~*Petrushka*~

Hi, everyone! My school just declared that it was closing tomorrow due to the possibility of an inch of snow. Meanwhile, friends back home are bracing for negative-nine degree weather...not sure whether to laugh or cry. But! When in doubt, be grateful. :) I hope you guys are all staying warm.

In this chapter, absolutely nothing horrible happens. Nope! Because you know that's not the sort of person I am. *Pushes safe towards window*

Warning: This chapter is rated for all the horrible things that happen.

But at least there IS some snack-eating! ^_^ *Offers cookies*

One more chapter, and then the epilogue. To those who have read, reviewed, submitted fanart, and otherwise supported this long-winded and strange story, I am so grateful. ;u; You are scrumtrulescent. Thanks!

For my dear senpai 91RedRoses's (check out her work, it's marvelous and you should read) beta help, friendship and all around awesomeness, I'm touched and most indebted. The story will end next soon, but I'm so happy so many people took part in it.

All my love. See you soon!

~o*oOo*o~

"Please, stay here. In case he comes back."

She'd agreed for the sake of not arguing, but now it was night. The patio lights were on, and beyond their artificial egg yolk range you could still identify the chubby little Buddha statue, the shrubs, the shed. However, they seemed to hum quietly like the fridge. With anticipation, maybe.

The neighborhood itself, full of gossiping snipes with no news of her boy, had melted into one sentient being, breathing at her front door. And the way gusts were making the trees rock and groan—well, it was the setting of some B-rated horror film.

Head aching dully, she tidied the house until lemon polish made her eyes water and fingers wrinkle. They regularly fluttered over the Blackberry warm against her thigh. But her husband had not called; he would not unless he came across anything new.

Aiko Honda sank on the sofa and tried to watch a sitcom, but it was stupid and she thought to cook some supper in the off-chance that everyone would be home soon. She set the table and went to work, watching steam seeping out of the rice cooker, condensation bubbling underneath the plastic top.

Her stomach was hollow but the smell of the food made her feel ill, and though she lay out the meal when it was finished, she didn't do much more than pick at it.

The house was quiet—normally something she relished—but tonight's stillness scuttled with insect legs.

Soon their old house cat Tama padded into the kitchen and she bent to scrape the salted tuna sashimi from her bowl into his. Showing more enthusiasm than befit his age or dignity he scurried to devour it, and she wandered off to the living room. With nothing better to do she made a fire in the hearth and stared at it.

Sometimes after a filling dinner when it was too cold for fireflies, she and Kenichi would watch the flames together. When he felt romantic he might pick her up and take her to bed after she'd nodded off. Aiko scolded him for that, but the thought made her almond-shaped eyes soften, murky brown pools reflecting flickering light. A second later there was the tiniest spasm at her jaw; her hands twitched.

Good God, but where was their child?

She turned on the lamp and shifted over to the small desk in the living room, pulling out a box of neatly-sorted squares of paper. Hopefully she remembered how to do this.

Aiko couldn't identify the steps but she automatically let her fingers do the work they did when she was still teaching tourists in Kyoto. In a matter of three minutes a crane was produced, and she turned over the neat bird approvingly before setting it aside and making it a friend. Soon there was a small flock of birds cluttering her lap, but she didn't seem able to stop.

There was an old wives tale in Japan that folding one thousand paper cranes would grant the creator a wish. Aiko had tried when she was a child and quickly got bored, though ironically produced a good thousand or two forming the birds in her first after-school job. Maybe that meant that she was entitled to a wish, though better safe than sorry.

You moron.

After all, it wasn't like she was going to stay up all night, waiting. Her husband would call or Kiku would return, her only child, the child of her heart. And so would his dear friend, whom, while very loud and produced more headaches than she cared to remember, was a good person. Kiku could never mean him ill will.

Kiku being shoved into an orange jumpsuit, into a madhouse with hardened thugs who would kill him. Arson! Murder! Sang the charges in her head. Her fingers worked faster but to her shame the hot avalanche of tears was not stayed.

When the glowing embers began to fade, she tossed a log on them. The flames weakly sputtered, and then began hoisting themselves upon it like survivors would a raft in a deep ocean, re-generating. They churned a warm updraft that fluttered her black bangs, carrying two cranes off her lap and making them soar towards the inferno.

Without thinking she snatched for them, managing to salvage both, though she had to stomp on a smoldering crane. One was blackened and scarred, but still intact, whereas the other one was crumpled by the force exerted on it. And its wings had been reduced to ashes.

~o*oOo*o~

Day: ? ? ? ? ?

Drip.

Splish.

Drip.

Splish.

Glance at the faucet; see it cry little tears that keep splishing. For a second the drops are glistening dark red, and so are the contents of the white tub you're soaking in. The yellow squeak-bird is splattered with gore.

But after a blink the basin full of warm-wet is as gray and murky as it always is when the Other places a slippery white brick inside. You have to push aside the foam-squishy-stings-eyes-yuck on top to see your feet.

The warm-wet feels like air and you try to hold a handful of the stuff. Wa-ter, the Other keeps saying whenever it's around. How does the Other create it? Perhaps air is cooked until it's warm and thick.

You don't really care that much, though. Wa-ter comes from the Faucet and that's enough for you. It doesn't occur to you that anything should mean anything beyond sensation.

You open and close your hand. Place it in warm-wet. Wa-ter keeps trickling away when you try to quickly snatch it up and take it by surprise.

Lose interest. There is a tin cup floating on the wa-ter, and you tug it down. With a funny gurgling-gulp sound it goes under, bubble-bubble-pop-bye-bye. Intrigue. You pick up the cup again and try to make it float, but it just falls to its side and sinks.

Down, down, down. Never to rise again.

It's all your fault. You've ruined it.

You gaze at it for a second before bursting into tears; somewhere, the Other lets out quiet hissing noises. A pale hand appears, picks the cup up and another hand covers your eyes, squirm-squirm-you-want-to see-dislike-dislike.

But something hot sluices over your body, soaking your hair, trickling down your neck. It's magical until it stops, leaving you prickle-prickle ice cold. You fuss briefly until it happens again. Pause. And again. Pause.

The voice that is probably that of the Other—it sounds like the Other, but you cannot see, therefore cannot tell—croons lullingly, rich like yum-good-eat. Soft-soft-good-to-touch-smooth-shiver-shiver. In the good way, you decide. It's tinkling like the box that sings when you open it.

The hand over your eyes moves and now the Other is dabbing a warm-wet cloth soothingly over your chest. It feels nice. Then it starts scrubbing at your face. Less nice less nice, scrunch-face-up-stoppit.

The Other presses its lips against your cheek, and a hot-tongue-licks-it. It wanders to your ear. Suddenly, the Other murmurs:

"? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?"*

*"Would you like to hear something nice, pretty little Солнышко моё? About something that sank to the bottom?"

Drip.

Splish.

Unbidden, something like a tear splashes in you. Suddenly you hear a Memory.

Or maybe it's just imagined; you see and hear a lot of things that never happened, considering you don't know what Tomorrow is, or remember Yesterday:

"? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?"*

Drip.

*"Oh, my precious boy. You are so beautiful...would that I could slide down your throat and live in your screams."

Splish.

And the pearl-drop falls out your mind into a great, gaping blackness, the way wa-ter trickles out your hand towards the drain. You're scared of the drain, that's for certain, but The Other lifts you out and wraps you in something pleasantly worn and warm.

Shiver-shiver, nose nuzzles yours, and you giggle.

But deep inside the tear is reverberating, and if you opened your mouth the sound waves might come out. But is silence thick and pervasive in your throat, a clog.

Somehow you understand that if it were any other way, you would die.

Drip.

~o*oOo*o~

The eyeball with an opaque glaze lazily revolved like a top in the darkness, looking at everything and seeing nothing.

He was drifting towards Arthur's corpse, its ligaments broken in pieces, flesh rotting and blackened. Its brows were thick even in death, swaying gently like sea anemones. They would have given the skull an almost goofy appearance were it not for its jagged, broken teeth and wrenched-open jaw.

Its arms were open to embrace him and he floundered helplessly, every ligament searing.

But he couldn't tell if he were right-side up or not; everything was getting blurry and feeling was fading from his fingertips.

Even the water seemed much warmer, pleasant even.

Dying, Alfred feebly kicked, felt something tangle in his hair and imagined a siege of clammy hands tearing into him, pulling him into the gloom. He choked shrieking and he pawed at what grasped him, the murmur of the water becoming rumbles of the hungry dead.

Another hook? It ignored his struggles and roughly began to yank him as if he was a submerged vegetable—and suddenly Alfred's head broke the surface.

The watery echo gurgling in his ears became the wind whistling. He could see stars swished around like grains of salt from where clouds parted in the midnight blue sky. For a confused second it seemed they were drifting down, but it was just snow. Or ash.

He gulped for air but got none; he imagined the greasy skull's smile and he promptly threw up, once, twice, until he was wheezing, coughing maniacally.

His throat stung and his eyes stung and his aching lungs were inflamed most of all, at last getting a shivery catch of oxygen before he vomited again, gagging on acid.

Corpse juice. He was drifting in a lake filled with corpse juice from decomposing people. His vision loomed white and his head lolled back, swimming. Oh God. Oh Jesus Christ.

A familiar weight on his nose was absent; his glasses were missing. Not sure how he was remaining afloat, Alfred awkwardly shifted as best he could against something solid, praying to see Kiku supporting him.

But it was Ivan.

And his expression nearly stopped Alfred's heart.

The man quietly watched him cough, lavender eyes cool, unlaughing. His sinewy arm was looped around the blond's stomach, and the moment Alfred fell still he turned and slowly began towing him towards the shore. As they moved Alfred felt a renewed chill slopping against him but could not shiver, and neither did Ivan, though he was shirtless. His trademark pink scarf remained wrapped around his neck, ragged ends lightly gliding atop the water's surface like gerridae.

Too dazed to resist, Alfred gazed down his front, at the white dress streaming gracefully like a ghost underwater.

It was over. There was no way out. Ivan was a meat processing machine. Alfred was exhausted. And Ivan was Russian; bastard probably took ice baths with polar bears for fun.

He looked over at where they'd been seconds ago, stars twinkling serenely overhead in a proverbial x-marks-the-spot. Arthur's corpse with its filthy, matted straw hair was waiting patiently.

When Ivan's feet reached the shallows of the freezing lake, he waded rather than swam. Soon they reached the rocky beach where his discarded clothes lay. Alfred's stunned blue eyes flicked back at his trudging captor, only then realizing that he was tugging along something else, something that kept bumping against his thigh. Alfred had to squint to make it out; the headlights from the car were somewhat distant.

"Kiku!"

The Japanese boy didn't respond as Ivan flung him onto the foreshore, producing a wet smack. Nor did he cry out, gasp for air. In fact, he didn't move at all.

Cussing, Alfred forced feeling in his limbs and shoved himself free, Ivan not resisting. His soaked gown clung to him as he crawled to the shrunken figure, hastily turning him over, prying open an eye. It was as blank as a steamed fish's.

"...Kiku?" He breathed incredulously, the question swallowed by a fizz of hysterical giggles that quickly died. "Please, c'mon man-wake up!"

He swayed as he started roughly patting the cold cheeks, the pats improving to slaps in the hopes of producing some color in the white hollows. But Kiku did not stir.

He thought he might have tears blurring his vision now but could not feel them. And when he held an ear over Kiku's breast, there was no answering heartbeat. No rattle of breath from his cracked, blue lips.

Automatically recalling the training he received as a YMCA lifeguard, Alfred promptly plugged his nostrils, parted his lips, and slammed his mouth against them, exhaling. Once. Twice. Three times. He planted his hands over Kiku's chest and began to push rhythmically, willing a pulse to answer in tu—

The back of his dress was seized and he was dragged back, Alfred yelping and spitting like a mad cat. He twisted and struggled as Ivan held him aloft, carrying him away from Kiku.

"Leggo leggo leggo! LEGGO, YOU SON OF A BITCH! KIKU!"

Gathering up his garments in the other hand, Ivan quickly stormed away from the beach with his prize, neither noticing the quiver in one of the lifeless boy's fingers.

And a second later, Kiku's head turned, and he abruptly vomited a stream of rust-colored water, teeth clenched so hard as to keep a fresh bellow of pain inside. It bounced around like a pinball against splintered bones, ground itself against bruised vertebrae

But in he held it.

He frothed at the mouth, convulsing as if possessed by demons. The hurt was no longer a sensation so much as it was reality, his only reality and his throat felt like it were on fire. On his tongue was the metallic tang of pennies and every part of him cried out

But in he held it.

Unable to see his friend stirring, Alfred thrashed as Ivan carried him up the stony slope overlooking where Kiku had been abandoned. When sand and shells progressed into yellow grass, his captor let him drop to the forest floor.

Despite the fact that he was now as pale as Ivan, blood oozed from the scarlet ribbons Natalya sliced into him, from the raw, deep sores sharp chains and the hook had dug into his ankle flesh.

Not seeing anything, babbling high-pitched as if he'd inhaled a whiff of helium, he clumsily staggered up. Ivan merely shoved him and he fell straight on his ass, sending a jolt through his tailbone. Before Alfred could get his bearings, hands buried themselves in the ruined bridal shroud, yanking him forward. And then Ivan laughed.

"You dare kiss that boy in front of me?"

"Let me help him!" Alfred begged breathlessly, his second plead dying as he looked into those eyes. They were dark now, darker than he had ever seen them. Those hollows hovered above Ivan's dead, fixed smile like burning specters.

Chuckling, Ivan grasped his shoulders tightly, beaming joylessly.

"Happens once, Alfred, shame on you. Happens twice—"

His grip doubled and soon he'd hoisted Alfred up so that his feet barely kissed the ground. Alfred flailed for a second or two before Ivan sang,

"Shame on me."

Alfred goggled at him stupidly for a second before the dawning comprehension.

"...no," he wheezed frantically, his ragged breathing improving to a dry sob as one of Ivan's thumbs tenderly stroked his collar bone. "No, please—it wasn't…I didn't….c'mon, man, please, let me save him, I know I—"

"Sunflower," Ivan said austerely, all faux pleasure waning. His round face became a gaunt mask. The yellow-white skin hung off it, looking ill-fitting, waxy. "He is lost. Gone under the ice with the others. I held him there until the bubbles stopped coming."

"Bullshit!"

His voice cracked like a gunshot and he started kicking, scratching at every part of Ivan he could reach. "We can still save him! I know we can! Iv, please—"

"He is no more, Alfred."

His expression did not change, even as the blond started to cry.

"Oh, God," he exclaimed, the tears falling thick and fast. "No. No, no, no, no! You can't. No. No. No, Kiku. He's…."

"Dead," Ivan whispered, with a touch of relish. He pressed their foreheads together. "He's gone, Alfred. Gone forever."

"LIAR LIAR LIAR, FUCKING LIAR Noooooooo!"

The truth in his chest exploded and bloomed like a firework, and suddenly the tears came in torrents. His head snapped back, face screwing up so badly it looked as if he were laughing even as he bawled.

Everything was over.

Sobs were ripping his chest apart like millions of stinging parasites in a mass exodus and Alfred bit the inside of his lip until he tasted blood, Ivan's cold indifference the resounding thud of earth on a coffin lid. Kiku was dead. Really, really….

….gone.

The woods blurred and he shook, hearing a ripping noise someplace.

He swore to save him, but Kiku was dead. Dead. Onto that ice he'd carried him, swearing that they'd be okay, that Alfred would take him on a fucking date even. They'd fallen through and Kiku had perished; because of one lousy kiss, Kiku'd been dragged here and murdered.

Ivan's hands were gripping far too tight, too hard and he couldn't care that he was at the gallows because Murder. Murderer!

Something hot ran down his chin and he realized that he'd bit his lip so hard the skin broke. Ivan was touching his cheek, saying something but it didn't matter.

Because Alfred was a murderer. It bayed in his bones.

And immediately he saw a lonely head underwater, severed from its body with a long, slimy black braid floating beside it like a tail. Kiku had died because of him. Arthur was dead. Ismael was dead. Even Mr. Yao was silently decomposing in that tranquil-looking pool. All of them had died because of him.

He started jabbering, adding to the inane buzzing in his ears. His skin prickled, and then started to burn as badly as if multitudes of wasps were stinging their way through him via massive exodus.

It's not….I didn't….never….never a-asked…never…oh God, oh God, OH gOd—

"Why do you cry?" Ivan demanded, swiftly reclaiming Alfred's attention before he started shaking him. Hard. Alfred's head lolled on his shoulders like a puppet's as Ivan's infuriated, pained expression loomed before him.

"Why?!" His voice rose to a roar.

When no answer was forthwith coming he sank to his knees, clutching Alfred to his chest like a teddy bear, or a dead infant.

"Angel! Oh, my little angel, my dearest master, I was so scared, so sCarEd, why did you run?! I thought...you could have been hurt, you were hurt, you went into ice graveyard rather than be with your Vanya! I am YOURS! You are mine—THAT WAS OUR COVENANT—and yOu WIll nOT LEAVE mE!"

Those wrath-filled eyes glared down at him, tears glittering as they fell.

"All this time I yearned for you, you cruel, cruel thing—" Here he punctuated a gasp with a kiss.

"I dreamed of your face, your precious face...waited like a starving man and I protected you! I let fountains of blood spray out of those evil people rather than allow you suffer one plucked hair from your head! I'D SKIN EVERYONE ALIVE FOR YOU, INCLUDING MYSELF, if I thought it'd make you happy! Why, then..."

His eyes hooked Alfred's petrified ones, sinking in deep enough to pierce something else.

"After your promise, you defile me, you defile yourself—because of some drowned, squealing pig? Why you do this? HAH? WHY?"

He let Alfred slide out of his arms as he pressed his hands against his face and suddenly he realized how badly Ivan was shaking. The Russian looked on the verge of a mental breakdown, shrunk pupils rolling, bloody teeth bared as if he were a feral child. His blunt nails started to dig fast into his skin, raking, breath rattling.

"Alfred," he whimpered, his hands ripping into his hair. "Tell me why. Tell me now, please. Dorogoy, my love, I'd never hurt you. Never never never." He extended beseeching hands towards the blond, a mangled grin on that despairing face.

"You looked at me like...but no, you must not be afraid...no, never of your Vanya, your Vanya who loves you so much...so why...?"

He seized one of Alfred's legs and fervently began kissing it. Alfred tugged it back in disgust, eyes hurting just to look at the pitiful monster groveling at his feet. "Don't touch me," he snarled, the threat in his voice shattering. "I…no, why, oh, God, why, I can't…."

Just get it over with. Now. Like hell I'm gonna live like this. I deserve it. It's okay.

And I'll see him agai—

"...Mattie," he remembered, his sobs stopping dead in his throat. "Katyusha. No."

Ivan's lip curled into a poisonous sneer.

"So that's who you worry about," he growled, looking away, voice shot with betrayal. "You won't have me, but the moment your rat dies, you look for another dirty little pet. Well, never you fear, you sneaking—"

He started raking his face faster and harder until his face gleamed raw, his gouging nails getting dangerously close to his eyes. His frame was trembling with silent sobs. It was horrifying to watch.

Before he could blink, Ivan was on his feet, seized Alfred by the forearms.

"They're both still alive. But Katyusha will be dead before long. And I will never let you see them," he vowed, voice shooting up. "You won't be running away from your Vanya anymore. I'll destroy anyone who tries to take you from me!"

Tears still running down his swollen face, Alfred goggled at the raging demon in front of him, composure completely forsaken. And in his eyes there was the slightest shadow of doubt, which wormed into him the way no physical wound ever could.

"And," He raved, "If you try to escape me again, then together, we'll…we will both—NEVER, NEVER, EVER—"

"Ivan."

Letting out a moan of anguish, the Russian's face crumpled and he let it sink into his large hands before he started weeping. Alfred stood there and looked at him.

This abomination had killed its little sister without a moment's hesitation. And now it was throwing itself a pity party. Because Alfred had fled. It tortured Kiku, delivered Lord knew how many people into the jaws of death, and now it was bowled over wailing on its knees, clutching itself as it rocked back and forth as if its heart would break. He blinked.

Because the young man he'd followed about like a lamb, played soccer and video games with, slept beside…betrayed his delusions about being an angel.

Angel. Wow. It'd be hilarious if it weren't so sick. Exhausted, Alfred closed his eyes and wished with all his might to disappear.

Ivan put the "C" in "Cuckoo for criminally insane" if he really thought a child who'd asked Daddy to bandage some boo-boos was a…heavenly being or a messiah. A saint who demanded...sacrifice...or some deranged evil shit.

But Ivan was nothing but an oversized baby, beyond reason. Either he would deny Alfred's claims for the sake of his own sanity or he'd bury them both. And Mattie. A stray tear shot down Alfred's cheek in the dark.

Kiku was gone, but Matthew was still alive. He had to live. And as horrible, horrible as Alfred felt, as much as he longed for it to just end already, Kiku's dead and I should be too, it's only fair—Mattie had to be saved. He would be.

Whatever the cost. He closed his eyes.

Longing to recoil, Alfred dropped to the forest floor where Ivan crouched, biting his lip, still hurting himself. Revulsion and pity seared inside him at once, two colossal snake heads trying to eat the other.

Very gingerly, he let his cold hands rest on Ivan's shoulders. The Russian's breath hitched and he immediately tensed, parting his fingertips to stare up at him. A lump rose to his throat.

"Iv." Ivan looked away and Alfred timidly nuzzled the side of his head. It was a good think he was soaked and freezing, else he'd be sweating.

"Or I...I guess...Alexei?"

The taller boy didn't speak or move and he sighed, cautiously wrapping his wet arms around Ivan in an awkward embrace.

"...I didn't know it was you. I thought about you." Maybe once or twice before he'd practically forgotten him altogether; that had been his life's luxury. "Didn't think I'd ever see you again…"

Ivan hid his face again and he battled the urge to push off and sprint, though his knees were literally knocking with fatigue. Maybe Ivan was too beaten down to give chase now, although Alfred sincerely doubted it.

"Vanya," he said earnestly. "I'm sorry. Really. Please. Look at me...please?"

After a moment Ivan reluctantly obliged, hands still protectively cupping his head. Refraining from rolling his eyes, Alfred leaned forward and kissed one eye, then the other, and then an angry red line Ivan scratched beneath one, because it seemed right.

"You really...did all this…." Horrible, nightmarish, sick as fuck bad—"All t-that…in the lake…." 'That' being poor people with their lives turned to dust.

"...to make me happy?"

Ivan let out this funny little squeaking noise and for a brief moment he saw not Ivan the homicidal maniac, but Ivan who'd carried him to the nurse's office and made him lunch and patiently doted on him, smiled at his bad jokes. The Ivan who'd posed with him in a photo booth, eyes soft and kind above the tiniest of smiles that somehow expressed overflowing treasure troves of joy.

That made it easier to wrap two arms around his neck, but honestly, not by much. And thinking of what Kiku would say if he saw him whoring himself out like this scraped his skull with razor sharp, bestial claws.

"Shhh, shhhhh," he soothed, resting his head atop Ivan's. "Please don't cry anymore, Vanya. It's gonna be okay." It would never be okay. His hand slid inside the Russian's, gripping.

"Nothing's gonna keep us apart now, right? Like you said. We're together again. Now neither of us will be lonely anymore."

There was a pause—Ivan remained as frigid as a statue—and after a hiccup his posture gradually loosened, melting underneath him. His hand curled over Alfred's cold one and he was surprised by how warm it was.

"That's right," He encouraged, nearly puking out of sheer fright when Ivan snatched him, dragging him onto his lap. "Gaaah! That's r-right. S-S'all good."

"You ran away from me," He accused sullenly.

His mind scrambled for purchase. "At first I was so scared…wasn't….wasn't sure…." This was lame and he knew it. "It was…that you were my…my A-Alexei. Um, you got big." A strangled yelp escaped him. He wondered if it could pass for laughter. "And I thought you were really going to hurt me." That part certainly wasn't a lie.

Ivan let out an irritated huff of dissent, trying to push him away. But Alfred clung on like a tick. "Hey….now I know. You…rescued me from Natalya." He'd rescued himself and now he was noticing just how much the cut underneath the torn sleeve hurt. "You went and got me even though you coulda froze to death. I know now. You won't hurt me. You're…you're m-mine. My Ivan. I'm yours. You….you proved yourself?" It came out sounding too much like a question so he hastily amended:

"Ivan. I'm so glad you came back for me. I'd be lost if you weren't. I'm not scared of you anymore." He could about piss himself he was that scared.

Loathing himself, he started attacking Ivan with kisses, breathlessly peppering them everywhere he could.

"You're...you're my hero. I won't you leave you alone if you let me stay with you. Please. What…whatever you want from me, I'll do." What if Ivan expected him to sprout wings or something? He again thought of Kiku and his voice shook from emotion; excellent.

"Vanya, I didn't realize this before because I wasn't…consciously sure….but when you mentioned that you'd….kissed a girl before, I thought…there was no chance we could wind up together. And besides, even though you kinda looked like him, I wanted...my poor Alexei, my first love." Score. Ivan wasn't breathing now.

"I didn't want to get hurt, so I...pushed you away." Thank heavens he'd seen plenty of dramatic films playing this sordid scene in the rain. Ivan lay still, still cradling him against his breast. Pressed against it, Alfred felt the Russian's heart thunking hard and fast. His own felt ready to leap into his throat as a hand smoothed his spine.

"But my…soul, I think, deep down recognized you when you came to school that day. I was…so happy…and to imagine, all this time, you've been…watching over me…." Alienating, stalking, and ruining everything I love I HATE YOU I HATE YOU.

Not more so then he did himself.

His stomach squirmed like a pit of worms when Ivan gently tucked away a strand of his wet hair and he hoped Ivan thought his shudder of revulsion was one of pleasure.

"And being so kind…and gentle…Vanya. My beautiful Vanya, and…I'm so glad to have you back in my life. I…" It felt like pure sewage was pouring from his mouth.

"I love you."

Ivan tensed.

And a second later he'd joyfully crushed his lips against his. Alfred duly submitted, immediately granting Ivan access when a warm tongue tentatively tasted his lower lip, sliding inside. He clumsily copied, closing his eyes again. He made himself sick.

Like a warm mist, Ivan's breath swam in his head. Just when he was getting lightheaded, Ivan drew back, chest quietly heaving, lips swollen, expression overbright and inscrutable.

Without prelude he dove in for another kiss, their teeth clacking. Soon he was kissing every little bit of him he could reach, his brow, his nose, his neck, always coming back to his lips and he returned in kind, spots looming in his vision.

Meanwhile, Kiku dully gazed up at the stars, dark eyes hazy. What had happened? What had happened? His head hurt, everything hurt—but he was so out of it he wondered if he had a concussion. He remembered….something with Alfred, they were….his clothes smelled like rust and smoke.

"I knew it," He breathed, a touch of the familiar fanaticism creeping in his voice. "I knew it. You would not fail me. Moy bessmertnyy dorogaya." Tears started falling again as Ivan held him tight, the salty drops landing on Alfred's battered feet. He bent to kiss those, platinum bangs messily falling over them.

"I'm so sorry. Forgive me. Forgive me please for scaring you, my prince. I love you too," Ivan said softly, and Alfred bit his sleeve. "I love you," he said again, and again. "I love you, my darling, my beautiful angel. My little sunflower. Forgive me. I love you so much I could die of it."

Wish you would. "Ivan, I'm yours. I was born to be with you." he said mechanically, taking a chance Ivan hadn't seen the romcom he'd quoted.

Humming, Ivan held him close, and then the zipper on the back of his dress slowly began to descend. Alfred's breath caught as it slid all the way down, down, down. The night air was freezing on his soaked skin.

Not now!

"You're cold," Ivan tutted, peeling the wet dress off him. Alfred let him, gripping Ivan's shoulders when he was sat only in boxers and he felt him finger the waistband. Would Ivan stomach a lie that angels couldn't procreate? That it was some kind of abomination? Would he be more likely to let Matthew go after screwing him? How did he fake it when he was this humiliated, this afraid?

The pants were slid down past his ankles and now Alfred was exposed, completely naked and shivering on Ivan's lap. His fingers left prints on pale flesh when the Russian let out a sad clicking noise upon seeing the gash and the bruises that littered his body—mementos of a fun night that went on forever.

"And you're hurt."

Ivan started lapping at the wound on his arm, a sweet, sad and revolting apology. "Forgive me. My poor little darling. Please forgive your Vanya. I will take care of you."

To Alfred's surprise, Ivan reached for his coat and wrapped him up in the heavy fabric, so large on him the sleeves draped past his hands. With a grunt the Russian hoisted him up, tucking an arm underneath folded legs.

"I will take care of you," he crooned again as the two headed back to the truck, grill damaged by its impact at the stump. "I will help you. It will be all right."

"Where are we going?" He asked nervously as Ivan slid him in the front seat, strapping him in.

"To the house. I have to bandage you and you must rest. And I must dispatch them, if we're to be happy."

"No," he entreated frantically as Ivan went around to the driver's side and slid in, engine purring to life. "Iv, she's your only family left. You can't. Not for me. I'm begging you here, for my fucking brother, your fucking sister, let them live. Let them go. Iv…"

Ivan pressed a finger against his mouth. "Shh," he said. "I am here. You're safe. I love you. Do not mind them for right now. I have you." He said that as if it were meant to be a comfort.

For every tear Ivan wiped away, two more came down.

As the car rumbled away through the trail it had ripped across the forest earlier, Kiku feebly drew one knee to his chest and tried to move the other, but the electric fork of hurt blinded him and for a moment he flopped back against the ground, breathless.

Darkness. And then smoke. Fire. Alfred's frantic voice in his ears. Then cold, cold that numbed and it was a relief…Alfred's voice calling to him and then his lips on his, an offered lifesaver...

He was still alive. But what now? What had become of Alfred? Matthew? Would Ivan return to finish what he'd started?

With the greatest effort Kiku had ever made in his life, he hoisted himself upon his undamaged knee, whistling through grit teeth. Had to get away. Had to find help. Warmth. He looked above the treetops and saw smoke drifting not far off in the distance, likely a hallmark from the blaze Natalya had stirred up. Perhaps not. In any case, he would die if he stayed here and waited, one way or another.

Whimpering, Kiku braced himself and began to half-crawl, half-drag himself up the dunes, towards the grass, towards the forest, towards the faint glimmer he saw in the distance. And prayed.

~o*oOo*o~

Being somewhat preoccupied at the time chasing after a creep out to skin his best friend and brother, Alfred hadn't taken a good look at the outside of the cottage. It was humbly small amidst the trees towering above it, alike a sole child in a party of adults.

The graying shingles were torn, though there were a few mismatched new ones poking out like false teeth in their midst. Underneath them was speckled gray stone so positively weathered and ancient that he suspected the place had been abandoned long before Ivan claimed it.

Part of the house was made of wood, and though he'd seen plenty of homes made with alternating materials like plywood and brick for interesting effect, it had an unfinished feel to it. An art project with its creator running out of quality material and making do with Popsicle sticks. Seemed solid, but damp and tired. Various speckles of white crumbly stuff indicated that it once had a paint job, though they were possibly fungus.

For a den full of potpourri and pure evil, it looked completely unremarkable, though miserable.

While not actively falling apart, the structure seemed a little lopsided, sunk in the marshy earth. The light coming from an scratched old window did not make it any more inviting. If anything, Alfred foolishly thought it was glaring at them with one cataract-eye, pissed to be woken up. He nonetheless squinted desperately into it as Ivan parked, wishing for his glasses and to see a silhouette.

Last chance.

He was strangely relieved that Ivan calmly crossed the front of the car rather than the back to the passenger door. The few extra seconds probably would have persuaded him to bolt, and the realization was sickening.

"I can walk," he muttered ungraciously as Ivan opened the door, pulling him into his arms.

Shutting the door with his back, Ivan ignored him and he was weirdly grateful for that too. It didn't seem very angelic and in any case, his legs were completely numb.

But there didn't seem much to be grateful for when Ivan carried him inside and Alfred saw.

"HOLY MOTHER OF LIVING SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT! Mattie!"

"Mmmmph! Mmmmmphhh!"

Apparently Matthew's mediation skills needed some work; he was again chained to his chair, a cloth gag spotted with browning blood around his mouth. One lens on his glasses was gone completely, the other spider-web shattered, and the eyes behind them were shot. He let out a dry sob.

His nose was bleeding freely, all over his hoodie and Alfred started dry-heaving when he saw its crooked angle; Ivan had broken it.

It's not his neck.

Behind him, Katyusha was slumped over in the seat where Kiku had sat, hair fanned over her face. At first glance she did not appear to be physically injured, but as they drew closer Alfred spotted a nasty lump the size of an egg on the side of her head. And though the light from the fire was weak, he could make out crusty red stripes clotted on her cheek, silver strands glued over some wound.

Apparently even chains had not been enough; their hair was tied together in several knots.

"Let me down," Alfred cried, pushing at Ivan's chest with both hands. When Ivan's grip merely tightened, he reflexively reached out and swiped Katyusha's stiff and sticky hair aside, trying to access the damage.

And saw where Katyusha once had an eye socket was now a hollow, bloody tears still streaming down.

Stricken, Alfred whipped his hand back, pressed the shaking muscle over his mouth, remembered what it had just touched, and retched. Without a word, Ivan went to the bed, pulled off the duvet, and walked over to the fireplace. He stooped to toss in a new log, and then sank down with a near inaudible grunt, wrapping him up. He was as unresisting as a doll, staring at his brother as he was crushed against Ivan's breast. Matthew stared back, looking positively sick.

It was a long time before he spoke. All was quiet, save for the fire cracking and Matthew's own shallow breathing. Ivan's hands wandered through Alfred's wet hair; at last he started shivering again.

"Why?" The word was quieter than he'd meant it to be. "I never…." He remembered Arthur's eye, Katyusha's eye, and buried his face in Ivan's neck when the world began spinning like a dervish. "Never asked you to do this. Why?" He needed to shut up, everything was quiet now, just stop, stop, stop "I didn't want you to h-hurt anyone…you didn't…."

"Anything for you," Ivan said affectionately, choosing to interpret Alfred's shell shock as breathless awe. He kissed his head, and when Alfred continued shaking, sighed sadly.

"This night has been so hard on you." The arm wound around Alfred's waist squeezed harder, and harder still, crushing."I am sorry."

Suddenly he remembered a MGM cartoon featuring a character named Lonesome Lenny, a not-bright dog constantly bewailing how lonely he was: "Gee, I wish I had a little friend. A little friend to hug. A little friend to hug, pet and play with. Y'know, I had a little friend once," he added dolefully, pulling a squashed carcass out of his doggy pocket. "But he don't move no more."

"Why?" The question was squeezed out his lungs.

Ivan drew back slightly, eyes narrowed. He reached for the scarf perpetually tied around his neck, and unraveled it. Near Ivan's pulse point was a patch of starkly white scar tissue, a series of raised nicks and slashes that made Alfred cringe.

"When I was little boy, my mother was diagnosed with a condition that would greatly shorten her lifespan." He turned to look at the fire. "Huntington's cholera. And my father left her the year my little sister Natalya was born, so it was only her looking after us. We were poor, so my mother married an ex-veteran who still received a monthly pension."

Ivan pulled him close against him again, and Alfred felt the mouth pressed against his head curl at the ends into a smile. It wasn't a happy one. "At first, he did not seem so terrible. We learned that he'd been honorably discharged from the force after being wounded in battle. And that he was once on medication for a illness that our mother assured us was nothing, really. Certainly curable. He was not so terrible, nyet, not at first...sometimes he brought toys….

"Or when he did say awful things, he would do it without my mother's knowledge. Then, as she grew sicker, he did not care anymore. He spat on her grave and turned the hell of his existence on the three of us."

Oh, goody, a Cinderella story. When did the fairy godmother come in?

Ivan jerked his head towards the corner where Katy and Matthew still sat.

"He beat and raped that bleeding cow you see there," he said plaintively, as if making casual dinner conversation.

"The first time he approached her, she'd tried to refuse him, so he lowered her into the well we had in our backyard and filled it with mice from the barn." Alfred froze and Ivan soothingly caressed him. "He knew she was afraid…he dumped a rat down there by the end of the first hour, and after that, she agreed."

Liar. Liar. Dirty stupid fucking ho-dunk liar.

But in a stale-feeling clinic room a very dry, bony hand clutched his, whilst the other was scalded with blisters.

"Nothing did not merit his cruelty, which was as creative as it was deep; when Natalya spoke back to him, he hit her and cut her hair so that she went to school looking like a boy. He starved us, locked us in closets for entire weekends, took us by the ankles and threw us down the stairs, beat us against walls like rugs. It was he who burned me, that day we met."

Matthew's eyes narrowed in obvious mystification, while Alfred just looked vacantly at the carpet underneath them. Ivan's fingers drummed affectionately at his hip, one hand uncomfortably near his throat.

"I ran away...and met you by the fountains." Alfred thought he could hear Ivan's eyes glowing. "But as you recall, I wasn't strong enough to keep you yet...I promised you one day I would be. Shortly after I returned home, was punished again." The smile hardened so much it became brittle. "That night in the well, I wondered about you, and if you'd ever think of me...

"Life, or whatever you call it, went on in this desperate fashion for a few more years."

The Russian very reluctantly lay him aside, stood up, and fetched a small plate waiting on a mantle alongside a glass tumbler of water. Again he sat, silently pressing the bottle into Alfred's hands. Automatically he took a big swig and he choked; it was vodka.

Ivan silently took the bottle from his hands as he coughed and took a long draft. If the taste bothered him he didn't show it. Then he held something against Alfred's lips and he ate it, tasting a lingering sweetness. The same sugar cookies Ivan had brought him when he'd returned home, shaken by the announcement of Mr. Yao's disappearance.

Gloved fingers traced the Cyrillic label. "When I was twelve, my stepfather and I got into an argument. He was drunk...he pulled out his knife and cut me."

He licked his lips, pulled Alfred back on his thigh, and calmly finished, "And he buried me alive."

"No." The vodka warmed him from fingertips to toes, and now Ivan's heat was steadily flowing into him, but a different cold had seized him. "No, you're delusional, no one would—"

Very gently, Ivan took Alfred's hand, and pressed it against the cruel marks, not an inch away from a pulse point. Alfred shuddered, and another hand covered his.

"I survived," he said dryly. "I dug my way out…I was stronger than he anticipated and he did not cut or bury me deeply enough. He'd gone into the house…I went into the shed, pulled out rusty old spigot that had been broken for years." Alfred slid his hand away and Ivan let it go, reaching for the vodka again.

"And I went into house afterwards."

He hesitated. Something was being abridged.

"When I stopped, I was dazed." Something was being abridged, and he was devoutly thankful for it. "My clothes…all down my front, red. My stepfather had injured me badly, but most of the blood making my fingers sticky was not mine. My sisters watched me in the corner with large eyes. It was dark. Somewhere in the fight, I had smashed only lightbulb in kitchen with my pipe….stepfather lay on ground. Beaten, bloody, swollen, almost unrecognizable.

"I washed up….we called police. Katyusha spun some tale about a burglar coming in and killing stepfather, and before they came to house I run deep, deep into the woods to hide the weapon." He licked his lips again, removed his gloves, and touched Alfred's cheek. Apparently the flesh was still too cold for Ivan's liking, because he wound his scarf around the blond's neck. The thought of a noose swinging lonesomely came to mind.

He cradled Alfred against his sternum, the latter weakly aware that the same hands that had wrung Natalya's neck and tore Katyusha's eye out were brushing through his hair, petting his leg.

"Natalya said they could find fingerprints on it….was miracle I was not arrested at time. They sent dogs out in woods, thought that culprit might have run off there….I covered myself in bear grease before I hid the weapon, so they did not pick up my scent. I knew woods much better than they, and I hid the pipe where it could not be found by anyone other than me.

"The authorities were suspicious of our story, but we were small, and there was no proof that we had any part in our stepfather's demise. We were taken away by government into orphanage." A grim, self-mocking snort.

"It was not very nice place, but not nearly as bad as living with that creature who would call himself a man. When I grow older, I get job, save up money so that one day my sisters and I will be able to afford our own place. But there were some who would wait for me," He added, his tone growing more and more succulent in dark sweetness.

"They would wait for me when I came back and threaten my life if I did not give them my earnings. When I complained to nuns, the boys pled innocence and beat me harder later. They asked me to steal for them. They picked on my sisters…." One of whom you axed and the other you meant to.

"They mocked me, took what few possessions I had, used every opportunity they could to humiliate and belittle me, especially in front of potential guardians. One day….their ringleader was teasing me mercilessly, and I grew so angry….I ran to my suitcase and took out pipe. I had taken it with me, why, I do not know. The boy who had become the new terror of my life did not laugh so hard when I cornered him," Ivan added, the calmness in his voice like a smooth blanket of snow over mangled bodies.

"He begged and wept, but soon he is quiet, even as I am cracking his skull open and squishing it underneath my feet. I blamed another for the act, a boy with whom he'd fought with the previous day. This boy had a bat he liked to threaten me with—I stole it from him without touching it myself, soaked it with blood, threw it in the dumpster to make it seem as though he'd tried to get rid of it. It had his fingerprints on it…forensics revealed that the 'victim—'" The quotes were in his voice. "—had been struck with a blunt object, and the blunt object recovered near the scene was covered in his DNA. The boy was taken away from the orphanage to juvenile detention center.

"He was given trial, but no one would testify in his defense. He was not much liked at the orphanage." His hand moved underneath the beige fabric of the coat Alfred still wore and wandered up and down his bare thigh. "Not at all. I testified superbly as a witness. I'd learned very well living with my stepfather—you did not lie well, you get beaten or worse. The boy was convicted…I think he was tried as minor, but he'll still be in there…what was it? Another sixteen, seventeen years..."

Ivan looked at him at last.

"That is enough." He stood, still holding him. "Enough of this. I am upsetting you, and this portion of my life without you in it does not matter. You must rest now." And he made for the bed, one hand sinking in his pocket.

"Mmmph!"

Alfred threw his arms around Ivan's scarred neck, tears splashing on the old wounds.

"I'm sorry."

The Russian's footsteps halted, and he at last managed to extract himself and get his feet on the floor. He'd heard Katyusha rattly breathing when he'd been close. Hopefully she was still alive, although he didn't dare press Ivan yet. This would take bomb squad maneuvering and he wasn't the daintiest guy.

But the sadness that came pouring out of him again was anything but unnatural; Alfred F. Jones started sobbing again and freely. For Kiku, for Katyusha, for Matthew, for a nameless horrible but unmistakably innocent person who'd had his life destroyed.

And even as Ivan entreated him to calm down, hysteria buffeted him to cry for the person for whom he hurt for so badly he thought his heart would stop. Alexei too had been a victim, a child shoved alive into a grave, and what emerged was not a monster but simply a fucked-up human being.

"How could you…" Ivan held him close and his craving for more touch made him sob all the harder. "How could you stand all that?" He demanded, face red and livid. "That guy fucking m-maimed you, and—" His words caught on a sob, and he forced himself to cling to Ivan all the tighter.

"It's not fair. It's not—no. Just hell no, you were just...I can't. I—Ivan..."

Ivan dipped his head and licked up Alfred's tears. "You cry for me?" He sounded bewildered. "My little angel, you cry for me?"

The two stood there for a long moment. Alfred thought he felt something warm trickle into his hair, but he was probably just imagining it. Avoiding eye contact, Ivan slowly sank on the bed, pulling him with him. The American tangled his hands with Ivan's and felt them being gently squeezed back. Good. He didn't want Ivan getting any funny ideas about syringes.

When his sobs became hiccups, he turned and glared at him. "Tell me the rest." Probably not a chance anyone else would come storming in, but he'd hold out.

The taller shrugged. "Afterwards, I….it became a habit. It was seldom someone not deserving," he added, shuffling his feet. "It was a difficult game and I had to research much beforehand. There were close calls, many of them, and I told myself after dispatching each one, 'now, I am happy and this is the last.' But invariably some other evil person would show their face and it was time to retrieve my pipe…

"But Natalya walked in on me one night." His tone soured.

"I did not know what to do, but she promised her silence in exchange for my letting her accompany and assist me. She would point out people to me, people she insisted no one would miss….many were people that Natalya ardently insisted had done her—and me, apparently, by extension—some great personal wrong.

"Eventually we were captured by the authorities. A woman spotted Natalya giving candy to a young boy with whom I liked to play with who later turned up dead. Ah, I think the sweets had glass fiber inside...he was not you, of course, never you," He added hastily, looking worried as though that had been the worst of that statement. "But he reminded me of the angel I met long ago...

"Since I was acquainted with the boy and brother to the fiend I finally put out of its suffering tonight, they suspected me of assisting her. Shortly afterwards the ice over the pond where we dumped all the corpses began to melt, and some old fishermen discovered them."

Breathe. Breathe. Keep him talking. Just a little while longer.

"...how many?"

"…fifteen." From his hesitancy, that sounded like a conservative estimate.

Oh, Christ.

Ivan chastely kissed his cheek. "Little Alfred, you are tired. You are cold and tired and must sleep." One of his hands began to withdraw and Alfred desperately snatched it tighter, pressing his lips against it.

"No. No, please, don't stop. Please."

Ivan's face turned pink. He sighed again, and smiled indulgently.

"The best our lawyers could do for us was the insanity plea. There was no definite proof that I had been involved, although a few directors of my old orphanage suggested that in any case I needed mental rehabilitation."

"Why?"

"Well, there was a hamster that I...never mind. The court found Natalya clearly addled in her head; it was a wonder she hadn't been put away at five years old when she tried to stab her teacher with the safety scissors." Charming. "Her sentence was a full lifetime, but I learned tonight she coerced one of her unhappy aids into helping her escape the asylum."

Bull. Absolute bull. Ivan really was crazy if he thought a serial killer was just gonna waltz out of a nuthouse and find her way across the world without anyone noticing. In a spy movie maybe.

"And she came to America shortly thereafter. I do not know how she came upon this place, but rest assured she will not hurt you anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Matthew asked. They immediately looked up, and saw his gag lying discarded on the floor. He'd managed to chew it free. Ivan smiled again.

"We're talking about my other sister, whom paid me the displeasure of a visit tonight. I would be delighted to introduce you to her later on."

Shut it, stupid, just shut your trap! Please!

"No, it's just….even if all that happened, something doesn't add up," Matthew faltered weakly, tilting his head awkwardly to peer anxiously at Katyusha.

"They run criminal background tracks before they let you immigrate. And if you'd been accused of…killing someone, then your name would have jumped to the top of the list of suspects in a school where two people just vanished in thin air and another was clearly…." Ismael. "M-murdered." His voice sounded funny, nasal and gargling. "And as…clever as Natalya sounds…sounded…it would have been a job even for her to sneak all the way here from Russia, where people are probably looking under every wastebasket for her. It...just sounds too easy to me."

Does it matter?

"Ah," Ivan said happily, nodding smartly as if he were a professor and Matthew a student who asked a particularly good question. "Well, it was my good fortune to have a good…" He hummed thoughtfully and rubbed his fingers together, trying to find the right word.

"In the orphanage where I lived for some time there was a very bright, very fidgety pigeon named Eduard Von Bock. He was very good with computers and was moved up two entire grades. Things looked very well for him, even if he were picked on constantly. That made life difficult for him…and the fact that scholarship money alone would not be enough to fund his schooling made him not very happy, so he decided to get financial aid by other means."

"And that was…?"

"Black market hacking," He said simply, and Matthew's diagnosis for Ivan officially became schizophrenic. "As I grew older, I grow bigger, so I am not tiny boy everyone can just pick on, da? Even the old group that used to torment me so was now afraid of me. I protect Eduard from some of the more menacing people…" That uncanny smile on Ivan's face told both brothers that there was probably some menacing on the Russian's part, too.

"And later on, when I am free from the mad house, I find him and his tiny friend with a big mouth and they so graciously offered to assist me!" Matthew wondered how much trouble they went to—and how many more pains they would have adopted—so that Ivan would leave the country and never, ever return.

"It took some work, many weeks, but eventually Eduard was able to slip beneath the many barriers in the federal Russian information sites as a...mole, I think it is." What the fuck. Alfred blinked his red eyes. Changing a few digits in a fucking computer was not gonna make people forget you were public enemy number one. Well, probably not. "This was no small feat, but using a dummy account….ah, I do not understand much of it…" Wait, didn't Alfred see a movie like that once, featuring some ugly chick and a bunch of computers and a plot to take over the world?

"He obtained access to official records and deleted my history so that it was as clean as snow. I was determined to leave both my past and the country of my birth forever so that I might have new start in life. Natalya…" He faltered. "She I could no longer help. I could not give her my heart as she asked of me, and her erratic behavior was as frightening as it was dangerous." Alfred threw a revolted, incredulous glance at his brother, who was frowning at the floor, Yekaterina's bloody head now resting on his shoulder.

"Katyusha did not like it, not at all, leaving our little sister behind even though Natalya clearly despised her…but I was not yet old enough to leave by myself, and she was desperate to leave the frozen shithole too full of memories, even if she would not admit it.

"We both could speak English; it was required for five years in primary school—my destination was a little town in America where my angel had allegedly come from." Ivan beamed.

"While I did not think I would find you, my darling, my precious sunflower, I did." He tilted Alfred's head up and kissed him. Their lips broke apart with a slight pop."It has never ceased to leave me amazed. My name is written in destiny, entwined with yours."

He wiped another treacherous tear away.

"Do not be sad. I have tried…tried so hard to make you happy." No, really? "I am sorry your lovely dress was spoiled…did you not like it? I will fetch another one for you."

Alfred could not respond. Ivan started lightly scratching his sleeve, like a cat looking for attention.

"All my life I have been denied beautiful things." Sounded like he was talking mostly to himself now. "When I find one, why can I not keep it? I love it, more than anything else, and I will keep it safe next to my heart, as my heart."

"….Ivan, we get that you think Al's a wonderful person," Matthew said wearily. Alfred's head shot up. "Hell, everyone gets that. But your imprisoning us here isn't going to get you what you want."

"Mattie, be quiet. Please."

Matthew rolled his eyes.

"We're always gonna be scared to death of you, and the person you regard as an 'angel—'" Boy, could he tell Ivan some stories. "…will say whatever he feels he needs to say to protect us." Ivan slowly began to rise, ignoring Alfred when the concerned boy flew to wrap his arms around him again. "It's not the real Alfred you'd be getting; just a hoax from someone who thinks of you as nothing more than a vicious remodel of your stepdad!"

"How am I ANYTHING like my stepfather?" Ivan snarled. "He hurt us! That man maimed us! He buried me alive and left me for DEAD! I protect my sunflower! I will kill anyone who tries to wrong him! Kill you!"

"Will you kill yourself, then?" Matthew asked quietly.

Alfred tried to tug Ivan towards him into a kiss, but Ivan flung him against the bed, slowly advancing towards the twin chairs. Alfred rolled off, accidentally tripping over coat folds.

Matthew shrank away from the advancing shadow as best he could, voice growing shriller by the second:

"Just think about it, Ivan! No one's out to hurt Alfred more than you! You can't keep him locked away in a house all day long—he'd go nuts! Do you know him at all?!" He begged. "How could you love your stepfather when he put you three in such a nightmarish world? He was a deranged, depraved old man who tortured innocent people! Is that really what you want to become? Please, Ivan!"

He stopped short, and Alfred accidentally ran headlong into his back. Rubbing a sore nose, he made to tug Ivan away, but Matthew was not done.

"Ivan, I think you're using this…extreme…devotion to justify your…need to kill," Matthew faltered, and before the last word was said the twins knew he had gone too far. He loomed over him like a pale reaper, and a second later Ivan's hands were at his throat.

Alfred clawed at his hands, tried ripping the ironlike bands back. Matthew gasped, shaking as he frantically lurched back and forth in the bolted chair, trying to whip off the hands strangling the life out of him.

"STOP! STOP! IVAN, PLEASE I BEG OF YOU STOP!"

"Matvey should hold his tongue, da?" Ivan breathed. Rather than a decisive blow that had quickly killed Natalya, he seemed more content on watching Matthew turn purple, writhing helplessly and dying. "Before Vanya cuts it out of him?"

He cackled, pushing Alfred aside when the younger started hammering his fists against him. "I'm so funny, eh, Matvey? Eh?"

Shakily, Alfred shot up, nearly slipping on the scarf trailing to the floor. Matthew continued gasping fruitlessly, and again Alfred's eyes flew around the cabin for a weapon.

Then, as if he'd planned on doing it all along, he stood on tiptoe and lightly held his brother's-would-be murderer in an embrace. Ivan did not stop, but nor did he fling him away, so he moved his lips to his ear.

"Vanya."

Matthew continued to flail, wheezing, but no longer was Ivan thrashing him up and down, rattling him against the chains.

"Sweetheart, no one's mocking you," he said half-reprovingly, half kindly. "No one. You believe me, right? After all," he added, and Ivan's blue-purple eyes swiveled to look at him. "I never lie. That was my promise to you." He had no idea if it was or not, but considering he probably didn't have any sanity left, he might as well roll with the punches.

Another kiss to unresponsive chapped lips.

"Vanya. Don't be sad. Come here. You're better than this."

Matthew let out a faint sputtering noise. Ivan was still.

And Alfred's twin slid out his hands, and he very gingerly moved away, head turned resolutely to the floor.

Ivan had murdered his own flesh and blood for the sake of his objective. He was not afraid of violence; relished it even, would gladly bring a tsunami where you brought a dinky water gun.

But for honeyed words and whispers, Ivan was putty.

Murmuring approvingly, Alfred hugged him.

"Good job. Just feel better now. You're okay. You're okay...no one's going to hurt you." That last part was pure bull, but it came out its own accord.

Ivan slowly looked up. It seemed as if he'd aged thirty years in the last thirty seconds, face haggard, lined, mouth set in disappointment. But his pleading large eyes belonged to a child.

"That's good." He cooed, cupping Ivan's cheeks. "That's…yeah, that's good."

Ivan picked him up again and he did not protest, especially when the Russian turned and walked away, hovering near the fireplace.

"...thanks."

Matthew was coughing and Alfred let him do it for a few seconds before daring to open his mouth and ask what he'd been rehearsing since they'd returned. But now he remembered none of it.

"Look, man, just let Mattie go. I'll stay here—s'not like I have any choice about it. Just let him go back. I'm begging you."

"Al!" Matthew sounded like a chain smoker. "Ivan, we can talk, we can all come out of this okay if we just think rationally!"

"Never." Ivan growled in his ear. "Never. I won't let him take a piece of your heart away."

His hand dug its way under the coat, planting itself over the still-pounding organ.

"This is mine."

"...this was yours for ten years," he lied sadly. "And if my brother has any part of it, it dies with him."

The fire was dying again, but he could still make out Ivan's mutinous face.

"I love you," He insisted. "And I don't want you to do something you'll regret. Because you're a good person and you do have a conscience. Iv. I'm begging you. Let Mattie go, and I'm yours for life. I won't try to run away again." He made a weird gesture between the sign of the cross and the Boy Scout salute. "Hero's word of honor."

"I can't. Matvey will tell where Vanya is keeping his angel, and then Vanya will cut Matvey's throat."

"Then knock him out again!" Alfred exclaimed. "It's not like any of us saw how the hell you got us here! I don't even know what here is, what state I'm in!" The horrid truth was a balloon exploding near his ear, leaving him numb with the shock. "Just konk him out and let him go! It's not like you're not gonna come under suspicion, anyway! You left Francis behind in that building and he's probably reported all of our missing sorry asses by now! The cops are probably having a massive search, probably think we split because one or more of us h-hurt Ismael!"

"I knew I should have taken Francis."

"That wouldn't have changed a damn thing! Everyone's sure to be looking for us already! Even if you...even if you killed him and Katyusha, it'd never change. We'd be on the missing person list."

"Without a manhunt on my head."

Suppressing a whine and wanting to break something badly, he forced his temper back. "You've gotten this far. Maybe once things cool down a bit you can get your buddy to wipe your slate again. Everyone'll forget, eventually." Well, pardoning his family, Kiku's, Ismael's, and a collective sea of others. But Ivan didn't need to be reminded.

"It only took you a second to…to put Natalya out of her misery." What was she, a dog? "But even if Katy was all about whooping your ass, you offered her a way out." Ivan's face screwed up and he knocked their foreheads together. "Hey. And even when you had her at your mercy, you didn't hit her hard enough to kill her. You know she's a lot like you. Someone who'll go to incredible lengths for people they love. Ditto my bro. You know he's not bad. You two were friends."

"I don't care. They are in the way." But now he sounded uncertain.

"You punished bad people, Ivan. Kat and Matt don't count and you know it. And besides, if I were abducted-"

"I would never let that happen-"

"-but say it did, and someone were going to kill me for the sake of someone they cared about. Wouldn't you want them to show me mercy?"

"...Matthew I can maybe let go. He may open his mouth and bray, but he will not know, not be able to tell anyone anything! It is only…Katyusha…." He looked at his dying sister. "She knows the way here. She cannot go." And Ivan made for his pipe.

He choked on a scream and forced it down his throat. None of that shit. Ivan wouldn't listen and wouldn't care.

"Not good enough, Ivan," he said firmly. "You have to let both of 'em go."

"I cannot do that."

"Then let's go away from here," he suggested quietly. "Katyusha and Matthew know I'm with you—so what? They won't know how to find you. You can find us a new place—you said you already knew one. Katy can't find you there. Besides," he added, quickly inspired. "Think about the fire. We'll have to leave soon anyhow."

"The fire?" Ivan asked roughly, brow lining. "But that will go out. Even with all the fuel the little demon used, it is winter and damp and will not spread. You needn't…"

"A blaze this big's gonna take off its coat and stay awhile," he explained, remembering the ashes raining down on the lake. "And say you're like a forest ranger going over these parts in a helicopter or something and you see this hellfire startin' up near a lake in a soggy forest in the asscrack of winter. They gotta send someone out to investigate, right? No, listen," He insisted, because Ivan's face was clouding with doubt.

"If it's a big one, it's…US law they have to check and see if any campers got their asses grilled." No telling why anyone would be camping in this ungodly area in this ungodly season, but Ivan was chewing his lip. The law sounded plausible and that was all that mattered.

"You're not vicious, Ivan." A tear appeared in the corner of Ivan's eye, and Alfred kissed it before it could fall.

"None of that. If I'm not allowed to blubber, than neither are you."

"I kill people for you," he breathed, kissing his neck and nibbling a mark precisely where his own injuries were.

"Before I...knew it was wrong but now I kill to protect you. I am made...better this way."

He looked at the ceiling.

"You can do this. I know it's hard but I'll stay with you. Isn't that enough?" Ivan's teeth sank into his skin hard and he tried not to flinch. "C'mon, Iv. Make the right decision here. You know you can."

Ivan reluctantly removed his mouth from Alfred's neck, examining his handiwork.

"I know you." If Ivan was going to hell for murder, Alfred could visit from the upper layer of liars. "You're not evil. And I'm so, so happy that you did all this—worked so hard—suffered so much—all for me. I'm just gonna ask you to be brave one more time, okay? And then I won't ask anything from you ever again."

"Tinushka is right," Ivan mused, distractedly drumming his gloved fingers on his pipe. "I can dump Matvey and Yekaterina somewhere. Anywhere. People will find them and help them and Vanya can come home for his heart." He seemed to think the words over and shook his head. "Nyet. You will come too, Alfred. I will not leave you alone here."

Nodding shakily, Alfred closed his eyes and forced himself to bite back yet another wave of fresh tears. There went his hope for escape—even if he wandered in the wilderness for days, it would have been something.

"No, please!" Matthew cried as Ivan bent to retrieve the syringe Alfred had knocked away earlier, which was underneath a table. "You can't do that, you fucking bastard! You don't just get to decide these things! Ivan, please, if you really love Alfred like you say you do, just…I don't fucking know, take me instead! Don't do this to him!"

"Vanya will never hurt Alfredka," Ivan sang, chidingly pulling on Matthew's nose and tweaking it. Judging from his wince, the Russian hadn't been the least bit gentle. "And because I love Alfred, I will be keeping him with me, where he cannot be defiled."

He Eskimo kissed his prisoner. "Come, my love. Let us go and say goodbye to Matvey together."

"Wha? No! NO!" Matthew screamed, scrabbling at his bonds, hands still useless at his sides. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Damn it, Alfred Fucking Jones, you bastard, you son of a bitch, don't do this! You can't! I won't let you! Stop! STOP! HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!"

"Doesn't look like you get any say in this one, pal," Alfred murmured between nearly motionless lips as Ivan injected Matthew, those wrathful, tear-filled blue eyes widening even as their lids started flickering. He sobbed.

"Son of a...please, please, no, I don't..."

Those eyes stared incomprehensibly at him, seemed to be scanning him with every ounce of effort he had left.

Then again Matthew's head fell, and Alfred's person, his favorite person in the world, again fell into a senseless void.

"Goodnight" was all Alfred said.

If he could have cried, he might have.

~o*oOo*o~

Ivan took maybe ten minutes to get ready, which was impressive. Alfred could only assume that he'd had plenty of practice fleeing in a hurry. While plenty of things had to be left behind like the bed and flowers, much of the necessities were ready-packed in duffel bags and boxes in a small shed by the cottage's front.

After much careful investigation, Ivan found the GPS tracker hiding coyly behind a map in the glove department. But because his car was damaged, and highway security would soon monitor for his license plate, he opted to take the vehicle Katyusha in the trees, keys still in the ignition. Thankfully it wasn't marked as a rental, so there wouldn't be the bother of more pesky bugs. He wondered where she'd gotten it, but supposed it didn't matter. Katyusha had little by means of friends, so she probably took a liberty. It might be troubling if she reported the number later on, but considering how scatterbrained she was, he'd be amazed if she remembered her own name half the time.

Alfred sat on the bed, quietly watching the proceedings with large eyes in the growing darkness. Ivan had opted to chain him to the bed as he carried Katyusha and Matthew to the car-so much for true love.

"Now, Tinushka must be good during car trip, da?" Ivan asked cheerfully when he came for the last time. He was swinging his pipe, and Alfred looked at it bleakly. "Because angel, if you cry, I might be upset and decide Katyusha could use a matching set of gouged eyes, and that would be bad, right?"

He unshackled him and lifted him up again, despite a mumbled protest that he'd sooner walk. Alfred was white, very white like marble, like an archangel.

"You're mine." He breathed, running a hand down Alfred's front. "No one loves you like I do." He carried him outside, the smell of smoke coming in heavily on the wind. "And now I don't have to share you with anyone, ever, because if someone so much as looks at you I'll kill them. Your life belongs to me now, Alfred."

"...do you think Katyusha will be okay?" He asked in a very small voice, being placed in the front seat. Matthew and Katyusha had been tossed unceremoniously in the back, their unfeeling bodies flopped against each other.

"I do not know." Ivan drew his seat belt on, and while Alfred was still looking at the two, Ivan reached into his spare coat pocket, drew out a pair of gleaming metal handcuffs, and shackled Alfred to the seat. The resounding click as it closed over his wrist made him start, and when Ivan closed the other shackle in a deadly snap against the door handle, Alfred nearly begged him to kill him then and there.

"Someone will find them both," Ivan assured him, taking Alfred's expression for worry for their siblings. "I will make sure of it. Never fear."

He went around front, got in, turned the key in the ignition. "Do not pull on chains, little one. You will hurt yourself."

It won't be for long. Katyusha knows his license plate. The whole country will be out for him. Someone will find us both.

Ivan wrapped a blindfold around his eyes before sliding a pair of what felt like large sunglasses over it. No telling why anyone would be wearing sunglasses in the dark, but now no one could tell. His teeth clattered.

"Please don't make me sleep."

There was silence. He'd guessed correctly.

"You should let me."

"Just for awhile?" Alfred asked quietly, touching Ivan's hand. Ivan did not respond, but neither did a needle slide into his veins, so he supposed he honored the request.

The tears returned, and his throat ached, ached, ached, and his heart was not broken, because it felt gone. But he had hope yet. Maybe a few hours, maybe a day, a few days at worst-but he'd be reunited with his family.

Kiku...

He tried his best to convert his excruciation into love towards Matthew, Katyusha and Kiku all, praying silently. He thought of Matthew especially, and was glad for the first time that they physically resembled each other. The idea of forgetting what his brother looked like was unfathomable.

The air carried a ring of finality to it as the engine rumbled and Alfred felt them move, head automatically tipping forward with the acceleration. Something nameless and very nasty was prodding for his attention, but maybe if he ignored it it would give up. Like his unsettled suspicions and lurches about Ivan had. Yeah.

We'll see each other again.

But in a sense, they would not.

*Sighs* Yep. I think you all know what's coming...or DO you? *Looks around shiftily*

I'm sorry for the inconsistencies in this story such as the Russian language sometimes appearing in Cyrillic letters and other times written phonetically. (And for the weird times when font just suddenly becomes bold for no reason...*Facepalms*) When Ivan and Natalya were having their little chat, it seemed important that everyone knew what they were saying (as opposed to when Ivan's just saying endearments in Russian anyone can look up) offhand so they didn't have to keep scrolling to the bottom of the page.

Why didn't Alfred attack Ivan with the pipe or the bottle when he had the chance? He just didn't.

Next chapter: Phantom.