Chapter Text
Alfred stares at his bedroom window, counting the stars that dwindle over time. The night is rarely this silent, disturbed only by his breathing. He has been sitting at his desk, paper and pencil in hand, contemplating what to write to his father for hours. After the argument between him and Arthur, he decided he would be leaving forever, as it had become clear that Alfred was no longer welcome in this home.
The home he had lived in for centuries, rotting and outgrowing those around him. The home where he grew up, slowly, but he did. His home, where he was introduced to humans for the very first time, and where he built bonds with his maids who were paid to look after him. Alfred liked to think they truly cared for him; he didn't get much attention and tried to soak up the little they gave him. They never treated him poorly; it's just a shame they died fairly quickly.
It wasn't the first time he was exposed to the concept of Death.
During the argument, Arthur said Alfred's empathy was a weakness, and that stumped him. Is it really so wrong to sympathize with his emotions? Alfred has always assumed Arthur to be a cold-hearted man, but hearing this changed his perspective of him. Not only is Arthur heartless, but he's stubborn and cruel. The words Arthur said to him pressed hard on his heart, which once had held love and admiration for him.
There was a time when Alfred loved Arthur. He'd wait outside his vibrant yellow home for his father to return from Europe. The crunch of carriage wheels on gravel announced his arrival, and before the maid could speak, Alfred sprinted downstairs, almost tripping, and flung open the door to throw himself into his father's arms. There was a time when Alfred was comfortable around his father, but now he was afraid to speak his mind.
Arthur thinks the colonies are driving Alfred to rebel against him, and he feels the same way. Alfred is the 13 colonies, and the 13 colonies are Alfred; there is no difference between the two. Arthur treats that bond as disobedience rather than individuality. He wishes to be human like the others, normal and mortal. Normal is a weird concept to him, and it shouldn't be—he should be like the other children, running around without a care in the world.
Arthur still views him as a child, a child who is starting to rebel against him. Alfred was never the sort of child to blend into the background; he was loud and energetic, and that is why Arthur loves him so—his eldest son, his first colony in the New World. Arthur wants that obedience more than anything, and Alfred assumes Arthur is disappointed that he isn't abiding by his rules anymore. Still, he questioned those rules not out of spite, but because he genuinely believes he can find a better way to solve these issues.
Yet, Arthur doesn't listen to him.
Alfred stares down at the paper in front of him, and it stares back at him, taunting him with nothing but a blank page. His brain can't function properly because of the argument he had with his father. Why does he care so much about what he thinks? He won't see Arthur's face after this. Alfred tries not to think about the aftermath of it: Arthur will come home welcomed by an empty room, and the only thing left of Alfred is the letter and his discarded clothes.
It's upsetting, really, but he has no one to blame but himself.
Alfred isn't sure where he wants to go. He was planning to head south, since it's farthest from home, but he isn't great with directions. He's still a child, but what other options does he have?
Alfred pauses while writing the letter when he hears a knock on the door. There is a short silence after the knock, and he turns his head to stare at the wooden door. A disturbing pit forms in his stomach, churning uncomfortably. He takes a deep breath before speaking. "Come in."
The doorknob turns, and the door opens, revealing a face similar to his own. His brother, a spitting image of himself, just a little younger, gazes at Alfred like a deer in headlights. The two are practically identical; the only difference is their eyes—Alfred's are a shade of electric blue while Matthew's are softer and lavender.
Alfred was hoping he wouldn't come across his brother so soon. Arthur would only receive a letter, but Matthew deserved a real farewell. However, Alfred isn't ready to say goodbye, not to the one person who feels like his only friend in the midst of all this chaos.
He isn't sure how Arthur will treat him once he's gone. Would he be okay without him? Alfred didn't want to think about it, but now he is forced to. His brother is here, staring at Alfredś worktable and the pile of crumbled paper in the rubbish. All his discarded letters about how much he loved Arthur, yet that man turned evil and refused to see his point.
For a moment, neither of them says anything. They both know this might be the last time they see each other for a long while. Matthew stands awkwardly in the doorway, while Alfred sits frozen at his desk, the unfinished letter between them. Finally, Matthew steps inside and asks, "Has Father yelled at you again?"
Alfred scoffs at his comment, turning his back on Matthew to focus on the letter again. "When has he not? Father is never in a good mood anymore."
He hears the door click shut, followed by soft footsteps. Matthew sits stiffly on the corner of his bed, hands folded tightly in his lap, looking uncertain about whether he belongs there. "He is stressed because of the war, and he's stressed about you."
Alfred doesn't turn to look at him, his head held in his hands. Matthew's poor excuse for their father's actions came out as dull, and he's sure Matthew doesn't even believe it himself. He pities him for trying to salvage the family; it has become broken and dysfunctional, but it is Arthur's fault for treating him poorly and for not seeing him as an equal.
None of what is happening is Alfred's fault. Is speaking on what's on his mind truly a crime?
"He doesn't listen to me. I try to speak with him, but he discards everything I say. Does he not want things to get better?¨ Alfred's muffled words proved a bit unclear. ¨He still treats me like a little child, and it frustrates me."
It also frustrates Alfred that Matthew can’t see what Arthur is really like. Matthew’s respect for Arthur makes him sensitive to his expectations. No matter how many times Alfred points out Arthur’s unfairness, Matthew always seems to find an excuse for him, clinging to the image of a well-meaning guardian.
Unlike Alfred, who's difficult to manage, Matthew’s compliant nature makes him easy for Arthur to influence. He rarely questions Arthur’s decisions, accepting demands without protest. Alfred sees it as a kind of blindness—a refusal to acknowledge how Arthur takes advantage of Matthew’s loyalty.
Well... also because Arthur treats Matthew differently. Alfred cannot help feeling jealous, but sometimes it feels as if Arthur prefers his brother to him. (Oh, how wrong he is, yet he does not know this.)
Alfred can go on and on about the topic, but it is not appropriate to think about it at this time. "None of my words get through to him."
Matthew's lips press into a thin line, his head lowering to the floor. He seems absorbed in thought, and Alfred can't help but wonder what's on his mind. Matthew exhales softly. "Sometimes I wish things were different," he admits, his voice just a whisper.
Alfred blinks, and a part of him that has hope is telling him his brother might agree with the next words that he is about to say. "Do you wish that father was also different?"
It's a stupid question, and one that he quickly regrets. Maybe it is him who needs to change.
Matthew's eyes look at him, truly look at him, and a quiet sorrow settles there as he shakes his head, his voice mild. "No, that is not what I mean," he says softly. There is a trace of desire embedded in his words, believing that his father is not to blame, but neither is his brother. Alfred knits his brows, unsure what his words mean.
"Father.. has been acting unusually, yes, but he has told me that we will all be together again," Matthew hugs his frame, staring at the empty letter that is begging to be written. His brother is aware this promise won't come true because of Alfred. He made his choice: he is leaving tonight.
Regrettably, he’ll be leaving Matthew behind, though they've spoken about where they stand. Matthew isn’t willing to leave Arthur, yet he doesn’t want to lose his brother either.
He cannot imagine Arthur losing two sons; one is bad enough as it is, and Matthew will be the lamb that is sacrificed to stay as Alfred runs to gain his freedom.
"Come with me," Alfred mouths quietly, hurt that Matthew had inwardly chosen Arthur´s side. "We can both be free. I will be the United States of America, and you—you can be Canada —and together... we can rule North America together—"
"Alfred—"
"You are my brother!" Alfred says too quickly, his tone rising in frustration. "Why are you choosing to side with him? Do you not see what he is doing to me?"
Matthew’s expression softens briefly, he resembles a younger version of Alfred. At that age, Alfred wanted his father's approval, to the point he would sightlessly listen to any word he said, and maybe that is why Matthew is so keen to believe there is good in Arthur Kirkland. In a way, Matthew is making the same mistake Alfred did, reasoning that their father loves them.
But their father does not. Arthur has done bad, but he also has done good. God was struggling to create Arthur Kirkland—unsure whether the man should be good or evil.
There is no middle ground. Alfred struggles to anticipate his father's moods, unsure what Arthur will do next. One moment, he might receive warm praise and affection; the next, Arthur would act aloof.
"I love you both," Matthew begins, standing up to walk behind his brother, looming over his shoulder. "Is this really the choice you are willing to make? Does Father know?"
xHe does not. He is in for a surprise," Alfred tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a croak.
"He will be upset."
"I know. I don't care."
Matthew frowns, his hands resting on the chair Alfred is seated in, gripping the handles. His hold tightens, and he’s overcome by a longing to embrace his brother. Sensing this, Alfred shifts awkwardly, adjusting his posture to make himself more accessible. "Whatever happens to me, we will always be brothers. I love you so much, Matthew, and I cannot imagine a world without you in my life."
Matthew shakes his head, struggling to hold back tears. He's at that age where he feels he shouldn't cry. He leans his head against his brother’s shoulder and wraps his arms around Alfred in an awkward half-hug. Alfred doesn’t mind, relieved that Matthew still loves him all the same and embraces him as he sobs.
It’s only been a few years since they first met; before Matthew came along, Alfred had no one. He was alone, since Arthur never visited the colonies unless he had business here—and Alfred did not like visiting England. It wasn't always like that, of course; when Alfred was only a babe, he couldn't be left alone, but when Alfred was old enough to take care of himself, that's when Arthur's visits turned scarce.
Matthew's existence made it less lonely, and he hopes he won't feel the same way he did. Loneliness.
"Do not tell father."
Still sobbing, and hardly audible, Matthew speaks. "I won't."
The two of them settle in a comfortable silence, breathing in each other´s presence. Alfred knows he'll miss his brother and the moments they've shared, but it's hard to enjoy their time when an unending shadow hangs over them, demanding obedience.
The shadow is suffocating Alfred to the point he can't take it anymore. Freedom isn't just something he wants… it's something he needs.
From now on, he's determined to break away, to forge his own path and build a new future as his own nation. Today, he'll say goodbye to Arthur's demands, leave the Kirkland name behind, and finally become his own person.
First, Alfred said goodbye to his brother. It wasn't easy, and he had to force himself to break away from Matthew's warmth—and reassure him that one day they would be reunited with new last names to bear. After Matthew left, Alfred thought back at the letter. He decided to go against it, and if Arthur wanted answers on his disappearance, he would have to come looking for him.
Matthew promised he wouldn't say a word, and he believed him. His brother cared about him, so much so that he would lie on his behalf. Arthur would figure out sooner or later that Matthew was protecting him, but by then it would be too late.
Alfred crumbled the letter angrily, a million thoughts running through his head— thoughts about his father. He thought of their first meeting and how overjoyed his father had been to have a son, showering him with affection, just as a father should.
The affection dwindled over the decades, and the part that misses his father wonders if he got tired of him. That wouldn't be the case, right? Alfred tried to be the son Arthur wanted, but even that didn't play out right. No matter what he did, nothing pleased his father.
It's not Alfred's fault that Arthur is acting this way. He attempted to reason with him, but it's evident that the man didn't want to listen to a word that came out of his mouth. Alfred throws the crumbled paper in the rubbish, gets up, and glances at his bedroom for the very last time. He had packed the clothes he'd take with him earlier, but there were still some things he wanted to bring.
First, the toy redcoat soldier his father had given him as a child remained at the top of his drawer. He left it by his bedside as a reminder of the days when his father would spoil him with gifts and trinkets, and Alfred would sometimes play with them in the dream of becoming a redcoat himself. That dream has long since been forgotten.
He doesn't want to take it with him because they're redcoats. They are associated with Great Britian and America is upset with Great Britain. Alfred is upset with Arthur. America and Great Britain. Alfred and Arthur. Yes, he wants nothing to do with Arthur and Great Britain.
And so he left all the other things his father had given him.
He hasn’t figured out exactly how he’ll make his escape; the maids are likely downstairs preparing for bed, while he sits here, terrified. His heart pounds in his chest, as if it might burst free and make a run for it without him. Everything deserves freedom, and freedom needs courage.
He can't have freedom without courage.
Mentally preparing himself, his hands press against the glass of his window, begrudgingly propping it open. The cold breeze greets him, blowing his bangs back. It feels good to have the wind against his face. The window is quite small, so he will have to wedge through. He's gotten bigger, and Arthur mentioned in a melancholy tone that he grew too quickly.
He puts his head first, using his forearms to push himself further—knocking something in the process. He curses under his breath, God forgive him, and prays none of the maids can hear the ruckus he is causing. The last thing he wants is to be caught in the act, which would ruin his plans. Even worse, somebody would notify Arthur about his little "rebellious act," and Alfred can't imagine what he would do.
He hears footsteps coming up the stairs. Alfred knows he has to move quickly—there’s no time to worry about what might happen if he’s caught. He slips out the window, landing hard on the grass below. Fortunately, his house is only two stories high, and for him, that was nothing. Above him, he hears one of the maids scream his name.
Her screams are so loud that Alfred has to put his hands over his ears to stop the slight ringing. The sound is so intense, even the birds take flight, startled into the sky. Her cries became louder when she realized Alfred had gone missing.
Alfred takes off, sprinting faster than he ever has before. He heads straight for the woods, the giant trees looming above as he dodges fallen branches along the path. He doesn't look back even once, because if he does, he might not have the energy to keep going. Alfred's lungs burn, but he keeps sprinting. The darkness shrouds him, and he can't see anything but the path ahead of him.
He must be imagining it, but it looks as if the tree branches are extending out, trying to hold him back from making this mistake. Arthur will be distraught and betrayed. Alfred can't imagine his reaction after receiving the news that his beloved colony has run away.
Arthur had always been strangely fixated on telling him that he was still just a colony, his possession—that he belonged to him. No amount of petty arguments could change the fact that, in Arthur’s eyes, Alfred would always be Great Britain's trophy. His whole life, Alfred had been sitting pretty and waiting for his father to come and lavish him with riches.
Alfred lived a good life, and he won't deny that there are fond memories he'll think back on. Tears well up in his eyes, and he hurriedly wipes them away. He hadn’t cried when he embraced his brother for the last time, but now the reality of it all is beginning to sink in.
He won't be seeing Matthew anymore; he won't get to see his younger brother grow up alongside him, teaching him the things their father taught him. There´s no time to get miserable over the inevitable, and Matthew would have to live without him.
Alfred will follow the path in hopes he can find something at the end of it. Anything is better than what he left behind.
𓇢𓆸
It's 1775, and it's been well over three months since he left his home in the North; he had grown accustomed to life in the colonies, where it revolved around plantations, but Alfred was lucky enough to get a gig as a poster boy. This job served as a useful side hustle, and none of the humans suspected that he was living among them.
The postal office was small, hidden by taller buildings surrounding it. Alfred made a name for himself for being precise, but he just wanted to be on time with news. News about the increasing tension between the Thirteen Colonies and the British Empire, which was imposing a variety of taxes and trade regulations intended to increase control over the American colonies.
Alfred repeatedly brought up the issue of taxes with Arthur, only to be dismissed each time, and the night he ran away marked the breaking point. He knew he would be seen as nothing more than a nuisance.
Mr. Henry, the man who had taken him in after spotting Alfred wandering the streets, arrived later than usual, carrying boxes in his arms. “Alfred, my boy! Have you heard the news about Britain?”
Alfred, who at this point was zoning out at the mail in front of him, snapped his head to look at the older man. Any mention of Britain spikes his heart out of control, and he hates that he is obsessed with the topic even if it hurts him so. "No, sir. What is happening?"
"British troops marched to Lexington to seize colonial weapons and arrest our leaders! What skanks they are," Mr. Henry emphasized with his actions, slamming the boxes on the table. "Seems like they're getting rattled that the colonies are fighting back."
What?
Alfred’s stomach sinks. He feels the need to be out there fighting alongside his people, but instead he’s trapped here with little direction. What he needs is a leader, a mentor to guide him. His father—no, Arthur—no longer fits that role. Alfred is dead to Arthur.
Arthur definitely knows about his defiant act, and he probably hates him. Good. Alfred hates him too.
"Mr. Washington will be our voice against those redcoats,¨ Henry wipes his hands on his slacks, sighing. "I's only a matter of time before they'll need you on the field too, kid."
Alfred hesitates. If he’s going to fight for himself and his people, he’ll need to reach out to George Washington directly. There’s not much he knows about him, and there's a chance the man won't take him seriously since Alfred is still a child. Still, if George understands who he truly is—that he represents what Washington is fighting for—then Alfred might finally be acknowledged.
Alfred briefly stares at the mail, thinking about all the families that are suffering because of Britain'z ignorance. They cannot pay back for the war they never asked to be in, and it’s not his or his people’s duty to settle the Crown’s debts.
Rumor has it that delegates from the colonies will be meeting in Philadelphia. If he can make the journey by horse, he can speak up before things escalate. Would they even listen to him? If Arthur didn't, why would men of similar age (mentally, Arthur cannot age physically as we may know) do so?
It can’t hurt to try. After a lengthy rant about the British, Mr. Henry finally leaves, and Alfred can’t help but find it ironic. He has plenty of grievances with the British and their stupid rules himself, but, in the end, aren’t they all technically British? His father always told him he was English before he was American. But Alfred never felt English; he never understood their choices, nor their way of speaking.
Alfred didn't have their accents, or their expensive sense of style. And he definitely did not have their attitude. He zones out for the hundredth time today and has been doing a lot of thinking, quite a lot... and he is set on meeting George Washington.
Alfred will introduce himself as the personification of the Thirteen Colonies, which are threatening to break free from the British Empire's grasp to become independent. He'll gain the respect he so desperately needs; if he cannot get it from the man he used to call father, he'll get it from his people. Even if it means he'll have to fight for it.
And so, Alfred has to head back North, where he originally left his home. There's a funny feeling that he will be seeing Arthur again very soon. And he cannot wait, despite being petrified.There is no better person to face England than himself, because as newspaper headlines state, America is upset with Britain, and that means Alfred is upset with Arthur. Because there can't be an America without Alfred.
And there can't be an Alfred without America.