seen his supposed soul mate yet. What will happen once he locks horns with an Arthur who is still reeling from his death? Probably should have included another line in the contract just in case he gets killed. Again…
