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It wasn’t uncommon for people to say they want to go out with a bang when it comes their time to die, but not many people imagine it happening quite like this. The entire world saw it. The entire world saw panic, and fear, and the desperate pleas of friends and family for the dying man to simply not die.

They needed him. They all did.

No one wanted their brother to die.

But when Arthur did, it shattered the entire Kirkland family.

They sat there watching, Arthur would become Prime Minister, an ambition he’d had for a long time. His entire family would be watching him achieve his goals and obtain a seat of power no one dared imagine he would ever have.

In one instant, that vanished, and the entire world was watching. Donald begged Arthur to stay with them, utterly terrified of where his little brother was going. Peter would eventually come to know this as the day he saw Iain cry for the first time. Possibly the only time. There was no greater pain than this, and Peter, though not directly related to Arthur or any of the other “main branch” Kirklands, he still felt as if a vital part of his soul had been ripped away from him.

He watched it happen on the television, excitedly waiting for Arthur’s hard work to finally pay off and lead him into glory. He knew this was what Arthur had been working for in all the years he knew him. Peter could only imagine how his favorite cousin must have been feeling at that very moment, before a shot rang through the air and he reeled backwards, clutching at his chest which was suddenly becoming drenched in crimson.

A pregnant silence followed, and then Arthur collapsed, sending the celebration into panic for fear of the shooting striking another unfortunate soul. They tried, but missed, as several more shots exploded in the air, prompting a nearly immediate response from the authorities.

He was loaded up quickly and taken to the nearest hospital, where doctors tried to save him as best they could. His brothers desperately trying to call him back and encourage him, but their efforts were futile.

Arthur wasn’t his brother, but he sure felt like he was.

Peter did all of his crying when Arthur lay in the hospital dying from the assassination he never would have wished on his cousin in a thousand years. He died, and Peter couldn’t hold his tears in at all, and they refused to stop falling long into the night until he managed to fall asleep, when all he did was dream of the scenario happening again. The dream repeated every night.

And now, Peter stood next to Iain, quivering as his hand clung desperately to his older cousin’s. He needed strength, because what resolve he thought he had was wavering.

Arthur was usually the first person Peter went to for everything, defaulting to his other cousins when Arthur either wasn’t in the mood or couldn’t help. He was smart and he knew a lot of useful information. Though Iain was just as smart, his help was very specialized. Arthur’s range of intelligence was a little more broad – and when given a subject he excelled in, Arthur’s passion for explanations and teaching made everything so much easier to learn.

He was (almost) always willing to listen to Peter’s complaints or rants. He tended to end every conversation the same way, telling people that there were plenty of others that had it worse, but he listened until the very end. Peter would always thank him with the tightest, most sincere hug he could conjure.

In return for all of Arthur’s hard work managing his job, his party, and his cousin, Peter tried his best to make sure he always came back to the home and never had to lift a finger. He was no cook, but he quickly learned how to use the phone to organize something easy and delicious. He was lazy, but he pulled his weight too. Arthur probably couldn’t have began to count the times he would come home to a spotless house, courtesy of Peter’s unnatural joy in cleaning.

Arthur wasn’t exactly the most social man on the planet. He attempted to reward Peter and show him affection with gifts and video games. It worked, but what Peter loved most about trips out of the house was just talking to him. Feeling like a part of the family that Arthur wanted having around. He enjoyed more than anything.

There were always days Arthur never wanted him around. He was a busy man, married to his work and if he had the choice he never would have taken Peter in—right? Did he even have a choice, or was it just him doing as he was told? He was – was – Prime Minister… he didn’t need to listen to anyone. Peter was ecstatic to be living with Arthur, but it was only shortly after he got there that he realized life with him wasn’t going to be the carefree lifestyle he was hoping for.

Arthur was a grumpy man, assailed by work, relatives. He was always tried, always in a bad mood. Peter tried his best to lighten his life the best he could, but he’d always end up joining in the detrimental fun and teasing his other cousins forced upon Arthur. It was fun, he couldn’t help it! He wanted to feel as if he was part of the group! And yet for all those times, he never regretted a single one until this very moment, when he realized the last thing he said to Arthur wasn’t affectionate or loving at all.

”Wow, you’re being a jerk today. I hope you trip up on stage and fall on your face.

Arthur did more than just trip.

He was utterly terrified out of his skin, and regretted everything. He felt that he might have guaranteed this happening with his less-than-encouraging fare well. Peter felt that somehow, this was his fault.

The tears began to fall again, Peter’s body convulsing violently as it was wracked with vicious sobs, the salty liquid stinging his already-raw cheeks. He felt Iain’s hand place itself on one of his shoulders, attempting to comfort and encourage him wordlessly. Peter stumbled forward, his hands gripping the steel bars of the casket while his forehead pressed into the edge. His voice hitched and his chest heaved as he attempted, through his crying, to give Arthur the goodbye he deserved earlier.

“You weren’t supposed to die, Arthur. You weren’t supposed to—I love you more than anything, you’re not a jerk at all! You never were.”

‘You shouldn’t be dead…’ Peter continued, refusing to leave his almost-brother behind.

He was really the person he needed in his life, someone that felt the same kind of loneliness – except maybe in Arthur’s case, he had it a lot worse. Peter wasn’t quite able to comprehend it until it was too late, he was always involved in their antics.

Arthur left him behind. He’d be taken somewhere else, but he didn’t want everything to change again. His voice was hoarse as he spoke again, and he coughed harshly as his words caught in his throat.

“I’m going back to my parents, aren’t I?” Or, by that time, mostly likely the singular parent who would moan at the prospect of having him once more. After his time in London he definitely didn’t want to. He barely received any calls from his mother during that time, and his father definitely had no time.

He looked up at Iain, cautiously, eyes reddened deeply. The Scotsman couldn’t take his eyes off the inert form in the casket, but he also seemed as if he was struggling to keep an unemotional face. As if any moment that façade would crack and a flood of tears would burst forth. “No. I don’t have the best means to take care of you, but I don’t think I can let you go back.”

Not yet.

Peter wiped his face on his sleeve, making way for more of his sadness to come out in droves. There was no end to his tears, it took everything Peter was made of to not let his knees buckle under him.

Arthur wasn’t his brother, but he was the closest Peter ever had… and now he was gone.