Alfred groaned as he flopped on the bed. "I'm never gonna do that again."

Matthew looked up from his book (Latin and Its Uses in Everyday Life) and looked him over. "You look terrible."

"Shut up," Alfred retorted, sitting up. "You don't have Defensive Theory. And I look fantastic, thanks."

"Happy to be of use," Matthew noted dryly. He returned to the book, tossing a paperback to Alfred. "Here's a little soul food."

Alfred caught it and read the cover. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. "Hell, Mattie, you're a demon-send." He collapsed on the bed and started rereading the novel again. "Do we have any homework?"

Matthew rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. "No. Do you even pay attention in class?"

"Sometimes," Alfred drawled with a horrible Southern accent. Then he chuckled. "Yeah, but that Jackson dude is absolutely horrible."

"Agreed," Matthew admitted, and Alfred sat up in suprise. It was rare for Matthew to even think of criticizing a teacher, but for him to directly agree...Alfred stared at him. Then he leaned forward, looking Matthew over. "Are you even my brother?"

Matthew snorted at him. "Yes, you nitwit. I was the one who always tripped you in the hallways, remember?"

"Alright," Alfred conceded. "So are you really my brother. But I'll keep an eye on you."

He pointed a finger at Matthew and mimed putting on sunglasses. Matthew shrugged apathetically. "Whatever."

Rolling over, Alfred shut his eyes and tried to sleep. Hours later, he was awoken by a screaming nightmare.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Not tonight! Matthew thought to himself as Alfred flew off the bed, knocking his head on the bedframe.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" Alfred cried out. "That flipping hurt!"

"I imagine it did, you practically smashed yourself," Matthew declared, relieved that Alfred had recovered. Sometimes his nightmares could leave him shivering and unable to wake up. It scared him to Hell and back when that happened.

"Go screw yourself," Alfred nearly hollered.

Matthew slapped a hand to his forehead and checked the time. 6:46 a.m. Cursing slightly, he slid on jeans and a pale blue shirt over his boxers and tank top. Pausing to grab a navy flannel, he flipped Alfred off before heading to breakfast. His brother probably needed some time alone.

The walk across the grounds was chilly, Matthew wishing it was midwinter instead of early spring. It always was horrible. He scowled as his Converse (stolen from the Fire Land when he was fifteen) got soaked by the morning dew. Instead of a warm cafeteria, he was blasted with cold air as a transparent ghost ran through him. Shivering, he ordered a steaming cup of tea and looked around for a place to sit.

The attendants there, already looking worn out, made his tea with a distinct air of unhappiness. When the steaming cup was passed over, his "thank you" wasn't even acknowledged, a rare thing. Matthew had talked to Feliciano, and the Alseid had said they were always very happy when they were told "thanks".

"Hey, are you guys okay?" he inquired. The closest one looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

"They took Rose."

"What?" Matthew was honestly confused. Who was Rose? Who took her? The lady, to his horror, started bawling.

"They took my daughter, Rose! I have no idea where she went, and she said goodnight to me just last evening! She was here!"

Matthew dropped his tea, and the almost boiling liquid splashed over his shoes, but he barely cared. "That's awful! Do you know who it was?"

"No," she wailed. "the General doesn't care either." At this, Matthew pushed open the door to the kitchen, not noticing the stares he was given. He wrapped the woman in his arms and held her as she cried.

"I-t's horrible," she hiccuped. "Rose was perfectly alright, t-too, I don't know how they took her."

He rubbed her back soothingly, and he tried to reassure her. " The General's got to care somewhat, and if he doesn't, I'll look for her myself. It's not right to just let her get taken without trying to look for her."

She smiled weakly. "You're too kind. Not everyone is willing to do that for people they don't even know. My name is Hannah."

"Matthew," he replied, shaking her hand. He released her, and she wiped her face with a nearby tissue.

"Well, I think that good long cry helped me feel better. Thank you, Matthew." She suddenly grinned. "And I'm going to talk to the General again. You're right, it's wrong to not try to find her."

Hannah marched out of the kitchen, filled with purpose. The corner of Matthew's lip turned up.

The other ladies in the kitchen took a look at his shoes and gave him a new cup of tea.

"Thanks, kid," one called from her position at the counter. "She really needed that."

Matthew's face split in a happy grin and hers did too. "I'm glad I could be of help. But I think I'll just drink my tea."

"Suit yourself," she answered.

He left and found an empty table in the corner. Moments later, he was joined by that wolf-eared pale guy he had seen in History.

"Mornin'," the werewolf said, smiling slightly. "How are you?"

"Who are you?" Matthew asked, a little too tired to care about manners. The werewolf fake-swooned and acted as though Matthew had shot him through the chest. Which Matthew considered.

"You do not know the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt? I am wounded!" Gilbert continued. "It breaks my furry little heart to know so."

"Fuck off," Matthew retorted, sipping his tea.

"Oh, I see how it is. You are annoyed by the amazing Gilbert! I am shocked!"

Ludwig suddenly appeared by Gilbert and smacked him upside the head. "Stop it. Hello, Matthew."

"Good morning, Ludwig," Matthew took a long drink as Gilbert and Ludwig argued.

"Don't start assaulting people like that-"

"-just because you're getting that Italian dick-"

The argument was interrupted as Matthew started choking on his tea. He spewed everywhere as he started laughing. "Oh, my hell. You and Feliciano are dating? This is just too rich!"

Ludwig looked surprised, but Gilbert just smiled wider. "I win."

Ludwig smacked Gilbert again. "For the record, I'm not 'getting'-"

"Right, and I'm the Queen of the Inbetween! For hell's sake, Ludwig, at least admit you're dating!" Gilbert snorted. Ludwig made a move to smack him again and he ducked the oncoming blow, somehow slamming his forehead into the table's edge.

"Son of a-"

"I hope you weren't about to curse," a quiet, threating voice leered above them all. They looked up to see Mr. Jackson, whose cuts looked fresh. "It's breaking school rules, Beilschmidt."

In an instant, all of Gilbert, Ludwig, and Matthew's good attitudes were gone. Jackson left, smirking.

"Who the hell does he think he is?" Gilbert seethed. "He's just a jacked-up little douche-"

Ludwig placed a hand strategically on Gilbert's shoulder. "Easy."

"He is a jerk, though," Matthew spoke up, "it wouldn't surprise me if he did summon a Prince. He's got that swagger to him."

"Swagger?" Ludwig and Gilbert asked in unison.

"Never mind. He has that attitude." Matthew rolled his eyes at himself. He had a habit of using Fire Land slang. The last time he called someone a whiffle-waffle (meaning a time-waster), he got a what-the-hell-are-you-on look.

"Oh, okay. I get it." Gilbert waved his hands in the air vaguely. Matthew smirked. "So I see."

Meanwhile, Alfred was tripping down the stairs two at a time. He wasn't even trying to control his powers, letting the ice crackle around him. Stupid Jackson. Stupid Matthew. Stupid nightmare.

He slammed into a black dog, toppling them both. He found himself assaulted with the sound of rattling chains and a scowl that seemed to be even colder than theice around him.

"Watch it, dumbass." The black dog had transformed into a blond boy with hair that stuck up. The blue flame around his head still hovered.

"Sorry," Alfred drawled. "Didn't realize it was my job to constantly watch out."

As a tired, sore, and all together crabby Sylph, it was a wonder he wasn't punched. The ice continued to spread up his arms. The blond just continued scowling, probably waiting for an apology. He wouldn't get one.

Dimly, Alfred wondered what they were going to do next besides stare at each other. He fell back on an old standby.

"So, do you like bread?"

The question, so ridiculous and random, managed to have the other stumbling for an answer.

"Um, sure."

"That's amazing," Alfred babbled. "I personally like white bread, ooh, what's your name? I'm Alfred, it's great to meet you. And I like rye, but it's sometimes not really great."

"Matthias," came the reply. "So you're that Sylph. Lovely. I was expecting something more...female."

"Nah, we're as cool as they come." Alfred pushed past Matthias and sped down the hallway. "See you later!"

He started chuckling to himself, narrowly dodging a frowning vampire. He was starving, dammit, and he needed some food. Like, right now. Like, before he went rabid. the cafeteria wasn't close enough. He burst through the door and...

Found a smiling Mattie and two laughing guys. Alfred felt a little twang in his chest. He was happy Matthew was getting friends, but he worried that he would be left.

He wouldn't leave you, idiot. He's your twin. It was that scoffing voice that comforted Alfred. He sprinted to the kitchen and quickly ordered a large breakfast.

"Three eggs, all scrambled, five pieces of sausage, six pieces of bacon, two pancakes, three slices of toast, and a glass of orange juice please."

The ladies in the kitchen gave him a strange look. One asked, with a Scottish accent, "Are you okay, kid?"

But he was served anyway, and he made his way over to where Mattie was sitting.

All three there gave his tray a double take. The super-pale guy, whose mouth was practically a fly trap, smirked at the large meal.

"Would you like some fries with that?"

"Go fuck yourself," was the uttered answer. The pale one laughed.

"So, yet another one like me! Gilbert," he introduced himself. Alfred, pausing in his scarfing of the food, replied.

"Alfred."

"So you're the fucking Sylph." The comment made Alfred really irritated. It was as if the fact that he was a Sylph defined him. He rolled his eyes, annoyed.

"Yeah, I'm the fucking Sylph." Alfred retorted. "What are you, a furry?"

Gilbert took the insult as a compliment, somehow. He waved over a blond, who Alfred recognised to be Francis. "I'm a werewolf, get it right."

"Same thing." Francis said, sliding next to Matthew and giving the uncomfortable boy a appreciative once-over. "So, Alfred, would you like a little plate with your food?"

"Would you like my foot rammed down your throat?" Arthur asked, joining the party. "He's made of air, leave the princess alone. Scooch."

Alfrred moved himself to let Arthur in. "I'm not a fricking princess, go to hell."

"Priiiiiiinces Alfred, oh Priiiiiiiincess Alfred, why must you torture us so~" Francis sang while Matthew spit out his tea and Alfred choked on his OJ. "Priiiiiiiiincess Alfred, oh, Priiiiiiiiincess Alfred, you give me so much woe..."

"Oh, Priiiiiiiiincess Alfred, Priiiiiiiiiincess Alfred," Gilbert joined in. "You are the cause of my woe...Oh! Priiiiiiincess Alfred, Priiiiiiiiincess Alfred, why won't you ever go?"

Alfred discreetly formed two pieces of ice and casually shoved them in Francis and Gilbert's throats. They stopped singing immediately, mostly because of the ice lodged in their windpipes. He pulled them out when they started to grab their mouths. "Karma, ass-hats."

"That was slightly excessive," Ludwig commented as the two massaged their throats. Alfred rolled his eyes.

"I'm not agreeing," Arthur said, eyeing Francis. "It sometimes takes a lot just to get those two arses to quit."

"So, Francis," Alfred settled on changing the subject, "since you're dead, how are you with what you used to like?"

"Oh, mon ami, you have no idea! I used to be a prominent fashion icon in the Fire Land, until, alas! I died. I don't really care that much for what I used to like. It's difficult, you know, keeping your old likes and dislikes when you're dead. I used to absolutely despise this one person, but I couldn't care less now. My appearance is still a priority." He flipped his hair over his shoulder.

"Whatever," Arthur joked. "I can still see the rot underneath all that foundation."

Francis squeaked as he frantically patted his face. Then he relaxed and casually smacked Arthur. "Don't even try. I use waterproof makeup. It's a bitch to even smudge."

The screeching cry startled everyone. Francis accidentally caught Matthew and they fell in a mess of limbs. Arthur punched Alfred in surprise, who let out a squeal. Ludwig made a loud shrill sound, and Gilbert let out a yelp. All three of them would deny those noises later, but for now they were grabbing random items, pushing themselves of each other, and hastily trying to shove the last of the food in their mouths (Alfred).

"Bye!" Gilbert yelled as he sprinted to his next class. Francis just shook his head and walked out. Arthur, who had mysteriously managed to grab a cup of tea (where was that from?), pulled Alfred and Matthew up, and yanked them to History. They arrived two minutes early, completely unprepared.

Mrs. Horal (or, as Alfred now called her, Umbridge) scowled at their empty hands. "Go sit down."

Alfred hurried to the back of the classroom, nauseous from the run. Ivan was sitting there, rubbing his hands together wearily. "Hello, Alfred."

"G'mornin', Ivan." Alfred placed his head in his arms on the table. He was too tired to even reply properly. Ivan noticed bruises on his wrist and whistled lowly.

"Arthur didn't hold back, did he?"

Alfred shoved his sleeve farther down and groaned. "He wasn't. I thought he could whip me more than he did."

Ivan laughed, a deep, comforting sound. "No, that's Arthur for you. He hasn't transformed in front of you yet, huh? It's always hilarious when he turns into a horse and beats someone's ass."

"Thanks for the reassurance. Remind me to sharpen my sword for battle. The treasure awaits!" The sarcasm was lost in the folds of Alfred's sweatshirt, where he had buried himself.

"Oh, shut up," Ivan proclaimed grandly. "I am Lord Alfred, and I shall ride my bright steed-"

Alfred's hand flew up and smacked Ivan lightly. "I read Tennyson, you dick. Quit."

Ivan stared at the huddled lump that was Alfred. "How do you know human literature? No one is supposed to," he whispered.

Alfred raised himself up and smirked at Ivan. "I have my ways."

The rest of History passed in a blaze of thrown snowballs and smacking of binders. Umbridge didn't notice, her eyes never once traveling from the textbook she was droning on from. Alfred stopped his barrage of snowballs when Ivan dropped his binders and lowered himself to one knee.

"Oh, you have beaten me, Lord. How shall I ever be worthy?!" Ivan lamented sarcastically. "My heart breaks, for I shall never be as bright as you!"

Alfred, in one quick movement, pulled up Ivan's collar, summoned a large piece of ice, and shoved it down into the coat. The effect was immediate.

Ivan lurched upwards, his fingers scrabbling for the piece of frozen water. He turned around in circles, trying to get the ice from his back. Alfred started crying with laughter.

"Get it out, get it out, get it out!"

The ice eventually melted, but Ivan still glared at Alfred. "Not funny."

Alfred had tear tracks all over his face. A puddle had formed from where he had actually had to lie on the ground to help stop his giggling. "Are you kidding? That was fucking hilarious."

Ivan scowled. "It's not like I was being all panicked..."

"Yes," Alfred affirmed, "it was."

Hi-ya. Thanks for the reviews, y'all are giving me life. In response to a guest review, yes, I will eventually do an entire chapter from Mattie's POV, but for now I hope you like this little tidbit. Also, your positivity and criticism is also a huge inspiration. Also: THE PLOT THICKENS. But I doubt that these daily updates will last long as the story progresses, but IDK. *shrugs because reasons* As usual, please review, I look at every single one. Chao!

Kludde (Matthias): Basically a black dog from Belgian folklore. Can transform into other animals, but it is always accompanied by a blue flame by its head and the sound of chains rattling.