A/N: Have you read the edited version of chapter 2? You really ought to. Reviews are welcomed. BTW, this might contain grammatical errors, or spelling mistakes, or confusing stuffs (hopefully, there's not much).

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters...

Matthew needed to get away. With the help of Detective Bonnefoy, he ends up living with Ivan Braginski who wants nothing to do with his mess, but later accepts the boy's presence. When "he" finds Matthew and threatens to take him away, what would Ivan do to keep his new found joy? AU. RusCan.

III

He felt the steps collide with various body parts. He kept on rolling down and down and down. And it hurt. It hurt so much. He could feel bruises forming – lots of them. The sensation of falling was very much new to him. Hitting the pavement, Matthew heard a shout for his name in a familiar voice. But before fully recognizing the owner, everything blacked out.

oOooOooOooOo

Whitewalls, smell of chemicals, and the regularly beeping machine by his side… Matthew knew exactly where he was. It was a place he had hoped to stay away from. Sadly, fate had another thing coming for him. He felt slight pain in his head and back. Bruises covered a good part of his arms and abdomen. Falling down at least ten steps of the staircase could do that to you. And he was very fortunate to not have broken his neck already. He groaned in frustration upon realizing that even the slightest movement of his limbs hurt like hell.

'Stupid, stupid, luck,' he thought frustrated.

There were lapses in his memory. He couldn't quite remember exactly how he fell down the stair. He was about to go home. He wasn't meeting up with anyone that afternoon and the library was doing some renovations – so no work for him too. The only thing to do was go back in the confinement of his room in Ivan's house. What did happen? Stepped on the wrong foot? Slipped? Stepped over untied shoe laces? Ridiculous, really… after all, he was Matthew Williams and not Alfred Jones. He had always been more careful than his cousin. Always.

"Ahh! Birdie! Finally, you're awake." Red eyes met his and the familiarity of the white hair and confident grin warmed him. On his bedside, Gilbert stood. He is one of Francis's close friends and coworker. "That was some tough fall you had. Good thing I was just passing by to fetch you. It's miracle you got nothing broken – just some number of bruises and a sprained ankle. Still not pretty though and –"

"Gil…" His voice was a little hoarse and weak. Still, he managed to make a small smile for the other man.

"The one and only awesome me," Gilbert said.

"What are you doing here?"

Though the albino seemed unreliable and too dense for a detective's job, he is actually an impressive worker: working various side line jobs during the night to gain more connections, a known manipulative streak and remarkable acting skills put into use during important tasks, and most importantly was his focus and determination in his missions. He rarely ever gets a break. The last time he did was when he was a newbie and still under Francis's wing. Now, the young man was looked by the French as an equal.

"I've missed you so much, that's why I asked Franny for a vacation and… well, since Big Boss didn't really allow me one, he signed me up to be your look out. My brother lives around here too so I wouldn't have to buck in with the cold Russian bastard."

"He's name is Ivan. That's not a very nice thing to say, Gil." Matthew's tone remained gentle as he was used to the detective's rudeness.

"Ja, ja, I'm sorry." Gilbert said not really sorry for his actions. But they were both used to this.

oOooOooOooOo

Ivan was starting to get uneasy as the hour passed by. Even he knew that Matthew never got back this late. The latest he'd ever seen the boy arrive was a few minutes past nine. It was now half an hour after ten. His usual smile wasn't sported and furrows in his brows were noticeable though he tried to keep a straight face as he stared at the cold dinner he had prepared for two. Yes, he, Ivan Braginski, cooked for someone else besides his sisters. Too bad the other person wasn't there to actually eat it.

Being the only boy in children of three, he took the responsibility of helping out in the chores and earning money for the household seeing that his druggie of a father wouldn't. Ivan had to grow up earlier than normal boys do in order to stay alive. And thus, some of his childishness, he was unable to outgrow.

It wasn't worry that he first felt when the hours one by without Matthew's arrival. It was more of angry apprehension. His train of thoughts was a little bit eccentric even to his liking. But he couldn't help it. It felt as if he was let down. He did things he hadn't done in years just to please Matthew and show his appreciation for what the boy had done, and yet Matthew didn't come. Of course, he didn't give a word beforehand. The whole thing was spontaneous, after all. Still, it stung. Deep inside, Ivan knew Matthew was not at fault. In truth, he was the one who had to apologize – and not just for what happened the night before but for everything.

The food he prepared went down the drain. And as he sat alone in the table, he couldn't help but look at his liquor cabinet. There were still undamaged bottles of vodka and other various alcohols, but he was smart enough not to yield into that temptation, again, so soon.

When the clock struck eleven pm, he decided to call the French bastard.

"Oui?"

"What is Matthew's phone number?" It was probably the first time he had said the boy's name. There was a chuckle on the end. One that said he had known all along.

"Well, Monsieur Braginski, it took you long enough to ask for that. Isn't it funny that I didn't find it absurd that you're asking somebody miles away know the contact of someone who you're living with?"

"Da. Now, what is his contact?"

Bonnefoy gave him two numbers: Matthew's and some person named Gilbert.

"If mon petit doesn't answer, try contacting Gilbert. He's supposed to be there by now."

"Who?"

The beeping sound on the other line was the only response he got.

He dialled Matthew's number impatiently not really knowing what to say to him. He'd never really acknowledged his presence until then. But Ivan was used to this kind of things. He drives through head first and fix things along the way. Well, at least at work it works perfectly fine. It was one of his best assets.

The phone was turned off on purpose which agitated the Russian even more. 'How dare he?!' Anger was quickly building up inside him.

Next, he tried Gilbert's number.

"Halo, the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt speaking." 'Beilschmidt? As in Ludwig Beilschmidt? He even sounds German too.'

"Da. This is Ivan Braginski—"

"Ah, the Russian who took in Mattie. Hey Mattie, look, Braginski's calling me!" 'So Matthew is with him.' Suddenly, Matthew being with that German didn't suit with him well.

"Da. Where is Matthew? It's getting really, really late and Francis told me to keep an eye on him." Lie. He wanted it for himself. Ivan tried to keep his voice steady. He knew immediately that he wouldn't get along well with the Beilschmidt.

"Oh. Well, he's in the hospital, he sort of—" Ivan didn't wait for the rest of the sentence. 'Matthew is in the hospital?'

As calmly as he could he rushed to grab his car keys. There was only one hospital in town and thank whatever entity is up there that it was only twenty minutes away from his house.

oOooOooOooOo

"Well, that was weird. And he hung up on me. How'd he even get my number? Did you, Birdie?"

"Uhm, no… I don't even have his. I bet he's just worried about locking house. Good thing I'm forced here until morning. And would you please stop calling me that." Matthew had been wondering exactly what Gilbert had just asked. It led him to think of his own things. Since he couldn't remember much from before the accident, he doesn't where most of his stuff went including his phone. (According to the Austrian doctor, it was due to the shock he received moments before the fall. Hopefully, some things would trigger his memories because apparently, they discovered a bruise covering his shoulders as if someone had grabbed him.) "Gil, where's my bag?"

"Oh, it's right there." The albino pointed towards the other end of the room. He stood, grabbed the red and white knapsack, and lightly put it by the bed where the Matthew could easily access it.

A handkerchief, cap, and the extra shirt he always carried around in case of emergency weren't there. His phone was nowhere in sight too.

"Where was this when you found me?" Gilbert could sense the hidden panic in the younger male's tone.

"Ah well, actually, while the ambulance was doing some first aid procedure, a seemingly very happy Spaniard and a grumpy Italian descended the stairs with your stuff. They actually came here with me but had to leave immediately." He stopped a little as if remembering, "… which reminds me: I never got their names."

"Those were Antonio and Lovino. Did they say anything else? Was there someone there when the accident happened?" Matthew said, edginess seething lightly in his voice. "Some of my things are missing, Gilbert –" He involuntarily let out a small whimper. "– Mon Dieu, Gilbert, I have to get away." His breathe became heavy and ragged. Gilbert rushed to his side, patting his back and whispering soothing words.

"You're safe here Matthew. You might have just forgotten that you didn't bring those things. You might have lost them long before the accident. Deep breathes, Matthew, follow me. Breathe in. Out. In. Out. There, there, just go get some more rest."

As the small hiccups from the quietly sobbing Matthew died down, tense-filled silence consumed the air. And the pale blonde boy was once again lulled into sleep.

oOooOooOooOo

It must have been his mind playing tricks on him or maybe not. The time reads '5 00 AM'. And he was seeing Ivan in the doorway – just standing there awkwardly. He tries to sit up but felt weight on his torso – Gilbert was fast asleep hugging him with half his body on the bed and the other still seated.

It wasn't anything unusual. Before the Jones took him in, Francis and Gilbert who at that time shared an apartment took him in for a few weeks. Since Francis always had some random person in his bed, he slept in Gilbert's room. The albino didn't like sleeping on the couch and also didn't want a guess to sleep on the furniture, so it always ends up with both of them squeezing themselves into the single mattress and more often resulting to those hugs.

In a way, Gilbert and Francis were his brothers- retarded at times but undeniably reliable brothers.

He heard the door moderately slam and when he looked where the other had been, Ivan wasn't there.

The next time he woke up, Gilbert and Ivan were staring or rather, glaring at each other from the opposite sides of the hospital bed. "Uh, good morning." Two heads turned their attention to him.

"Ah, Matthew, glad to see you awake." Ivan greeted warmly. He tried really hard to sound open and warm, but Matthew knew something was still off.

"Hey, Mattie! Guess what? You could leave now. The doctor said you should take it easy for a while which could also translate to – ha! – you stuck at home. And I've talked to my brother. Since I'm sticking around for a while, he says we could use his spare apartment just a few blocks from the university. Isn't –"

"He's staying with me." There was no hint of hesitation. Ivan said the statement in utter confidence.

Of course, it had shocked Matthew. Two grown men on his opposite sides were trying to kill each other mentally with the daggers in the glare they're giving out.

"I just want to get out of here first." Matthew said pressing his index on his forehead as if trying to prevent the crease that was threatening to form.

"If it is alright with Mr. Braginski, I'd like to stay with him, Gil. It's just going to be a hassle moving my things again."

"I'm very much okay with it." Ivan beamed.

"Birdie! What's gotten into you?" Gilbert sulked.

"Oh don't be such a baby. I can still visit you or stay overnight or something – I'll even introduce you to my friends. Now, help me get up so I can leave this damned white building."

The Russian and German did not stop sending hostile signals to each other. But they were careful not to let Matthew notice.