Happy weekend lovelies! Get excited, because we are finally introducing Yao Wang!

A note on names: Sebastian - One hell of a (human) butler.

Chapter Summary: Kiku visits his powerful half-brother Yao, looking for answers.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

Chapter 13: Brothers

The house is a palatial one - old, from the city's grander days, with more rooms and chambers and secrets than Kiku would ever wish to know. He is led inside by Sebastian, the man who was once their father's most trusted guard and now serves as Yao's butler. That was a "promotion" many in their household felt to be dishonorable; a slap in the face for someone who so loyally served the late Mr. Wang. Not that anyone said so aloud, or that their father had inspired much loyalty in anyone. Annoyed with the thought, Kiku lets the Sebastian lead him to the parlor where his half-brother lounges over a chaise like he is the emperor himself, sake in hand while he watches a few minions play mahjong.

Kiku does not want to be here. It is rare that he arrives willingly, and rarer that he is able to leave easily. Yao has made it perfectly clear that his welcome is contingent upon what he brings to make it worth his while. Other than that, he is in a far worse position than the butler. He bites the inside of his lip to force down the look of contempt. Not today. Today, as much as he hates to admit it, he needs help. "Yao." He bows.

Yao does not hear the room grow quiet, or the tiles pause their clicking, or the way they start back up again just as fast, not wanting to be noticed. He hears only Kiku, his... family spawn, the thing that everyone calls his brother. Breathing in slowly, he sits up, letting his neck roll around and his elbows lean on his knees. "Who are you bowing to, brother?" He says the term with a note of disdain. He does not exactly enjoy seeing him here, but he knows the idiot would not be here if he had a choice. He much prefers to see Kiku on his knees, calling him 'Ota-san' and sucking his cock in complete submission. Where he belongs. "You came to call upon your family. So call."

Kiku stiffens. Yao's in a dangerous mood; he does not call him brother. Ever. Sometimes when they fuck, but even then the word is always a weapon. This may have been the wrong day to ask for a favor. But, there is no going back now. Yao might even enjoy the opportunity for a little intrigue and bloodshed.

Taking a breath, Kiku stands tall, ignoring the unfriendly eyes upon him. They are the ones who started calling him the China Doll. His own family's employees, and they think of him as nothing more than his brother's whore. Let them. This has never been his real family anyway. "I would ask to make use of your skills, brother. Find the one who killed my lover. Make them pay. You have always been good at collecting debts."

Oh, really...? Yao smirks a little at the tone, glass slung between two fingers, hanging. Nothing to lose. It's in his voice, in his posture, in his eyes. Kiku has their father's eyes, but now they are dead. He does not like to see him this way. Despite everything, he enjoys the way those eyes fire at him with every nasty word Kiku wishes he could say. Yao wants him to struggle for life, not sink into death. He needs his toys, after all.

"Hera, was it? The boy who paid you so many visits he never left a cent for?" He smirks a little wider, swallowing the last of his glass. "The little thief."

Kiku's hands quiver at his sides, but his gaze remains steady. "What is given freely is not stolen. What is paid for is not stolen. A thief is one who takes, and does not ask." His eyes narrow, just a little, the implications perfectly clear. Yao makes it so difficult not to argue. He takes another breath, reminding himself that he needs him. He will never find the answer on his own, but Yao most certainly has the means. He cannot rest until he knows the one who killed Hera is dead as well. Then...well, what happens then hardly matters. "Yes. His name is...was Heracles. Heracles Karpusi."

There it is. Some life is left. Good. He needs that. Yao's hand slides over the mouth of his glass and he smirks at him for just a moment, almost chuckling. Such a good thing to feel this again. Hatred, anger. It's been a long time since anyone talked back to him. Not even Kaoru is fool enough to do that anymore.

"Shot in the street, I remember." He rises to his feet, moving to the table where the carafe is. "Sad. But tell me, what's my end of this? What do I care for a bit of muscle with a hole in his head?"

Kiku almost smiles. He knows what Yao expects him to say. Kiku is a whore, after all; no one ever expects him to offer anything else. While he is sure that will come into their bargain eventually - it always does - what he has in mind is something more likely to keep Yao's attention. "Because the same person who took two shots to kill Hera needed just one to take out Beilschmidt. Who is to say you are not next on their list?"

Yao pauses, his hand on the carafe and his mind sliding elsewhere for a moment. Their trip together on the plane, when he was nine and Kiku was five. The way his mother glared at the Japanese maid did not register then, nor did the way their father slapped him when he laughed. What he knew was that they were going to a new home. And that was scary, but he was brave and he wanted to prove it. So he turned to his friend, the maid's son, and said "Don't worry, I'll protect you." And Kiku had said "I don't need protecting. You do. So I'll stay in your room."

He doesn't know why he remembers that moment from the time when they were friends, before he knew the shame this boy was to their family, before he knew his own role as his father's heir. "If I was next on the list, brother dear, the killer would be dead already."

Kiku wants to ask why Yao's still alive, then, when Yao has been at the top of his list for so long. But Yao knows that, and knows that Kiku cannot do it. He...well, he does not love him, but he needs him. It is the sad truth of things. He chooses his next words carefully, for they are dangerous. "Yet I hear tell you cannot keep a single Russian from your territory."

There's a flush on Yao's cheeks at the very mention of Ivan. Yao is not afraid of the Russian, but there is no doubt that he is threatened. That does not happen often, and Kiku doesn't think he knows quite how to deal with it.

Yao grits his teeth. He fills his glass and brings it back to his chaise, tempted to toss it at this mongrel and light him on fire. That would end this conversation nicely. But as much as Kiku cannot kill him, he cannot kill Kiku. They are still... necessary to each other, for all that it matters.

Sipping his drink, he looks away, considering it. The Russian owns half of the north, some of what was once entirely his part of town. He has been trying to handle that quietly. No one wants a gang war, not when there are bigger things afoot. "Russians are like ants. They crawl in and feed on my crumbs." He drops back into the couch, calculating. "I will look into it."

Kiku cannot deny that he has his own suspicions about Ivan, but there are too many stories about what happened that night to be sure. Even Kiku himself has been named as the jealous lover. Ridiculous. In the end he simply bows low. "Thank you." Now, the hard part: how is he going to leave?

A group of angry-looking Chinese men drag in a rather large, burly Russian - one who is cursing up a storm. Suddenly feeling much better, Yao slides from his spot on the chaise and moves toward the group, waving Kiku off just as he would his butler.

Swallowing the last of his sake, Yao crouches down, waiting for his men to force the driver to his knees so that he may face him eye-to-eye. "Hello." He smiles cheerfully at the man, ignoring everything his father taught him about emotions and letting his own glee show freely. "I take it you are Mister Tobias Lenktov?" When the driver does not answer, he knows it is the truth. He grins, curling his fist around his glass and swinging it, cracking the rim against the side of the man's skull. The top half shatters against the skin, sending glass cascading over the man's broad shoulder and down to his floor. Then Yao takes what's left in his hand and jams it over the driver's lips, embedding it into his face and turning it, creating a gorgeous red, bloody circle.

Madness. Kiku should not be surprised. He's seen it too many times before. He's tired of all this blood, when the ones at the top barely suffer. Although with Gilbert dead, he supposes that is proved wrong. The ones at the top simply have the farthest to fall. And they will fall, Kiku is certain. Someday, every one of them is going to wind up just like Roma, just like Gilbert, just like their damned father. He slips out of the Wang house while he still has the chance.

Hours later, the driver is dead. And more importantly, that big, Armenian shipment Ivan was expecting is now hidden at one of Yao's many safe-houses. He embeds the glass back over the man's mouth, waving for his men to leave the body on Ivan's doorstep. If he wants to get personal, he can damn well get personal. But first, a shower.