A/N: At three thousand hits, it continues!!~ I just want to thank you all so much for your amazing support (AND OH MY GOD. Just checked the charts and 2k of you are Canadian. FFF I LOVE YER COUNTRY. :D)
It's the weekend, so expect the gift-oneshots and Chapter 1 of my new fic to be up by Sunday! God, I'm blowing off my studies. XD Ironically, most of it is English Lit.
**If you're wondering what the ankle bracelet is and why Alfred wears one, it's a precautionary alarm that keeps him in the house/room/any set region, in this case being the whole home. In layman's terms, he's under house arrest until the day of the trial.
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"A beast does not know that he is such, and the nearer he comes to being a beast, the less he is aware." –George MacDonald.
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Gilbert admired just how still the Canadian in his lap was when he was asleep. Soft breaths, barely audible, filled the car as the blonde slept on peacefully. Shiny waves of yellow tumbled over his knee, and he smoothed the hair absently, staring at the beautiful sunrise; the pink, blue, and red colors were lighting the frost on the windshield stunningly.
The silverette then realized that, sadly, despite how much he was enjoying his time with the smaller teen, his family would be expecting Matthew inside the house when they came to wake him. So with more caution than he would normally use, Gilbert leaned down and lifted the boy's limp form, gently cradling him in his arms. One pale hand reached over to unlock the car door, and he managed to get out and do so without rousing the blonde.
As the German shut the door softly, he began to walk, taking pains to do so smoothly and silently, proving to be more than challenging as the walkway to the house was gravel. It crunched underfoot as Gilbert mentally swore, glancing worriedly at the slumbering Canadian every few paces.
The pair reached the front door, and the silverette prayed it was unlocked, smiling when he found it was. He twisted the handle pushed forward hesitantly, making sure nothing creaked so as to not wake the other teen. As he made it inside with no incident, he realized with a groan that he was wearing no shirt, and his jacket was still wrapped protectively around the boy in his arms. If anyone in the house was awake at… he checked the clock on the coffee table… 6:53, he was so screwed. The whole scenario looked a bit… wrong. Plus, they had just vacated the backseat of his car.
Peeking around a corner, red eyes just visible around a doorframe, he found that nobody was currently in the dining room or kitchen, and so moved on, heading up the stairs in the general direction, he expected, of the bedrooms. One step lightly squeaked halfway up, and the teen froze, holding his breath as he heard footsteps heading his way. Oh shit.
His palms broke out in a cold sweat as he bit his lip. Stomach churning, he said frantic prayers to every deity he knew under his breath, which proved to be no avail. Alfred rounded the corner and stared at him, a beeping bracelet-like thing attached firmly to his left ankle. Blue eyes stared down red ones, and for a terrifying second, Gilbert actually thought he would faint.
With a restrained anger, but a strange calm about him, the American slowly descended the stairs in the two's direction. Without a word, a gaze, or even an indication that the other was there, Alfred took Matthew lightly in his own arms and went back up, entering a room and quietly closing the door. It was locked immediately after with a small click, and Gilbert, feeling awfully out of place, awkwardly left the house.
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That afternoon, Matthew tossed and turned uncomfortably in his slumber, uneasily whimpering and thrashing his arms and legs. Alfred had been watching him nonstop since he had been set on the bed, almost as if he was entranced, but at this sudden state of distress he averted his eyes, not wanting to see his younger brother in such a state. But as the Canadian cried out, unconsciously clenching one clammy fist around the sheets, his brother couldn't take it anymore.
He stood, knees popping slightly in protest under weathered jeans with grassstains he'd much rather forget about. Alfred sighed and put one hand firmly on Matthew's shoulder, shaking the boy and saying, "Matt, wake up. Dude, hey, c'mon…" Violet eyes flew open at last, and the Canadian on the bed worked to suppress a scream at his abrupt awakening.
"Y-You okay?" Funny, Alfred sounded like he cared. The blonde didn't say what was on his mind, of course, he merely put on that sickeningly fake smile and said, "Fine." "No, you're not." Matthew nearly choked as the taller teen continued, sitting in the chair again. "You have a nightmare and keep crying and flailing and you expect me to believe you're fine? That's very you, Matt."
"Why did you do it, Al?" "Che. That's the question of the day, isn't it?" As Matthew's heart rate went back to normal, he attempted a glare at the other, only getting as close as a semi-grimace. His eyes hurt, they were raw, tender, and (he suspected) red around the rims. They felt severely bloodshot, at the very least.
As Alfred, uncomfortable with seeing his brother this way, turned to face the window, the Canadian pulled himself into a sitting position, trying desperately to remember what the nightmare, if he had had one, was about. He thought hypothetically because he knew that Al wasn't above lying about that kind of thing, for whatever reason. Maybe the jock wanted him awake so he could have someone to yell and scream at… After all, he had always been the punching bag of the family.
In an instant, the dream came to him, even more vivid than before, and the shock of it caused his breathing to go erratic. Alfred, remaining oblivious, strode over and threw open the curtains, lifting up one of the panes with a clatter. The rush of cool morning air in the stuffy room wasn't enough to curb the feeling of nausea and horror creeping up on the younger male.
Matthew's mind was screaming at him, though his trembling limbs and spinning head couldn't abide the instruction. 'Get out get out get out get out now out out o-' "Matt?"
His brother's voice caused a searing pain in his chest that he wasn't sure existed. Before he had time to mull over the existence of the ghost pain, the blonde found himself running, stiff limbs and churning stomach in complete disregard. His brother tried to call him back, even chase after him, but the Canadian had screamed loudly, literally scared senseless. His heart skipped a few beats when Alfred ran after him, and Matthew ran without a second thought into the next bedroom. He slammed the door, and frantically grabbed a chair, wedging the firm wood under the handle with a grunt.
Alfred's fruitless attempts to open said entrance had spurred the blonde's fear and, therefore, adrenaline, to new heights altogether. "Matt, what the hell are y-" "GET OUT!" shrieked the smaller teen, collapsing to the ground in sporadic sobs.
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He was in a park. The violets were in full bloom, and as Gilbert gently placed one in his hair, the boy couldn't help but giggle. The heady, sweet smell enveloped him, and before he knew it, Gilbert was kissing him. He kissed back, vaguely feeling himself being laid down gently in a bed of flowers. Or was it a real bed? He didn't care, either would do. As red eyes roamed his body, he registered that he didn't even feel self-conscious, considering how strange this was. But as the animalistic grasp from that night returned, and he felt the bruises and bitemarks renewing themselves once more, he panicked, shoving the silverette away from him. Gilbert stumbled, a hurt look coming over his face. "I thought you loved me, birdie."
He looked down, and felt guilt overcome him. "I-I do, but-" "Then say yes." The voice had changed. It was deeper, angrier, and frighteningly familiar. He looked up, only to meet the gaze of his brother. "Al?"
"Say yes. Do it." "A-Alfred, stop it, I-" He was shoved onto the bed again, lips attacking his own, and the back of his mind told him this was wrong, this was sick, he shouldn't do this. His body told him differently.
Not sure of which instinct he should abide by, he stayed stock-still on the bed as his clothes were ripped off. The surroundings blurred as he tried to form a word. A plea, a scream, a word of… God forbid, consent, anything would do.
But nothing came.
"Matt, I knew you wanted this." For the first time, he smelled the alcohol lacing the American's breath. He wanted so badly to say that he didn't, but it didn't matter anymore. His brother was inside of him.
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Alfred cursed, rattling the incompliant doorknob with hands shaking from anger. "Matthew, open the goddamn d-" "Alfred, honey, your brother needs space." His mother stood behind him, a delicate hand on his shoulder breaking his reverie. He felt his shoulders go slack as he relinquished his hold on the circular knob, fingers trailing off the cold brass.
The woman led her son away as she noted not without alarm that the yellow metal had distinct dents now, in the shape of fingers. Matthew sobbed on, not trailing off at any point. If anything, he grew louder, full blown screams coming out of his mouth before the two made it to the hallway's end.
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Now THAT'S a bad dream. T_T Sorry to all of you for not making this longer, in addition to all the other stories I have right now, I'm betaing an amazing story by Kiesha (who srsly rocks my socks AND shoes). I'm seriously lolgasming at every PM she sends me. Go! You meet amazing authoress! Now!
Hundred Themes will be up tonight. ;D Yay.