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“Alfred...”
The young man stood smiling sheepishly in the doorway, military clothes ragged on his too scrawny body, meager luggage held loosely in the hand that had grown far too accustomed to the weight of a gun.
“Hi, mum.”
“Oh my goodness, Alfie, baby!”
Alfred dropped his luggage as his mother approached him with outstretched arms, engulfing him in a tight embrace, which Alfred returned, glancing at his brother who was watching from a distance, before Mary pulled back from the hug, in favour of holding Alfred’s face in her hands, looking into his eyes with tears in hers.
Alfred’s heart sank a little bit when he realized he was looking ever so slightly downward to meet his mother’s eyes. He had been shorter than her when he left.
“Oh, my darling boy,” Mary whispered, frantically looking around Alfred’s face, taking in all the ways in which the battlefield had changed him, had aged him, “I missed you so much...”
She pulled him into another hug, stroking his hair just like she did when he was a little boy. The sudden warmth was far too much, and Alfred squeezed his eyes shut tight, willing away tears as he mumbled against her shoulder: “I missed you too.”
Soon, in the quiet, little sniffles became apparent, and Mary pulled back, wiping her eyes.
“I’ll, uh,” she said quietly, voice wavering, “I’ll need to go check on the turkey...”
Alfred nodded and let his mother flee into the kitchen, grabbing his abandoned suitcase and bringing it inside before closing the door after him. Snow had already started piling up on the doormat.
Before Alfred could begin to adjust to his surroundings, he was again snatched up in a tight hug, this time by a taller, stronger figure, almost lifting Alfred to his tippy toes.
“Hi, Wil.”
Wilfred let go of him quicker than his mother had, looking at Alfred’s face fondly for just a moment before smacking him upside the head.
“Ow! What the hell was that for?” Alfred barked, pouting, and rubbed his head where he’d been smacked, far too hard in his opinion.
“For being a stupid bloody kid!” Wilfred retorted, “D’you’ve any idea how much heartache mum went through when you ran off to join the army and fight in that stupid war?”
Alfred ignored the twist in his gut at the thought of his mother worrying about him, and instead focused his energy on shouting at his brother.
“Hey, you fought in that war too!”
“I was drafted! I didn’t have a choice!”
Wilfred took a step backward, his limping reminding Alfred of his injury, the reason for his early discharge.
“You did,” Wilfred said, disappointment weighing heavy on his voice, “and you chose wrong.”
Wilfred breathed heavily, staring at Alfred with fire in his eyes, before closing them and shaking his head.
“Hell, you shouldn’t have had a choice. You were just a kid, Alf. You shouldn’t have been there.”
Alfred scoffed. He knew very well he wasn’t supposed to be there. He’d gone through quite a bit of a effort to lie about his age, to convince military officials that he was over 18, fit to fight in a war.
“Forgive me for wanting to serve the crown and fight for the greater good,” he muttered with overexaggerated sarcasm, crossing his arms in a fashion he himself recognized as childish, but couldn’t back out on anymore.
Wilfred rolled his eyes: “Oh sure, it’s all just heroics to you. But heroism isn’t gonna save you when a bomb drops on your head, or when you get shot in the gut. You could have died, you understand? I saw so many friends fall, and-“
“And you think I didn’t?”
Wilfred fell silent then, staring at Alfred who kept his eyes on the floor, cheeks flushed and brows furrowed far too deep on his still lingering boyish face.
Wilfred sighed.
“Ever since you ran off, we thought you’d be sent home in a box,” he muttered, stepping closer to Alfred, “You scared us. You scared me.”
He lifted his hand to gently ruffle through Alfred’s hair.
“Even if you’re a pain in the arse, it doesn’t mean I don’t want you as my baby brother.”
Alfred pushed his brother’s hand off of him with a scoff, though fought back a smile all the same.
Wilfred smiled before straightening his expression, lifting Alfred’s chin to make him meet his eyes.
“Just promise me you’re not gonna go overseas to run about with a gun again, alright?”
Wilfred stared at his little brother expectantly, but Alfred remained silent, not even attempting to answer.
Wilfred sighed and let go of him.
“Come on,” he said, heading toward the kitchen, “I’ll bet mum will let us have Christmas pudding early if you do that cute pleading thing with your eyes.”
Alfred scoffed, but followed after his brother.
“Twat.”