final (lame) chapter! i hope you enjoy uwu

"Alfred.." Matthew breathed as he stepped into the room, eyes wet with recent tears. Even before today, the two had been close to the point where they were sometimes confused as lovers. The boy in the bed was quiet and he looked as if he was on the verge of falling asleep. Mind-numbing painkillers and blood loss bordering on severe did that to a person. There was a drip connected to his arm, and there were little stitches on his cheeks. There had been a comment earlier about how his glasses had shattered, and the lens shards had dug into his face. There would probably be scars.

"Matthew.." his brother whispered back, turning over his arm so that his hand appeared outstretched. Matthew took it at once, and sat down beside the hospital bed. "It doesn't hurt anymore, bro-.." he laughed softly, blue eyes moving to glance down to where his legs were beneath the blanket.

"What doesn't hurt..?" murmured Matthew, who was holding Alfred's hand in both of his, and trying not to cry again.
His lips curled up in a bit of a sad smile, peering to his brother's hands over his own. "I can't feel my legs anymore," Alfred laughed bitterly, leaning back in his bed. "I'm so dosed up that I'm numb everywhere else."
"Oh, Alfred.." he whispered, glancing to the floor and biting his lip.

"I'm just so glad you're alive-" Matthew said quietly. "I thought you'd died.."

"I could've sworn I saw a light," joked Alfred. His cheer, albeit weak and diminished, was still there, and it still shone through the darkness of the air around them.

"Don't go into the light, little bro," sighed Matthew, giving a tiny smile and leaning down to kiss his brother's cheek.

"My cheeks are numb," Alfred complained softly, creasing his brows. "Lips," he instructed, voice painfully soft.

"Fine," puffed his brother, who moved a bit, and pushed his lips against Alfred's. That was the touch that Matthew needed to gain a wave of inspiration. "Papa is going to come in after me, yeah? And then Dad." He murmured, ruffling Alfred's messy hair.

"I never thought I'd see Dad again," he chuckled. He squeezed Matthew's hand as much as he could, as if fearing that if he let go, he'd never get the chance to hold it again.

"Me neither." Francis commented, standing at the door.

"Papa," the brothers chimed, glancing up and both giving little smiles.

"May I take my turn now, Matthieu?" Their father hummed, taking another step inside and dabbing at his eyes.

Matthew nodded. He pecked his brother's hand, and murmured 'I love you', before standing and passing Francis to go out to the corridor; Arthur was waiting outside.

Just like that, Francis took up the space beside the hospital bed. He leant down and held Alfred in a loose embrace, letting out a heavy sigh.

"My dear son," he started, pulling back and offering a lame smile. "How are you holding up?"

The answer was simple, but Alfred kept the truth hidden to try and reassure his father. "I'm okay." He stated, laughing softly. He had wished to say that he felt broken and tired, but Francis had always had enough worry within him. He wished not to be a bigger burden. "A bit out of it thanks to the drugs, but other than that, okay."

"I was terrified, mon cher-" whimpered his father, who was on the brink of crying again.

"How did you think I felt?" Alfred joked quietly, touching at Francis's shoulder. "But I'm okay now-.. Kind of okay-" He murmured, eyes falling once again to his legs. At school, he had been on the football team, and was a real sportsman. Oh, the quirk of fate. "Are you and Dad-" he started, creasing his brow for a moment.

"We're talking things over." Francis interjected. "We have a more important matter to focus on at the moment; you." He said quietly, stroking his son's cheek. "I love you so much, Alfred."

"Love you too, Papa," weakly chuckled Alfred, who just rested his weary eyes for a moment. "Can I talk to Dad before the painkillers knock the wake out of me?"

"Ah, of course," he replied in a mumble, pressing soft kisses to his son's forehead and then going out of the room to retrieve Arthur.

Arthur stood at the door for a moment, before wiping his eyes and hurrying to Alfred's side.

"God, I shouldn't have left- Alfred, I'm so sorry," he started, causing Alfred to furrow his brow.

"I'm not angry at you or anything." He murmured, glancing away.

Arthur bit his lip, and just let the tears fall. As much as he had wanted to keep his resolve, now just wasn't the time. "But this is all my fault, I-"

"I'm the idiot who started running though traffic." Alfred puffed, cutting his father off. "Dad, this isn't your fault at all." He sighed, voice growing quieter by the minute. "I need to sleep,"

"I'm still so sorry, my dear son," Arthur murmured, grimacing. "I'm going to try and fix things, I swear it."

Alfred just smiled, before letting his eyes close and proceeding to doze off.

The doctors instructed the trio to allow Alfred his rest, and told them that they could stay in the waiting room for now. Matthew asked around until he found someone who was willing to lend him a pencil and some paper, returned to his fathers, and started to draw.

It was almost as if he was in a trance as he put down fast strokes, putting in more lines at a quick pace. As he finished shading, he was knocked out of his spell, and glanced down to what he'd drawn. It was.. It was them. Arthur and Francis held hands in the back, wearing plastered and forced smiles. Perhaps it was a little brash for Matthew to think of it like that, but it was how they appeared. In front of them, he sat, hugging his knees upon the floor. Alfred was beside him, sitting in a wheelchair and smiling ever so weakly. Puffing quietly, he folded it up, and tucked it away into his pockets. It was too upsetting for now.

The next week or so was hard and dragged out; the family was allowed more visits inside the room as the days passed by. Finally, it was decided that Alfred was well enough to return home for now. Francis and Arthur had been notified about Alfred's situation with his legs. However, this didn't stop them from feeling heartbreaking sadness at the sight of Alfred slowly wheeling himself forward and towards them.

"We can go home now, bro," Matthew said softly, turning so that he was moving alongside his brother. His drawing from all those days ago still haunted him, and seeing Alfred in a wheelchair – just as he had illustrated – shattered his heart.

"Home~!" cheered the boy, smiling a little as he tried to keep turning the wheels. "Man, this is tiring," he whined softly.

"You never change, do you?" mused Matthew, ruffling his brother's hair. "We'll go out and get you some new glasses as soon as we can, yeah?"

Alfred agreed, dipping his head and yawning. "But for now, I just wanna go home," he insisted.

Francis and Arthur trailed alongside them, fingers loosely interlaced as they both passed glances to their son. It was hard for either of them to speak freely between themselves now – despite the apologies –, but they had decided to be strong for their sons. Their dear children were what mattered, and if they had to wear faux smiles and pretend to hold each other tight, so be it. It was what was best for the family.

It took a while for Alfred to settle into his new life, but Francis was around to help a lot more, now that Arthur contributed back to the family funds. It was nice for him not to have to work as much. Matthew moved his canvases out of Francis's bedroom and they ended up cluttering his bedroom even more. He painted many things, and developed a habit of hiding bad paintings from onlookers. Matthew ended up with a small stack under his bed.

Alfred spent late school afternoons at the coffee store with Matthew. The boy had taken up interest in astrology at some point, and he often spent nights staring up at the night sky through a telescope. Things generally seemed to be getting better for all of them, and Matthew was heavily relieved. Things seemed to be as back to normal as they could get.

Until he painted broken bits of a wine glass held threateningly to a man's throat, that was.

the end!