Author's Note: Here's the final chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who has supported this story, and thanks especially to peppermenttea on Tumblr for the awesome request! :) Stay wonderful, guys.

It's like any other classroom—oak wood desks, a chalk-dust speckled blackboard, colorful, motivational quotes taped onto the walls to make everything seem brighter and welcoming.

Alfred, however, isn't impressed. A second after he walks into the room with Papa and Dad on either side of him, he makes an about face and tries to leave, dreading the thought of being deposited here for half of the day.

"Where do you think you're going, young man?" Dad asks, snatching him by the strap of his blue backpack. "You said you wanted to go to school just as Matthew does, so why the sudden change of heart?"

Alfred's eyes scan the classroom, picking out all of the horrible possibilities that might come with sharing the same space with so many strangers. He bites his lip, wipes his sweating palms over his jeans, and mumbles, "I want to go home."

Papa and Dad exchange glances, trying to find the best and most empathetic way to approach this.

"But, mon chou, don't you at least want to give school a chance?" Papa asks, petting Alfred's hair. "Your father and I will be right here to pick you up in a few hours."

A few hours is a long time—plenty of time for him to be miserable. He forces back his tears because he doesn't want to be a baby about this, but what will the other kids think of him? What if they point and laugh? They'll see that he can't talk, and they'll know he's strange.

He's pulled into Dad's arms and sinks into the embrace, burying his face in his father's chest to hide all of the emotions he's feeling.

"It won't be so bad. You'll see," Dad whispers, rubbing his back. "We wouldn't have brought you here if we didn't think you were ready."

"But—"

"Trust us, Alfred."

Alfred sniffles and doesn't say anything back.

"Look at me."

It's hard, but he finds the green eyes and fights the urge to pull his gaze away.

"You're stronger and cleverer than you think. Don't give up now," Dad says.

He gets another reassuring pat on the back from Papa this time and realizes he's going to be stuck in school whether he likes it or not because neither Dad nor Papa is wavering.

He finds an empty desk and claims it. Papa and Dad wave goodbye to him one last time from the doorway and leave.

The teacher is a sweet woman with curly hair and freckles, and she gives the first assignment of the day, which is to introduce oneself to the closest student.

Heart beating so hard all he can hear is the blood rushing through his ears, Alfred turns to his left, sees a girl with a butterfly pin in her hair, and nervously says, "H-Hi, I'm Alfred."

The girl smiles shyly, and he is relieved to see she is just as anxious as he is. She, too, struggles to make words and sentences sound right. He knows the feeling all too well. It's good to know he's not the only one with the problem.

The teacher grins at them both from the front of the room, and Alfred promises himself he'll do his best to make this whole school thing work out.

1985

"Arthur, we have a problem."

"What is it now?"

"Mathieu is having trouble in school."

"Matthew? Our Matthew?"

Francis rolls his eyes dramatically. "No, the Mathieu from five miles away—of course our Mathieu!"

Arthur is stunned for almost an entire minute. The same Matthew who used to live and breathe for school? The Matthew who never brought home any grade lower than a very rare B plus?

"Did he fail an exam?"

"Maybe he should be the one to explain," Francis suggests, unwilling to give away too much too soon.

Arthur reconsiders the news and says, "Maybe we shouldn't scold him, in that case. Everyone does poorly now and then. I'm sure it won't happen again."

Francis snorts. "You won't think that way for long."

Genuinely curious, Arthur gets right to investigating. "Matthew! Come downstairs!" he calls, putting on a stern expression.

Except, while they expect Matthew to come sauntering into the kitchen, Alfred arrives in his place instead.

"Last time I checked, your name isn't Matthew," Arthur remarks dryly. "Where's your brother?"

"Is he in trouble?" Alfred asks, and it's amazing how much he has grown up in just a few years. Fifteen years old, and he already has the figure of a young man, tall and lean despite his childish tendencies.

His speech has also made welcome progress, but, in a way, it hurts to see him become more independent. Things were simpler when he was tiny and getting him to speak in sentences was laborious.

"Oui, he is in trouble," Francis confirms, arms folded. "Tell him to come in here right now."

Alfred frowns. "He said to tell you he's in the shower."

"I don't hear the water running," Arthur notes, suspicious.

"W-Well, that's because he's not in the shower yet… but he's in the bathroom, getting ready to shower."

Arthur blinks at the boy and raises a brow. "Tell him I'm not playing games. If he isn't sitting at this table in five minutes, he's going to be in twice as much trouble."

"Five minutes, twice as much trouble," Alfred repeats, and it's the one habit they haven't been able to curb. "Five minutes."

"That's right. Please inform him," Arthur states, mentally planning a lecture.

Alfred disappears again, and the five minute countdown begins. It's a close-call, but Matthew appears just in time with Alfred trailing after him.

"You're in trouble," Alfred tells Matthew innocently once they reach the table.

"I know," Matthew grumbles back. "You can leave now."

Francis is quick to jump in. "I don't think so. Alfred has just as much of a right to be in this conversation. I want you to explain to your father what you've been doing in English class for this past month."

"We've been reading Of Mice and Men," Matthew mutters, shoulders slumped.

Arthur draws his brows together so close that they're almost touching. "And what's the issue?"

Matthew looks to Francis, sees his severe glower, and says, "I might have asked Alfred to… read the book for me and write my homework responses."

Part of Arthur is furious Matthew came up with such a scheme. The other part is ecstatic that Alfred is reading literature. He turns to Alfred, stamps out his conflicting emotions, and asks, "Is that true?"

Alfred stares at his lap and hums a noncommittal "mmm."

"Answer me properly."

"Yes."

"Why did you do Matthew's assignments for him?" Arthur asks.

Matthew offers the first explanation. "He didn't mind doing it, I swear. He—"

"I asked Alfred," Arthur interjects.

Alfred twiddles his thumbs and quotes the book, "'I got you to look after me, and you got me to look after you, that's why.'"

Arthur sighs. "I know you were trying to look out for your brother, but he should know better than to take advantage of you like this. You have your own schoolwork to concern yourself with."

Francis nods in agreement. "Matthew has been doing poorly on his reading quizzes as a result, even though he's been handing in the homework. What do you have to say for yourself, young man?"

Matthew purses his lips, looks over at Alfred, and murmurs, "I'm sorry, Al."

"It's okay, Matt," Alfred immediately replies with a gleaming smile, eyes unable to focus on one spot. "Dad?"

"Yes, my boy?"

"C-Can I still finish reading the book?"

Arthur nods. "Certainly, but I don't want you doing Matthew's work for him anymore. Am I clear?"

"Uh-huh," Alfred says happily, bobbing his head.

"Good. Matthew, your papa and I will discuss an adequate punishment later."

In a last ditch effort, Matthew says, "He's too willing to help, Dad. It's kind of his fault, too."

Arthur and Francis don't buy it.

"Am I in trouble?" Alfred asks worriedly.

"Yes," Arthur says, tone softening. "You're guilty of being too good to your brother."

Alfred smiles. That's a nice thing to be in trouble for.

The night Alfred drops a job application on the coffee table, Arthur has no idea how to react.

"I want to work during the summer," the teen says, adamant, and while Arthur admires the boy for wanting to make some extra money on the side, he isn't sure if this is the best thing for him at the moment.

"Alfred, having a job is a big responsibility."

"I know."

"You're certain this is what you want?"

Alfred's gaze flickers away for a moment, but he reels it back in. He's been trying so hard to work on his presentation skills. "Y-Yes."

"Okay. I'll talk to Papa about this before I agree to anything."

"I can work," Alfred insists, and Arthur can see the muscles in his throat contract. "I'm… I'm n-not dumb."

Arthur puts down the book he was reading and pats the empty spot on the couch next to him. "Come, sit."

Alfred obediently plops himself down and looks owlishly at Arthur. It seems like he's getting bigger each day, and Arthur wishes he could somehow stop him. He wants his son to work and continue his education, so he can eventually begin his own life, but at the same time, the world that's waiting for him isn't as compassionate as it could be, and he doesn't want the boy to get hurt. He needs someone to look after him.

Alfred will never be able to completely manage on his own, and it's a revelation that becomes clearer for Arthur and Francis with each passing day. While Matthew will go to college, find a stable career, and possibly have a family someday, Alfred may never be able to do the same. The boy has made some improvements, but he will always be autistic, and he will always need a guiding hand.

It isn't fair, and it kills Arthur inside to have to think of his son in this way—to accept he will miss out on many of life's simple beauties.

"I worry about you, but you know that already," Arthur begins slowly. "I want you to live a happy and fulfilling life, but I also want you to be safe, which is why I'm not sure you should be going to work just yet. Maybe you should wait a few more years. What's the rush?"

"I want to."

"Why do you want to work?"

"Everybody does it."

"Well, not everybody. You don't have to feel pressured to—"

"You can be whatever you want, Alfred. Autism doesn't define. Be whatever you want," Alfred mutters, rocking back and forth slightly. "Yes, Ms. Cassidy. Doesn't define. Doesn't define."

Ms. Cassidy is the boy's teacher this year, and Alfred has been quoting her for a while now, which is indicative of how much he seems to like her.

"That's right, Alfred. You can be anything you choose," Arthur concedes, but he knows this isn't entirely true. There are very limited options in terms of what jobs are available to those with the degree of autism that Alfred has. Employment isn't a simple matter for individuals with disabilities, but getting hired is only half the battle. There's also potential discrimination from both the staff and the general public.

He doesn't want Alfred to have to think about these things, but they're an ugly reality.

Alfred seems to have an idea of what's on Arthur's mind because he says, "Don't worry."

Arthur smiles sadly. There's a pain in his chest that won't go away. "I'll always worry… I'm very proud of you. I think it's wonderful that you're being your own person."

As promised, he talks about it with Francis right before turning in, and though neither of them are particularly pleased with having to loosen their reigns on Alfred, they do it anyway.

Three weeks later, when Alfred finds out he got the position of being a cashier at a local arts and crafts store, he's on cloud nine, completely delighted. A day after the school term is over, he gets up at seven in the morning, dresses himself in a freshly pressed shirt, khakis, and the obligatory vest he's required to wear as part of his uniform. The store is within walking distance, and Arthur and Francis watch him go off, a heavy weight on their shoulders.

"He'll be okay," Francis assures, trying to convince them both.

Arthur swallows around the rock in his throat. "I'll go and see him at the end of his shift."

"He knows it won't be easy, but he wants to be like everyone else."

"He is like everyone else," Arthur retorts, hating the icy feeling in his veins. "Maybe I should head down there in an hour just to check on—"

"Mon dieu, don't embarrass him on his first day."

"I'm not going to embarrass him!"

"Your presence is enough. No one wants their father to come strolling into their workplace. Leave him alone," Francis argues. "He's a good boy. He'll manage."

But that doesn't stop Arthur from staring at the clock for the rest of the day. He's overcome with anxiety for the boy, wondering every minute whether or not he's faring well. What if he's having a horrible day? What if he gets in trouble with the manager or gets harassed by a customer? What if someone makes a rude comment?

A quarter to six o'clock, Arthur ignores Francis's warnings and heads down to the store. He stands just outside, waiting impatiently for Alfred to finish, so he can make sure his child is physically and emotionally whole. Sure enough, Alfred comes trotting through the double doors soon, still dressed in his uniform and, thankfully, still smiling.

Arthur rushes over to him and gives him a hug. "How was your first day?"

"What're you doing here?"

"I came to make sure you're all right."

Instead of being annoyed, Alfred seems touched. He grins widely, cocks his head to the side, and says exuberantly, "I'm okay!"

"Thank the heavens," Arthur whispers under his breath, nearly toppling over with relief. "You didn't have any problems?"

"No. My boss said he—" Alfred fumbles briefly over his words, "—wishes all of his employees were as good as me."

Arthur makes a happy sound of disbelief and stares at Alfred with uncontained fondness. "I-I'm immensely glad to hear that."

Alfred looks at him with twinkling blue eyes and reaches out a hand to touch his face, his fingers brushing against skin. "Don't cry."

Sure enough, there's a wetness in his eyes and on his cheeks that Arthur hadn't noticed before. Ashamed, he quickly dries the evidence with the aid of his shirt sleeve and mutters a hasty apology for being such a sap. He feels blessed that Francis isn't here to see him make such a fool out of himself.

"Why're you sad?" Alfred asks him.

"I'm not sad," Arthur says, even though there are tears still dripping from his chin. "I'm just h-happy for you. You're becoming an adult, and I—"

Damn his fragile emotions. He's too overcome to continue, and Alfred has the audacity to actually laugh at him. So many years of doing everything together—of learning and shouting and getting frustrated only to make amends once more—and now Alfred's old enough not to always need his hand to hold.

It hurts, and Arthur isn't sure how to make it stop.

Alfred hugs him around his middle and says, "Ob-la-di, ob-la-da."

"Life goes on," Arthur mumbles, hanging onto Alfred tightly. "You're scaring me with all of this growing up you've been doing."

"I'm sorry."

He allows himself a smile and shakes his head. "It's not your fault."

The gratitude, the recognition, and the love in Alfred's eyes at that moment are what Arthur has waited years to bear witness to. The boy is fully present. He's entirely Alfred, and there isn't a single part of him that's hiding away in his mind.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Can we go home?"

Arthur takes in a short gasp of breath and breaks away from the hug, still feeling more than a little humiliated for acting like this. "Ah, yes, of course. You must be tired."

"Just hungry."

"Papa probably has dinner waiting on the table."

Not all of the boy's days will be so rosy and swell. Arthur knows this, but nonetheless, something tells him Alfred will deal with the harder moments just as gracefully. They may not have a plan for what comes next—for what will happen to them years down the line when he and Francis are as old as dirt, and the boys are well into adulthood.

But they've been figuring it out thus far, and he's sure they'll figure the rest out in due time.

After all, Alfred is not like other children.