#sibling arguments

“I don’t see why the idea of an institute of collective security was so outlandish. If Francis and Arthur would have just listened to me instead of having just their own interests in mind, my plan could have gone into full effect. And I don't know how Vargas had the idea he could speak up as much as he did. Fucker changed sides and I'm supposed to let him get what he wants? Also, how the hell was I supposed to know that everyone was making territorial negotiations in secret?” Alfred let out a long sigh, feeling a headache forming behind his temples. The echoing sigh of leaders long ago reminded him not to entangle himself with European alliances. His government was starting to really care about their image in how they appeared to the rest of the world. He knew now that all this was over, he was going to be back in his country’s definition of isolation. “Francis was being completely unreasonable- hell, everyone was. I felt like I was the only voice of reason.”

“Papa had every right to be furious- it’s the second time in fifty years Ludwig had invaded his country. Alfred, you know how deep history goes in Europe. You can’t just tell them that from now they’ll be negotiating and never go to war again. Why the hell did you think you needed to take charge of this conference?”

Alfred turned his back to the coastlines of France, the summer fog having swallowed it by this point.

“Matt, I’m finally getting the respect that I’ve been trying to accomplish since I became my own nation. I worked my ass off the last half of the 19th century building my economy up. Everyone thought I was a joke when I was at war with myself. I finally have everything that those old bastards kept looking down on me about. You're in the same situation. This war finally let you prove to them your tactics and military are just as good, if not better than theirs. I don’t understand why you don’t feel the same way I do.”

“You only needed a year and a half of fighting to prove yourself; I needed all five to show them and even then, it barely got me a seat on the League.” Even from a sidelong glance, Alfred could see the purple shadows under his brother’s eyes and the redness fogging his normally clear eyes. His voice was thin like he was trying desperately to balance on a taut fishing line. “I don’t want to have to go through this again Alfred. That’s why I’m so mad these negotiations went like crap even after half a year of trying to get them right. I don’t want to find myself cowering in a trench ten or twenty years from now because these idealistic ideas of yours all meant nothing. Fuck Alfred, your own government won’t even let you on the League that you fucking made.”

“You know how you can avoid doing this shit all over again Matt? By leaving Dad once and for all. He’s the only reason you had to be involved with all this shit from day one.”

“Well, I’m so fucking sorry that some of us know what a sense of loyalty and duty still are. Sorry I didn’t have the luxury of showing up four years late after selling my goods to both sides of the war. I’m so sorry that you think you’re better than me because you can go around shouting-”

“I’m sorry- a sense of loyalty? Cut that crap, Matthew. I know you hate getting stuffed up in London when you’d rather freeze your balls off in the Yukon. You are more than fucking capable to be on your own.” Alfred huffed, head lolling back to look at the grey sky above. “I’m not better than you because I made my voice heard over a century ago and do things the way I think is best. I’m better because I don’t have to listen to Arthur and have pretend sovereignty.”

"I earned my spot at signing that treaty as well as a seat at your League of Nations without having done what you did. I’m respected as I am." There was a slight waver in his voice that the American was quick to note. “I understand Dad being against it but you too?”

"I thought Arthur was going to use you as well as the others to just have more counts under his name." Alfred sighed, not entirely sure where to direct his anger. He knew Matt was frustrated but still sat content in his seat alongside Britain, smiling politely and never voicing what had been aching in his chest for years. It would be too inconvenient for others if Matthew Williams spoke his mind.

But back there in that meeting hall, he had done just that. Alfred watched as his brother stood at his full height in front of the room, the delegates arguing around him and not seeming to have noticed. Even Arthur was too caught up in a heated discussion with Francis to notice his son was no longer seated diligently at his side. Matthew’s mouth had moved, voice lost in the chaos. He had tried, again and again, trying to summon the voice that had carried him through the war.

It was Jack’s shout that silenced the room and a knowing look was exchanged between the sons of Kirkland. The two stood together now and Matthew’s voice carried throughout the hall. He spoke of his men who had died, of the sacrifices made on behalf of the British Commonwealth but the blood that soaked the soil was Canadian. His equality was earned on the frontlines of France and a seat in Paris was all he asked for. This quickly lead way to Jack, Charlie, Rajesh, and Marick speaking their own demands of representation separate from Britain. Those weren’t just Englishmen who died and like hell was it going to be remembered that way.

Alfred’s eyes had met Matthew’s when silence fell about the room. It was a silent plea for his brother to support him, that if the United States spoke up in reinforcement… Arthur’s voice was the first to break the silence. His tone was harsh but his words weren’t berating. Alfred knew the various tones his father used, this was his most professional, the fakest. This was his performance in front of the crowd of angry nations. The Brit showed no weakness on the forefront.

Matthew’s hands that had been held tightly in front of him the entire time he had been speaking were losing their grip. The short nail of his thumb scratched at the opposite knuckle over a scar that he had made with this habit.

Alfred had agreed with Arthur’s words back in January. Canada’s independent policies stopped at international affairs, Arthur could sweep in and change their constitution and Matt couldn’t protest, there was no way in hell you could trust collective security to someone at the end of Britain’s puppet strings. Alfred watched his brother’s fidgeting hands freeze as he spoke against him. The room was back in chaos, words drowning Matthew outside and in. Before things got too far, however, the Canadian’s voice rang out. He pleaded again, his back straight and voice unwavering as he demanded proper recognition- the choir of the Commonwealth at his side. Once more the room was quiet and it would be up to Arthur to be the first to speak. It had felt like ages as Alfred glanced at his father, who was seated just at his right, with curiosity. Green eyes narrow, hands a frigid steeple at his chin, and lips a tight line… 

‘I’ll allow it.’

It took nearly another hour for Alfred to believe it and be convinced.

"Just claim independence already. You just spent the last five years proving you can more than handle yourself." The reflective glint in mirrored glasses was still taking time to get used to. "Hell Matthew, what haven't you given up for the sake of proving yourself to Arthur fucking Kirkland. You know all he gave a shit about at that conference was keeping his empire together and taking whatever he could from Ludwig for himself. Did you see what just asking for independence did? Jack shit. You barely have any real international power. Maybe if you actually fought for it you would be standing here on your own free will. You think you can just ask politely again?"

Alfred could feel the tremor of the railing through his spine.

“I’m not an idiot.” Matthew hissed. He sighed, hands letting go before being stuffed in his pockets. “Besides, this war took everything out of me, out of all of us. I can’t believe Morgan is fighting Dad now of all times. I mean- aren’t they just as exhausted as the rest of us? Declaring independence in the middle of us trying to make peace?”

“Honestly- you should be doing the same. It would have been the perfect time to-”

“Are you out of your mind Alfred Fucking Jones?” Matt spun to face his brother, looking ready to toss him overboard and leave him to the depths of the Atlantic. “Start another war? With what men? With what resources? With what willpower and energy?”

“You think Dad’s in any better shape than you are? Matt just take advantage of him! He does crap like that in his sleep!”

“I’ve been a dominion for fifty years and have been perfectly fine! I don’t want anything else right now!”

“Of course you are! You would be happy still being a colony if it meant making someone else happy!” Alfred’s cheeks felt hot and he quickly snuffed out his finished smoke to toss it into the vastness of the sea. “You take a deep breath of that frigid, sea salt air, and then you can tell me that being the British Dominion of Canada sits perfectly well with you. Go ahead, Matt. You royally fucked yourself over just so you can pretend to be Dad’s little golden child. You ran yourself ragged for five years and got yourself killed I don’t even know how many times just to get a pat on the back. How fucking low is your self-esteem?”

The fist that collided with his jaw was almost satisfying but he could tell that Matthew was still holding back for the sake of appearances. His face was still intact and his body was in the confines of the ship. The bruise that was already forming was going to sting for the rest of the way home.

Matthew’s eyes were like icicles in late winter, lethal if caught by the still pointed blades but dripping cold drops as the warm, morning sun caught them in its light.

“I cannot even begin to describe how fucking tired I am. I just want to go home, Alfred. All I want is to go home and stare at my mountains again. I want to feel my snow under my boots, I want to drink good coffee with syrup from my trees, and listen to the French my people speak.” He took a deep breath, hands clutched to fists at his side. “I haven’t been home for almost six years and have been fighting in this goddamn war the entire time. I want to go home and be with my people again.” A trembling hand ran through overgrown blonde curls. “Fuck, I don’t know if it’s just that I’m withdrawn from all the cocaine and morphine they had us on or if I’m just fucking sick of everything.”

Alfred rubbed at his jaw a moment longer, regaining his stance with the aid of the railing. Nervous laughter bubbled up from his chest. He knew the feeling. It was the same all nations felt; that deep connection to the Earth that was every part of them as they were a part of it. From where they were born and where they would return when they would die. The small vial of his own soil felt heavy in his breast pocket. “Canada... what’s holding you back then huh? You’re my brother whether you like it or not. I know you asked for your own seat on the League just out of pride and not because you actually believed in what I was doing. Fuck, you actually spat in Dad’s face in ‘37. I know you got something in you.”

There was a peal of small laughter from chapped lips. “Yeah, no thanks to you or Papa. A small rebellion out of my system for the rest of the century I suppose.” He had reached into his breast pocket for a plain handkerchief, glasses pushed to his forehead as he wiped his eyes. “Fuck Alfred, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I haven’t been sleeping well even though we’ve been in a hotel for six months with real beds and food and I just- I feel like a piece of shit for being able to enjoy that.”

It was the same problem Alfred knew ate at his brother time and time again. Guilt. It never mattered what the situation was. Even when Matthew was asking for basic needs as a child, his brow would be furrowed and he tried to get his words out. That was something that hadn’t changed between them as the centuries went by. For Matthew, everything needed mental preparation whereas Alfred simply spoke his mind. Different times favored different approaches. If Matt could panic over deciding what type of jam to put on Arthur’s toast, Alfred could only imagine the strain he had gone through with making life or death calls. He didn’t know everything he had gone through, just whatever he had felt like sharing which only seemed to happen when his belly was full of rum or wine on sleepless nights.

“We’re going home. That’s all that matters. Why don’t we just forget about all this crap for the next two weeks yeah? This will be the only peace of mind we’ll get for a while. You know… I look forward to a good cup of coffee in my own kitchen too. You think I can get away with disappearing into the Appalachians?”

“Only if you think I can hide out in the Arctic for five years.”

“Matt, you can stand at the mouth of the Niagara Falls stark naked and no one will notice you for at least ten weeks.”

Matt’s obnoxious French laughter was the best thing Alfred’s heard in weeks. It went on for five minutes and only ended when Matthew put himself in a coughing fit.

“Easy there- jeez, I know I’m funny but not that funny.”

“N-no, fuck- I just remembered something.” Matt wiped away new tears and put an arm across Alfred’s broad shoulders. “Do you remember what today is? The date?”

Alfred thought for a moment. His sense of time got jumbled whenever he traveled and the last six months had definitely been a blur. He quickly glanced at his watch and broke out in a grin. “We’re fucking idiots, aren’t we? July 5th.”

“Missed both of our birthdays by a hair.”

“So what do you suggest Mister Dominion of Canada?”

“How much of your medical kit is left? I want to see if I can forget this war even happened. I have Scotch and rationed rum in the room that I was planning on finishing before I made it home anyway.”

“I have plenty of everything, but sadly, no Parisian prostitutes to ease you to blissful sleep.” Alfred pulled out two cigarettes with a shit-eating grin. “How many times did you catch syphilis again? I know enough for Arthur to be really fucking proud of you.”

Matt snatched a smoke and lit it eagerly. “You should try it sometime, but if jacking off to old photographs is all you want, I won’t stop you.”

“Fuck off. I can’t believe how much you take after Francis.”

“And you’re more of a prude than Dad pretends to be.”