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"God dammit, Mathew!" Alfred F. Jones griped to himself as he picked his way carefully between boxes, rugs, sports equipment and other miscellaneous items. "When you asked me to help you sort out your storage room, I thought I'd be helping —not doing it all myself!"
His brother, Mathew, did not reply, because he slept over at Francis's place last night and "got stuck in traffic" (Read: overslept and hadn't even left the house yet) and was running late.
"Typical Mathew," Alfred thought to himself in disgust, then continued outloud, "How come when I'm late to meet you it's criminal, but when you are late to meet me, it's 'no big deal' and I'm 'over-reacting'?" It didn't seem all that fair to him. Predictably, Mathew did not reply, because he still had yet to arrive. Affronted, Alfred kicked a box. It fell over. Just his luck. Alfred gave it a second kick, less hard, but just as spitefully. The box retaliated by opening up and spilling its contents all over the storage shed's floor.
"Oh, for fuck's sake!"
Alfred F. Jones did not want to be spending his Saturday helping his little brother sift through dusty old stuff his brother hoarded instead of throwing away. He did not want to spend the whole day sneezing from dust, or sweating and getting hot and sticky moving boxes, and he certainly did not want to have to deal with Mathew ordering him about, getting crankier as the day went on, because that's how his brother was.
He didn't want to do any of this, but here he was, waiting for Mathew to arrive and all that annoying stuff to happen, because his little brother had asked him for help, and Alfred was a great older brother, who couldn't refuse his little brother's pleading eyes. "Damn It, Mattie," Alfred was not above cursing said little brother in his head, however, "See if I say yes next time! You'd better not complain about me being late ever again." Mathew would, of course, because he liked to complain about everything Alfred did.
Alfred sighed, and began to gather up the scattered items from the box. VHS tapes. He turned one over in his hand, already judging his brother's past taste in movies, then froze. "Mathew's First Birthda-" the label on the tape read, blurring off I to an inky smudge at the end,completely hiding the last two words. Alfred stared, then flipped it over and stared at the other side, like it would magically change what the tape said.
"Huh?" Alfred muttered to himself, flipping the VHS tape over again, "What?"
Usually, it wouldn't be strange to find old baby videos in storage, and the first birthday was always a big one, but...
"But Mathew didn't live with us until he was five?"
Mathew had been the hard-won prize of a five-year custody battle that had only ended when his Mother took one too many "illicit substances" and ended up in the hospital with a tube down her throat, and all of a sudden the court decided that maybe Dad was right all those times he'd petitioned for custody and warned that Mom wasn't stable enough to be a good guardian. Then BAM! Dad got custody, Alfred got a new brother he'd never met before, and Mathew...
Mathew got ripped away from everything he knew and shoved into a strange place with people he didnt know and rules he didn't understand, and a brother who resented suddenly not being the most important, most cute, and most loved one in the family. It had been a hard time for them all, but Mathew most of all.
Curiosity burning, Alfred dug through the box and found it: The VCR player. It was Mathew's fault he was late, after all, and it wasn't like Alfred could clean without Mathew, he'd just do it all wrong and have to redo it when Mathew got here anyways. Justified, Alfred gathered the box of tapes and the VCR and headed to the living room. Setting it up took a bit of time, since Alfred hadn't used a VCR since he was ten, but Mathew texted that he was "almost there" (meaning he just left Francis's place), so Alfred still had plenty of time to kill.
He slid the tape in, thankfully already properly wound, and pushed play. The video started, grainy, slightly staticy, and played a memory Alfred had almost forgotten.
Mathew, six years old that day, at a table, gawking at the cake like it was the first time he'd had one in his life. It had been, but Alfred only found that out later.
"Go on, Mathew! Blow out them out!" Dad encouraged, and Mathew looked at Alfred nervously, like he thought he might get in trouble if he did. Alfred incorrectly interpreted Mathew's look as not knowing how, and happily demonstrated by blowing out the candles himself.
"Alfred!" Dad scolded, and Alfred whined "I was just showin' him how!" and Dad relit the candles, and Mathew, now even more anxious, hesitantly blew them out, keeping a nervous eye on Dad the whole time. "Good Job!" Dad reassured him, and Mathew only minimally relaxed.
He relaxed more as the day went on, and when he opened his birthday gift from Alfred and Dad, Mathew even cracked a tiny smile at the soft white teddy bear - his first since he'd come to live with them almost nine months ago. Dad pulled Mathew into a gentle, loose hug, and said, "Thank you for being Born, Mathew. I love you." And Alfred, suddenly feeling very left out, inserted himself into the hug and squeezed Mathew tightly, in a very not-gentle way. "Thanks for bein' My brother!" Alfred added, because he felt like he should.
Mathew didn't smile back, or return the hug, but he did clutch his new teddy bear tighter, and Alfred caught him petting its soft, velvety fur multiple times throughout the day.
Mathew had carried that teddy bear for the greater part of his childhood, and even now he had it in his room on a shelf. The video ended, and Alfred realized what the last two blurred words had been: "with us." "Mathew's First birthday with us." It was strange, to Alfred, comparing this brother to the one he knew now. Mathew was well-known for his friendly smile and generally Cheerful Attitude - this did not extend to family, though and Alfred found himself most familiar with Mathew's exasperation and crankiness - so it was a shock to remember how Mathew used to be: timid, shy, never smiling, and extremely quiet, like he'd never learned to say what he wanted outloud.
It soured Alfred's mood for a moment, remembering why Mathew had been so quiet and nervous at first. Mom had never hit him, but... he knew, from bits and pieces over the years that Mathew let slip, that mom wasn't nice to Mathew either. Always high, and quick to anger when she wasn't, irritable on withdrawal. Mathew had lived the first five years of his life in constant stress, never sure which move would be the one to set Mom off, which words would send her spiralling into hysterics tears, or shouting, lashing out at him, only to pull him into a hug and apologize afterwards. So Mathew had learned to be quiet because if he didn't say anything, he couldn't say anything wrong.
Alfred hated Mom for what she did to Mathew. It was ironic that Mathew didn't, despite what she did to him. The memories dredged up old irritable feelings, and Alfred ejected the old tape without even rewinding it, and dug through the box for a new one, with hopefully happier memories. Most of them were unlabelled, mystery tapes with uncertain contents, but Alfred found one labeled "waterfight of -" with the part of the label with the year rubbed clear.
Alfred put in the the player, and was assaulted by memories and the sound of children shrieking with laughter.
It was the biggest waterfight the neighbourhood had ever known, and the biggest it ever would know, though Alfred didn't realize it at the time. It was a compromise; Alfred wanted to go to summer camp, but Dad couldn't afford it, so Dad had set out to make the summer just as fun with low budget DIY events set up through a web of Parents in the neighbourhood. It was one of the new fathers that had set up this one, a Frenchman with long blond hair and two daughters, one a few years older than Alfred, one a year and a half younger.
Alfred had used to tease them, saying they had a mom and not a dad, because of their father's long hair. The memory brings him a wave of shame and embarrassment. Alfred shakes it away. He remembers this year, now. It had been the summer before he turned eleven, the year Dad met Francis. It was an important year, though none of them knew it at the time. The video played on.
Alfred snuck up behind a neighbourhood kid - a little Russian girl who was loudly threatening the last kid to dare spray her with a water gun - and dumped a huge bucket of water over her head. She turned with a screech and Alfred bolted, laughing, before she could clear enough water out of her face to see who had done it.
Alfred ducked behind the wash house, where Mathew was guarding their secret spigot - the only one no one else knew about yet, the one for washing feet. Well, Kiku knew, but Kiku preferred to watch from the sidelines with a video camera held up to prevent him being splashed, so there was no worry about him giving up their secret spot.
"I need another bucket!" Alfred gasped, sloshing around the corner in wet sneakers with his empty bucket, ready to switch it with the one Mathew had already filled - and he stopped. There was an unfamiliar girl with dark skin there, crouching next to Mathew and his bucket, and Mathew was soaked to the skin. Mathew was hiding by the spigot because all the yelling and aggressiveness of the waterfight made him nervous, and even though he knew it was just a game, people running at him shouting made him tremble. So, Mathew was hiding and providing the ammunition while he secretly watched Alfred soak unsuspecting kids with a vigour.
Alfred was incensed. No one was allowed to bug his little brother but him! He made a dog-like snarling sound and stalked towards the little girl, hoping to scare her off. "Who are you!" He demanded, "What are you doing here? Don't splash my brother!"
To his surprise, it's not the little girl who answers, but his little brother, jumping to his feet and putting his hands up in a pleading motion. "Wait, Al! She didn't mean too, she thought I was playing!" It wasn't the defense that stopped Alfred in his tracks, but the fact it was given at all. Mathew never spoke if he didn't need too, he didn't stand up for himself when he was picked on (an issue Alfred had had to fix using his fists and the occasional packet of itching powder from the joke store), and he didn't talk to strangers.
But here was Mathew, and a stranger, and the stranger was standing up and holding out her hand like they were going to shake on a business meeting. "I'm Michelle! And I said I was sorry, it was an accident!" And what was Alfred supposed to say to that except; "Oh. I'm Al."?
And Mathew offered him a nervous smile, so Alfred just held out his empty bucket to switch with Mathew, and went back to the fray, mind racing. Somewhere from behind him, someone nailed him with a particularly forcefully thrown water balloon, and Alfred forgot his thoughts in a moment of revenge. But he next time he went back for a bucket of water, Michelle was still there, building a castle in the mud behind the shed, and Mathew was helping, offering small suggestions like "what if we poke a twig through a leaf to make a flag" and "If we use a piece of bark it can be a drawbridge" and barely even noticed Alfred switching out the buckets.
The next time he came back, his old bucket still sat empty, and Mathew and Michelle had moved off further into the thin treeline, looking for acorns or pinecones for their turrets.
And if Alfred "accidentally" stepped on their castle mud wall, well, he felt he deserved it. After all, not only was this strange girl hogging his brother, he was wasting time in the waterfight! And besides, girls had cooties, everyone knew that. He'd have to warn Mathew later.
Alfred cringed, remembering the jealousy that came after Mathew making his first friend. It was stupid, of course, because when Alfred was Mathew's only friend he'd resented his brother constantly following him everywhere, insisting on doing everything Alfred was doing too, and making a general nuisance of himself. But the second Mathew got himself a real friend, Alfred resented Mathew for not following him everywhere, making a fuss, and being a general nuisance.
It had taken an incident including a stick, a bike accident, and a scrapped knee for Alfred's jealousy to give way to guilt as he realized he was hurting an innocent girl, and worse, his brother too, and then just as quickly, the jealousy stopped and Michele became a second sibling to him. It took even longer for Michele and Lucille to become his sisters officially, but that was another memory altogether.
The video suddenly tilted sideways as water droplets coat the screen, and Dad yelled out a warning - obviously some bratty kid got a little too bold and decided to aim for the grown-ups - and Alfred caught a glimpse of an achingly familiar star-spangled shirt, one he was obsessed with for years until it got too worn down to wear any longer, and he realized exactly who that "bratty kid" was.
The rest of the video featured just enough of the same sort of stuff as the beginning that Alfred quickly got bored and stopped the video, and searched for something else more fun. Bravely, Alfred decided to play the VHS Lottery, and plunged his hand in and pulled out a blank VHS with no label, hoping it was something good and not something like "Mathew's first bathtime with Alfred" or another of those humiliating videos he distinctly remembers Dad filming.
It turns out to be a shaky video of Dad reading a story, Mathew, maybe six or so, on his lap, Alfred nowhere to be seen. Alfred soon figured out where he was in this scenario.
"-A mud puddle jumped on her!" Dad droned, like he was reading an essay on how to be the most boring person ever, not a hilarious story book.
"No Dad! Not like that!" Alfred's own voice scolded from behind the camera. "You have to do the voices!"
Dad's lips twitched slightly, like he was enjoying a secret inside joke. He obediently changed his tone.
"And a mud puddle jumped on her!" Dad exaggerated his tone a bit too much, so it sounded like a delightful surprise and not a unfortunate mud attack. Again, Alfred's voice corrected him from behind the camera.
"Not like that! You're doing it wrong!"
Dad's lips twitched again, and it became clear he was definitely enjoying the farce. Dad tried again, this time in a somber, mournful tone, like he was going to a funeral. Again, Alfred scolded, but the most noticible noise was Mathew's sudden giggles. Mathew pressed his hands over his mouth too muffle the noise, but it was too late, both Dad and Alfred had noticed. They exchanged a glance, Alfred behind the camera and Dad, on the chair.
Dad continued the story, messing up the tone of the story again, adding questioning inotations where there shouldn't be any, sing-song voices where there should be scolding, and more generally incorrect tones, all while Alfred continued to correct him.
"Daaad! Stop! You're doing it on purpose!"
And Mathew continued to giggle, precious peals of laughter that left him breathless and escaping through his splayed fingers pressed over his lips, cheeks rosy with laughter.
After the story ended, Mathew hopped down from Dad's lap and ran for another story, pressing it into Dad's hands, and Dad began his act again, the video getting more and more blurry as it shook with Alfred's laughter as finally it became too funny for him to continue pretending. Eventually, Alfred pushed the wrong button, and the story just cut off suddenly, midway through.
It had been the first time they'd heard Mathew laugh. They'd tried before, of course, but jokes left Mathew bewildered and tickling left him making wierd squealing noises instead of laughing. In the end, all it took was Dad being a horrible storyteller, and Alfred trying his best to make the storytelling a fun experience. Alfred removed the tape, but this time, put it aside in a separate pile. If Mathew didn't want it, he'd take it home. He could show it to Francis. He thought about it for a second, then added the other two on top of the pile. Francis would probably like to see all of them, he didn't get to see these inside glances of their childhood at this age. He either hadn't met them and Dad yet, or wasn't that close yet.
He picked the next video with Francis on his mind. He wasn't sure what it was about, he could only make out the word "Francis" on the cover, written in fancy cursive - Not Dad's handwriting, did Francis label this one? When? - so it was practically unreadable. He shoved it in the VCR Player, a bit too forcefully, and winced for a second, worried he broke it. It took a moment, but it began to whir, and Alfred breathed a sigh of relief as the video played.
He'd skipped a lot further ahead than he'd expected - Why was Dad even still making VHS tapes at this point? Just use a CD like everyone else, jeez! - and the memory came easily to him.
"Lucille and Mathew will help me set it up," The camera was focused on Francis's back as he spoke, "Michelle, your job is to distract Arthur so he doesn't come in too early, and Alfred-" Francis turned, and caught sight of Alfred, already filming, and flashed his trademark stunning smile at Alfred - the same one that won Dad's heart.
"I'm going to film it!" Alfred answered, confidently. "I found this old Camera in the garage, and besides, you'll thank me later!"
And Francis laughed, not unkindly, but like he was so happy the excitement was bubbling out any way it could. "Alright. Merci, Alfred."
Everyone jumped into action, and the screen went black for a moment as Alfred rubbed the lens with his sleeve to clear some non-existent dust off. Then Michelle ran off to create some chaos to delay Arthur from arriving too early, and everyone got into their places. It ended up Chaos, because Dad's car blew a tire, and of course Dad didn't bother to text he would be late, then he left his phone in the front seat while he changed the tire, which meant he didn't get any of the calls from everyone asking where he was.
By the time Dad finally got home, parked, and checked his phone, half the family thought he'd been in a horrible car accident and was dead, dying, or in the ICU, and the other, more realistic, half, who knew Dad was probably running late and just forgot his phone or forgot to charge it, were desperately trying to calm down the other half. Alfred's camera helpfully recorded all the chaos as Dad stepped inside the house, phone in hand, brow knitted, a question on his lips that died as he looked around at the decorations, roses, and family members that looked like they had just been attending a funeral. Dad hesitated.
"What's going on?"
Which was just the right thing to say if you wanted to be bowled over like a bowling pin by distraught family members and be scolded in not one, but two languages while the air is squeezed out of you in the World's Most Agressive Bear Hug. Dad looked mildly offended at Michelle's threat to kill him if he ever did that again, and more so when Mathew backed her up, unusually angry for the usually mild Mathew.
And finally, things settled down enough, Francis washed his face, and finally, finally, did what he'd been waiting to do all night, no, for the past three years: He dropped down on one knee, fished a box out of his now rumpled suit jacket, and asked that one fateful question.
"Arthur, will you marry me?"
And Dad, flustered and red, barely managed to gasp out an answer -
"No!"
Oh, Alfred had nearly killed Dad. Up until that point he'd found the whole situation amusing, being one of the people that knew Dad was an idiot, and not dead, but the situation quickly stopped being funny fast, because while Alfred knew that Dad was just flustered, and "No!" was his go to answer when flustered (Alfred was probably to blame for that, years of trying to trick Dad into agreeing to something he normally wouldn't when he was off-guard), Francis didn't and wilted, snapping the box shut and lowering his hand in a crushed way, and Dad was beginning to panic, he said the wrong thing in front of too many people and now was too embarrassed or flustered to know how to fix it, and Lucille was already crying, though she was trying to hide it.
Mathew was the one who took charge, to Alfred's surprise.
"Alright, everyone out! Lets give them space!" And Mathew shot the Camera, or rather, Alfred behind it, a look that said "You too!" as he herded their soon-too-be sisters out the door, but Alfred hung back a bit, the camera swaying as it now hung on the lanyard around his neck.
"Dad, it's okay," Alfred reassured his stricken father, "whatever you say, it's gonna be fine. We all know you still love Francis, and us, even if you're not ready yet."
And then Alfred left, before Dad could think of something to bluster in return. The film cut, Alfred giving Privacy for the part that came next. The forty-five minutes of waiting in the living room for the kitchen door to open, to hear the verdict of what their family would become, and dealing with the disappointment that Alfred had already lied and promised Dad wouldn't happen.
The video restarted to a screen of joy, jumping and hugging all around, more tears for the third time of the night, for yet again another reason, and Dad shovi ng his hand in his pocket so people stopped grabbing it to beam and coo and take pictures of his shiny new ring. The video focused on every face there for a second, showing all the joy and relief, and finally, settled on Mathew's ear-spitting beam the moment before he noticed Alfred filming and wrestled the camera away to catch his older brother's equally painful wide-split grin.
A short tussle later, and the video cut to black, this time, for good.
The video should have left Alfred smiling, and it did, but there was something else too, tears trickling down his face, times he missed and couldn't get back, never again. It was the sort of experience that only happened once. The emotions are overwhelming, splitting his heart with a combination of pride, joy, nostalgia and loneliness. The family all lived apart now, of course they did, they're all grown up and moved out, but... None of the sibling's visited enough anymore, not even Mathew, who was closest, and Alfred didn't realize how much he missed the times they were together. He sniffed a little, and swallowed past the lump in his throat.
He should get all the siblings together again and watch all these together, with Francis. He'd probably like that, and then they'd all cry and smile like in the video again. Clearing his throat, Alfred dig through the box for one last memory, something to wash the bitterness out of his mouth. He found one, written in his own shaky childhood writing, labelled "To Mattie" in shitty Crayola marker.
Alfred didn't remember making this one.
The video starts, grainier than the last one, older.
"Hi, Mattie."
The Alfred in the video had an unusual subdued tone, and looked about ten, or maybe nine. Not too long after Mathew came to their family. The Alfred in the video was sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning forward, his face dark and guilty.
" I... I don't know.." Alfred trailed off, and tried again. "You had a nightmare last night. You and Dad don't know I heard, but I did. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but no one tells me anything, and I'm a part of this family too! And..." Alfred's voice shook. "How'm I s'posed to protect you if I don't know what you're scared of?"
Alfred's throat went dry as he suddenly knew exactly what this video was about.
"I'm sorry." Video Alfred continued pathetically, like a man facing his crimes, "I didn't... I didn't mean to make you sad. I got jealous, because everyone always likes you more, I didn't really mean it when I said that. I..."
Alfred remembered with a heavy guilt exactly what he had said, the thing that was so bad he wouldn't even repeat it in his apology. "It's all your fault! I wish you were never born!" Angry words from a spoiled child lashing out, unknowing of the damage they'd do. He hadn't known at the time that Mom had used to say the same things to Mathew, those moments she was lucid, in between the drugs and then the tearful apologetic hugs. And then, as far as Mathew had known at the time, Mom hadn't wanted him.
Or rather, he thought the reason Mom had done what she did was to escape Mathew, and then, that fateful day when she did too much, when she ended up in the hospital and Mathew ended up with Dad, no one had explained things properly to Mathew. No one told him Mom wasn't dead, just that he couldn't see her ever again. No one had told him it wasn't his fault.
And then Alfred told him it was.
Alfred in the video started to cry. "I'm glad you're my brother, I'm really, really, glad you're here! So don't say you wanna go away, Mattie! I.. I'll be a good big brother from now on, and I won't make you worry, and I'll protect you, and Dad! And I'll definitely, never, ever, ever, ever, ever - " Alfred listed about a hundred "Evers" before he continued. "-ever end up in the hospital like Mom, I promise."
Because that's what Mathew's nightmare had been. Not that he'd be sent back to mom, or that he'd be chased away from his safe home and family, but that Alfred would take the same "medicine" that Mom used to take, and go away forever, because Alfred didn't want to see Mathew. Because even though Alfred didn't love Mathew, Mathew loved Alfred.
"So don't ask Dad to send you away again, okay? Live here with us, and I'll never make you sad, ever again, okay?"
And Alfred felt a hard lump in his throat at the memory. Mathew had asked Dad to send him back away, back to Mom, because he didn't want Alfred to do what Mom had done. And Alfred had found out enough about Mom, at that age, to know how she treated Mathew, even if he didn't know the details. To know that even hearing about Mom made Mathew's heart hurt, and that Mom didn't want to see Mathew ever again, even though she could have tried for visitation rights. "You won." She told Dad at the court, the last time she'd seen Mathew. And then she left, without even hugging him or saying goodbye.
But Mathew had asked to go back to her for Alfred's sake.
Alfred had forgotten that it was this sense of guilt that made him the brother he was now. That made him the big brother who stood up to bullies, and protected his brother, who played hockey with Mathew even though he perfered baseball, who supported Mathew in his dreams, and could never say "no" when Mathew asked him for something. He'd forgotten it all started because he said something unforgivable, and had to make it up to Mathew.
"I love you, Mattie." Alfred finished his apology with a crack in his voice. "And I'm really sorry."
It hurt when Alfred remembered why he made the video. Because Mathew, at that age, didn't know how to accept the word "Sorry" yet. Because "Sorry" was what mom said everytime after she lashed out and said mean things to him. And because "Sorry" was what Mathew said to everything, prematurely apologizing for his own existence. Because "Sorry" didn't meant he same thing to Mathew as it did to Alfred, so "Sorry" would never be a good enough apology. But, even so, Alfred had wanted to say it. And he'd hoped, one day, Mathew would see it, and be able to hear "sorry" for what it was instead of what he'd been taught to understand, and thst maybe, just maybe, his brother would one day understand that Alfred's horrible, unforgivable words didn't mean anything at all, and that maybe any lingering hurt would go away then.
Now, Alfred hoped Mathew never saw the tape. Never remembered the horrible things that had happened, and Alfred's nasty words. Not because Alfred was ashamed of them - he was! - or trying to hide it, but because the Mathew Alfred knew now was a different person from back then, and Alfred wanted Mathew to stay the person he was now, and to smile lots and lots, and never go back to the way he used to be. He blinked tears out of his eyes and scrubbed at his wet cheeks, where tears had escaped without him noticing. Alfred reached for the tape, ripping it out of the machine, intent on one thing.
Destruction.
Mathew never would see what Alfred said, and it would be better that way. Just as Alfred was about to break it, snap it in half, or crush it, a familiar voice spoke up from behind him, making him jump a foot in the air.
"Don't just break into my house and smash my stuff, Alfred."
And when Alfred whirled, Mathew was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, giving Alfred that annoyed look which was practically reserved for Alfred by now. When had he gotten there? Alfred must've been too absorbed in the tapes to hear him arrive, and Mathew always did walk quietly. How much did Mathew see? Hurriedly, Alfred scrubbed once more at his face, wiping his nose on his sleeve. It was just clothes, it would wash.
"I didn't break In," Alfred grumbled, pretending that nothing was wrong, "We made plans to meet up, and you were late!"
Mathew scowled, but played along.
"So you went through my stuff?"
"I was sorting them out!" Alfred defended, "You asked me to help you sort things!"
Mathew gave him a sharp look for a moment longer, then sighed. "Well, I guess it's my fault," Mathew conceded, "Since I invited Mr. Nosy over."
"I'm not nosy!" Alfred protested, despite all evidence to the contrary.
Mathew's lips quirked up in a smirk.
"if you're done being lazy and watching movies, how about we actually do the real work?"
One of these days Alfred was going to pummel his brother into the ground under the pretense of baseball.
"Whatever." Alfred grumbled, discretely kicking the apology tape under the TV stand as he stood up. "We would already be done if someone actually showed up on time."
"Less talking, more work." Mathew responded, in a tone borrowed right from Dad.
Helping was just as hot, sweaty and dusty as Alfred had predicted, and Mathew was just as cranky.
"No! I already told you, that shelf is for sports stuff only!"
Still, it wasn't that bad, and when they finally took a break, Mathew even brought over a couple ice-cold beers to cool them down.
"Hey," Alfred brought it up, fanning himself with a piece of cardboard, "What are you gonna do with all those tapes?"
Mathew looked at him suspiciously.
"Why?"
"I just thought, it's been a while since the family's been together, and Francis didn't even know us that small 'n' all, and anyways, if you're just going to throw them out-"
"I'm not throwing them out!" Mathew interjected, but Alfred ignored him.
"-or keep them in a stuffy box in the shed, I thought we could set up like a home movie night."
Mathew frowned, regarding Alfred suspiciously like he thought Alfred was up to something. Alfred scowled under that frown.
"It was just an idea! Jeez." He sunk down a bit more in his seat. "It's just been a while and all, and Since Dad..."
He let his voice trail off. Neither of them needed him to say it outloud to understand. Since Dad had passed, the family had kind of broken apart.
"And Francis would probably like it." Alfred gave one last push, knowing how close Mathew and Francis were. They were all Francis's kids, kinda, but it was different with Mathew than the rest, even the blood related kids. Francis got Mathew, in a way even Alfred struggled to get his brother, even after all the years together. And then when Dad passed and Francis became depressed, Mathew had stepped up and brought their step-dad back to life, and he made sure Francis stayed that way, never giving him enough time to feel the only ache of being left behind by a loved one.
Mathew's twitch and raised eyebrow told Alfred both that Mathew knew what he was doing, and that it was working.
"Ugh," Mathew sighed dramatically. He definitely got that from Francis.
"Have you met our family?" Mathew asked, "You invite them for an hour, they stay for three days. What are we going to do, just watch old home videos the whole time?"
Which wasn't a yes, except that it was.
Alfred grinned. "I'll figure it out."
Mathew snorted, but he was smiling too. "You mean Michelle will." He correctly Interpreted, then he gulped down the rest of his beer and stretched. "Alright, back to work."
It takes the better part of the day to sort out the rest of Mathew's shed, then they retire into the house to sort through the home videos for what to keep and bring to Francis's, and what to toss.
One of the unlabeled VHS Tapes turns out to be "Alfred and Mathew Bathtime", and, in silent agreement, they tossed it, meticulously avoiding eye contact with each other. Another unnamed tape, showing the adventures of "hockey man", featuring Mathew, age eight, decked out with a Cape made of a blanket, a child's hockey stick, and Dad's boxers as a hat, also made it into the bin, after a fifteen minute chase through the house. This process was repeated about an hour and twenty minutes later with another named VHS with about five minutes of Eleven year old Alfred, slightly chubby, flexing in the mirror, taken secretly courtesy of Dad.
The other videos Alfred watched were approved to watch, and a couple more, Dad's wedding, a ten minute video featuring soley the cat of an old neighbour, both long gone by now, Mathew's eighth birthday, Alfred's ninth Birthday (complete with a firecracker set off inside the house and the smoke alarms going off), Mathew learning hockey, and a few other miscellaneous videos. A shaky video taken by the four siblings tailing Arthur and Francis on their "first date" - an awkward stage where neither father was quite ready to admit that point and were widely embarrassed by their kids shipping - was nearly thrown out due to the amount of second-hand embarrassment and tsundere PDA, but was ruled to keep as a present for Francis eyes only, as he might like to own more videos of him and Dad.
It wasn't until every video was reviewed and sorted and they started packing up the trash that Alfred noticed Mathew pull a tape out from where he'd thought he'd hidden it under the TV stand. Alfred made a choking sound.
"Here." He offered the trash bag, trying not to look too invested in getting it thrown out. If he did, that was a sure-fire way to make sure Mathew watched it. Mathew pulled back.
"Not this one."
"I already checked it," Alfred insisted. "It was just another stupid video, I was going to throw it out."
Mathew clasped the tape to his chest protectively.
"No it's not." And before Alfred could figure out a way to dissuade Mathew, Mathew added something soul-crushing. "I already wached it, Al. Ages ago."
"Oh." Alfred's shoulders slumped. "Then you don't need it anymore." He avoided his brother's eyes.
"No." Mathew refuted firmly. "I'm not throwing it out." And for a second the guilt weighed so heavily on Alfred he wanted to cry, and Mathew must've noticed, because he spoke the next part softly. "This... You don't have to feel guilty anymore, Al. That stuff doesn't bother me anymore. And this..."
Alfred jerked his head up to study his brother's face, and for the first time he noticed the look on Mathew's face wasn't sad, but something else, something soft.
"This is the tape where you said you loved me for the first time. You said that you were glad I was your brother, and you asked me to live... To be happy. It's..."
Mathew choked up, and Alfred felt a sudden surge of embarrassment take over. This emotional heart-to-heart thing came from Francis, Dad wasn't about it, and Alfred had never quite learned how to navigate it. He coughed and turned away, tying up the bag.
"Okay, whatever. Your choice."
He chose to pretend that he didn't notice he sounded exactly like Dad when he said that. "Anything else? No, okay. I'll throw this out."
The "To Mathew" Tape was missing by the time Alfred came in from the trash, and both of them pretended nothing had happened.
"I'm starving." Alfred announced instead, and Mathew suddenly grinned mischievously.
"You know what I think?" Mathew suggested, "I think you should buy us some pizza."
"Why me?" Alfred was offended.
Mathew gave him a fake hurt look. "I thought you were the big brother? You're supposed to take care of me?"
Alfred felt a pang of hurt in his chest. "I thought I didn't have to feel guilty?"
Mathew gave him that look. The puppy-dog eyes. "It's not because you're guilty, it's because you love me!"
Alfred never could say no when Mathew asked him for something.
"Fine." He muttered, then, louder, "You know what? Dad spoiled you rotten, you mooch."
Mathew snickered. "Oh, yeah sure. 'Dad' did."
Pizza ended up delayed by a twenty minute wrestling session, ending with a noogie and Mathew pleading "Uncle! Uncle!" like they were teenagers again. But Both of them were grinning and laughing, and Mathew had a dopey smile on his face, and really, that was everything.
And if Alfred was grateful to grainy VHS tapes for reminding them where they'd started and how far they came, well, that was for Alfred to know and no one to find out.
Mathew dialled his phone with greasy pizza fingers.
"Hey, Francis? Guess what? Al and I found some of home videos, and we thought we could get the fam together and watch them?"
And Alfred grinned and secretly slipped the newly labeled "Hockey man" tape back into the "to watch" box when Mathew wasn't looking.
End