Dearest Brother

UK x US

Prussia x US

R18

Author's Notes:

A WARNING – this one deals with pedophilia and sexual predators (and not in a cracky way, either), with an overall emotionally/psychologically dark atmosphere. If this topic is a little too sensitive for you, I suggest you go read one of my other stories instead.

I wrote this because I wanted to provide a serious outlook on the aforementioned subjects. So far, all the ones that I've read that deal with this particular topic are either cracky, far-fetched, or just generally . . . not deep. Since I couldn't find one that was to my satisfaction, I started this fanfic.

If you've read the above warning, then don't flame. I admit that I've never been a victim and that I'm not religious, so I apologize if I get some of this wrong. If there's something that particularly bothers you, PM me and I'll take it into consideration.

(Oh, and this story also contains incest. It's UKUS, with Arthur as the older brother and Alfred as the younger one.)

-x-x-x-

the first chapter

questions

"Do you know who God is, Alfred?"

The boy looked up at his older brother, puzzled by this sudden question. Arthur was watching him closely from where he was embroidering in his armchair. His slender hands had stilled in their needlework — the needle poised in midair, a single thread of delicate, shimmering gold trailing from it like an afterthought — and his minty green eyes shone expectantly as he waited for Alfred to say something. The fire in the fireplace, which had been lit to keep away the winter chill, flickered and sent shadows and light soaring across the walls of the old living room.

Somewhat at a loss, Alfred fiddled with the wooden toy soldiers he was playing with and tried to think of a good answer. An answer that would make Arthur proud of him. "God . . . ," he said hesitantly, shifting from where he had been kneeling on the thick carpet. "God watches over us. He keeps us safe and we pray to Him . . ."

"Go on."

"Um . . ." Alfred glanced down at the soldiers in his hands. Arthur had said they were custom-made, but he had never named the toy store he had ordered them from, and the paint appeared to have been applied by a rather clumsy hand. Alfred had guessed that the person who'd assembled them probably didn't make many toys. But the wood was carefully sanded, the miniature muskets carved and polished with great attention to detail, and best of all, each soldier had been given a distinctly different face. Some were round and cheerful, while others sported pointy features and grouchy-looking eyes. Even now, nearly three years after they'd been delivered, the soldiers were cherished among Alfred's favorite toys.

Sometimes he still wondered where they had come from, but he didn't feel like he had to know anymore. He was happy with what he had. He was happy having lots of toys and living with Arthur in the large, ancient Victorian house their parents had left them in their wills. He liked being homeschooled by his older brother; he liked curling up next to him in the warm bed they shared and listening to him read from a storybook. He even liked eating the food Arthur cooked, even though it tasted kind of funny. He didn't mind not having many friends.

No, Alfred was fine with what he had now. There was no need to pry further into the comforts of his life, because it was already as perfect as his ten-year-old self wanted it to be.

"Alfred?" Arthur's voice drew him gently back to the present.

"Huh? Oh!" He was supposed to be answering Arthur's question. "Umm . . . God forgives us if we do something bad." He began to gain momentum as he recalled bits and pieces of Arthur's lessons on religion. "He lives in Heaven, and He made the earth and the animals and stuff in six days, and He also made humans — Adam first, then Eve. He has lots of names. And He's . . . He's . . ." Alfred struggled to remember the word Arthur had used to describe God when they had been talking about Him. "He's . . . righteous." He looked up at Arthur with pride. "Right?"

This, for some reason, drew a chuckle out of Arthur. "So you do pay attention when I give a lesson." He went back to the shirt he had been embroidering, weaving the gold thread in and out of the hem with fast, skillful flicks of his wrist.

"Of course I do! I just have trouble remembering everything we talk about," said Alfred, pouting, then broke into giggles himself. He rearranged the toy soldiers into what he thought was an impressive battle formation. He didn't think to ask Arthur why he had asked about God in the first place, but Arthur followed with an explanation anyway.

"What I want you to learn from everything that I've told you is that God's nature is essentially benevolent," he said. Confused by the complex vocabulary, Alfred looked up again. Arthur caught his bewildered expression. "Ah, it means that God is good."

"Oh. Okay." Alfred returned to his toys, but he was still listening. Arthur was boring and naggy sometimes; the things he talked about, however, could be interesting at times, and Alfred made sure to listen with at least one ear.

Arthur continued, "You said before that God forgives us if we 'do something bad' . . . which is true. He does forgive us when we sin, because He knows we are not perfect despite the fact that He made us in His image. But —" He paused. "That does not mean that we should sin. Do you understand, Alfred?" This time, when he stopped, he was looking for confirmation on Alfred's part.

Alfred nodded.

"Do you understand why we shouldn't sin?"

"Because . . . it's bad?"

Arthur sighed. He didn't sound exasperated, though, when he said, "Yes. This is the wisdom I want to share with you today, Alfred, so listen carefully.

"God will forgive us if we sin. If we cheat, if we steal, if we lie — even if we take the life of another person. God loves everyone . . . each and every single one of us, from the youngest baby to the most withered old man. But God doesn't admit sinners to his Kingdom, so sinners go to another place when their time comes . . . a place called Hell, where they face eternal damnation. That is where they deserve to be. Sinners who repent their sins before they die are forgiven and saved; sinners who turn on God and turn on what is right are condemned forever." His tone made Alfred jerk his head up. He met Arthur's eyes, which were solemn and focused, and had to suppress a shiver at the intensity within them. He was now sure without a doubt that sinning was very bad, especially since Arthur had taken the time to put so much emphasis on his point.

In one smooth motion, Arthur set aside the shirt and kneeled down in front of Alfred. He raised the boy's chin tenderly with both hands to keep the eye contact between them unbroken. "But, Alfred," he said softly, "God isn't the only one who won't forgive you for not repenting. You yourself will come to hate and fear who you are as well, and in a way, that matters more than what God does to you. A person can be far harsher in their self-punishment than God will ever be toward them; after all, you are the one who has to live with you. Does that make sense, Alfred? Do you understand me?"

In truth, Alfred had only understood perhaps three-forths of Arthur's lecture. But nonetheless, the message had come across very clearly, and it continued to resonate inside his head after Arthur stopped speaking. "Y-yes, I think I do," he managed shakily, his mind echoing. Sinning is bad because God doesn't like it and because it'll make you hate yourself . . . His nerves felt as if they'd been rubbed raw. Arthur had never displayed such seriousness in any of their conversations before.

Eyes finally softening, Arthur leaned forward and pressed a warm kiss to Alfred's forehead. "I knew that you would grow up to be clever," he murmured. "This is a lot to digest at once, especially for a child of your age . . . but you've handled it very well. I'm proud of you, Alfred. I'm sure Mother and Father would have been as well."

Alfred glowed, his cheeks flushing with happiness. His previous discomfort was forgotten in the face of Arthur's praise.

Drawing his hands away from the boy, Arthur stood up. He stretched, bending his waist backward and wincing slightly, before offering his little brother a hand. "Well, let's go to bed, shall we? I can hear your volume of fairy tales calling to us." He winked at the youth, who was instantly beaming with boyish enthusiasm.

"Yay! I want to hear that story tonight — the one about the dragon and his treasure!" Alfred scrambled to his feet with Arthur's help, and ran ahead to the staircase just outside the living room. He waited for Arthur to douse the fire in the fireplace and follow him, then raced up the stairs with him. He won, like always, and Arthur accepted defeat with a gracious smile.

He was the perfect guardian, despite being just on the waning side of eighteen, and he adored his brother. He was devoted to his brother. When it came to Alfred, it was impossible to fault him in any way, shape, or form.

He just wasn't perfect as a person.