I know I'm a horrible person, I apologize. My excuses will be at the bottom because I don't want to keep you from the new chapter any longer.

Ivan blinked his eyes open slowly, drowsily. He felt so very tired and he didn't feel like moving for the rest of his life. It was so warm and comfortable, the others body pressed against his own. His eyes widened when he realized the implications of that, that there was someone pressed against him. He tensed, violet eyes shifting down only to be met with familiar blond hair.

It was only Alfred.

The Russian relaxed, his eyes slipping closed once more as he let himself enjoy how the American had snuggled up close to him. Why was he in his bed to begin with? He opened his eyes again, staring up at the ceiling and letting his gaze settle on the light above... One that he did not recognize as the light fixture in his room. This was not his room. Where was he?

And then he remembered everything.

He tensed once more, eyes darting fearfully toward the American as he suddenly wished they weren't so close. Shouldn't Alfred hate him? Fear him? Why had he even come back to him? Questions raced through his groggy mind until an annoyed growl was heard. He must have started to squirm away from the other unconsciously because the American's hands tightened around his loose shirt.

Alfred stirred, his head pressing further against the others chest in a desperate attempt to stay asleep. He let out another muffled groan just wishing to never get up ever again. Ivan giggled despite himself, Alfred having the effect to make him smile even as he dealt with his inner turmoil. The teen was so cute cuddling up to his chest!

The blond finally lifted his head at the sound, blue eyes blinking open tiredly. "Mornin'" He mumbled, closing his eyes once more because it was too much trouble to keep them open. He tried opening them again and realized how he was practically on top of the Russian which caused him to quickly scoot away. Ivan pouted, missing the warmth the other exuded but took the chance to sit up. He usually wasn't very comfortable with other people touching him (other than his sisters of course) but he made an exception for Alfred. He was special.

Alfred let out a loud yawn and stretched, half of his brain still asleep and not functioning nor would it until its demand for food was quenched. He stared at Ivan who looked at him nervously. His eyes bore into him as his brain desperately tried to make some sort connection in its dormant state. "You killed people." He finally said bluntly and Ivan cringed.

"Da." He responded after a moment. What else could he say?

"But they we're bad people." Alfred reminded, his eyelids still droopy from sleep but becoming slowly more alert.

"Da." The pale blond stated with certainty, his fist tightening slightly around the covers pooled in his lap.

"Do you regret it?" The question was sudden and didn't match the detached sleep laced voice that spoke it.

Ivan paused, digesting the question, "...I regret killing them but I am happy they are dead..." He answered honestly. No matter how bad the orphanage was, it was better than his father.

Alfred frowned, blinking his eyes slowly. Without another word he threw the covers off of himself and stood up. He stretched his tired muscles before heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Ivan panicked slightly at the sudden movement. Was he leaving him? Had he answered incorrectly?

"I can't think this early. I gotta eat something, usually Papa's got something on the table for me. You hungry?" Alfred responded obliviously, yawning for added effect. The Russian visibly relaxed at the explanation but remained still. Alfred didn't wait for him to respond, his stomach making a grumbling noise as it lead him toward the kitchen.

Ivan hesitated but then followed. He didn't understand. Why was Alfred acting as if everything was alright? Nothing was alright. Nothing would ever be alright.

Alfred stumbled down the stairs, smiling as he saw some crepes out. They only needing to be heated and he could satisfy his stomach so that he could concentrate on the important problem at hand. Looking at the plate that had a note laid delicately atop (Good morning Alfred. Enjoy breakfast and please leave some for Matthieu. Papa.) reminded him that he did love his Papa sometimes.

"Ok... So we're going to figure this out together." Alfred said slowly, much more awake after his breakfast. They had returned to his bedroom and the American had procured a drawing pad from the dark depths of his closet. After flipping through many drawings from his artistic phase at the age of six, he finally found a blank page to his liking. He set it on the window sill to keep it upright and wrote in big letters: "THE HEROIC PLAN TO SAVE IVAN".

"Phase one will be getting rid of your nightmares." Alfred continued, writing down "Phase 1: Nightmares". He then drew a very sloppy cell phone shaped blob. Ivan peered at it questioningly.

"Is the drawing pad necessary?" Ivan asked with a raised brow from his seat on the others bed. He didn't understand what the American was doing. Was he really going to try and 'save' him? Why did he care? He was a murderer... he didn't deserve his help. 'No one will save you' The voices of his nightmares echoed in his mind and he quickly pushed them out.

"Yes. It is. Now, to get rid of the nightmares. Whenever you have one you have to call me immediately after," He pointed to the 'cell phone' drawn, "And tell me what happened. Ok?"

"I do not agree. First, it will be very late at night. And second, you do not want to know about my nightmares." Ivan denied, not looking forward to disclosing such personal information. He didn't need to know anything about what happened in his mind. He would become frightened and leave him.

"Losing sleep isn't as important as being a hero and yeah I want to know. I'm a part of this now and I'm gonna fix it." He snapped, turning back to his drawing pad to scribble 'Phase two: Toris'. He then proceeded to draw a stick figure that didn't resemble Toris at all. It looked more like a flower than anything.

"Toris? What does he have to do with any of this?" Ivan asked warily, it was hard enough telling Alfred about his problems let out telling more people.

"Dude. He got a letter from your sister. He has to know more! What if he knows where she is?" Alfred responded incredulously. Ivan's eyes widened in realization. How had he overlooked that? It had been so unreal. He had merely basked in the happiness of knowing his sister was alive than probing to discover how the brunette knew her. What a horrid oversight!

"You are right." He breathed out.

"I always am." Ivan rolled his eyes and Alfred gave him cheeky grin. "Ok. So we'll interrogate him or something. Hopefully, he'll tell us and maybe we can get into contact with her."

"I have been writing Natalia letters... She has never responded. I think the orphanage is keeping my letters instead of giving them to her." Ivan decided to admit, propping his head up with a hand on his chin. He hoped she was well...

"Hmmm... Then that gets rid of my phase three of writing the orphanage... so instead we'll deal with your anger." The American decided matter of factly.

"My anger?" Ivan question with a tilt of the head.

"You smashed my head into a table. You choked me." Alfred reminded bluntly, a small frown on his face.

"It was your own fault. There was blood on my hands." Ivan tried to defend himself. Alfred only grinned at the information.

"Ah hah! So thats your trigger." He exclaimed excitedly scribbling it onto the pad: "TRIGGER: Blood on hands" followed by a crude picture of a hand that in reality resembled deformed circle with protrusions.

"Trigger?"

"Yep. I saw it in a movie once. The psycho has some bad past and there are these things that trigger his memories. An' when that happens he goes psycho." Alfred stated with conviction. He turned to his drawing pad to write: "Phase 3: Anger". "Do you have any other triggers?"

"...I do not think so..." Ivan kept the fact that he got angry when Alfred himself was sad or hurt. It had nothing to do with his past so it probably didn't count. And it didn't happen very often, only around his English father...

"Ok. So we just got to keep blood and red paint away from your hands." He decided easily. "And if you do go psycho you should try and think of something happy that calms you."

"So I should think of you?" Ivan smirked as the comment made the other blush and snap at him. How he did enjoy the other flustered because of him.

"You are such a weirdo..." Alfred growled out, looking at his plan to see if there was anything else. He felt the others violet gaze on his back. It didn't make him nervous or anything... Being in the same room with a killer... Not at all... He was a hero and heroes never got scared. Ever. He slowly turned around to look at his..erm..boyfriend.

"D-do you ever want to kill again?" He blurted out with a slight tremble in his voice. His blues eyes shifted from the violet gaze to the floor as he stood there awkwardly.

"No." Ivan lied after a moment because he could tell the other was feeling anxious and he didn't want to add to his worry. Sometimes he wanted to hurt his teachers, especially his English one. Sometimes he wanted to hurt Gilbert. Sometimes he wanted to kill his English father.

But he would never tell Alfred that.

"Ok good." Alfred breathed a sigh of relief, trying to relax once more. Ivan had just been a victim of circumstance. Forced to kill or be killed... But now that he was in the Amazing Country of America he didn't need to anymore. So of course he wouldn't have any urges unless triggered. It made sense. Still, something in the back of his mind picked at the rational. He decided to ignore it for now.

Arthur sipped at his tea lazily, enjoying his Sunday morning. He could relax, read some of the news and perhaps embroider.

"Arthur! When can I get this stupid cast off." Francis whined, hobbling toward him. It had been practically a month but it felt so much longer. Sure it didn't impair him in the bedroom (he had that much skill and Arthur was, in fact, very flexible) but it was a pain to limp around the home all the time.

Arthur cringed, his morning ruined, "Another month Francis. Stop whining. Maybe if you actually took it easy like the doctor said you could have it removed sooner."

Francis pouted, "I am getting close to taking my butcher's knife and freeing myself as it is."

"Then I would be forced to remove all the knives from this establishment."

"Then how would I cook?"

"You wouldn't. I would." He threatened making Francis gasp.

"You would not! You would kill the children." Francis reminded, giving him a horrified look. Arthur only smirked.

"They've survived my cooking before. And it isn't that bad! A scone is a much better treat than a croissant."

"In the oldens days you would be guillotined for such crazy talk Arthur." The Englishman rolled his eyes, hiding his smile with his tea cup. Francis still caught it but decided not to point it out because it would make the Englishman scowl. "Anyways, we need to go."

"Go?" Arthur questioned, smile disappearing as he placed his tea cup down onto the table.

"Arthur! It is a week before Christmas. We must go shopping for presents!" The Frenchman cried in an obvious tone.

"Shh! They'll here you." Arthur snapped, his emerald eyes darting around the room for their sons.

Francis chuckled, "Oh Arthur, they are no longer six. They know there is no Santa."

"Well, I much preferred it when they did. They were so much cuter. You always seem to ruin the magic of the moment." He smiled fondly at the memories of Christmas morning. Of late nights filled with wrapping gifts as quietly as possible. Of being woken up by fiercely determined twins, pouncing on their sleeping forms with battle cries. Of sipping tea as the wide eyed boys opened the gifts with such fervor and happiness that Arthur wished he could just give them the entire world.

The mess of wrapping paper on the ground after the storm of excitement was well worth it.

"It is so much more difficult to get them gifts now..." He sighed. Before, a toy firetruck or a comic book character was enough to light up their eyes...

"You just have to pick up the signs. Alfred is practically begging to get that new phone and Matthieu wishes for the new Ipod. Alfred seems to believe he will perish unless he receives more video games and Matthieu has a few books he has been dying to read. You should be more observant, Arthur." Francis scolded playfully, adding a 'tsking' noise to the end of his statement.

"I am observant!" Arthur defended, "I just pay more attention to what my son's are doing! Like how Alfred and Ivan are become dangerously close."

"Oh Arthur not this again." Francis sighed, how had they gotten onto this topic? It was all Arthur ever ranted about now and it was so very annoying. Why couldn't the Brit just let them be.

"I do not trust that teenager, Francis. He hurt my boy more than once and I won't forgive him for it. What if they get into a fight, and its obvious they will, and Ivan hurts him again? But worse?" How could Francis not see the danger? How could he not be worrying constantly over Alfred's safety?

"Arthur you worry excessively. They'll be fine, let them have their fun. You had your fun as a child." Francis reminded, raising his eyebrows as if to dare the other to refute his statement.

"And I am not very happy about that! I spent my time with the wrong friends and it got me into plenty of trouble. I don't want Alfred to make the same mistakes." Arthur defended, crossing his arms and glaring at nothing. He was a veritable delinquent when younger and it tarnished his gentlemanly reputation. He didn't want Alfred to get sucked into the wrong crowd like he had.

"You give him too little credit, Arthur. He is not a child, he can make his own decisions." Francis assured, patting the Brit's head reassuringly but also condescendingly. Arthur sent him a glare, swatting at the hand and made his husband chuckle, "Why do I have the feeling you'll forbid them from leaving the house after they graduate?"

Arthur's glare became fiercer, "There is nothing wrong with being protective over ones children."

"You know... The more you suffocate them, the more they'll want to leave. Wasn't that the case with you as well?" Francis spoke up, a tinge of seriousness in his previously playful tone. Arthur grew quiet, opening his newspaper and focusing on it instead of the bloody Frenchman. Francis sighed, "I'll go get ready and then we can leave." Arthur didn't respond and Francis left him in his sour mood. He could be so moody sometimes.

"No. You're gonna be nicer to other people." Alfred snapped, coming down the stairs and into Arthur's earshot. His brows furrowed in confusion before seeing that his son was talking to Ivan, not himself.

"I do not like other people." Ivan stated firmly.

"And that's why you come off as a creeper. I'm trying to fix you here, Iva-Oh hey Dad." Alfred greeted, looking at his father. Uh oh, the Englishman was already glaring at him. Crap. He must have just had a fight with Papa...

"I'm still waiting for your apology." Arthur said sternly, his anger at his husband reminding him of the anger toward his son from last night. Alfred furrowed his brows in confusion before remembering the whole dinner fiasco. It didn't seem that big of a deal right now. Not after what he had learned.

"Apology? For what?" He asked noncommittally. He had more important things to be doing.

"You're atrocious behavior. You disrespected me and caused a scene."

"Whatever, sorry." He sighed out, rolling his eyes. Arthur absolutely fumed, standing up to glare up at his son. How dare he treat him like that? Had the boy gone mad?

"Don't 'whatever' me boy! Do you have any idea how horribly you acted? Like a four year old!"

Alfred gritted his teeth. "I'm sixteen. Let me be. I said I was sorry. I have stuff to do." Now he was beginning to get angry himself.

"No, you did not apologize. And you will not be doing this 'stuff' until you do so." Arthur retorted, his eyes narrowed dangerously and his arms crossed. He waited.

"Oh my God! Why are you so annoying? I'm sorry! I can't do anything without you yelling at me!"

"Don't raise your voice with me Alfred Kirkland Bonnefoy or so help me God I will take away all of your video games for a week!" He finally threatened, anger rising to dangerous levels within him as he stared him down.

Alfred fell silent, glaring at his father before turning away and stomping up the stairs. Arthur let him go because clearly Alfred felt the need to behave like spoiled five year old. Ivan watched his American go, anger swelling within him toward the British man. How dare he anger his Alfred? He was the only one allowed to do so!

"And you." Arthur hissed, fury switching toward the large Russian, "I still don't like this—this 'relationship' between you two. If you hurt my little boy just a single bit, whether it be emotionally or physically, I will make you pay."

"You are the only one hurting him." Ivan growled out dangerously as Arthur's eyebrows shot up at the accusation. How dare this teenager address him in such a way? Had he no decency when addressing an elder?

"I think it would be best if you returned home, Ivan. I'll phone Toris." He mused darkly, leveling his green eyes on the others peculiar violet. Ivan held the gaze defiantly.

"I do not wish to go home and so long as Alfred allows me to be here I will stay. Now, I should return to him because I actually care about him." He snapped, his eerie smile twitching slightly as he spoke.

"Are you supposing I don't care about my own son?" Arthur asked in a measure tone in order to hide his disbelief. Where would he ever even get the idea?

"I am not supposing. I know." Ivan bit back with that creepy smile, heading toward the stairs.

"I'll have you know I love my son very much!" Arthur shouted after him.

"That's not what I see." It was a whisper but it carried.

Arthur absolutely fumed as Ivan left, he didn't want that Russian in this house or anywhere near Alfred! He grabbed the nearest phone, punching in the buttons angrily. The phone picked up after a moment with a tentative 'hello?'

"Toris! I need you to come here and pick up your ward... Yes, as a matter of fact he has caused some trouble... He disrespected me and has tested my patience...Thank you, and I do hope you try to drive some sense into that hooligan." He slammed the phone down, glared at the wall and wondered where had he gone wrong with his eldest son.

When Ivan rejoined Alfred in his bedroom he found him furiously playing some sort of WWII video games. For once though, he was not playing as an American and instead a German. And he was only shooting at the Brits. Ivan smirked, amused.

"I hate him when he's like that." Alfred murmured to no one in particularly.

"Hmm?"

"He has fights with Papa and when he looses them he takes it out on me. It wouldn't have mattered what I had said. He'd still yell at me." He explained, aiming and killing another British soldier.

"If it always happens then why does it bother you?" Ivan asked with a tilt of his head. It didn't make very much sense.

"Because it sucks, Ivan!" Alfred snapped, glaring at him. "Wouldn't it suck if your father was disappointed in you?" Alfred paled slightly after he spoke and turned back around as he realized what he had said, "I mean... I mean if your sister was disappointed in you..."

Ivan remained quiet for two reasons. First he did not wish to speak of his sister and second because it seemed Alfred wished to vent and the question wasn't meant to be answered.

"Nothing I do is good enough. It doesn't matter what I do, he'll find something bad and yell about it. I just.." He sighed, the fight leaving him as he returned to his game but with none of the same anger. He half halfheartedly shot at the allies, seeming almost bored as he stared at the screen with a dull expression on his face.

Ivan stayed silent, unsure what to say. He didn't understand why Alfred would want his English father's acceptance. The man was horrible. All he did was yell and hurt the people that cared for him. Was it something that sons craved from fathers? He had never had such feelings... But Alfred and his English father weren't even related! It didn't make sense.

So, he sat down on the bed next to the American, watching him play in silence. Alfred soon got bored of the game and switched it to Lego Star Wars because he 'needed to laugh'. He even forced Ivan to play which seemed to give him much amusement. Ivan didn't quite understand what was going, nor did he understand how to move his character but it made Alfred laugh when he died in unconventional ways so he supposed it wasn't all that bad.

He was finally understanding the controls to the game when they were interrupted by a yell.

"Ivan! You're leaving!" It was tinged with happiness.

"Huh? I didn't know you were going soon..." Alfred mumbled, confusion evident in his fading voice.

Ivan furrowed his brows, getting up to go see what this was all about. Alfred followed him only to find a still angry Englishman speaking hurriedly with a nervous looking Lithuanian. Shit.

"H-hello Ivan. Time to go." Toris said with a forced, shaky smile. Ivan smiled back in a much more creepy way though his eyes were locked on the blond man forcing him to leave..

"Dad, how come Ivan is leaving so soon?" Alfred asked slowly, suspicion rising within him. Shit, was his Dad really that pissed at him? Shit...

"Many reasons. Best not to hold them up. Say good bye Alfred." Arthur clipped out politely with a fake smile.

Alfred hesitated, still very angry with his father about everything. He still didn't really understand everything with Ivan... He didn't know exactly what to do other than that he had to help him. Still, he wished he could work more on his plan with him or at least get more information from him.

"I will see you in school Alfred." Ivan said and Alfred nodded slowly. Should he hug him goodbye? He was still a little antsy about Ivan being a killer even though the crimes were committed a while ago and not entirely his fault...

"Yes, yes. Off we go." Arthur tried to speed up the process and get the mad man out of his home. The sooner he was gone, the sooner he'd feel his home to be safer.

Alfred frowned and then, partly from his anger and partly from his actual feelings, he yanked Ivan down by his collar (careful about the scarf) to pull him into their first kiss since the confession. Ivan's eyes widened fractionally before responding to the kiss eagerly. How wonderful! He had surely not expected this but he welcomed the sudden change of events.

Alfred had pressed his tongue into Ivan's eager mouth when his father's hand yanked him back. Toris was blinking rapidly in shock as he was pushed in a-not-so-very-gentlemanly fashion out of the home along with a happy Russian. The door slammed shut and Arthur whirled around, his gentlemanly mask left behind on the doorstep.

Alfred smiled triumphantly at his furious father.

"What was that?" He asked, trying to reign his anger by controlling himself. It came out sounding more as a threat, quiet and ominous.

"That was me showing my affection to my boyfriend." Alfred retorted and, feeling especially rebellious, added,"I learned it from my parents who think its okay to shag on the dining room table right in front of me but not to let me date."

Arthur saw red and leveled his son a scolding glare. Alfred's fire left him at the sight and he gulped nervously. Maybe he had been pushing it a little... But Dad was being so unfair!

Arthur didn't say a word as he headed up the stairs, making Alfred even more nervous. He had no choice but to follow him. The firm click of the man's shoes echoed down the hallway as he moved along. The Englishman stormed to his son's bedroom and Alfred's fear multiplied as he hurried after him.

"Dad! Dad what are you doing!" Once they reached his bedroom Alfred could only gasp in horror. He screeched in terror as Arthur pulled the plug on his Wii, before he had the chance to save his game. His dread only grew when his dad grabbed his X-Box as well. "No! Dad you can't do that!"

Arthur didn't respond, taking the consoles out of the room and into his own, placing them in the deepest corner's of his closet. Alfred had his hands pulling at his hair as he saw his babies being dirtied by the filth of that closet. But no, Arthur didn't stop there. He stalked right back into his room. Alfred ran after helplessly, trying to think of someone to get out of this.

Now he was after his Play Station! Alfred almost sobbed as he saw it being taken away when Arthur stopped. Was mercy shining upon him?

"Give me your DS." It came out coldly.

"No. Dad please! I'm sor—" Alfred begged, all hope seeming to escape. Not his DS. It was all he had left. Surely he would forgive him?

"Now."

Alfred bit his lip as he took out his last gaming device and handed it to his father. He didn't bother following him into his bedroom and just sat on his bed despondently. He was surprised when Arthur returned to his bedroom. What else was there for him to take away? He had already taken away everything.

"You will get them back in two weeks." Arthur stated, detached.

"Two weeks! Dad! I—"

"I will not be treated like this any longer. Now, if you apologize sincerely before then, you can have them back." He left him without another word.

Alfred fisted his pillow in anger and frustration. This wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. He was trying to save someone and instead he got all of his games taken away. What the hell was he suppose to do now! How could his Dad be so cruel? What had he done that was so bad?

He glared at the wall, his blue eyes landing on the drawing pad still leaning on his window sill. He snatched it, flipping to the next blank page and fiercely scribbling down his anger. It was something to do, something to vent his anger out on. At first he attempted to draw out his fury but it only made him more frustrated because of his lack of talent. He ripped out the page, crumpling it and throwing it at the wall, imagining the spot to be a certain British individual.

He turned to a new page. Then he started to write.

Why Arthur Bonnefoy fucking sucks:

He took away my games

He is super mean

He can't cook

He hates Ivan

He yells

He thinks I'm stupid

He treats me like a child

He is never proud of me

He hates me

I fucking hate him too!

He hurled the drawing pad away from him, turning around to bury his head into his pillow. His life fucking sucked. He was dating an ex-killer and his dad hated him. And you know what? He wasn't going to blame Ivan this time. No. He was blaming Arthur. Because he was fucking sick and tired of all this bullshit. He was sick and tired of fighting with him. He was sick and tired of crying over it. He was sick and tired of being treated as a child. He was sick and tired of being a failure in his father's eyes.

Alfred was done with him. For good.

Guys, I really am sorry this took so long.
School has been absolutely murder. With piles of homework and college aplication process starting I've been a mess of stress. I've also seemed to fallen in a 'second semester slump' from the stress. Don't worry, I'm not abandoning this story but I just have more pressing matters in real life that take precedence.

I have question for you guys. If I know I'm not going to be able to post a chapter, do you want me to post an author's not to notify you guys? Usually I just update my profile with the info for those who care enough to look. See, personally i hate it when Authors post authors notes only to tell me that the chapter wont be up. Because I get all excited about an alert and then it turns out to be nothing.

But maybe that just me. Tell me what you prefer in your reviews so I know for next time.

Next Chapter: Alfred is angry, Arthur feels slightly guilty and Matthews caught in the middle.

Thanks for all the support and love, it means a lot! I love you all so very much.

See you soon!