I stopped the engine of Alfred's Jeep, silencing its gasoline-needy growling to let the eerie silence take over. For America's capital to be so silent…

I leaned back against the backrest and turned my head slightly towards the sleeping boy in the passenger seat. There was still a streak of blood on his face, and his glasses were cracked, probably from when he tried to resist arrest. My hand reached to shake his shoulder, but dropped after a second; I didn't have the heart to wake the poor lad. Instead, I closed my own eyes, focusing on his heavy breathing, and letting the world blur away for a few moments, thinking that I'd wake him later.

Alas, I must have forgotten myself, as I was awakened by the sleepy mumble of my name. I opened my eyes, only to find Alfred's inquisitive gaze opposite of me.

"Where are we?" he asked, pushing his glasses onto his head to rub the sleep from his eyes.

"Your home," I responded, sitting upright and opening the door. "I figured I should let you sleep."

"Ah. Thanks," was all I got in an unusually laconic reply. Obviously disinterested in keeping the conversation alive, Alfred exited the car and was off towards his apartment, equally as disinterested in waiting for me.

I rolled my eyes at his retreating form. Ever since we exited the police precinct, practically in each other's arms he had been acting borderline hostile towards me, and now this storming off, leaving me in the car.

I could drive off with it.

I quirked my brows. What a peculiar thought… did mortals often have these? With how materialistic they were, perhaps… Ah, but who am I to lay judgment on materialistic behaviour, having owned an empire onto which the sun never set.

Chuckling at my trail of thought, for who else is there to appreciate my wit, I exited the car as well, locking the doors. Anyone else, I imagined, would have taken Alfred's behaviour as a cue to get lost, however my flight home wasn't leaving until the next day and, having flown all the way out here just to help the ungrateful git, I wasn't keen on paying for a hotel when I could simply sleep in his many, unused guestrooms.

And, maybe, I was a bit worried.

And if so, then only just a tiny bit.

Thus, I followed Alfred into the apartment building, and from there up to the twentieth floor with the elevator. To my surprise, his apartment door stood open. How reckless, I probably wasn't the only person moving in the building!

"Alfred?" I shut the door behind me and took off my shoes, orderly setting them by it, only to notice Alfred's sneakers strewn around the place. My eyebrows knitted together; at least the blood on them was dry and didn't get everywhere. He had stepped in a lot of it.

"Alfred, learn to put your shoes away once, will you?" I wasn't sure he was even in hearing range, as I collected the footwear from the floor and set it to the side so I could clean the blood from them later. That done, I peeked around the corner, only to see Alfred sprawled out on the living room couch, feet dangling over an armrest.

"Alfred! Good grief, you haven't even taken those bloody clothes off! Get up, have a shower and get changed before you pass out on white furniture!" I huffed, folding my arms when the boy raised his head to glare daggers at me, though that expression only lasted a second. He knew very well that his temper tantrums didn't work on me.

"Fine, mom…" he grumbled, almost rolling himself off the couch. My heart softened somewhat for the lad as I watched him groggily venture towards the bathroom. I couldn't blame him for being tired and worn out, a lot had happened, but even so, he had to take care of himself better.

"Leave the clothes in the bathroom, there's nothing to do about the bloodstains, I'll toss them for you," I called after him, receiving a grunt in response. He probably knew this very well, and suddenly I felt rather silly for being so incredibly doting with him. Two hundred years he had spent proving himself to the world… perhaps I shouldn't ignore it simply because I wish not to see it.

It was long overdue that I let go of my grudge against Alfred, especially now with mortality weighing upon both of our shoulders. I wasn't going to deny that a part of me wished that the world had barked back and that his independence would have been too much for him to handle, but it hadn't turned out so. Even with all the quirks and bad habits of his that I disapproved of, he proved to be much greater than I.

I had never had to think that, but… my life, as it stood, was too short to bear grudges over such matters. It was time, now that my future was cut short, to come to terms with the past.

Pondering all that, I picked up Alfred's bloodied and cheese scented sneakers, bringing them to the kitchen to give them a scrub under the sink. It wasn't that I was particularly fond of cleaning up after Alfred, however, at least it gave me something to do. Truth be told, I felt rather out of place here. The tensions between me and Alfred, which had never really disappeared completely, made me think I was not all too welcome, and yet, my pride would not let me leave, either.

I scrunched up my nose as I was forced to remove several piles of dishes with moldy bits of food on them from the sink to place the sneakers there. Alfred had always been a sloth, however, the state of his kitchen proved that he had been neglecting taking care of himself more than can be excused by teenage laziness.

Sighing, I turned on the water and waited for it to warm up, before starting to scrub the sneakers with a bar of soap. I'd get to the dishes later, and I figured his bedroom also needed some cleaning. God knows that's where he had his consoles and TV and computer and where most of the muck produced by Alfred piled up.

The water swirling down the drainpipe had carried away most of the blood and dirt by the time I heard the bathroom door open and close. For a moment, I heard no footsteps, before Alfred moved again, probably coming for the sound of running water in the kitchen. And indeed, a few moment later, he leaned next to me on the counter, dripping water all over the floor and clad only in a towel, loosely thrown around his hips.

Stubbornly, I kept my eyes on the draining water, painfully aware of how close his almost-naked form was to me.

"What are you doing that for? I could have cleaned those," he said, before proceeding with the ritual that commenced each time he came into the kitchen; Alfred opened the fridge door and stared at the hollow bowels of the household appliance. A stench of spoiled milk wafted through the kitchen and I shut off the water with a sigh.

"Like you've been cleaning the dishes? You live as if on a pig farm, boy, look at how much mold there is on these," I made a sweeping gesture towards the pile of dishes. "I'm surprised there are no maggots wriggling around the place."

"Yeah yeah, Alfred's a lazy, dirty pig, I know the drill, Art, and I really ain't in the mood," he replied, pulling the milk carton from the fridge and raising it to his nose. Slamming the door, he brought it over to me and reached it out. "Does this smell off to you? I can't tell."

I took a precautionary step back from the offered milk; the stench was almost nauseating. "Alfred, I could smell that it was off the moment you opened the fridge. Do you really not smell it?" How long had he been living like this to become so desensitized to the smells?

"Nah. But that's all there was in the fridge anyway," he said, a pout crossing his face as he set the carton on the counter, adding to the list of things I had to take care of. "I guess I should go see if anyone's keeping a shop open today. Or a takeout place." His words were followed by a large, overacted yawn.

I rolled my eyes; as if that was really necessary for me to tell the brat to go to bed. "I'm sure I can find some pasta to cook, Alfred. Go sleep, but do it in a guest room, please, I want to clean up your room."

"What? Arthur, I don't need a personal housekeeper-"

"Yes you do," I interrupted him promptly. "You can't even smell the way it stinks in here, and I'm not blaming this on you, I know it's been hard. I'm just saying, I want to help while I'm here."

For a second, his look was such that I expected him to kick me right out, but a sigh softened his features and he turned, leaving me to my own devices. Apparently, I had a day of cleaning in front of me.

I heard the door to the guest room slam shut and as it did, I lifted a stack of dishes into the sink. Quite happily, I let the autopilot take over and lost myself into work.

There was a bit of a draft going through the house, however, I had managed to get the scent of rotting food and unwashed clothes out not a few hours later, and quite in time too, as there was a knock on the door. With Alfred still sleeping, his snores ringing through the house, I took it upon myself to answer the door. After fumbling with the lock, I pulled the door open to reveal Francis, standing there in all his unshaved glory. But, I would be lying if I said I wasn't glad to see the frog face.

"You look shittier than you did a few hours ago," I said, beckoning him in. "How did you manage that?"

"Oh, you know. Found the nearest dumpster and rolled around in it. It helps with human interaction, then not everyone is quite as blinded by my stunning radiance and dashing looks."

Stopping in the kitchen doorway, I turned and looked at him, trying to hide my smirk behind a scowl of disapproval, but failing. He seemed to relax as well a bit and a laugh fell from his lips. "Some things never change, huh?"

A few minutes later, both of us were seated at the kitchen table, mugs of steaming tea in our hands.

"What are you doing here, Francis? Decided to freeload on Alfred as well for the night?" I asked, stirring the sugar in my tea. I was still unable to wipe the slight smirk off my face; this was the first casual human interaction I had had in a while.

"Something like that. All the hotels and guest houses are closed, which is not really surprising." He took a sip of his tea, and after setting the cup mug down stared at his reflection in the liquid. "I have wrinkles, Arthur," he said, after a brief pause.

"They're not that bad," I replied, "give you character and such. God knows you could use some of that." Even that, I thought, sounded half-assed, but I didn't want to upset Francis any further. A vain being like him would certainly be dismayed by the disappearance of his eternal youth-

"Do you think we'll go to heaven, Arthur?"

I raised my head, eyebrows arched at the unexpected question. "Pardon?"

"If I die," he started again, trailing a finger over the wrinkles on his forehead, "do you think I'll go to the same place as her?"

"Ah." I looked down. His facade sometimes made me forget his true colours. "I doubt I could sound very convincing if I told you that you're certainly heading to heaven, but… If there is an afterlife, Francis, then I think you deserve to spend it with her."

There was a silence, which stretched on for a minute before it was broken by the scraping of Francis' chair against the floor. I realized suddenly, that what had alerted him was the ringing of a doorbell that I had missed entirely, too caught in the moment. With his usual, elegant movements, he stood, pausing by my side on his way to the front door.

"If there is an afterlife, then I was given the chance to see her again. But you were also given a chance at something you've long been seeking. Don't squander it, little brother."