Hello everyone! This is my next new little project, a spinoff kind of flashback story from Chronicles of a Sexy Greek Man! Hope you enjoy and please review! :D

Arthur's POV

Okay, I had to focus. Focus was all that I needed now. Yes, if I could just make this very last cake perfect, I would be able to make up for a year's worth of flunking and I would be able to pass this bloody class with an A! Nervously, I added the very last drop of olive oil to the mix and stirred, being sure that not a chunk of powder remained at the end of the beating. When I was satisfied, I scraped the very last bit of batter into the pan and placed it in the oven, double-checking to be absolutely certain that I had heated it up to exactly the correct heat and placed the right numbers on the timer.

Now all I had to do was wait.

Sighing in relief, I leaned back against the counter and watched all the other students struggling to mix their own concoctions. It seemed that everyone was having problems with this assignment. We had been ordered to create a do-it-yourself dish that was both pleasing to the taste buds and attractive to the eye, which was fairly vague and rather… confusing to most of the idiots in home economics. I, knowing that creating my own idea from scratch would backfire, had chosen to bake a cake of my own design, an old recipe from my Grandmummy redone to fit my personal style. It was, admittedly, one of the only things that seemed to go well when I cooked it.

"Finally! I thought you would never finish!"

I turned to find the only kid in the class with an A, Francis Bonnefoy, staring at me with an aggravatingly arrogant smirk. Ever since we had met in first grade, this bastard had been competing with me, always attempting to one-up me in every bloody thing he possibly could, infuriating me to absolutely no end. Today I would finally be able to get my revenge on that wanker! Smiling maniacally, I turned to him.

"The contest isn't who finishes first, frog! It's whose food tastes better!"

He just grinned further and flipped his stupid gay hair with a wink. "Which will obviously be mine, non?"

I just turned away from him, the smile not fading from my face, and turned the oven light on, sticking my face to the glass to watch my cake. "Absolutely not! Even a stupid Frenchy like you can't beat my dear Grandmummy's cooking skill!"

He snickered, obviously showing off for his friends when he said, "We will see, little punk," and strutting snootily back over to where Antonio and Gilbert stood laughing.

Feeling a faint wave of jealousy that he had friends to partner up with, I scowled and looked back at my creation, which appeared to be doing rather well. It wasn't my bloody fault nobody wanted to talk to me! Stupid Francis had made it impossible from the very beginning, spreading personal things that I had once told him in elementary school, when we had been friends, around the class. Because of him, I had been ignored immediately upon entering middle school. Even now, in eighth grade, I was completely friendless… All alone in this stupid school with these stupid people! As if puberty wasn't hard enough.

Not that I really wanted to be at home with Mum and Dad. I couldn't stand their bickering; it was getting worse with every passing day rather than better, and they always fought about the same damn thing every time! It was always money! Mum would yell at Dad for wasting all of our money on pointless hobbies such as gambling and drinking and Dad would yell back at Mum that the reason we were so bloody poor was that she had had too many damned children. Personally, I didn't believe that six children were too many. And one of us was adopted. Yet, no matter what, they would fight and bicker through the night, going on and on about how much they hated each other and how unhappy they were in life…

At this point, the divorce was all but inevitable.

I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the oven, suddenly exhausted. Why couldn't they just stop? Couldn't they at least pull it together for Peter? He was just a little baby… Even if he was annoying and never shut up, he didn't deserve to grow up with parents like ours. Neither did the rest of us, really. At fifteen, I was the second oldest and with that came responsibility. It was sad that I had to act like my brothers' Mum because my elder brother was already gone off to Uni and left me behind to take the heat. Not that he would've helped even if he had been there…

"Arthur!"

I was awakened by the sounds of many frantic shrieks coming from all around me, screaming my name and what could only be interpreted as the word "fire." Shocked, I leapt to my feet and fell backward against the counter just in time for Mrs. Jackson to hurriedly shoot the licking flames coming from my oven with a fire extinguisher. I watched in horror-filled pain as all my hopes of an A were doused along with the cake that I had tried so very hard to make perfect. The fire was easily contained and, within seconds was gone completely, leaving nothing but a ruined project and an infuriated teacher to show for my effort.

"Arthur Kirkland! I've tried very hard to be patient with you this year because I see how hard you try, but this is inexcusable! I realize that you were only doing the best that you could, but you HAVE TO FOLLOW THROUGH! You HAVE to watch the oven so you can know when your food is done! I'm sorry, but in reality I have no choice but to automatically fail you on this project." She sighed, running a shaking hand through her greasy brown hair. "Better luck next year, kiddo. I promise, I'll be sure you have a partner to help you the next go round."

I could feel pressure building behind my eyes, my shock the only thing keeping the tears in. This… couldn't be happening. This wasn't real. There was no way I had just set the oven on fire… Even I wasn't pathetic enough to do such a lame thing… was I? Looking up into the mocking blue eyes of Francis and seeing the euphoria there… maybe I was. Yes, maybe I was just as pathetic as I always knew I had been. Well, there was no maybe about it, really, since I had just set the whole bloody thing on fire. Barely registering what I was doing, I ran into the hallway, trying hard not to look into the mocking faces of the pupils I had been forced to put up with.

I managed to keep my tears in until I was outside of the school and halfway across the road to my house. Sobbing miserably as I reached the gate in the front, I realized that it probably wasn't smart to go home after ditching school, so I headed off in the other direction, every step I took causing me to cry even harder. Why the hell did my life have to be like this? I couldn't keep an A in any class, I couldn't make friends, I couldn't do anything without being scolded, and, most importantly, I couldn't make anyone happy. It felt like all I did was yell anymore… Yell and cry like the wimp I had turned into.

Shoving my hands into my pockets and looking down at my well-polished shoes, I trudged down the side of the road, for the first real time considering jumping in front of one of the oncoming cars. Just as I was gaining the courage to do so, I passed an alley full of garbage, one that smelled so god-awful that I couldn't resist the urge to look down it. What could POSSIBLY smell that terrible? But, instead of the huge mound of garbage bags I had expected, there was a single pair of wide, frightened blue eyes gazing down at me from a rather large dumpster. Immediately I froze, my maternal instinct kicking in. What was a young little chap like him doing there all alone? Then my eyes registered his clothes, which were ratted and filthy, just like his whole smelly body and two words came to mind.

Street rat.

Embarrassed that I had even thought of stopping for such an undignifying child, I continued on, wiping at my eyes to rid myself of the tears that were running down my face. I had just reached the corner of the street and was about to turn left to continue to the park when I noticed him, standing a few meters away sucking his thumb. Wha…? The little bugger had FOLLOWED me! Setting my shoulders tightly, I continued on my way, praying that he would get bored with me soon and just go back to his little bloody cave to take a nap or scrounge up half-eaten food or something. He continued to shadow me for several blocks, walking a little ways behind, all the time sucking his thumb and staring intently at me with those large, pleading azure eyes of his… Finally I broke, spinning quickly to face him.

"Can I HELP you?" I asked fiercely, crossing my arms.

He just stared, smiling around the thumb in his mouth. Now that I was getting a better look at the child, he appeared to be around eight years old, which meant that CLEARLY he was way too old to be exhibiting such a behavior. He was dirty from head to toe, with dark, dark blonde hair matted with muck and skin that almost appeared tan it was so disgusting. He was squinting at me in a way that very much suggested he needed glasses and his clothing left very, very much to be desired. I made sure my glare was extra icy; even street rat children were a danger to society. They made the best pickpockets.

"Excuse me, but do you speak? At least bloody NOD or something!"

He blinked again before nodding and saying, taking his thumb out of his mouth much to my surprise, "Yeah!" His eyebrows slanted, taking on a look of worry. "I was sad… Brother was crying! I had to make sure he was okay!"

Stunned, I had to ask, "Brother? Where on Earth is your brother? Did you lose him?"

"Uh-uh. Brother isn't lost. Brother's you!" he giggled, skipping over to me and taking my clean, well-groomed hand into his much smaller, dirt-coated one.

Angrily, I yanked it away from his grip. "Unhand me, filth! I'm not your brother and I don't know who you are, so if you would just kindly let me go about my own business…"

Despite my infuriated movement, he still had a foolishly stupid grin on his face, showing all three of his little dimples. "My name's Alfred Jones and I'm from America, my birthday is July fourth, I'm eight years old, I have a younger brother named Matthew, I like hamburgers with ketchup smileys on 'em, I was born in Texas, I lost my front teethies together, chocolate ice cream is my favorite, and my mommy told me never to talk to strangers! Now you, now you, now YOU! I wanna know more about Brother!"

He looked up at me expectantly, his eyes gleaming with innocent excitement.

I sighed, scratching the back of my head. "If I must to make you leave… alright, let's see… my name is Arthur Kirkland, I'm…uh…. From here… my birthday is March twenty-third, I'm fifteen years old, I have four younger brothers but their names are relatively unimportant…er, I am not even remotely a fan of hamburgers, with or without ketchup smileys, I was born in London, I… don't QUITE recall when I lost my front teeth, I'm a fan of butterscotch ice cream, and… my mummy told me never to talk to bastard street rats like you. There, are you satisfied? May I go about my day now?"

For a moment, he was intensely quiet, so I barely expected it when he screamed out of the blue, "BROTHER IS THE AWESOMEST!" and latched onto my leg. "Brother, one day I'm going to save you from the big, evil dragons that made you cry, okay? One day, I'll be your hero!"

I could feel the stress of my day kicking in, a migraine of pure evil forming in my head. My resolve was dissipating… What could it hurt, really? I could just bring him home with me, wash him up a bit, feed him, and send him on his merry little way. We would both be happy then. My decision made, I pried him off of my leg, trying not to be completely disgusted by the large dirt stain that he had left on my trousers.

"Very well, then. You may come home with me, but only for a good scrubbing and some food. And no, I will not carry you."

"Really?" His cheeks puffed up in excitement, and I could've sworn I saw a star gleam in the bright smile he gave me as he cuddled my leg. "I love my Brother!"

What had I just done…?

Thankfully, luck appeared to be on my side, because when we reached the house, nobody was home. It would be easier to do this without having to explain why a little rat had followed me into the bathroom. Inside, I yanked some of my second youngest brother's clothes and a towel out of a drawer before grabbing the bugger by the collar and pulling him into the bathroom, starting a bath when he was still. I checked the heat several times to be sure he wouldn't burn before turning on him, my hands on my hips.

"Okay, Alfred. Clothes off," I ordered.

He looked down at his rags dismally and back up at me, his small face reddening. "In front of you?"

I stared at him, dumbstruck, before throwing my hands up, frustrated. "Yes, in front of me! It isn't as if you've got anything I haven't! Why are you suddenly self-conscious? Did you expect I would bathe you in clothes?"

Fiddling with his fingers, he looked down and shook his head. "I can do it by myself, y'know…"

Impatiently, I walked over and unbuttoned his shirt, throwing it into the wastebasket by the toilet. "Maybe, but there's no way you would get all of the dirt out yourself! It must be in ALL your bloody nooks and crannies, you're so filthy! Come on, off with your underwear as well! I want to finish this before my parents find out!"

Reluctantly, he pulled off the rest of his clothes, running over and slipping into the bathtub hurriedly, as if the water prevented me from seeing anything. Though after he took one step into it, it morphed into a pool of brackish brown liquid, so maybe it did. Holding back my immediate feeling of nausea, I reached down into the water and pulled the plug, re-turning on the water and instead putting it on shower. I had quite vastly underestimated his muck.

The rain shower was much more efficient at decontaminating his body, washing it off in one fell swoop. Alfred was fascinated as he watched his skin reappear as a pale white instead of tan, his hair golden blonde instead of dark. I grabbed the soap off the side of the tub and quickly began scrubbing it all over him, making note to get a new bar after I was done. He coughed and squirmed, making the cleaning process slightly difficult and causing me to get soap into his eyes. He screamed for about a minute, which gave me the perfect opportunity to strike the rest of him, including shampooing and conditioning his hair and running a brush through the matted locks.

When we were finally done, I was just as wet as Alfred, my perfect clothes soaked through, completely saturated with the nasty water he had been in. He, meanwhile, was running around the house naked, screaming excitedly. Apparently, he no longer cared who saw his manparts. I trudged after him with a towel, catching him long enough to clothe him before I had to release him again to cook him some dinner. Warily, I stayed away from the oven, using only the microwave to make him some Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Though it was lightly burnt, he shoved it all in his mouth frantically, his eyes again shining with energy and excitement. This bloody bugger was literally high off of life…

Alfred's skinny frame didn't fit my brother's clothes quite right; they were baggy around him and looked slightly strange due to their Asian originality. My nine-year-old adopted brother was from Hong Kong and my mum really like to dress him as close to the actual culture as she could… which was truly ridiculous. Alfred looked like he rather belonged in a hoodie or something more…American. But it was the best I could do, given that I had just found him on the street. As he sucked down the cheese-drenched noodles, he seemed faraway and distant, maybe thinking about how much he missed living in his own home, where people fed and clothed him and cared for him… which made me wonder what had happened to him.

"Alfred?" I asked, breaking him out of his creepy trance-like state. "Where's your Mum? And your brother? Why were you abandoned in the streets of London?"

Suddenly, he put his fork down and met my eye, all serious, like a little business man. I couldn't help but quickly imagine him in a tiny suit.

"I don't know. I lived with my daddy here. My mommy and daddy split up a few years ago and Mattie went with Mom and I went with Dad 'cause that's what they wanted. Then Daddy moved here with me. After a month, he ran away and then I ran away too, to go find him, but I got lost… then I found Daddy and he wasn't right anymore… so I got scared and hid…"

Looking into Alfred's earnest eyes and hearing his story, I couldn't help but imagine a certain other blonde boy with blue eyes, years from now, telling the same tale to some stranger. But Peter wouldn't have to if I got him out of here. I had to save him. Feeling intense emotion rise up in me, I pulled the small boy into my arms, letting him bury his head into my chest and hug me tightly. I stroked his hair soothingly, muttering softly. There was no way I could just send him back to roam the streets now.

"It's okay… everything will be okay… I'll take care of you, I swear I will. I'm going to protect you, Alfred, no matter what."

The brothers from youngest to oldest: Sealand, Hong Kong, Australia, Ireland, England, Scotland. Wales can be cousin or something! Thanks for reading!