((Meow~ Hihi! Chibi Cho no Gaara here again! I hope you enjoyed this chapter guys! Another 2P Story! Except this one is starring 2PAlfred and 2PArthur. And yes, It is USUK ;D If you don't know what 2P Hetalia is, message me. ))

The warm red metallic smelling liquid splashed against the Americans skin feeling oh so good like a warm shower after being in the cold for two hours.

And he felt happy.

It was his first time, he'll admit. Sure he had hurt people before. It started with gossip. Harmless gossip. He would sit there and talk about people, making stuff up as he went. He would watch the idiotic fools actually believe is lies and watch the person being talked about fall into sadness and depression. It wasn't his fault. Anyone stupid enough to listen him or anyone stupid enough to actually care about what people say were stupid and didn't deserve to live. That was when he was eleven years old going on for two years.

But that wasn't enough.

He wanted more.

So at the age if thirteen he began to beat kids up. Whenever someone annoyed him he would throw a punch here and there. It was minor beatings at first. He would maybe pull someone's hair or punch them in the arm and walk away. But slowly it got worse and worse until he was breaking bones and making kids bleed internally. He got in big trouble for that. Juvenile Detention and anger management classes. Later at the age of sixteen they figured that making him join sports teams would help control his violence. He joined track, football basketball and baseball, still doing them at the age of eighteen. He loved them all, but he didn't love any of them as much as he loved baseball. It was his passion. Not because he found it an amazing sport or wanted to go pro, no. He loved to swing the bat, to swing it as hard as he could. Every time he was up to bad he always hit the ball as hard as he possibly could, loving the loud sound it made when it hit the bat. He would constantly test himself to see how far he could get the ball to go. This was because whenever he hit the ball he imagined hitting the head of dead corpses out as far as he could. If he landed into the bleachers or over the fence he would imagine it landing it someone's lap or maybe landing on someone's car while they were driving. Either way the person would freak out and scream and if they were driving swerve out of control and hit other cars, maybe run over some people, and that one little severed head would cause the death of many people. And that made him smile.

However, Alfred was not crazy. He was /not/ crazy. He simply enjoyed activities that most children his age didn't. It was completely natural.

Completely. Natural.

And he decided to be fair and do some 'normal' sports while still being able to mix in his activities through his minds eye.

However after a while that wasn't enough. His blood lust had built up over time until it was too much. It wasn't his fault. If they would have simply let him beat up kids this wouldn't have happened, but no.

Now he was standing over a bloody body holding a bloody wooden bat. The skull was cracked open and the contents such as the brain had leaked out.

It was an accident, really. He had been walking home from baseball practice with his favorite wooden bat. Everyone told him that he should upgrade to a metal bat since it looked better but he refused. He loved this bat and wouldn't dare to even think about replacing it. All of a sudden this drunk man had come up to him and began talking shit. He tried to ignore him, he really did. He kept walking home but the drunk man followed him. And that's when Alfred began to think.

Who does this man think he is? Talking to him like that. He needed to learn so manners.

Then the drunken man began to spit on him. The man's vile disgusting spit hit Alfred in the face. And his anger rose. However he still tried, tried to ignore him. But again, his mind began to wonder.

He began to think about how fun it would be to punch this man in the face. To punch and kick him. And that made him happy, excited. But it wasn't enough.

He imagined himself, taking the bat and kidding his side, breaking a rib or two. He then pictured himself repeatedly bashing his bat into his head, laughing. Laughing and hitting, hitting and laughing, even after the drunken man went silent. He imagine how beautiful the blood would be as it glistened in the moonlight.

However once he finally jumped out of his thoughts he saw the man, dead, and him holding the bat.

However he wasn't scared, no not at all.

After all it was late at night and no one was around. All e had to do was dispose of the body. Good thing he was still wearing his baseball gloves that he war as a way of helping him grip the bat. No fingerprints. He carried the body over to a nearby garbage can a dumped it. He wouldn't ditch his bat though. That's how people got caught. Besides, he loved the thing.

See? Easy as pie. Now all he had to do was go home.

He turned to leave but immediately froze at what he saw. Blue eyes. Bright beautiful blue eyes, with a strange hint of pink in them. Staring right at him. He couldn't really make out who it was let alone if it was a boy or a girl. However all he knew was that he or she had saw. They saw what he had done, and now he had to do something about it. "Hey!" He called out walking towards that person with his bat at the ready. However he stopped when a sick laugh filled the air. A sick demonic laugh filled the air, and he was positive it wasn't his. And then suddenly the figure disappeared, like a ghost. Alfred stayed frozen for a good ten minutes, truly frightened. Slowly but surely, he began to make his way home. Did he imagine the whole thing, or did someone actually see him? If so, what was in store for him? Would the person go to the authorities and rat him out? Alfred was nervous now, how could have been so reckless? This was bad, this was really bad. He didn't realize that his walk had turn into a run until he had made it to his door. He took off his gloves before opening the door so he wouldn't leave blood on the doorknob. He quickly went into his private bathroom being as quiet as possible. He didn't want to wake up his little sister after all, that would be hard to explain. He jumped into the shower immediately with all his clothes still on, allowing the water to run on them. After about ten minutes of doing that he then began to take off his clothes while in the shower, scrubbing his whole body hoping to get all the blood off. He looked down at his clothes and cursed. No good, the blood was still there. He had no choice now but then to burn them. Once again he was glad he wasn't wearing his bomber jacket some time. He would rather get caught than to burn something so important to him. He got out, got dressed in a black wife beater and a pair of blue sweat pants. He walked out of his bathroom leaving his wet blood stained clothes in the shower. Then he began to start a fire in the fire place. It was cold in the house anyway, so it was a great excuse to use. Once the fire was big enough, he went back to get his clothes, putting them in the fire carefully. After all they were still wet and he didn't want them putting out the fire. Steam spread around the house so he quickly opened the window. He stayed there for an hour until his clothes were fully burned. He sighed softly and walked over to the window he had opened, closing it.

He knew that all he could do was wait. Wait for whatever to happen, happen. Until then he was going to go to bed. He was so tired, he just needed to go to sleep. He would worry about it all tomorrow. So he climbed into his bed and closed his eyes, falling asleep.