AN: eeee! I had no idea so many people were still following this fic :) thanks a bunch for all the feedback guys!
So I don't think child services actually work like this but this is fanfic so hey, i'm gonna roll with it. i mean i know a bit about how uk social workers work so this is based more off of that.
Btw anyone waiting on an update for my other AmeRus stories/my RusCan one i'm gonna focus on finishing this and my Nordic fic before updating those.
Warning for child abuse and discussion of suicide.
Hehe i totally want to write a pacific rim au at some point too.
Alfred's hands shook a little as the Officer Zwingli glared at him across the desk. "So you broke in to Mr Braginsky's home?" he asked for the third time.
"Well...yeah, but-"
Officer Zwingli cut him off, "Knowing full well it was against the law?"
"Yes, but-"
"And you did this because?" Officer Zwingli's green eyes narrowed. Alfred supposed he should be glad; at least he wasn't being interviewed by Mr Beilschimdt's brother like his parents were. How did that guy even become a policeman? Officer Zwingli was terrifying though – even though he was only a little taller than Peter.
"I was worried about Ivan." Alfred said simply.
"Yes, so you said. You were worried he would hurt himself or someone else but at no point did you think of calling the police?"
"Uh, well..." Alfred stammered a little; he was doing his utmost best not to be arrested (because that would really piss his parent's off) and besides, it was way too early for this. It wasn't even noon! "Look I just panicked, okay? I didn't want him to..." shoot up my school. "Do anything stupid."
Zwingli glared at him but eventually he stood up, "I suppose we can let you off this time." He said stiffly. "You are free to leave."
Mattie was waiting for him outside the interview room and sighed with relief when Alfred came out. "Thank god, I was beginning to think they'd arrested you!"
"Nope," Alfred grinned. "What about our dads?"
"They're still in the interview room." Mattie muttered worriedly as they started down the hall to where Peter was waiting, swinging his legs and tapping away on Papa's iPad.
"And Ivan?"
"Still with the social worker, I think."
Alfred sighed, "Guess we'll be here for a while."
"You can call me Elizabeta," the woman said, smiling warmly. "You know what my job is, don't you Ivan?"
Ivan trembled a bit – this was stupid, she was treating him like he was a kid and he wasn't. She was smiling at him, asking him questions that Ivan didn't want to answer ("Does your father ever hit you, Ivan?" Only when I deserve it. "Does he ever call you names?" Nothing I haven't heard before. "Do you have any other relatives?" No, not anymore.)
He didn't say any of that though.
"He only hits me if I've done something awful."
"Nyet, he never calls me names."
"My mother lives in Moscow with my sisters."
And she looked at him with pitying eyes, the way one of Alfred's dads looked at him. He wondered how much she really knew. It's not like he's never done this before. She's not the first social work he's met and this wasn't the first time his dad has been investigated.
He shifted in his chair, "I should leave soon," he mumbled, "My father will be wondering where I am."
"Ivan," she said gently, "He knows where you are. Now we know from what your friends have told us – "
Ivan cut her off with a dark look, "They are not my friends."
Elizabeta didn't flinch. "Okay, well the people you were staying with. They told us about your father's visit to their home; from what they sound it sounded pretty scary."
"I-" Ivan swallowed. "He was only that angry because he didn't know where I was."
"Ivan, I can't help you if you don't tell me anything – you know that right?"
Ivan looked down at his lap, "I don't need help." He said quietly.
"Can we go yet?" Peter asked, nudging Alfred in the shins.
Alfred yawned. It had been hours, they were interviewing Mattie now and their parents still hadn't come back. "Not yet, buddy. Soon though."
Peter sighed loudly and slid further down in the uncomfortable little plastic chairs they had been given. "What's taking so long? Why can't they just arrest Ivan's dad and be done with it?"
Alfred didn't actually know why they couldn't do that, in his opinion that would be the best solution but his dad had explained about evidence and trials and witnesses and case building and how it really wasn't as easy as the movies made it out to be. Still, he had no idea why it was taking so long. "That's not how these things work, bud."
"Why?"
Alfred was about to tell him to shut up when Officer Zwingli and the social worker emerge from one of the interview rooms, "He won't say anything," the social worker said in a hushed tone. "I mean we can get medical records but there's nothing that proves it was his father who hurt him. Especially with his record for fighting at school."
The police officer nodded as they past, "So what would you recommend?"
"Well, I don't feel comfortable with sending him home but –" they rounded a corner and Alfred slid off his chair, gesturing for Peter to stay where he was. He crept after the pair as quietly as he could, if anyone asked he'd just say he was looking for a vending machine or a bathroom or something.
"You can put him on a short term care alert though?" Officer Zwingli was saying by the time Alfred had caught up with them again.
The social worker tilted her head and nodded, "Yes, that should at least give us time to build a case. It'll be a while before we can find a foster carer for an older child."
"Why can't he just stay with us?" The words were out of Alfred's mouth before he had a chance to hold them back. Officer Zwingli glared at him, "What are you doing?"
"I was just..." Alfred trailed off. Crap. What was it he was going to say? "I was just looking for the...the bathroom!"
Zwingli didn't look convinced but the social worker smiled, "Calm down, Vash, I'm sure he's just worried about his friend. Right?"
That was a way better excuse then the bathroom thing and if Ivan wasn't talking did that mean they'd let him go back to his dad? That wouldn't be good for anyone. He had to speak to him. "Yeah, can I see him?"
The social worker drew back a bit and Officer Zwingli opened his mouth, no doubt to say no but the social worker cut him off, "Well I don't see why not."
The room Ivan was being held in was bigger than the interview room, the walls were a soft yellow colour rather than a stark white and the carpet was plush and full. The social worker – Elizabeta – led him in and smiled, "You can have about ten minutes, okay? I'm going to talk to your parents, Alfred." And with that she left them.
"Hey, Ivan," Alfred smiled, approaching the table and sitting down opposite him.
Ivan kept his eyes on the floor, "Hello, Alfred." he muttered.
"So, uh, Elizabeta said you wouldn't tell her about your dad and his...about your dad."
Ivan glanced up at him briefly, "There is nothing to tell."
"Ivan..." Alfred sighed. Anyone could tell that he was lying. He didn't understand, why would Ivan want to stay with his dad? "They'll send you back." He said quietly and Ivan clenched his teeth.
"There is nothing to tell."
Alfred frowned, it didn't make sense – Ivan knew he was dad would be pissed so why would he willingly go back to him? It clicked into place slowly and Alfred's eyes widened a fraction. "You still want to –" he broke off when Ivan's eyes met his, burning with angry tears. "But – but I stopped you. I saved you!"
That was how it worked in the movies. That was how it was meant to work.
"No," Ivan spat, "You did not, Alfred. You made things worse."
Alfred shook his head, "No, I didn't I – I thought you'd be okay. You wouldn't have to live with him anymore..."
Ivan laughed at that, hollow and cold. "And where would I go, Alfred? A foster home? A children's home? You don't understand. This isn't like your silly American movies where everything ends happily, there is no happy ending for me. All you've done is taken the ending I wanted."
