Alright, I promise this gets totally epic starting next chapter! Hopefully this will be the last boring exposition chapter. XD

Johann Elric- Kugelmugel

Zackarias Lysen- Ladonia

Chapter 10-

"…throwing the best party ever and recording it, so he can watch it over and over and OVER AGAIN in Germany!"

Brandon let a yawn, absently scratching behind Boudewijn's ears. The TV was almost too quiet to hear, but he knew every bit of it by heart anyway. True to Gilbert's word, he had watched it repeatedly, until he could perfectly see that night in his head when he closed his eyes.

At first, it all had seemed stupid. Francis being sentimental, Elizabeta willingly allowing them use of her camcorder, Gilbert showing off his insanity little by little. All of them were crazy- even Roderich, definitely the most "normal" of the bunch. According to him, anyway. Anyone who obsessed over cake and music that much had to be a little off.

Barely two months past, and Gilbert stopped sending his letters. Every week, without fail, he had sent updates on their schemes. It was always a long, detailed story of how his awesomeness did this or that, or how Francis dated twenty girls in the freshman class in one week (that did not end well, Brandon was told). Brandon almost didn't want to believe it, but he missed hearing about their escapades. He was worried to death something had happened to them, and no one replied to his letters either. Since German phones were stupid, he couldn't call home, either.

Before fall break came, when he was supposed to come back to the States for a while, a certain Isabella van Houten conned him out of every nickel he had.

And that's when the new kind of insanity started.

Isabella had told him she was a career councilor. She worked at his college, and was a nice lady. One day, she hacked into his bank account and ran to the Netherlands. It took him a while, but Brandon found her and her three kids. Seeing them, he almost couldn't call the police to drag her lying butt to jail.

Lars convinced him to. For years, Brandon was told, she had done this. Lars was sick of her act, even if she was his mother. While the police were on their way, Brandon blabbed everything to Lars. He told him about Heta, and how it was small enough that he wouldn't be found by the government if he went. Alice and Sebastiaan would be alright there. However, even with giving Lars the plane ticket he had held on to for months, there was only enough legal money of Isabella's to buy another.

By a miracle (or some of his own shady dealings), Lars knew just the associate of his late father's who could forge anything that could be needed. Brandon knew this kid was obviously a little screwy, but who cared? He refused to have them scattered because of him. Until he had enough money to get another ticket, however long that may have been, Brandon promised he would take care of Sebastiaan. Lars and Alice said their goodbyes and were gone by the end of the week.

Unlike Gilbert, Lars actually wrote back. He had went straight to Heta, like Brandon told him to. Nothing had changed, really. Lars never ran into Gilbert or any of the others. He bought himself an apartment and was the best big brother in the world to Alice.

All the while, Brandon quit college and took up doing odd jobs here and there. Sebastiaan was the quietest kid he had ever met. Never asked for anything, helped out as much as he could. He was the exact opposite of Gilbert.

Still, Sebastiaan made him feel like a big brother again. He didn't speak much of Gilbert or his father- he had assumed the worst when they stopped writing him- but Brandon told Sebastiaan he was just like his little brother. Both of them were little snots. The look on Sebastiaan's face had been priceless.

But after that, Brandon didn't have a hope of turning that kid away one day.

"Now then!" Gilbert's cocky, obnoxious voice crowed from the TV. "I propose a toast to Brandon, most awesome big brother in the world!"

Smiling faintly, Brandon picked up his own soda can and dipped it toward the screen. "To you, Mini-Awesome."

As he turned the television off and stretched out his tired old bones (several of which didn't sound too happy to be moved), Boudewijn whined up at him. "Aw, shut up," Brandon murmured. "It must've sucked for you to be taken away from your brothers and sisters, right? But you don't even remember them. Six years has been a long time for you. It's been twenty-five for me, but I didn't get the pleasure of forgetting. You're lucky, Mutt. Now go to sleep."

Brandon still wondered if he did the right thing, giving up his chance to know the truth. For all he knew, Gilbert and Vati could have died twenty-five years ago. That would have stopped Francis from writing, which he did on occasion. Antonio couldn't spell to save his life, so he never sent any word. Brandon would have definitely assumed calamity had occurred if Arthur had written.

The only one of them Brandon had seen since that night was Antonio. If Sebastiaan hadn't been in the room, there would have been some serious carnage dealt to the television. No one messed with Antonio Carlos Hernandez Fernandez-Carriedo, or his family! He was Brandon's little henchman! Even more than that, he was living proof something terrible hadn't happened to all of them.

If he was okay, what about Francis and Arthur, or Samantha and Elizabeta? More importantly, what about Gilbert, his father, and Roderich?

Bast, I know I'm a jerk for saying this, but you don't want to know what happened.

Brandon felt like smacking himself. Twenty-five years was enough time to get every ounce of cowardice out of him. However, at the first chance he had to finally tell the truth, he found he couldn't do it. He simply could not tell his own "son" that his brother's name was Gilbert and that he still missed him very much.

What was wrong with him? If he continued pushing it all away, would he really forget it all one day? The thought scared him to death. What if Gilbert really was dead? He couldn't talk about him and wouldn't let himself think about him, but he absolutely could not forget about him!

Every bit of emotion in him welled up in his head, making everything mixed and mashed around. Was he dead, was he alive? Did he marry Elizabeta? Did Arthur and Francis finally stop their petty feuding?

He had to know. He had to find out!

"Boudewijn!" Brandon called, turning around and marching back to the living room. He grabbed the leash hanging on the wall. "I lied- do not go to bed! I'm taking you on a walk, and you're gonna help me figure out how to get a hold of those idiots in America! We'll start with Antonio in Massachusetts!"

((((()))))

"That isn't artistic."

Inside Heta Middle School's art room sat a group of seventh graders off in the corner. The annual art show had finally come to end, and the top ranking students were now celebrating. Well, one was celebrating by boasting his third place on the internet. The young red head proudly had his ribbon draped over his piece, a clay deer. Zackarias Lysen spun around and leaned back in the swivel chair (normally reserved by the teacher), watching the bickering that was soon to turn into a full fledged argument.

Johann Elric sat on top of one of the art tables, hugging his knees to his chest. His two long braids hung over his shoulders. Behind him, standing four feet tall, sat a stunning granite sphere. What had won him first place, however, was the intricate engravings on the surface. There was not a single nick or crooked line any where- Zackarias, Johann, and Wendy had examined the thing tirelessly all afternoon.

Wendy Dubose, who really wished her grandma would stop lecturing their art teacher and take her home already, huffily crossed her arms. "What do you mean, this isn't artistic? I spent three weeks perfecting this! Zack, google Prince Paul of Wy right now. Tell me if this painting isn't an exact replica of him."

"That is precisely why it isn't artistic!" Johann burst, throwing an accusing finger at the portrait. Wendy narrowed her eyes at him, knuckles turning white around her paintbrush. "Art isn't about talent! Art is a sense- a free, wild thing that has no bounds. It is the exact opposite of talent! Look at Zack's sculpture, for instance. With a bit refining, it could represent the epitome of art!"

"It's a deer. How is that thing art when my Prince Paul in oil isn't?"

"It lacks emotion and-"

Johann was suddenly cut off when the art room creaked open. All three turned to face the boy and drooped. Wendy fought to keep the disappointed pout off her face and sat down. "Hey, Raivis," she greeted.

The blonde nervously grinned, softly shutting the door behind him. "Um, the choir's show just ended, but Mr. Hall is talking to my brother. Reliving the old days. Mind if I hang out with you guys?"

Zack spun around in his chair a moment, frown on his face. "Raivis, if you're choosing us as friends, you have bad taste. And you just ruined the chick-fight of the century."

"My hair is art," Johann indignantly muttered. "I assure you I am not a girl."

"That blonde chick we met at the park thinks otherwise," Zack snickered.

Even Wendy had to laugh at that. Yesterday afternoon, her grandma had thrown her outside and told her to have fun at the park. Zack and Johann had also been at the park, and had brought picnic supplies. While they ate (and argued about their art grades- Johann was exactly one point better than Wendy), a nice couple dropped by on their date. The boy, who said a lot of words that would have earned him a flogging from Wendy's grandma, had brought his own picnic basket, full of pasta, pizza, and churros. Something about him just seemed so familiar….

His date instantly fell in love with the kids. She called herself Lili, and was positive Johann was a girl. No matter how hard the three tried to explain it to her, she refused to believe that a boy could have braids.

Johann sighed, a grin on his face. "Yeah, she was crazy. But I like her. She was living art."

"A PERSON CANNOT BE ART!" Wendy shrilled, waving her arms exasperatedly.

As they burst into yet another argument, Raivis shrunk down in his seat, trying to make himself disappear. Zackarias had been right about his terrible taste in friends- these three (for Zack was now egging on the fight) were completely insane. Raivis almost felt like Toris, who had Feliks for a friend. However, not even these three combined could be as bad as Feliks on a good day.

Raivis could just feel the migraine coming. Never again was he going to scoff at Toris's headaches after a day with Feliks. It had to be torture! While his three so-called friends were preoccupied, Raivis walked back to the teacher's desk to snoop. He hadn't taken art, but he had heard from Toris, who had, that Mr. Aimes kept many of his old students' work. If he looked hard enough, he might find something of Toris's.

He knew next to nothing about Toris's life before he came to live with them. Raivis was still young at the time, so his parents hadn't explained much. He couldn't remember half of what they had told him, but Raivis perfectly remember how miserable Toris had been. He was a saint, cleaning around the house and playing with Raivis when asked to, but his smiles were always tired and weary, like he had long ago given up on happiness.

Though Toris wasn't actually his brother, Raivis couldn't think of him as anything otherwise. He had always wanted a brother closer to his age anyway. Eduard never wanted to play action figures with him, too busy messing around on his computer or playing on his electric keyboard. Tinkering with the thing had been Eduard's hobby for many years. He could play an entire orchestral piece on it if he wanted to!

A picture of two horses caught Raivis's eye. The boy gently tugged the paper out of the massive stack. Each horse was colored and shaded with a precise, careful hand, as was the two boys on the horses. It didn't take long for Raivis to realize it was a picture of Toris and Feliks.

He frowned a bit as he plopped down in the nearest seat. Toris was wearing a smile. This had to be from before his parents died. Raivis carefully laid it in the floor beside him and resumed his search. There were a few more from Toris, having something to do with horses, knights, or… a whale? Raivis cocked an eyebrow at the three pictures that had a whale somewhere in it.

In all, there were six. None of them gave him a clue as to what had really happened to him, of course. But each picture was drawn and colored with a child's innocence and a longing for his friend to come home.

Toris had changed so much. These pictures screamed fun and adventure- the very opposite of the Toris Laurinaitis he knew! Raivis folded up the papers and stuffed them in his backpack. It didn't completely bother him that he was stealing, since he was taking them for his brother's sake. If Toris saw these, he might be a little happier!

Raivis faced the three yet again, seriously having second thoughts on coming to the art room. If only these guys could draw pictures like Toris's and not argue over the pettiest things. Personally, Raivis thought all of them were amazing artists. They were definitely better than him.

Raivis slid down in his seat, now hoping more than ever that summer peace would finally come.

((((()))))

"Hey, did we just pass Thirteenth Street?"

Natalya jerked awake at the question. She rubbed her eyes and faced Alfred, face alit with excitement. "What's so important about Thirteenth Street?" she asked, flipping open her phone to see if she'd gotten any messages from Ivan. Natalya frowned to see that he still hadn't said anything. When neither Katyusha nor Ivan came to pick her up from work, Natalya had gone frantic with worry. What if something terrible had happened? She had to get home!

Of course, being the hero, Alfred decided to be a gentleman and offer her a ride. Now, however, the gentleman act was completely gone, replaced with his usual childlike smile. "My dad said there was a haunted house down here. Want to check it out?"

"You mean, will I come with you so you won't cry like a little girl when the wind blows?" Natalya translated. She looked down at her phone, then back to Alfred's puppy eyes. "You're such a baby. We spend no more than ten minutes there. I need to make sure Ivan is okay!"

Alfred swung the truck around, slinging her over to the door. He punched the air victoriously and floored it. Natalya had a death grip on his arm and on the door handle, eyes wide and teeth clenched as they raced past silent, quaint houses. Suddenly, Alfred jerked on the brakes, whipping her forward. The seatbelt violently jerked her back against the seat. "Alfred Kirkland, I am going to kill-"

"This has to be it!" he interrupted, jumping outside. Natalya swallowed her threat and got out herself, trying not to puke all over the grass. Alfred's driving was worse than any rollercoaster.

Natalya looked up at the looming house, unimpressed. There was nothing spooky about this place. Arthur probably told Alfred about it to preoccupy him for a while. She knew he saved all the truly haunted places for her, Tavian, and Nikolaus to know about. The four of them had gone on plenty of paranormal adventures behind Alfred's back.

Alfred stopped at the mailbox, squinting down at it. "It's pretty faded. That means no one will care if…." He withdrew a Sharpie from his pocket and started scribbling like a mad man.

"Defacing public property is against the law," Natalya blandly reminded him. She let out a sigh to see he wrote in "Kirkland". Leaving him to doodle, Natalya walked up to the door. It was locked, but she found the windows were not. Just experimenting, she raised one. Alfred popped up beside her, sticking his head in. "Looks like it's empty. Want to look inside? And, technically, we won't be charged with breaking and entering since this place has my name on it."

Before she could ask, he pointed inside. Over the fireplace read "Alfred" in dulled letters. "Kinda creepy," he admitted.

Natalya absently nodded, hiking her leg over the edge. "Push me in," she instructed. "Do not let the window drop!"

Besides the faint light drifting in on the fireplace, the room was nearly pitch black inside. Natalya stopped Alfred from following her. "Find a flashlight. I'm not letting you in here with me unless I can see, or unless Grigori pops up."

"Fine, fine."

She turned back to the fireplace, slightly frowning. Stupid Toris Laurinaitis had called her just a few days ago talking about a haunted house that wasn't haunted. He told her Feliks had gotten the bright idea for them all to visit it. However, the place smelled terrible- and then Natalya hung up on him.

This house didn't smell awful, but it was still supposedly haunted. Was this the place Toris and Feliks were talking about?

"I've got the flashlight!" Alfred announced, clambering inside. He propped the window open with an old board from outside. Natalya took it and pointed it to the fireplace for a better view. Sure enough, Alfred was written on the mantle. Natalya wiped away some of the dust

Any speck of fear in Alfred seemed to float out the window. He grabbed Natalya's hand and put on a smile. "That's awesome! Come on, let's snoop! Maybe this other Alfred was a thief, and he hid tons of cash here! Maybe his wife killed him for it all, but she never found it and left! WAIT, THAT WOULD MEAN HE WAS BURIED HERE."

Natalya smacked him. "Stop screaming in my ear! No one died here, Alfred. I know it's difficult for you, but try not to be such an idiot?"

"Aw, come on," he whined, taking sudden right, towards the staircase. "You gotta have fun sometimes, right? Where's that sense of adventure?"

"Back home, where I should be," she stressed. Alfred helpfully ignored her.

Upstairs was much creepier than below. The wallpaper wilted over, hanging down from walls. Natalya noticed Alfred inch closer to her with each step. She had a feeling she would have to carry him out of the place. Such a baby…. The carpet below their feet was thick with dust and stiff from age. Alfred again took a sudden turn, barging into a random room. Natalya pointed the flashlight around every inch, proving to Alfred that there were no monsters. He finally released his death-grip on her arm and walked inside.

The room didn't look the happiest. The windows were foggy and dirty, and half of the wallpaper lay on the floor. "These people should have done a better job with their walls," Natalya muttered, kneeling down to finger it. "It's not too old. The glue is just crappy. What kind of haunted house did you say this was, again?"

"What kind?" he burst. "There are kinds of haunted houses?"

Natalya rolled her eyes. Did he just think houses that were old and abandoned were immediately haunted? Ugh. She was just wasting her time here. But she had to admit this was a bit adventurous. Natalya couldn't say this was the first time she broke into a house (it was nothing compared to what the others had done on that trip to the beach), but this one held so much potential. A mystery was just bound to pop up any second-

"Hey, can I borrow the flashlight a minute? I think there's something over here in the closet."

Ah, and there it was. Natalya and Alfred leaned into the closet, shining the light on the cramped space. Sure enough, in the farthest corner lay an old videotape. After Natalya assured him there were no boogeyman about to grab at him, Alfred carefully retrieved it, blowing off dust. "'September 17, 1987'," he read. Alfred hummed lowly, stuffing it in his jacket. "Maybe Mr. Dead-Guy Alfred had a secret camcorder rolling when his wife murdered him. This could be proof!"

Natalya cocked an eyebrow. "That would be… interesting. Here, look around and see if you find anything else. I'll have a look at this thing."

She left him to cower alone by the closet and walked over to the window, looking at the tape by moonlight. This was dated almost twenty-five years ago, and the handwriting was unlike any she had seen- it was so messy, but at the same time almost elegant to an extent. Almost like Arthur's, she supposed, but not as neat.

Her eyes went wide. Arthur knew the address to this place. "Alfred" was on the fireplace. As far as she knew, Alfred was the only Kirkland with that name, but she couldn't be for sure. Getting Arthur to talk about his family was as hard as getting Alfred to choose a salad over a Big Mac. Still… maybe this could have been the house Arthur grew up in. Maybe he recorded this tape!

A sudden chill ran down her spine. Natalya looked up to the window. Just barely, she could see another face in the window. She turned around, but Alfred was the only other person in the room, cowering in the corner, eyes darting around. Natalya sighed, waving for him to leave. If Alfred's cowardly attitude was starting to rub off on her, she had definitely stayed in here too long.

"Take this home and watch it," Natalya instructed as she took Alfred's hand. Just to calm his nerves, of course! She couldn't have him driving if he was too shook up over a lonely, dark room. Natalya pushed him out the window ahead of her, so he could catch her as she came out. She cast one last look to the fireplace, sending a frown at the familiar name. If there was a chance this was Arthur's old home, just what would be on that video? None of the Kirkland's seemed eager to record a family video together, unless it was to tape a particularly interesting fight.

Alfred paused a moment after he got in the truck. With trembling lips, he faced Natalya. "If I can't sleep tonight, can I call you? I'm staying with Mom tonight, and she doesn't stay up late."

"No. Now suck it up. You're seventeen years old, so learn to act your age," she growled, once again flipping open her phone. Natalya muttered a curse to see there still was no word from Ivan. If something had happened to him and Alfred had made her goof off….

But she still had to admit it was just a little fun.