A/N: Look at me, updating on my birthday because I have no friends |D Sorry this took so long to get out, and it's not really anything super. For those of you following my other story, I'm really sorry about that. I have a huuuge writer's block right now D: Also, sorry for any typos in this chapter; I had to rush through editing in order to get it up on time. School starts tomorrow x_x I hope you all had a great holiday season! Anyways, enjoy!

"Jones."

Alfred wheeled around the second he heard that voice, feeling like someone had dumped a handful of ice cubes down the back of his shirt.

"Braginsky," he said evenly. Not a fight, not here, not now, please-

"It's been a while," the tall boy said, leering down at Alfred, arms crossed over his giant chest. Was it normal to be that tall? Alfred wondered. The blond swallowed down the lump in his throat, resisting the urge to run away. A hero never runs from his problems.

"You're right," he said quietly. "I bet you missed me."

Ivan snorted. "In your fucking dreams, Jones. I've just wondered where you've been. School's been a bit... boring without my favorite victim to play games with, if you know what I mean. And I'm sure that even someone as stupid as you would know." Ivan looked at his hand, picking mindlessly at one of his fingernails. Alfred couldn't help it; he winced. Without realizing it, he tugged at the cuffs of his long-sleeve shirt a bit.

"Yeah, well, you know. Things to do, places to go, people to see. People who actually want to see me." Ivan's head snapped up as he glared at Alfred, and the shorter boy's eyes widened. He almost clapped a hand over his mouth, realizing what he had just said. A huge lie.

"Ah, are you trying to tell me-"

"There you are!" The new voice made both Ivan and Alfred jump and turn around, and Ivan began to panic ever so slightly.

"This isn't over, Jones," Ivan spat at Alfred.

"I wouldn't bet on it," Alfred countered, but it didn't come out as strong as he hoped.

"Ivan, I've been looking everywhere for you! Have you been avoiding me?" Ivan's face paled as his sister wrapped her slender arms around one of his own bigger ones.

"Of course not, Natalia, I, ah..."

"Come have lunch with me, big brother!" Natalia demanded, staring Ivan down. No one could make Ivan do anything he didn't want to do. Except for Natalia. Alfred stood where he was, not daring to breathe.

"O-okay," the tall boy sighed, letting his sister lead him to some deserted room in the building.

Once they were out of sight, Alfred finally relaxed, and almost collapsed against the nearest wall. That had been so close.

He had gone and said something to piss off the Russian boy again, something that wasn't even true. Well, it was only partly true.

Nobody wants to see me, either, Alfred thought.

He looked down at his hands, covered by his dark blue sleeves. They were trembling so violently, that he had to sit on them to stop them from shaking. Alfred winced as he felt a piercing pain shoot up his arm.

What have I done?

"Alfred?" Said boy looked up from his notes, seeing his brother poking his head through the doorway.

"Hey, Mattie! Sup?" he put his papers down and sat up a bit in his bed.

"Dinner's ready. Mom wants you to set the table," Matthew said timidly.

Alfred quirked an eyebrow at his brother, but shrugged. "Sure thing."

Matthew nodded and retreated down the hall. Alfred sighed, pushing himself up.

The smell of fried chicken wafted through the first floor, calling Alfred towards the kitchen.

"Hi, Alfred," his mom said, not looking up from her frying pan. "Would you mind setting the table?"

"Yeah, no problem," Alfred said, slightly crestfallen. His mother hadn't even bothered to look at him, and this was the first time she had been home in days.

Taking out the utensils and napkins, Alfred placed them around the table. He made sure that every knife and every fork was evenly lined up. Wasting time.

"Pass the platter of chicken, Alfred," his dad said, looking impatiently at his eldest son expectantly.

Without a word, Alfred obliged, keeping his eyes on the plate in front of him.

"How was school, Matthew?" their father continued.

Matthew's ears turned slightly pink and he swallowed what he was chewing.

"Good," he said quietly.

"Good, good," their father said, returning to his food.

He had never seemed to be as fond of Alfred as he was as Matthew. Their mom was the same way, but she tried not to show it as much. Matthew knew it, too, but never said anything to them to make the favoritism stop.

Alfred bit the inside of his lip, but was silent.

"H-hey, Mom?" Alfred said tentatively as he helped his mom clear the table after the meal.

"Yes, what is it?" she asked, carrying a stack of plates to the kitchen. Alfred followed her, carrying the salad bowl.

"I was just wondering... Can I have my allowance a little bit early this month? I really need to go out and buy some new shirts," he said quickly.

"Didn't I just give you money two weeks ago?" she asked, frowning. "And didn't you spend it all on clothes?"

"Well... Yeah, but it's getting colder outside, and I don't really have many long-sleeve shirts," Alfred said, not looking his mother in the eye.

"You've never been one to really wear long-sleeve shirts," his mother mused, and Alfred tensed, not daring to move a muscle. "But I guess that's all right. You better watch what you're spending your money on this time, honey."

Alfred let out a small breath of relief.

"Thanks, mom, I will," he said. But for how long will I have to worry about it?

Pulling his shirt over his head, Alfred hissed in pain as he pulled too hard on his sleeve. One of the bandages had started to peel and he had yanked it off on accident.

His eyes widened as fresh blood started to trickle out of one the cuts.

"Shit, shit, shit," he muttered, trying to look for something to use as a bandage. In his haste, he knocked a book off a shelf, and it hit the floor with a loud /thud/.

A moment later, someone was knocking on his door.

"Alfred?" he heard the voice of his mother on the other side.

"J-just a second!" he said, somewhat hysterically. Grabbing a black sweatshirt, he put it on quickly, then opened the door.

His mom looked him over, but didn't see anything to comment on.

"Here's the money you asked for," she said. "Remember, you're not getting anything until the end of next month," she reminded him.

"Thanks," he said, taking the money from her and shutting the door quickly. As soon as he was sure his mom was gone, he opened the door a bit again. Noticing the hall was clear, he dashed to the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

Grabbing the roll of bandages from the medicine cabinet, Alfred quietly applied a fresh layer of bandages around his arm, hissing softly as he applied too much pressure in the wrong places. It seemed like no matter how many times he had done this, he always did it wrong.

It's because I need to stop.

As soon as he felt that everything had been fixed, Alfred put the bandages in his pocket, making sure it wasn't easily visible, and rolled down his sleeves that were slightly damp with blood so that they covered his arms completely. He flushed the toilet for good measure, and pretended to wash his hands before exiting the bathroom nonchalantly.

Better safe than sorry.

Better safe than sorry.

A hero always tries to save people. But sometimes the hero is the one who needs to be saved.