It has never been easy to be a child. Worse still is one whose fate was to be abducted at a young age and sold to a country at war in need of soldiers. A boy was thrust into a battlefield with a gun too large for him and told to shoot at anyone shooting him. He learned his lessons fast, for if he slipped up, he would be the one slain.

Quick on his feet and adaptable to his surroundings, a gifted mind became attuned to the ways of warfare. They gave him the name Alphonse after his first successful solo mission. No one would get attached to him before he could prove himself and be useful. He found a family in the survivors of his group, being taken care of by the older males and fussed over by the women who did a myriad of jobs for everyone at the perpetually moving base camp. He thought this would be his life until a stray bullet found him.

When the helicopters came and the Americans gathered up all the guerrilla warfare children, Alphonse had learned to shave, was lean with muscles, and had seen so many of his family die that he thought nothing mattered anymore. Nothing except his survival so that someone remembered the family he gained and lost over and over on the battlefield.

Unsure what to do with most of the children they had rescued, the government simply shooed them away because it was too much effort to process more people, it wasn't this department's job anyway, someone else could do it. Everyone passed them around until they slipped out and were forgotten. The system would eventually sort them out, surely. No one even realized the guerrilla children were gone until it was too late, and by that point it became a buried secret so that the citizens didn't find out.

Alphonse wandered from place to place, taking what was necessary, avoiding anyone who might ask him questions. He could tell he would never belong with anyone his own age, for their innocence showed through the lives they lived. He began to dwell in seedier cities, taking to gang-riddled streets and running errands since he was disposable. Those errands grew more and more frequent as his reputation built up in place called Silt City. Drugs, ammunition, weapons- Alphonse delivered everything short of people meant to be traded or sold, as he once had happen to him. He also picked up special orders.

One special order was at the fancy mansion in the nicer part of Silt City. He was supposed to pick up some trash that had been encroaching upon the mansion and getting close to his group's family. The near-adult was specifically picked because it was meant to end in bloodshed. So he took his gun and went to do his job.

What Alphonse wasn't expecting was a man to be standing within the gate of the mansion. He stared up at the moon as the teenager approached, however his bright blue gaze lowered and trapped him within their authoritative grasp.

“Good evening, young man,” he said. “A nice night for a walk, isn't it?”

“Yessir,” he replied stiffly as his gray gaze darted around for the men he was meant to deal with.

“Might I ask what you're doing out here tonight? The gates are a far way from most of the roads.” He smiled as he said it, knowing the boy in front of him should not be there.

“I- I came to take out the trash,” he stuttered truthfully.

“The trash? Hm. Well, we do have men that do that, however... Come here, let me see you better.”

Alphonse reluctantly obeyed, intrigued by the aura of power and the ease which the man spoke with. He stepped under the white light filtering down from the posted lamps, fueled by LED's, and squinted at the silhouette of a man he could no longer quite make out.

“You don't exactly look like you take out the trash,” the man laughed. His tone shifted to a more somber, serious tenor. “What're you really doing here?”

“I am here to take out the trash,” Alphonse began, however he couldn't continue his sentence. A soft sound made him move instinctively towards the silhouette of the man behind the gates. A bullet discharged from a gun using a silencer ripped through his shoulder and his gaze narrowed as pain blossomed in its wake.

“There is a lot of trash to take out tonight,” he muttered lowly. He turned and drew his gun.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

It only took five seconds for the night to fall into silence once more. Two bodies lay across the road, slumped against the bags of garbage which need to be picked up. Blood soaked the shirt he wore and his arm hung limp at his side.

“Are you alright?” The man had moved behind the stone pillar at his gate, however he cautiously looked around when he heard the stillness after the gunfire.

“I'm alright,” Alphonse said. “I'll call someone to take this trash for you, my arm isn't quite up to the task.”

“Wait, please.” There was a moment of hesitation from the man. “You took a bullet for me. Do you know who I am?”

“Haven't a clue,” the dark haired teenager replied truthfully. “I was told to come take care of these two who've been getting close to the territory.

“I see,” the older man said thoughtfully. “Please, come inside at least, so I can see what the damage is. I'll pay for the medical bills, you'll just have to give the hospital your name and ID-”

“Don't have one,” Alphonse cut him off.

“A name? Or an ID?”

“An ID.”

Silence fell for several moments as the man behind the gate considered that. “Let's talk. My name is Charles Jenkins.”

“Alphonse.”

The years almost melted by due to how quickly things changed. Alphonse was taken in by Doctor Charles Jenkins and his wife Hannah after several weeks of discussions, meet-ups, and exams. Doctor Jenkins studied psychiatry and met up with Alphonse often to pick at his brain, for he found it nearly impossible that the boy had been stolen from his hometown, introduced to a war zone as part of a guerrilla group, was picked up by the American government, and lost in the system until he wound up on the streets and helping whatever gang proved the most useful to his continued existence.

As Charles talked more with Alphonse, the more he saw his scars, heard the stories of his fallen family, the more he wanted to keep the almost fully grown man, yet entirely innocent boy, in his life. He realized his young protector didn't know his own age or his birthday. He didn't recall his parents or his hometown. He knew snippets of grass, of wild flowers, small buildings and park benches, but he knew nothing about himself. The Jenkins couple taught him that he probably came from England or was around a lot of British people, for he had their accent. They figured he must be seventeen or eighteen and shook a few hands behind backs to make sure he was given a birth certificate, a social security number, and an identification: Alphonse Sullivan. In time, he was educated and his brain began to absorb every detail it could about being a gentleman and an asset to the Jenkins household.

The group Alphonse ran with probably believed that he must have died and wouldn't think twice about his disappearance from their lives. That was what he told himself, anyway. He did not feel any desire to return to that life now that he found a new home, a purpose, and people who cared for his well being. In turn, he cared for them and became their butler.

Hannah stayed home due to her difficult pregnancy. She had twins; a boy named David and a girl named Elise. Their fair hair and bright brown eyes were charming. Alphonse fell in love with them at first sight, and promised to protect them no matter what the cost.

What Alphonse did not get to learn about on the battlefield was that not everything can be protected through fighting. No one can be saved from the inevitability of death, especially those born with its grip upon their fragile fingers.

Elise passed away after seven short years. She had an illness which kept her tired, weak, and vulnerable. As much as her father paid the doctors, as much love as little Eli's family gave her, as much as Alphonse sat with her and told her fairy tales, of miracles and dragons, princesses and wishes, she passed on one warm summer evening.

At the funeral, parents from all of the Jenkins' social circles came to share in Hannah and Charles's grief. They hugged David and tried to tell him it would be alright, however he simply stared ahead and said nothing. He did not cry, for he did not understand yet that his sister was never coming back. Not yet.

Alphonse watched David at the funeral. He drew the child away when he became agitated and fussy, for he was wearing all black clothes on a hot summer day, standing outside while his parents watched a box over a hole in the ground. At one point, the butler murmured softly, a wry smirk upon his lips, “Why don't you play with that girl, she looks as fussy as you do today.”

He gestured at a young girl with short ash colored hair. She wore a black dress with white stockings, shiny onyx shoes, and she had slipped away from the congregation of grievers to crouch down and idly pluck at strands of grass between graves.

“Don't wanna,” David said.

“Well, I could use a walk. Would you care to join me?” Alphonse began to stroll towards the girl without waiting for the young master's answer. David, unable to bear being apart from his butler at this time in his life, chased after him.

That humid summer day was the first time Alphonse Sullivan and David Jenkins met Alice White.