V. Heron

The irate teacher had finished the last of his tirade; Alfred uneasily gathered his things before inching out of the classroom. His expression changed to one with a smile as he stepped out to the hallway, expecting to see a certain blond Canadian waiting for him, like he did every day without failure. When he realized that the area was empty, the smile slowly vanished.

He hummed thoughtfully, scratching the back of his neck. Maybe Matthew was waiting for him at the car? Alfred found this explanation reasonable and shouldered his backpack.

A few minutes later, he would emerge from the school, only to find that the car was empty, as well. He, considering what had transpired the day before, would figure that Matthew must have needed time to think and walked home - it wouldn't be the first time it happened. Alfred would get in his car and drive home with full faith that Matthew will be okay by the next day.

He would ignore the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that something was wrong.

. . .

It took a great effort just to open his eyes; Matthew managed to do so with a small, guttural groan. His vision swam and his arms felt like dead weight resting beside him. There was a seat belt strapped across his chest and that's when he realized that he was sitting in a moving car.

"Ar...thur?" he slurred. His tongue felt like it was suddenly too big for his mouth. His brain registered Arthur's presence beside him, hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead.

He felt a hand combing itself through his hair. "Sleep, Matthew," he heard Arthur say. The Englishman sounded dim, far away. "It's a long drive."

Despite his wishes, Matthew fell back into unconsciousness to the feel of the car rumbling along a road and the lulling sound of Arthur's voice.

. . .

Arthur watched with a heated gaze as Matthew and that pathetic excuse of a human being danced together: Matthew's hand resting on a broad shoulder, waist held by hands that looked a little too comfortable.

He never had a reason to hate their physical education class before, but now he found himself absolutely loathing it. Briefly, he felt himself direct a portion of that resentment towards Matthew, but he chided himself afterwards. It wasn't Matthew's fault. It was that other boy's - Alfred's.

Two days ago, Arthur had nodded in agreement when Matthew suggested that they go say hi to the new student who sat by himself in an empty lunch table, looking anxious. He knew Matthew was always eager to help others, friends or strangers.

So they said hi and introduced themselves. Arthur quickly realized that the vulnerable look they'd seen on Alfred's face must have been a mask; fifteen minutes into the lunch period, the American was laughing and joking loudly as if he knew them all his life. He remembered seeing Matthew sitting there, indigo eyes wide and seemingly fascinated with their new friend. It had been his mistake to ignore it and think nothing of when Matthew asked the next day if they could sit with Alfred again.

It didn't take much for Arthur to dislike Alfred. He was loud, brash, and showed off for the most inane of reasons. He took to calling them shortened versions of their names - Artie and Mattie - and seemed to suddenly become the favorite of every teacher. It wasn't long before Arthur decided that Alfred was a very unappealing, catastrophic creature sent down to turn his life into a living hell.

But Matthew obviously thought otherwise.

And now there they were, dancing together, Matthew's expression the happiest Arthur has seen in a long while, Alfred grinning as he turned Matthew effortlessly about.

There were more boys than girls in their class - Arthur had the misfortune of getting paired with a particularly irritating one. He had planned to wait until all of the girls were taken so he could have an excuse to ask Matthew to be his partner, but the teacher had walked in with Alfred. She asked if he was comfortable enough to join the class for that day and Alfred, having caught sight of Matthew, had enthusiastically said yes.

The teacher praised Matthew for trying to help welcome Alfred to the school.

Yes, Arthur knew Matthew nice - so nice - but Alfred's first day of school had been over three days ago and Matthew should be dancing with him, not that loud-mouthed, arrogant little-

Arthur inhaled sharply and pulled his partner back a little too fast. She stumbled and almost fell, hissing, "Watch it!"

He made sure to do it two more times, just to spite her. And when the class finally finished(whose bright idea was it to have a unit on ballroom dancing, anyway?) Arthur yanked Matthew away from Alfred none-so-gently and made sure that the American was nowhere near them for the rest of the day.

Matthew, worried, asked tentatively, "Are you okay, Arthur?"

Arthur never answered with a negative because then he would have been lying.

. . .

The next time Matthew opened his eyes, he was being lifted gently out of the car. The arms that were carefully supporting him underneath his legs felt foreign, and he instinctively began to panic, senses being alerted too soon. As a result from the thrashing, Matthew felt the arms slip away before he landed hard on his back. White streaked his vision and his glasses were askew, but he could still see Arthur standing over him.

"Arthur," he rasped for the other boy. His mind was terribly disoriented and he was lost, confused. He had no recollection of what had transpired, and that was what frightened him the most. Arthur's eyes, underneath concern, had a manic gleam to them.

Matthew struggled to sit up.

"You should have known better than to do that, love." Matthew eyed him warily as he knelt down next to him. He flinched when Arthur put a hand on him. "Are you all right?"

"Hurts a little," was Matthew's clipped reply. The Canadian looked around, only to find his surroundings nearly filled with trees. "Where are we?"

Arthur didn't reply to this, instead offering a hand. After some hesitation, Matthew took it, and Arthur helped him up to his feet. It was when he was standing again, albeit leaning between Arthur and the side of the car, that he noticed the large cabin several meters away.

"Where are we?" Matthew repeated, shooting his best friend a confused gaze. "Arthur."

The Englishman in question stayed silent. He didn't relinquish his hand and instead began to lead Matthew around the car and up the dirt path that lead to the cabin's front door.

"Arthur!" Matthew tried to keep the hysteria from rising in his voice, but in the given circumstance, it was hard to stay calm. He could remember several instances when Arthur blanked out like this - they always ended with an adult having to calm him down, but out here, they were alone. He tried to wriggle away, but Arthur was gripping his hand securely, with a force that Matthew didn't know he had; he was afraid that come morning, there would be bruises. "You're scaring me," he finally resorted to saying, voice soft.

Somehow, Arthur heard these three words. He abruptly halted on the porch of the cabin, facing the Canadian. "Don't be," he muttered. He leaned down and Matthew thought that he was going to kiss him, but he stopped when their noses where just barely brushing. "This is a better place for you." And then he resumed pulling the other towards the front door.

Matthew quickly realized that he couldn't get through to Arthur anymore, not when the other was in a state like this. The Englishman's gaze was blank and his voice was a monotone - nothing about him suggested that he was sane anymore.

Matthew had only seen him get this far lost once, back in seventh grade, in the several days following the Incident-

Arthur wasn't insane. They surely must have run tests, recommended him for a psychologist, and Matthew had never heard that Arthur was diagnosed to be mentally unstable. A little too quick to anger, yes - but the school wouldn't keep a student if they posed a potential threat to others, right?

Matthew tried to cling to this small shard of hope, despite the minimal sense of safety it brought him. These fits never last, thought Matthew, maybe an hour or two more? And once Arthur was back, they could laugh over this silly matter and Arthur would take him home.

If Arthur didn't...if he only got progressively worse...

(He could handle himself. He played hockey. He could take on his best friend.)

But the future currently wasn't looking as bright as what he'd imagined. They reached the front door and Arthur nudged it open with a toe, leading them both in. It was surprisingly clean, with a couch, a dining table, several chairs, and an empty bed. There was a little fireplace in the corner of the room.

Matthew forced himself to relax; Arthur couldn't possibly be looking to hurt him. They had been best friends, for god's sake, since elementary all the way to middle school, he couldn't-

"This is our new home," Arthur said, his words hollow and his eyes just as so.

(That's when Matthew noticed the locks on the door, the fact that there was only one bed, and the several shackles laying on the floor.)

a/n: I'm sorry this is so late orz ;skldfa;sejoifoewfj