So I guess I'm now Yuri on Ice trash now... I really need to stop starting new fics but I couldn't resist this one. I just love the show and how sweet and beautiful it is. And who saw that last episode coming?! I didn't!

Anyway just to make something clear, this is a family AU where the Russian team are all a family with Yakov as the head. To make the kids seem closer, I dropped a few of their ages. Yuri is still 15 and Mila is still 18 but now Georgi is 21 and Victor is 23. Just for continuity's sake, I also reduced Yuuri's age to 19. And I'm spelling his name that way so I don't get confused.

Please enjoy!

Yakov sighed as he sat down, settling into his usual chair at the head of the table and enjoying the blissful feeling of taking the weight off his tired feet. He looked down at the steaming bowl of stew before him, thick with chunks of meat and vegetables that smelled deliciously savoury, and he closed his eyes for a second to enjoy the moment of peace. This is what he looked forwards to every day; a nice quiet meal with his family at the end of a long-

"Mila, could you please pass the salt?"

"Sure thing! Hey Yuri, stop squirming already!"

"I am not the salt! Put me down before I call Grandpa!"

"Why, Anya, why?"

Yakov groaned. He had clearly spoken too soon.

He opened his eyes and was confronted with chaos as he stared at his four children. Victor, his eldest, was bent over laughing as Mila, his only daughter, was attempting to lift Yuri, the smallest and youngest, above her head and chuck him over the table towards him. The teenage boy, however, was making it difficult by trying to claw her eyes out and flailing his arms and legs, nearly kicking down the ceiling light several times in his struggle to escape. Meanwhile, his second son Georgi wasn't paying any attention to the circus unfolding around him. Instead he was staring longingly at his phone screen, occasionally wiping away tears as he swiped a thumb across the glass and winced at every new image that appeared.

Yakov groaned again. So much for a quiet dinner.

"All of you, stop this right now!" He bellowed, using his strictest angriest tone and the four of them all froze in place. This was the voice he usually reserved for the rink and though he didn't like using it on his kids when they were at home and away from the ice, desperate times called for desperate measures. "Mila, unless you want to be moved to pairs skating put Yuri down this instant! For the last time, you cannot pick him up when people ask for the salt!"

"But Papa, he's just so salty…" Mila tried to protest but one cold look from her father made her close her mouth and look down. She carefully manoeuvred her brother back into his chair, ignoring him when he scowled angrily in her direction.

"Wait 'til Grandpa hears about this…"

"Please don't bother your grandfather with this," Yakov frowned at his son sternly. It was an established fact among the four that Yuri was their grandfather's favourite. When he visited, which was nearly all the time as they lived so close to him, Yuri would cling to his side like a baby monkey and they doubted an iron bar could separate the two. It was clear this feeling was returned as their grandpa doted on him, never missing one of his skating events and always making him his favourite pirozhkis for afterwards. He still seemed to believe that Yuri was the little boy he had been before puberty hit and, whilst he was around him, with everyone else in his family he was anything but. "He worries enough about you already though God knows why. And Georgi, get off that phone! I already told you they were banned from the dinner table!"

"But she's just posted a new picture!" Georgi pleaded, shoving the phone under his father's nose. From his angle, Yakov could only just see a snapshot of a pretty young woman with long brown hair and heavy red lipstick smacking a kiss on the cheek of some large buff man wearing sunglasses and no shirt. To him, it just looked like the usual picture kids these days put up on their Instagram things but from the look on Georgi's face, it could have been declaring the end of the world. "Can't you see? She's just mocking me now!"

Yakov sighed in despair as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Georgi, you really need to stop following her on these things. You're never going to move on otherwise."

"I don't want to move on!" Georgi declared passionately, holding his phone over his heart as he threw his other arm up to the heavens. In that pose, he looked like an actor about to launch into the hammiest performance of his life and he didn't disappoint. "I am Anya's true prince! It is only I who can protect her from the evils of this world! I curse all other men who try to lay their hands on her and I will save her from this plight!"

"She doesn't look like she's in a plight to me," Mila butted in, grinning as she got the ice dancer's profile up on her own phone. "And from that latest picture it doesn't look like it's the man laying his hands anywhere…"

"Alright, that's enough!" Yakov finally snapped. "Both of you put your phones away this instant! I don't want to hear any more about Georgi's ex-girlfriend, especially from you Georgi." He fixed him with a firm look and Georgi went quiet, slipping his phone into his pocket with a last longing look. "Mila, stop giggling, your brother's feelings are not a joke. Yuri, stop making barfing noises! You are fifteen, not five." He sat back in his chair, hoping that would be the last thing he would have to deal with, until he felt something soft brush against his leg. "And Victor, please stop feeling your damned dog under the table. We all know he's there."

"But Maccachin's hungry too!" Victor laughed, not even trying to be subtle as a fluffy brown head wriggled its way between his legs, resting on his lap in the perfect place to be fed from his master's fingers. Yakov could hear and feel the thumping of the poodle's tail as it happily wagged against his leg and his lips tightened but he didn't say a thing as he picked up his spoon. He really was too tired for this, plus the dog was Victor's; if he wanted to spoil it rotten and teach it bad manners that was his problem.

He glanced over at his eldest son, watching as he ruffled his dog's ears and laughed as his hands were licked to within an inch of their lives as Maccachin determinedly licked up every remaining trace of food. Yakov would never have admitted this but he had a large soft spot for Victor, not just because he was the first child he had adopted but he was also the most talented skater he had ever had the privilege of coaching.

He could still remember the day he had first seen him skate, the day his social worker had dragged him to the ice rink hoping skating would use up some of his excess energy. He'd only been nine years old, a little sliver of a child with wide blue eyes that sparked with curiosity and long silver hair that he had refused to cut so it flew past his shoulders in a wave of mercury silver. Yakov had watched him carefully when he had stepped on the ice, expecting to have to gently encourage him from the barriers but, to everyone's surprise, he had pushed himself away from any helping hands and skimmed across the ice like he was being welcomed home. Before long, he was spending every single day at the rink with Yakov, getting stronger and more skilled yet never losing that grace and ease he had on the ice. It was like the ice was his true domain and even when he was pushing his body to its limit, he still embraced it like an old friend. Two years after that fateful day he had entered and won his first junior skating competition and Yakov had stood there proudly, watching not just as his coach but as his recently-adopted father.

Now as he looked at him, he could hardly believe that the handsome young man who had already won two Grand Prix titles and insisted on buying a poodle to celebrate his last win was that same child. Back then he had been so thin he had reminded Yakov of a wisp of smoke. Now, fourteen years later, his frame had been broadened with hard-won muscle and the rest of him had also grown nicely. His hair, that had been long for so many years, was now cropped sort with a fringe over his left eye that bounced with his every movement. His shoulders were wide and strong and he was now so tall, he could rest his chin on the crown of his father's head. He had tried that the day he realised he was taller and almost gotten a nosebleed from how hard Yakov had bucked his head back in alarm. He had just laughed it off though, laughing in the same way he was now as Maccachin tried to stealthily sneak more food from his bowl. Victor was always laughing; the others always joked that if you couldn't hear him at any point in the day, something was wrong. Yakov still wondered sometimes how somebody who had spent the first nine years of their life in a Russian orphanage could have such a sunny demeanour but that was Victor- he was always full of surprises.

After adopting Victor and hearing some of the stories he had told him, the whispered accounts of the bullying he had experienced in the orphanage that had been muffled by Yakov's lap as he poured his heart out after a nightmare, Yakov had been spurred into inviting more kids down to the rink for lessons. It was during one particular lesson when Victor was twelve when he spotted one boy who was slightly ahead of the rest of his group. He had only been ten, with short black hair that naturally stuck up and a pointed face that then had been rounded slightly with childish chubbiness. He wasn't the best technical skater in the group but he was certainly the best storyteller. The emotions he showed in his movements, the pain he could reflect in every expression he made, were of a maturity far beyond his years and Yakov hadn't been able to stop watching him. He had found him after the lesson being circled by a group of older boys who had called him a sissy for getting into the skating. He had been crying, curled up into a ball against the wall with his gloves pressed to his ears to stop their taunting from reaching him. Yakov had chased them away with a quick bark, scaring them so much with his intimidating frown and loud voice that one of them had nearly wet themselves. The frightened boy had looked around at him, utterly terrified of being yelled at himself but Yakov had simply handed him a tissue and asked him one simple question.

"How would you like to come and ice skate every day from now on?"

After his first adoption of Victor, adopting Georgi hadn't taken long at all and soon he was competing in the junior championships alongside his new older brother. He too looked very different after many years of competitive skating; he had never been skinny like Victor but now his limbs flowed with muscle and although he was shorter than his older brother, his build was more powerful and his torso was thicker to show his strength. His face was still pointed with a thin nose and defined chin and his black hair was now in a sharp quiff but his pale blue eyes still held all the emotion they had as a child. Georgi had never been good at hiding his feelings, he had always worn them proudly on his sleeve. This had made him strong as a performer, he had always achieved high scores for his artistry, but it also made him vulnerable and this saga with Anya, his ex-girlfriend who had broken up with him a few weeks before, had made this painfully obvious. Yakov sighed. Time was a great healer, he knew, but damnit he wished it would hurry up already.

He then turned his attention to Mila, who was now eagerly trying to cheer up her brother by telling him stories of the worst guys she had ever dated. He could remember the day she had burst into the ice rink like a firework, a tiny blur of red hair, sapphire eyes and pink lip gloss who had marched right up to him and demanded to learn how to skate. When he had asked her why, he answer had almost broken his façade, making him want to laugh until his sides were sore.

"I got kicked out of dance lessons because one girl told me I was ugly so I kicked her into a mirror. My dance teacher told me I'd never be a lady and I'm going to prove her wrong! Teach me how to be a pretty lady!"

Yakov had taken up the challenge from the nine-year-old and even now, he wasn't sure how he had managed it. Mila had been an expert in pushing every button he had and stretching his patience beyond saintly levels but somehow, she had learned to use her fiery spirit and determination on the ice and had emerged as one of the most graceful skaters he had ever seen. It hadn't taken him long to add her to his growing brood and she had shot up the ranks in the world of women's skating. At 18, she ranked third among the best female skaters in the world and there was no doubt in his mind that she could one day be the first. She had grown from that stubborn little girl into a beautiful woman- she had needed no help from Yakov to become pretty. Her flame-red hair now framed her face in a bob cut and her blue eyes were almost enticing with their dark colour, promising to drive you wild if you let her. On the ice, she would move like a bird about to take flight and in those moments, it was like the world couldn't touch her. Off the ice, however, she was still a handful, her mouth was always running wild and she never lacked for any male attention. Yakov swore that out of all of his children, it was Mila who had given him the most grey hairs with her antics.

And then there was Yuri, the youngest and the baby of the family. Unlike his brothers and sister, Yuri was actually Yakov's biological son, born from his marriage to prima ballerina Lilia Baranovskaya. They had been married for several years but had split up when they realised they were spending more time on their careers than on their skating, him always at the rink and her always at the ballet studio. By the end of it, they had almost been strangers but they still shared their love for their only child, the little boy with the blond mop and tiny voice that almost sounded like a mewling kitten when he talked. He had only been two years old when his parents had divorced; Yakov had adopted Victor not long after the split. For the first few years of his life, Yuri had mainly lived with his mother, learning to dance almost from when he could walk as Lilia would take him to the studio with her every day so she could keep him out of trouble. Yakov had frequently visited him but at first the boy had been reluctant to know him, hiding behind the knees of either his mother or his doting grandfather who Lilia had often called in to babysit on the nights of important shows. Yakov could never understand how such a warm kind man had fathered such a cold ambitious woman and he had seen from the get go that his son had inherited a lot from his mother temperament wise.

He had resented the other children he had adopted at first, believing he had chosen them over him, and wouldn't even acknowledge them, snarling at them like a feral cat if they got too close and threatening to tear them apart if they so much as stepped towards his beloved grandpa. The amount of anger that had been stored inside that tiny body had been immense and it had all come shooting out one day when Yakov had taken him on a trip to see the rink. Yuri hadn't wanted to try at first, hurling the pair of little skates Yakov had presented him with on the floor but the moment he saw the other three on the ice and Yakov yelling praise over to them, he had pulled them onto his feet with the speed of lightning and bolted onto the ice, angrily crying out that one day he would be better than all of them. He had barely left the ice since.

Now, at fifteen, there was no animosity in his eyes as he stared around the table at his siblings, only a sense of exasperation as he muttered "Idiots" under his breath. Next year, he was going to enter his first championship in the men's senior division and he was more than ready for it. His early years doing ballet had put him in great shape for figure skating, giving him an almost gentle beauty that had a powerful strength behind it. He was still thin as a reed, his developing body packed with elegant muscle and his face was no longer rounded and innocent. With every year, Yakov could see more of Lilia in the strong cheekbones and firm features of his face, even though he had inherited neither her black hair nor her green eyes. He still saw his mother regularly even though he had moved in with his father two years previously to further his skating career. She had understood- she got better than anyone else the decisions you had to make to further your career. He still took her ballet classes and just because he was her son, she didn't go any easier on him. His eyes reflected her sheer iron will though they were a sky blue closer to Yakov's colour than his mother's and now his once unruly blond heap had been tamed into a sleek blond cut where the tips brushed his chin. One thing that had yet to be tamed was his anger; as a teenager, it had only gotten worse and Yakov was constantly having to remind him not to scream curses out in the middle of his programs. The boy wouldn't take any notice, he was practically confidence and snark on legs and Yakov was careful to use choreography that would show that off in its best light. He knew that one day Yuri could have the skating world on its knees in the way Victor did now, only he would be a lot less merciful.

"Will you just cut it out Mila?!" Yuri's harsh voice cut through Yakov's reminiscing and he had to shake his head a little to focus on whatever conversation had been going on before he zoned out. "I don't need to hear about every man whose had his tongue down your throat you hag!"

"Shut up!" Mila spat back, her cheeks pink as she quickly glanced over at her father. "Just because you've never had a girlfriend!"

"I don't want one! Girls are gross!" Yuri said disgustedly, screwing up his face and sticking out his tongue to make his point.

"Just wait Yuri…" Georgi added sadly, his voice sounding almost far-away. "One day my boy, you'll meet a girl and you won't be able to think around her… yet all your thoughts will be consumed by her and you'll long for her presence. That is the cruel tragedy of love."

"I'm not going to fall in love!" Yuri fiercely denied, looking ready to punch anybody who disagreed with him. "It's icky! I want to focus on becoming the best skater in the world, not some random woman!"

"There's no reason you can't have both Yurio," Victor interjected, taking a moment from fussing Maccachin to try and soothe his angry brother. "Who knows, you could even meet the love of your love on the ice. That may be what brings you together."

"Very true Victor, thank you." Yakov said, relieved somebody had said some sense and calmed the atmosphere at the table. It all seemed to quieten down until Yuri spoke again, determined to have the last word.

"Yuck, stop being so sappy Victor. And stop calling me Yurio, it's not my name already!"

"Yurio?" Yakov repeated, looking over at Victor who just flashed him an innocent smile. "Why are you now called Yurio?"

"Only Victor calls me that," Yuri huffed before Victor could even open his mouth to explain himself. "He only does it to distinguish me from the Japanese Yuuri. And it's stupid anyway! You've known me longer and I'm your brother, why do I get the stupid nickname and not him?!"

The Japanese Yuuri? It took a moment for Yakov to remember but when he did, he grimaced a little. A face had swum into his mind, a face with short black hair, round eyes the colour of chocolate that looked out shyly from behind a pair of blue-rimmed square glasses and a tentative smile that always flickered with nerves. Yes, he did remember this Yuuri. This Yuuri was an exchange student from Japan who lived in a dormitory with a group of Asian skaters not far from the rink. He had come to Russia almost a year ago, after losing in his first Grand Prix final to Victor. Yakov had watched him perform and he had to admit the nineteen-year-old had some potential, he had to have had talent to get that far in his first year, but something had gone wrong for him and he had flubbed his routines, ending up last out of the six finalists. He had looked close to distraught by the end and many were wondering whether it would put him off the sport for good. Yakov had been one of them; there weren't many who could pull off a comeback after that. He had been more surprised than anyone when he had appeared in Russia and started practising at his rink, along with a Thai skater he had recognised called Phichit Chulanot. Yakov had watched him for a bit but eventually dismissed him. The boy was definitely good and he could be great even but his nerves were holding him back far too much; the simplest thing could turn him into a walking bag of jelly and once that happened, there was no chance of getting a good routine out of him. Yakov had pondered how long it would take him to quit. He could do well in the national championships where there was less pressure but anything like a Grand Prix… Yakov had predicted when Yuuri had arrived that he would be gone within six months. However, that prediction had turned out to be very wrong and the reason behind it had been his eldest son.

He didn't know how, but for some reason Victor had made the Japanese Yuuri his rink mate. He had no clue how they had started speaking but one day Yuuri had turned up in the rink and Victor had welcomed him like he had always been there. The two had now become best friends and at the rink, it was rare to see one without the other. Victor had almost become the boy's coach, taking time from his own skating watching his routines and giving him feedback, giving demonstrations… He was way too familiar with the boy. Victor had always been rather hands-on but Yakov thought that with him, it was just too much; he spent half the time either leaning on Yuuri with his arm hanging languidly over his shoulder in a strange half-cuddle or his hands would be tenderly stroking his face like he was trying to imprint it to memory. Yakov hadn't liked it from the beginning and he certainly didn't like it a year down the line.

If that Japanese boy starts to distract him from his skating, I'll make Victor train far away from him, he thought before he looked over at Victor. The young man had a strange look on his face, one that he couldn't ever recall seeing before. He looked like he wanted to get something off his chest but he seemed too nervous to even speak. Victor? Nervous? He inwardly scoffed at the thought. Victor was many things but nervous had never been one of them.

"You remember Yuuri Katsudi, right Papa?" Victor asked him and suddenly the other three went quiet, curious at the new tone in Victor's voice. Yakov heard it too but he shrugged it away as he took a mouthful of soup.

"Yes of course I do," He said. "He's been hanging off you like a limpet since the last Grand Prix. Not a bad skater but he'll never make it far. I think he knows that and is trying to learn from you. Understandable, you are the best in the world right now but you really don't need a hanger-on at this point in your career."

"Yuuri isn't a hanger-on!" Victor exclaimed, caused all the others except Yuri to widen their eyes in shock. "He's a beautiful skater, he's got such great musicality and when he moves, it's like song…" A dreamy look came over his eyes and he paused in his speech before he quickly seemed to remember where he was and carried on. "And it's not just that, he's very dear to me as well. In fact, I was going to tell you…"

"That's always been your problem, you're far too soft-hearted," Yakov interrupted him. "That boy isn't a good influence on you. He's distracting you too much from your training. I don't like seeing you play coach to someone like that and I'd prefer it if you kept your distance from him."

He finished with a look that told them all the conversation was over, end of. Satisfied that he had made his point clear, Yakov once again dug into his stew, enjoying the quiet as his children also began to eat. He was so consumed in the eventual quiet it had taken him so long to win that he didn't see that Victor was eating slower than usual, his movements sluggish as he was deep in thought. He didn't catch how disappointed his eyes were as they stared down into the depths of his bowl and he didn't notice how Yuri kept shooting his older brother odd looks, like he was trying to send a message to him. Victor was quiet for the rest of the meal, not even attempting to intervene when Mila and Yuri started their next argument but this didn't concern Yakov. He's probably wondering how to tell that Yuuri Katsudi boy to back off nicely, he thought as they finished and he sent them off for an early night. He really can be too soft at times.

OOO

The following morning, Yakov was standing at the front door bright and early, waiting for his children to all get up. The sun had only just started to rise outside, flecking the ground with long lines of sunlight that ran away as soon as you tried to catch them. Yakov looked down at his watch and gave a loud grunt. This happened every single morning; he would wake up early, ready for morning practise and yet he would always be kept behind by his kids who dragged themselves away from their warm beds with all the energy of a zombie. They would groan as they forced themselves down the stairs, bleary-eyed and yawning as they moaned about him being a slave driver but he didn't pay them any attention. He knew after a few laps on the ice, they would be fully awake and raring to go. He just wished they could get out of bed like that; it would make his life so much easier.

"Wake up! Everybody downstairs now!" He bellowed up the stairs as he checked his watch again. They were already ten minutes behind where he wanted them to be and he was running out of patience fast. "Anybody keeping us waiting any longer will have to stay behind for extra practise tonight!"

That last threat seemed to do the trick as he heard two pairs of footsteps hastily making their way down the stairs. He smiled and nodded as Georgi and Mila suddenly came bolting down the stairs, Georgi's hair sticking out at random angles and Mila with only one leg warmer on. They looked over at him worriedly before giving a sigh of relief at his approving nod. The last time Yakov had given them extra practise they had barely had the energy to walk home and they weren't anxious to repeat the experience.

Yakov looked back up the stairs, expecting to hear more eager footsteps from his two other sons but he could only hear the sounds of Georgi and Mila's panting as they caught their breath from running like lightning to get downstairs. "Victor! Yuri! Downstairs now!" He barked. "Don't make me go up there!"

"Alright, alright." A voice grumbled as Yuri came into view, walking down the stairs with his shoulders hunched over and an almost disgusted look on his face. "No need to yell, I'm right here."

Yakov's eyes narrowed at his youngest as they fixed each other with identical looks of annoyance. "Less of the sass, young man," Yakov warned. "And where's your brother? I can't believe we always end up waiting for him."

Yuri scoffed. "I don't know. His room was pretty quiet when I passed it. I couldn't hear him snoring or anything."

That made Yakov and the other two fall silent. That was strange; Victor was never quiet, not even in his sleep. When they travelled to other countries for competitions, Victor's siblings would refuse to room with him because he was just so noisy. Unless… Yakov remembered his reserved behaviour from the night before and sighed. Does he just not want to face the Yuuri boy today?

He sighed. "I'll go get him up. You all wait here." He walked up the stairs with a feeling of resignation weighing down on his shoulders. Yes, it would be awkward for Victor to just cut off his friendship with the Japanese skater like that but it was really for the greater good; Victor couldn't let his career be damaged at any cost. He just had to make him see that.

"Victor?" He hesitantly rapped on his son's bedroom door, listening closely to catch any sounds from inside. "We're late for morning practise, you need to get up now… Victor?"

He slowly pushed the door open and the sight that met him made his jaw drop. Victor's usually immaculate room looked like a tornado had just stormed through it. Everything Victor owned was on the floor, clothes and medals strewn about in a great heap that had tumbled into every corner of the room. The curtains were wide open, letting the morning light spark from the touches of gold among the mess and all of his belongings looked broken now they had been knocked from their usual place. The only thing that still looked neat was the bed which had been cleanly made; it looked like nobody had slept there at all last night. There was no sign of Victor or of Maccachin and his regular clothes and the dog's items had disappeared. It was like the room had been abandoned.

For a long moment Yakov just stood there in shock, unable to take in the sight before him. He didn't even register when his other three children came up to see what was wrong, only to be also rendered speechless at the sight. Georgi went pale and Mila covered her mouth with her hand but Yuri only snorted and made one crude remark.

"So, he finally did it then. The idiot."

That sentence brought Yakov crashing back down to Earth as he clenched his fists and angrily growled one single word.

"VICTORRRRRRR!"