My friend started posting the first chapter in manga style on DA - here's the link ~ (dot)com/art/New-Hope-Ch-1-Page-1-160193394

….and the (dot) is a . just so that you know….she didn't ink it because she is sure no one will look at it but is willing to if there enough demand. Anyway, I'd appreciate if you at least looked at it ^o^

One last thing, I will be writing a short story for my marine biology class so I may be a little late on the next chapter!

There, got that off my chest.


Four: The Clang of Unemployment

When Ivan woke the next morning it was because a cherry ball smacked into his face. Ivan snarled like a drugged dragon, and ripped the thin, detergent scented sheets off his face. The light that filtered through the blinds told him it was late morning, and the horror stricken expressions of the three children told him who was guilty for the rude wake up.

The three shivered like mice, holding onto each other and praying for forgiveness.

Alfred, on the other hand, who stood behind the children, was in stitches. The American was actually in tears with laughter. He stomped his feet and pounded on the wall, causing several passersby to stop and stare. The room was mostly empty, the other residents having left already for breakfast or to work. Those that were left watched the leader of New Hope with amused expressions, laughing at both him and Ivan.

The Russian grit his teeth. If his glare had any physical affect at all Alfred's eyebrows would have been coated in a fine layer of frost.

The children shrank and ran to hide behind their blond protector but the sneer had the opposite affect on Alfred.

The American fell to the tiled floor, clutching his side with laughter.

Ivan was stunned speechless. No one had ever laughed at him like that before. And if they did when Ivan glared the perpetrators ran for the hills.

Could it be Alfred could see though him?

. . .Or was he just stupid?

"Oh, man, Ivan, your face is priceless! You seriously look like you want to kill me!"

Yes, Alfred F. Jones was an imbecile.

Alfred wiped away his tears and finished hiccupping.

"Ravis here was said that he hasn't been able to play kickball in a while since its all snowy out so we were playing in the hallway. I guess things got out of hand," Alfred explained, voice turning a little sheepish at the end. Ivan stared at the boy in question (the smallest of the three) who was shivering and sniffling with such intensity it looked like he was going through a seizure. Ivan was given the impression of a very small dog, in tears and half hiding behind Alfred's leg. Ivan doubted the child wanted to actually pay kickball.

"We're sorry!" grinned the sunny American, as if apologizing would make everything right with the world (end world hunger, poverty, natural disasters and all that jazz).

The three boys nodded their heads, eager to appease the grouchy Russian.

They were a little too eager, but at least their guilt was genuine, albeit fear driven.

Ivan stared at Alfred, confused, still very angry and just a little bit pleased.

Then he had to ask.

"We're you dropped on your head as a baby? Playing kickball in a hall way is a very stupid idea, yes?"

Alfred frowned and stood a little bit straighter.

"Yeah, why?"

~O~O~O~O~

"Come on, Ivan, it'll be fun! It snowed a little today so a promised the kids I'd play with them!"

Alfred tugged on Ivan's coat like a whiny child begging for a dinky plastic toy they'd break in five minutes anyway. He was insistent on the idea of making a fort, a snow man, and snow angels for half an hour now, begging and bargaining with the great impassive Russian. Alfred explained how rare it was to see snow in this part of America - and Ivan explained how rare it was not to see snow in Russia. The novelty of frozen water had long since worn off.

Ivan continued eating his oatmeal, smiling like a blushing bride and generating lethal waves of hatred like a satanic microwave. Every other person in the mush-hall gave the two a wide berth out of fear. The air around Ivan was strong enough to kill.

Again, Alfred was immune with his idiocy.

"Come on, Ivan, it'll mean a lot to the kids!"

"On the contrary, comrade, the children look like they would suffer a fatal heart attack; and as much as that thought makes me smile I do not want to go to jail for murder, yes?"

He sipped at the instant coffee and made a face.

Bleh, it was horrible! He'd have to stick to vodka as a morning pick-me-up.

Alfred sighed in defeat, raising his hands into the air. "You're the Grinch, Ivan. I bet you like making kids cry. It's one of your own sadistic hobbies', isn't?"

He stuck an accusing finger at the larger man, like he had canceled Christmas - the fiend!

Ivan's smile was cheerful as he saluted the American with his yucky, non alcoholic drink. "Songs to my heart~!" Alfred glared but that only made Ivan grin all the more. "I also love to make grown men cry, yes!"

Alfred scoffed and shuffled away. He yelled over his shoulder that his offer still stood before he raced off with an awkward skip, swinging his right leg around like a giraffe.

What a sight! He looked like such an idiot!

Ivan chuckled with a purring laughter, staring at his coffee.

Perhaps he would join the blond. At the very least he'd get another opportunity to make him cry.

Ah, ambition was a wonderful thing to have.

And a wet snowball in the face was not. Ivan was unfortunate enough to receive one as soon as he stepped out the front door.

Again, Alfred cackled like a raven as he collapsed into the slushy snow.

Ivan brushed the ice and water off his face and glared at the laughing blond. Throwing things into his face was becoming yet another annoying habit of Alfred's.

"Oh man, Ivan! You walked right into that!" Alfred exclaimed. The three boys watched the leader of New Hope, shaking in terror of what Ivan was about to do next.

With one hand Ivan wiped off as much of the snowball debris as possible and with the other, started to make ammunition.

Although homicide was tempting, Ivan would have to settle with giving the American as many bruises as possible with an innocent snowball battle.

He launched the half completed snowball at the laughing blond. It splattered all over the American's face, jarring his glasses off.

Alfred jumped into a battle pose, fixing his glasses and rushing into weapon production.

"You will never defeat the hero!" he called, tossing a snowball at Ivan. The large Russian ducked and emitted a dark, sinister chuckle, like the sound of a demon dragging its victim to the very pits of hell. Again, Alfred was immune, saying Ivan had a "crazy ass laugh" but was not as genuinely concerned about it as the frightened children.

"You are wrong, Comrade, you are the villain," argued Ivan. "Attacking with without warning. Sneak attacks are not heroic, yes?"

"It wasn't a sneak attack! I told you we were having a snowball fight! That's hardly --"

Another snowball stuck Alfred's face. Again his glasses were knocked off. Alfred fell to his knees to get them, suffering a few more hits from Ivan. "You fight dirty, Braginski!" Alfred snarled, rolling out of the line of fire. "This means war!"

Ivan giggled. He hadn't had this much fun in years.

"Toris, Ravis, Eduard! Help! Join the good side!" Alfred called to the boys who had been standing off the to side in a nervous line, watching the two adults act more like children then they were.

"No, they will become one with Ivan, yes?" Ivan encouraged, a sadistic glint in his eyes.

Ravis cried.

~O~O~O~O~

At the end of the "war" Alfred had built his fort, Ivan had the boys under his rule, and they were soaked from the half melted snow. By the time the boy's parents collected them for day care, the battle field resembled a half frozen swamp. Both Ivan and Alfred were soaked, mud caked on their clothes and skin.

They panted as they glared at one another from across the yard, hands too numb to make snowballs anymore.

Alfred's hair was messy and his pant was a raspy but happy one.

Ivan was much the same, though his smile was frosty. Even his prized scarf was muddy - something he was sure to get revenge for.

The air was thick with tension and the sound of raspy pants. Alfred's lips were chapped, his tongue darting out in an unconscious but futile attempt to null the sting. Ivan felt his fingers twitch. He liked seeing Alfred so tired, so sweaty, so vulnerable, so fu-

"Mr. Jones, may I have a word with you?" a man interrupted their staring contest, his badge and uniform showing him to be Officer Vash Zwingli. Alfred broke contact with Ivan to greet the policeman, bouncing with friendliness, caring the least of how presentable he was.

"Oh, hey Vash! How's it going?"

Ivan stiffened. The police had never liked him, here in America or home in Russia. He was big and imposing and scary to children. He was followed by security guards or shooed off by cautious mothers. The fact was that Ivan was naturally a suspicious character, the prime suspect on any illegal activity, despite his (almost) lack of illegal deeds. Who in this day and age considered stalking against the law? He just loved stronger than others. . . And the water pipe was used in self defense (mostly).

The short officer with well groomed yellow hair nodded and extended a stiff, gloved hand to shake Alfred's. A few words were exchanged, Vash's green eyes smoldering and intense. His eyes flickered over to Ivan.

The Russian did not like that look.

Another thing he did not like was when Alfred's shoulders slumped or when his bubbly, cheerful smile slipped into a more somber, almost sad look.

Ivan did not like that look on the American. He wanted to remove this…Vash and give Alfred a set of stacking dolls - he seemed the type to have hours of entertainment with it.

A few more words were spoken when a picture was shown to Alfred. The color drained from the blonde's face - making Alfred look like a ghost. Again, they spoke and Alfred nodded several times.

Ivan had enough and approached the two.

"Ivan, this is Officer Vash," explained the blue eyed man, reading Ivan's mood. "He's helped out New Hope a lot over the years and is a good friend of mine."

Based on how still Vash was, Ivan doubted the friendship comment. Things were neutral between the two at best.

"Morning," greeted the heavily accented Swiss.

Ivan wondered how many countries were represented in the small town.

"Oh, this is Ivan, he's new," Alfred said, gesturing to the large man. Ivan made no response. Vash studied him for a heavy second before regarding Alfred again.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Jones. Have a good day."

"No, thanks for coming by, I appreciate it," replied Alfred.

Vash gave a curt nod and left. Alfred waved to the officer as he drove off, though the gesture was small.

Neither Alfred nor Ivan spoke, a bird twittered a happy song from the fence post.

"Damn it!" swore Alfred, kicking the white picket fence they stood by. The bird zipped off as the fence shook. Ivan thought his American counterpart would he howling with pain (there was a dent in the fence) but Alfred made no noise.

"Damn it!" he cursed again, shoving his hands into his pockets. His shoulders were tense, hunched like he was carrying the weight of the world.

Ivan said nothing, watching the American blow off his steam.

Eventually Alfred walked back, eyes narrowed and cold.

"Something wrong?" Ivan asked. He was unsurprised with the glare he received from the blue eyed man.

Then, Alfred sobered.

His eyes were still dark.

Alfred tried to speak several times, but he couldn't make more than a few words.

"I have never heard of a hero being tongue tied," Ivan teased, trying to get the blond to speak.

"A friend of mine was killed last night, okay!"

The words were out but Alfred felt even worse for saying them than he had a minute ago. His face took on a dejected look, one that didn't suit him at all.

"He was killed by the Haters." Alfred's tone was one of utter disgust, the voice one used when describing vermin. The blond chewed on is lower lip, chest aching with broken sorrow.

Haters?

Ivan heard that before. . .where?

"If you sleep out in the open like that then Haters will get'cha."

The memory was inky but Ivan could remember. Only last night he had been warned about them, the Haters.

"The Haters are a group of self-righteous thugs who target the homeless, disabled, gay, and religious alike." Alfred spat at the ground. "Vash and I have been working together for years to stop them or get their leader but the guys just vanish."

Alfred returned to watching Ivan. The Russian's eyes were wide, like the eyes of a child learning about death for the first time.

It could have been Ivan in the picture Alfred saw a minute ago. It could have been Ivan, bloodied, beaten, stabbed, raped, and left in a gutter for the worms.

The blond took a collecting breath.

Ivan was not in the picture, he assured himself. Neither was Mathew, or Francis, or Chell. They were safe, for now.

"Was he a good friend of yours?" the large Russian asked, voice almost as quiet as Alfred's twin.

The blonde's laugh had a sour ring to it.

"Yeah. He helped me out a lot when I just started New Hope. Always believed in me but we lost touch with each other. I hadn't seen him in three years."

Alfred sighed again, shaking his head. Grief clung to the usually energetic man. He looked at Ivan, at last realizing how muddy the both of them were. He laughed a little, muted life at last returning to his dead eyes.

"Do you have any other clothes? We should get cleaned off," Alfred said, pulling at his own muddied shirt and jacket. "We have some extra clothes in New Hope and a couple of washing machines you can use."

Alfred stared down the street for another moment. His hands tightened over the railing of the fence when he turned away, eyes cloudy again. Alfred marched into New Hope, hands in is pockets and thoughts miles away.

Ivan, cold, dirty, and without anything else to do, followed.

New Hope was much less crowded now that it was closed. There were workers and volunteers walking the halls, all moving quickly to get as much done as possible. They passed Chell, Alfred warning her about what had happened.

"Are you alright?" She asked, small hands over her lips, horrified.

Alfred kicked his feet and nodded. He'd be alright. He wanted the guilty group in jail and their teeth knocked in but he'd be aright.

They continued to the laundry room, Alfred giving orders and updates to everyone they passed. Each person greeted Alfred with as much enthusiasm as the blond did. Ivan had never seen anyone so well liked before.

It was annoying, gloating his friendship and popularity like he wasn't even aware how much Ivan dreamed to play such a loved role.

The lavender eyed man pushed back the poisonous thought. It was obvious Alfred wasn't aware. He was an idiot, but he was not an unkind one. And besides, he was allowing Ivan into New Hope when it was closed. He could have just as easily kicked Ivan out and deal with being cold and muddy all day.

He doubted he's get a worthwhile job like that.

Alfred flicked on the light to the laundry room, rubbing his arms because of the chill of the empty room. The light came on with a sleepy buzz, illuminating three washing machines and two dryers, cabinets in-between with dyes, bleach, and various cleaners. In the corner was a closet with generic gray, unisex clothes, the largest of which Alfred tossed over his shoulder at Ivan. The bulky Russian caught the oatmeal-like clothes, raising an eyebrow at their size. Alfred said they were the biggest he had but Ivan knew they'd be tight on him yet.

"Well, you only need to wear it until your clothes are clean," the blond pointed out, shrugging off his bomber jacket. His arms were covered in tiny Goosebumps, arm and legs quivering with a shiver. "Damn, its cold," he pointed out with a chuckle. Ivan did not return the laugh, the light above ringing its dieing hymn in the silence.

Alfred warmed his hands he turned on the washing machine, adding some detergent and his well worn jacket. Ivan, taking the cue, removed his own coat, revealing nothing more than a gentle cream shirt. It wasn't very thick, Alfred could see the man's massive structure under it - and to his embarrassment Ivan's chill hardened nipples. The blond looked away, hoping his own weren't on display.

It was Francis' fault - insisting that Alfred peruse the bear in a relationship. The Frenchman had been relentless in teasing Alfred entire ride home from picking Ivan off the street last night. There were already five voice mails on his phone and twenty texts all telling him to "go for it; you've nothing to lose and everything to gain!"

Damn Frenchman messing with love affairs.

Alfred wasn't even gay before Francis moved into the family!

He kicked off his shoes, adding them to the wash.

Ivan, disgusted, wanted to berate Alfred for daring to clean his filthy shoes with the same load as Ivan's precious coat but found himself unable to form a coherent sentence. His words chocked in his throat, tongue tying in knots. Alfred had stripped off his shirt, exposing creamy skin taught and covered with Goosebumps. His back was strong, shoulder blades squared and hardy. He was a little pudgy at the sides but not enough to be unattractive. He was well-fed, healthy and unaware of Ivan's voyeuristic gaze.

Then he pulled on another clean shirt, discarding his own and putting an end to the show.

"I think we need the heater on. Could you get it, Ivan? It's in the hallway."

Alfred turned around, vibrant, honest blue eyes crashing into Ivan's more subdued lavender ones. Ivan felt naked at the look. It was so intense, so overbearing and yet humble at the same time; like new dream, un-tethered or cut by the harshness of reality. The Russian felt with that single look Alfred could see right through him, read every thought and emotion Ivan ever had - any sin he had committed. It was unnerving, so he left to turn up the heater.

Dazed, Ivan found himself in front of the locked panel. It was password oriented and the stupid American had forgotten to tell him.

Frustrated, and feeling a little dumb himself, Ivan returned, a scowl detailing most of his face.

"Comrade, you remember the password for the heater, yes?" he asked shoving open the door with a careless push. Ivan's frigid eyes found the American. His mouth dropped. Ivan gaped openly, eyes wide and heart leaping over a beat.

"Ivan, dude! Privacy!" Alfred shouted in alarm, struggling to kick off his pants. They were caught around his right leg, foot stiff and unmoving compared to the other one. Alfred's left leg was more tanned than the blonde's back, having had more exposure to the sun than his shoulders. Ivan paid no attention to the strong leg, covered with thick dusty blond hairs. He was too busy gawking at Alfred's right leg.

The calf was nothing more than a thin metal bar, the thigh a type of flesh toned plastic. The contraption reached all the way to where it disappeared under Alfred's alien print boxers. The American's entire right leg was a prosthetic.

The awkward walk, kicking the fence, the general clumsiness. . .

Suddenly, everything made sense, and Ivan felt ashamed; like a boy being caught peeking in on is parents in an intimate moment.

The room was quiet, the washing machine still filling itself with heated water. Alfred stared at the ground, managing to untangle his pants and pull on a new pair.


A/N: Bum bum bum!

And now you know what I couldn't put in the summary. This whole fic stems from this one idea of Alfred having a fake leg. I just couldn't get the image out of my head so I had to write it.

I've been doing a lot of research but I personally don't know anyone with a prosthetic limb, so if you have any corrections or information I would love to have it. I do know that Alfred has a Transfemoral Prosthesis, where the amputation is above the knee - and that his leg is an average one since he's not terrible wealthy.

The Baltic's were adorable (Toris is my fav :3 ) and I loved Vash - he was fun to write with.

One last thing, I purposefully didn't make the person who died a country ('cause I didn't have the heart to - I love everyone) but if you want me to name some one then its Grandpa Roma - only because he died anyway (/cries FORGIVE ME ROMA!!!)

Ehhh, sorry for the long rant, this was an important chapter.