Warning(s): Language, mostly. Character death. And, the story has nothing to do with goats, so I'm sorry if that's the only reason you came. There are no goats. D: Please forgive me.

Disclaimer(s): I don't own Hetalia, or George Lucas. I mean, we used to be homies until he left me for dead. There were these maneating bears, and... Well, anyway. Yeah. Don't own Star Wars.

Enjoy!

I Thought My Brother was Gay but He Turned Out to Be a Chupacabra

Er, hi. I'm Matthew and... I like long walks on the beach.

Look, I don't know, use your imagination. I'm basically a sentient footnote, even in reality. It's all Alfred, Alfred, Alfred, and don't pretend you came here to listen to me sob about how much my left side hurts from being slammed against the ice by a "teenage" ten tonne thirty year old in hockey gear two weeks ago. Not that I'd sob. I'm strong. Strong enough to lock a raging chupacabra in the school's janitor closet.

Let me tell you about my little brother.

I'm a day older than him, technically. I was born at 11:58 PM, on a Tuesday. He was born at 12:01 AM on a Wednesday. C section. He's all rainbows and sunshine and unicorn shit, so I've always thought it appropriate that he came in the morning. We were always close, despite how I talk about him these days. Had a secret language as toddlers. I'd crush bugs for him and he was pretty much the designated wife when we played house. As massive as he is now, he still can't stand insects. Can't stand sleeping alone either. We don't share the same bed anymore, but sometimes I wake up to find him pulling the air mattress out of the hall closet, into my room. He'd demand we watch the Star Wars trilogy. The sequels, obviously. I can't say I minded until the nightmares hit. Sometimes it was hard to get any shut eye when he was thrashing around down there on the floor, throttling night terrors. Never a way to wake him, either. He knocked my lights out once because I'd shook his shoulder. I imagine that's what the Earth felt like when some space rock sniped a chunk of it off. I bet every time the Big Blue Guy looks at the moon, it shudders at the realization that that's literally a dead piece of him, floating in the space void.

Alfred wasn't the favourite, he was just the louder one. Not everybody screams to get their point across, but watching him for the last eighteen years of my life, I've realized that it's the most effective way to communicate with people. They wouldn't like you for it, but they would definitely respect you. Respected Alfred. People would take me aside and complain to me about something he'd said, or done, and I think they got closure from the fact that I looked like him. Made them feel like they were telling Alfred right to his face what an absolute dickhead they thought he was. Didn't bother me. Much. So I was his secretary all through secondary school. Filed away all the bull shit and gave him a heads up whenever it was likely somebody was probably not going to let something he'd said go.

Sometimes, anyway. Sometimes I didn't. I guess it depended on my mood.

There was one time in particular that I, maybe, should've spoken up about.

There was this Slav. The kind of guy that would freeze snow in his icebox and whip it out six months later to throw it at some unsuspecting sad sack minding his own business. You could call him paranoid; he had a thing for the preemptive. I want to say he was from Ukraine. Maybe Russia. Don't know. Definitely European, though. You had to say his name like you were auditioning for the role of a shrill New English housewife from the 17th century. Ee-vahn. Weird guy, all in all. Got a doctor's note to wear sunglasses in doors. Insisted he had "photophobia", which was funny, because he was in my photography class. He didn't care for me, but then, he didn't care for most people. He was... Nice. Just not social. It was like somebody had sat down in a lab and had decided they wanted to see two fleshy golems battle to the death in a student parking lot, because that threat was always just on the horizon if Alfred and he ever happened to bump shoulders in the hallway. Couldn't tell you why they didn't like each other, but my first guess was that they were secretly dating.

I don't think anything's wrong with being gay, and I'm all for equality, but if the golden boy that had reality wrapped around his little finger turned out to have at least one thing "unusual" about him... It would make me a very, very happy guy. Like, fiendishly delighted.

So I'm a little bit of an asshole. Sue me.

Ivan had been sitting by me in class the day before Alfred got seriously weird. People pass verbal notes through me all the time, but that day I was dealing with what might've been a concussion. I'd just gotten back from an away game and had somehow managed to return just in time for my last class of the day. Beautiful, right? So I was sitting there and Ivan turned to me and said, "Tell your brother that I don't appreciate what he put in my locker." I tried to find my last fuck to give, but it fluttered away with my weary exhale. I said, well, muttered, "...Okay."

Look, I care about my brother, and even if he'd been a massive pain in the neck up until that point... I would've let him know that his not-boyfriend was going to do something crazy if he pulled one more "prank" on the poor guy, if I'd known. How was I supposed to know the guy wasn't the most human thing around? All I knew was Alfred wasn't an idiot. He knew people had limits, and he wasn't going to push a guy at least thirty some odd centimeters taller than him to that point. In hindsight, I may have put too much faith into his intelligence.

I rode the bus home, collapsed on my bed, and didn't see Alfred until dinner. And, Alfred's usually the star at the table. Or, anywhere. He could go on and on about anything, and you'd listen, because there was something... Something, about him. I didn't envy him, but I could understand why our parents would be more keen on being in a conversation with him, than say, me. I'm a one-word-answer machine. Sometimes I just nod, even if the question can't be responded to with yes or no. That night, however, he'd been bizarrely quiet, like he was mocking my M.O. He pushed his carrots around on his plate. Couldn't get a bite of kale down. We were raised in a green family. You know that bit in Finding Nemo where Bruce the shark says "Fish are friends, not food"? Well that's what we lived our lives by, only... It applied to all animals. Our parents said if we couldn't see ourselves eating our dog, then we should realize how cruel it was to eat other animals. So the closest we've had to meat is scrambled eggs.

Alfred was our walking, talking, garbage disposal, but he wouldn't- couldn't, eat a single thing.

He excused himself from the table, waving away our mother's concerns with, "I'm just not hungry." Which was impossible. He was always hungry. He was the reason we never had any leftovers to microwave. I thought it was funny at the time. Said, "Maybe he's lovesick." After I heard the door to his room shut. Our parents were all ears, curious, and I'd kept them on the edge, telling them I didn't really know, just had a hunch.

See, I planned to milk my "knowledge" for what it was worth. I was going to go to him and tell him I knew what he was doing, maybe threaten to let it slip (I'd never, but a threat is a powerful thing). I mean, our parents wouldn't exactly mind, but they're the kind of people that defend gay rights in the streets but warily ask every now and then if either of us has found a girlfriend yet. They wanted us to have nuclear families. Wanted to see us at the altar with pretty women. Probably were hoping they were white, too. You're kidding yourself if you think my parents are some new age gurus just because they don't bake animal slabs in the oven.

So. I was biding my time, waiting for the perfect moment to talk to him about it. Unfortunately, Alfred got extremely difficult to get a hold of after that night. We lived together, but it was like he'd rented his room out to dust. Sometimes I'd see him around in the school's halls but if I tried to stop him he'd just side step me and promise that we'd talk later. But there was no "later." I guess after a while it started to bother me. And it wasn't like he was hanging out with Ivan all of the sudden. No, they still hated each other. But... Their interactions had changed. People would wait with bated breath when they ran into each other, because it was always "fuck you" and "fuck your Adidas, bitch" and "I'm gonna need subtitles. Your Canadian's so thick" with them. But, no. Alfred would hunch a bit down instead of jerk his chin up in defiance, and he'd glare for a moment before passing silently. Like a rattle snake who's tail had been stomped soundless.

It... Worried me.

After a while he'd started wearing sunglasses too, and none of the teachers said anything because Alfred could do no wrong. He'd tell them he wasn't feeling so great, and they'd believe him. Everyone did. I did. He'd been so quiet. Kept to himself. Wasn't eating. Avoided the cafeteria like he was allergic to noise and sentient globs of mashed potatoes. I'd always believed the school's food was bad, but Alfred had an iron stomach. Yeah. I was worried. I even dropped my original plan, because all I wanted to do was make sure he was okay. He was my little brother, and I'd forgotten that because he'd gotten so good at defending himself.

One day in particular stands out to me. I'd been out buying comics and manga to bribe him into spending the night in my room. I was hoping we could talk about... Whatever. Whatever he wanted to talk about. Or if he just wanted to sit there and read, I'd be okay with that too. I guess I just wanted him around me for longer than five minutes. Even when he was home, he was locked in his room with his music blasting too loud for anybody to speak through the door to him. After walking out of geek central with enough graphic novels to last us at least two centuries, it's crazy, but I thought I saw him just down the street. He was holding a motorbike helmet to his chest and talking to some guy who you'd swear was in a binding contract to look like the biggest sleaze on the planet, just so every sensible person in existence would know to avoid him. Alfred seemed shifty. Had that weird smile of his on. The one he gets when he sees something he likes, and is just dying to take it.

Then, he slid off his sunglasses, eyes shut, shoved them into the pocket of his basketball shorts, and slid on the helmet.

Got on the back of the bike and let the creep drive him off into the sunset.

Something you ought to know about Alfred: he'll tell you about his dick for hours at a time if you let him, but that's all he'll ever do. He's all bark and no bite. A gyrating monk. He'd never. Trust me on this. Before he'd systematically cut me and everybody else off, he'd tell me everything. And if it ever reached a point where he started talking about his crush of the week... Well let's just say he ought to have been born in America, where he could relate to his brethren with roots just as puritan as his perceived ones. No offense to him. He was just... Weirdly, prudish. It's a little difficult to explain.

Admittedly, I didn't think that was him after a moment of rationalizing what I'd just seen.

Couldn't have been. No way.

I got home hours later, and he was there before me, just about glowing. All smiles. Hanging out in my room with the main menu to Star Wars IV humming on my flat screen. I nudged him with my foot in greeting as I passed, dropping my bag of bribes down beside him as I went to my dresser. Star Wars was a pajamas affair with him. We'd fall asleep to it and there was nothing more uncomfortable than waking up in jeans. I asked him how his day was and he told me it couldn't have been better. He still had sunglasses on, though, which bothered me a bit. Ten minutes later and we were into the first act, sprawled out on beanbag chairs and swallowing down handfuls of popcorn. Well. I was swallowing down handfuls of popcorn. He didn't eat a thing. Said he wasn't hungry. I didn't know how to broach The Topic. You know, the thing about him suddenly being a recluse. Eventually I got out, "So, you uh... You meet anybody interesting today?" Which was not what I'd wanted to say. I'd wanted to bring up Ivan. The distance. His sudden obsession with wearing sunglasses, even indoors.

Alfred seemed bothered by the question. He didn't answer it directly. Or like, at all. "I haven't seen Duran Duran around lately... Have you?" Our dog. I wanted to tell him he would see him if he'd stop hiding in his room all the time. I wanted to tell him whatever was going on... Well, I was there for him. Nothing he could say would disgust me. Even if it turned out he was into the furry scene, I'd be like, "Good for you." Complete 180 from my previous desire to use it against him, but I was so worried he was depressed. And I don't mean his usual states where he'd mope over losing a game or couldn't sleep at night. I mean legitimately, truly, depressed. "He's... Usually hanging in my room. Dunno where he is now. Probably taking a shit outside." Alfred nodded and returned to watching the movie.

I'd tried starting other conversations, but they all ended the same way. I woke up in the morning with a blanket draped over me and his pajamas tossed and crumpled on my floor. He treated my room like it was his and it usually annoyed the hell out of me, but at the time, I was just glad he was... Better. I mean, he had to be. Right?

Wrong.

After that night, he was right back to being weird. Wouldn't talk to anybody at school, kept to himself, hid away in the library during lunch time. He'd started talking to the resident emo who chilled in there. That's what I heard, anyway. God forbid he talked to me, right? You know, his brother. The guy that used to kill the monsters under his bed for him. No. He talked to the guy who was all about that doom and gloom. The guy who used to tell me to tell him he thought he was a stuck up asswipe and hoped he was run over by a steamroller in his lifetime. So maybe I was a little bitter. Maybe I was a lot bitter.

Aardvark or Anthony or... No, no I think it was Arthur.

Arthur.

And though I'd only heard the rumor through the grapevine, it wasn't hard to believe. The one class we shared together, the one time I could catch him, and he'd sit with that guy. His new best "bro." That being said, I wouldn't have wanted anything too horrible to happen to Arthur. Maybe I was seriously praying he'd get a particularly bad hangnail, but nothing worse than that.

So imagine my horror when I find him under the bleachers, being consumed by my brother's ripped open torso.

Just, imagine it. Imagine it some more.

You're not getting close enough.

Maybe I got a little fed up with Alfred choosing to confide in Arthur over me. Maybe I followed behind them when lunch started up. They didn't go to the library, so my motivation to follow them dropped significantly. I mean, Alfred's not the sort to fool around on school property, or at all, but what if they weren't friends, but seeing each other? Like, a legit couple? What if I was reading it wrong? If, if, if. I followed them regardless. They eventually ended up under the bleachers out by the track field. I'm pretty good at shadowing people that are too self absorbed to notice they're being shadowed, so hiding almost seemed silly, but I found a support beam to crouch behind. Plenty of shadows to take advantage of, too. I don't mean to brag, but somebody ought to hire me as a spy. I'd be a kick ass spy.

They were sitting in the grass, quiet, nervous. Eventually Arthur said, "I don't mind if you want to... Need to... I mean.. I'd actually like it if you-" and Alfred shook his head. Dropped on his back into the grass, doing his best impression of a lifeless marionette. He said, "I can't. It's... It's wrong, man." Wrapped an arm around his stomach, grimacing at the sound of it, presumably, growling. And Arthur murmured, almost too pleasantly for the words that left his mouth, "So you'd rather I just jump off a bridge instead?" Alfred looked up at him and Arthur leaned down to brush some hair off of his forehead. It wasn't... Affection, they were displaying. No, it was almost as if they still strictly hated each other. I don't know. I don't know what it was. Arthur started taking off the multi-colored bands around his wrists. Metal bracelets and clunky crystals and whatever else. Pulled his shirt over his head. And, that was pretty much my cue to leave. I wouldn't want to see two guys going at it, especially if one of them was my brother. But. I stayed.

Don't ask me why. Seriously. Don't.

Alfred watched him take everything but his boxers off, and as Arthur sat there in his underwear, nervously drawing his knees to his chest, they seemed to have come to a nonverbal agreement about something. Still, Alfred sat up shaking grass out of his hair and asked as if they hadn't: "...Are you sure?" Arthur snorted. And how a guy so embarrassed about being nearly naked in front of another person can still manage to look that confident is a real marvel. "Oh, don't pretend you give a shit about me." Despite saying that, they both broke into snickers. Laughed for a while. Alfred nudged Arthur's knee with his fist, and the corner of Arthur's lip hiked up.

Then Alfred took his sunglasses off.

Something else I should tell you: Alfred has eyes like the sun. I promise you nobody but our immediate family can stand to make direct eye contact with him. They're just so... Bright. Bright and full of bull shit you'd find yourself swooning over. Being twins, you'd think I'd have eyes like that, too. You'd think I could make somebody like me, and believe in me, just from meeting gazes. Unfortunately, mine have always fluctuated between navy and not-quite-navy. Looking at me is like looking into deep space painted blue.

Alfred's eyes, at that moment, were nothing like the sun.

Massive. Massive, like two boiling planets had been shrunken and shoved into his sockets. Pulsing red and wrinkling like sliming molten lava, spiraling in his head. If hell had typhoons, it was missing exactly two. His chest cavity broke open not long after that. Split apart, ripping his Hakuna Matata shirt diagonally. Serrated teeth dug out, shining under the red from his insides, his neck snapped backwards, head hanging limp...

And he ate Arthur, who was terrifyingly calm for the duration of that scene.

About a few hours later and I was also rather calm, suiting up for our hockey game. Alfred came into the locker room. Glowing. Whistling. Telling jokes to relieved teammates, who also seemed to have been worrying about him. I asked him if he wanted any of my Gatorade. He politely declined. I asked him if he would come help me get something out of the janitor closet out in the hall. He politely complied.

And now he's banging his fists against the door swearing to God he'll tell mom if I don't open the door.

I'm not so calm anymore.

See, if Alfred was gay, that would be fine. That would be cool. I could be supportive. If he wasn't gay and was super asexual, that was also fine. Whatever floats your boat, right? If he suddenly wanted to stop being a vegetarian, a little harder for me to accept, but I'd eventually let it go. I could accept it. If he finally wanted to go full religious on me and started talking about that Jesus dude like he was the shit, cool, whatever. If he wanted to become an anti-social hermit, I'd go into hermitude with him. I'd kill the spiders for him in our lonely shack out in the middle of nowhere.

But I'm Canadian, not fucking Gandhi. Eating people, regardless of whether they consent to it or not, is where I draw the line.

I left him in the closet.

Ivan isn't the hardest guy to find. He hangs around the library after school hours, sometimes. Comic book club, astronomy club, math club... Funnily enough, he and Alfred had always had a lot of the same interests. I found him sitting between one of the aisles, backpack blocking anybody from sitting on his left side, pile of books blocking anybody from sitting on his right. I sat in front of him. We must've looked bizarre, him sitting there dressed for a spontaneous nuclear winter, me dressed for a hockey game. He glanced up to maybe, glare, at me. I couldn't tell. His sunglasses were impenetrable.

"...What are you, a fucking... A fucking chupacabra? Some kind of a... A..." I searched for the right word, but couldn't find it among all of the slurs hanging around. "I'm Russian, actually." And he smiled pleasantly. I could see what really got Alfred'd gears going about him, but I'm hardly as easy to piss off. I took a deep breath. "Right. Russian. Do you think you could... Fix, whatever you did to my brother? I won't... I wouldn't tell anybody. I mean, hey, do you."

Ivan returned to reading his book. Said, "If you did, I would tell whoever took me away that Alfred happens to have exactly what I have. Maybe make it into some kind of a witch hunt. That would be... Interesting. Do you know what people used to do to witches?" I smiled tightly. "I'm asking you as a friend, Ivan." He laughed, then. Laughed really hard. Didn't say anything in reply, just shook his head and started shoving books into his backpack. Laughing. Okay, so we weren't friends. Had never been friends. I don't know why I even tried that. "...You've got to want something. There's no end game to this shit unless you get something out of it. I'll give you double of whatever you're trying to get." Ivan paused. Looked me over. He said, "Deal."

I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock, head banging like my fist on my night stand. Couldn't find the damn thing.

6:01 AM

Work in two hours. Yay.

Slugging around my flat in slippers, I tried to remember the day. If it was my birthday, I was fucked. Mom always called; "Alfred, dear? Are you alright? We've been so worried about you... You know, ever since... Ever since..." And she'd tear up because she'd lost two sons a really long time ago. I'd have to tell her I was fine. Have to tell her I'd visit soon, even though I wouldn't. Can't go back to Canada. Swore I wouldn't. Ever do and it's back to douche bag sunglasses and insatiable hunger. Matthew had said, "It's my decision, so there's not much you can say. Clear the porn from my browser, man." He'd said, "It's really not that bad. Just crush bugs on your own for a while, okay? Seriously, I'll hit you up one day, and if you're moping... I'll fucking- I'll, like, tell you the worst joke. Ever."

Kitchen light.

Brewed coffee. Toast.

I think I've got something to do later tonight. Blind date. Somebody at the office told me I was too young to be single. I told them 28 isn't young, but I guess that sounded ridiculous to a guy twenty years my senior. I'll go just to get him to leave me alone about it. Sarah. That's a pretty name. Sarah. Wonder if she likes Chinese.

Fish fed, tie lopsided (shit, how do people get them so straight?), shoes on.

Ready for the world. Or not.