Arthur stormed up the stairs, his husband following him closely. Francis was rattling on about how he should be calm, how they had been doing the same thing, how they had been dating for months and it was bound to happen but Arthur refused to listen to him. Alfred was still young and naïve. He didn't know what love was, he wasn't ready for this. Arthur was only doing what was best for his son, and if that meant scolding him then so be it.

He flung the bedroom door open when he finally reached it, slamming it open against the wall. In the back of his mind he reminded himself that they did have neighbors. It was late in the night, past midnight and he really shouldn't be making so much noise. But, at the moment, he was too angry at the sight of the two lying asleep together in his son's bed.

Well, they had been sleeping but at the sudden noise Ivan had woken up in a start. He sat up, blinking his eyes at the two men in confusion. What was going on? He nudged at his still sleeping lover who groaned and rolled over.

Arthur would have none of that; he started to shout which finally got Alfred to wake up. It was utter chaos in seconds. Arthur grabbed at his son's arm, trying to pull him out of the bed. Alfred clung to the sheets trying to pull away from his father. Francis held his husband's arm trying to get him to calm down. All the while, the two short haired blonds were lashing out at each other verbally. The air filled with their angry shouts, making the room almost unbearable.

Ivan, for his part, grappled for his boxers and scarf. Slipping them on quickly in the moments when he was ignored by the battling family. He pulled on his pants as well, finding Alfred's boxers nearby. He threw them toward Alfred mercifully, though at the cost of reminding the rest of the family of his presence in the room. Alfred gave him a grateful look, putting on the garment hastily while Arthur turned to lash out at him.

Ivan didn't say much back, he was trying to stay calm. He barely listened, he just focused on staying calm. He was tired, he wasn't thinking straight. Alfred's horrible father was yelling. He hated that because it hurt Alfred when he did so. He wished he could shut him up. Especially now, now that he and Alfred were one. They were closer than ever and the Brit was threatening that. He could solve the problem easily by snapping his ne—no, he needed to calm down. Though, it was getting increasingly harder with all the noise.

He had been focusing so much on keeping his sanity that he hadn't even realized that they were being herded down the steps. Alfred and Arthur were still screaming at each other, and Francis was failing miserably at keeping either of them calm.

Perhaps he should actually listen to the argument in order to help his Alfred...

"I told you specifically!"

"I fucking love him! I can do what I want!"

"Don't you dare speak to me like that you brat!"

"You were fucking Papa too! I can tell! Why cant I if you can!"

"We're married! You're just a child!"

"I'm not a child! I'm an adult! I have a fucking right to do this!"

"You are an idiot if you believe that! You are a child! A naïve child!"

"I am not an idiot!"

"Then stop acting like one! Do you have any idea how stupid you've acted!"

"I am not stupid! I am not an idiot!"

And Ivan saw red. Because at that moment Alfred had started to cry.

They had reached the end of the stairs by that point and the two blonds had continued their fight right in the middle of the hallway. Francis had given up, glancing at the kitchen in a last ditch effort for distracting the pair with food.

The moment Arthur brought up idiocy Alfred's eyes began to water. He'd never retrieved his glasses from the nightstand, making the tears that much more obvious. There was no glass to shield the pain evident in his eyes. It wasn't until the last yell that the tears finally fell.

And at that point Ivan couldn't silence the voices. Everything shut down. He stopped listening, he stopped feeling. All he wanted was to get rid of the man hurting his beloved, and nothing would stop him. Nothing.

Arthur was in mid shout when he was suddenly slammed into the wall. He gasped, looking about wildly until two hands closed around his throat lifting him from the ground. His body was still forced against the wall, his air supply cut short as the hands tightened further.

The Brit thrashed wildly, desperately, clawing at the hands on his neck. He couldn't pry them off no matter how hard he tried and soon he could see spots in his vision. He chocked for breath.

At first, Alfred and Francis had been too shocked to even react. But, Francis shook it off, running forward to aid his husband. And this time, he was the only one screaming.

"Arthur! Arthur! Ivan let go! Mon Dieu arrête!" He pleaded hysterically, trying to pull the larger, stronger Russian away. His screams increased in desperation, clawing, pushing, anything to get the teen to stop. He watched in horror as Arthur movements began to slow, reinvigorating his own attempts to free him.

"ALFRED! ALFRED STOP HIM!" He finally shrieked, sobbing as none of his efforts seemed to help. The outburst finally brought the teen out of his trance. His blue eyes widened and in seconds he was shouting as well.

He grabbed his boyfriend's arm, pulling him back and screamed, "Ivan! Ivan stop!" And suddenly the grip relaxed, Arthur fell to the floor and Ivan backed away quickly. Francis wasted no time to crouch down to his husband's side.

"Arthur? Arthur? Arthur, speak to me. Arthur, please. Arthur?" The Frenchman begged, gripping the Brit's hand tightly, desperately. The man beneath him had gasped for breath, breathing heavily but his eyes seemed unfocused and it scared Francis to death. He couldn't lose him, he couldn't.

Arthur continued gasping, turning his head toward Francis and giving a slight nod. Francis wanted to hug him, to kiss him and to never let him go. But that wouldn't help Arthur at the moment. He needed space to regain his breath. So, instead, Francis stood up, shakily but determined.

He turned toward the teenagers who hadn't moved. Alfred was staring at him, worried and frightened while Ivan looked shaken. The taller was staring at his hands and he seemed deathly pale. But Francis didn't give a shit.

"Get out." He whispered, staring straight at the Russian. Ivan looked up, violet eyes shaking. Francis clenched his fists, "I said get out!"

"P-papa—" Alfred spoke up but one look from those icy blue eyes silenced him. Ivan still hadn't moved, glancing between the man and his lover.

Francis was loosing his patience, "I said get out!" He screamed, grabbing the taller's arm and pulling him to the door. Unlike before, there was no resistance and Francis found it exceedingly easy to thrust him out of his house. Ivan hadn't said a word, staring at the home in shock.

"I never want to see you in this house again." Francis warned darkly, slamming the door on the others face. The Frenchman took a deep shaky breath before turning around. Alfred still hadn't moved, continuing to stand there in shock.

Francis ignored him for the moment, rushing toward his shaking husband. Arthur was still trying to calm his breathing, but his eyes were more focused. The man didn't complain when he was lifted carefully and carried to the family room to be laid down on the couch. Francis bit his lip, running his fingers along the darkening circles slowly appearing on his love's neck. He turned away, balling his hands into fists and returning to his son.

Alfred still had not moved. "Alfred." Alfred looked up, "I refuse to let you see that boy again."

"N-no!" The American protested automatically, "Y-you can't!"

Francis was absolutely boiling, "I can't? I can't! He almost killed your father! How dare you defend him!" He was so angry. He was so terribly angry. And frightened, and terrifyed and how could Alfred continue to favor that—that monster!

"You don't understand! It's not his fault!" Alfred defended, tears falling down once more. "I can prove it! I'm helping him! J-just let me go talk to him and you'll see! I can—"

"Enough!" Francis ordered, "I can't believe this Alfred. You're taking the side of the one who tried to kill your Dad! What is wrong with you?" He couldn't deal with this. Everything was just too much.

"Y-you don't understand! Please! I'll—"

"Stop! Go to your room this instant! I will not deal with this! Get out!" Francis shouted back and Alfred quickly scurried away, running up the stairs and slamming his door shut. Francis let out a breath, collapsing against the wall and sliding down it until he was on the hard floor.

What had just happened? He was shaking, he was crying. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. He had a son defending his father's attempted killer. He had said attempted killer, wandering god knows where. The same person he was suppose to keep in his house for another week. He had seen his husband struggling for life. He—God. What was he suppose to do?

"Fran—?" Came a soft wheeze and Francis was on his feet in seconds, hurrying toward his husband. Of course! He had to take care of him, make sure he was ok. And oh God he had thought he'd lost him.

"Y-yes, Arthur? Do you need anything? Tea? Scones? I'll make you scones, if you want them. I-I'll do whatever will make you better. I-"

"Sh-Shush." Arthur interrupted, motioning for him to come closer. Francis knelt down, still trembling. He'd thought he'd lost him. He was almost sure he would lose him. He was shaking so bad, he needed to calm down. Arthur was alive and ok. It was going to be ok. But, oh God.

"Mon Dieu, Arthur." He whispered, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I'm fine." Arthur whispered, giving him a smile and Francis nodded slowly. But he couldn't contain himself any longer as he wrapped his arms around the others neck and breathed him in. He cried onto his shoulder, because he had been certain he had lost him and the fact that he was ok was too much. And the sight of those horrid circles growing on his neck sickened him to the core and made everything feel even worse.

"Francis, I'm ok." Arthur insisted, tugging at the Frenchman to stop his bawling. The man could be such a cry baby sometimes. Not that he blamed him at the moment. He'd honestly thought he was going to die in that moment. He was still in shock over it all. The long haired blond lifted his head up, wiping at his tear stained face with his sleeve.

"Je t'aime tellement, Arthur." (I love you so much) He breathed, kissing his husband's forehead. He didn't want to kiss him for real yet. He didn't want to stop him from breathing regularly.

Arthur rolled his eyes, tugging the other up more until he got on the couch with him. "I'm tired." He whispered as the Frenchman re-arranged them. He refused to lie on top of Arthur, fearful it would impede his air flow somehow. So, he turned him on his side, slipping behind him so he was sandwiched between the Brit's back and the sofa's. He wrapped his arms around his husband, keeping him close.

"Rest. It's very late." It must be 3 am or close to it. He was exhausted himself, so much so that the couch seemed extremely comfortable. He should probably have carried Arthur to their bed though. But, he was simply just too tired. He'd rather just lie here, pressed closely against him. Before long the pair had slipped into a restful slumber.

Alfred paced in his room restlessly, running his fingers through his hair and pulling on the strands. How the fuck could he fix this? It wasn't Ivan's fault! He-He had issues. He was getting better! He was helping him!

He just needed to explain it to his parents calmly. Ivan had been abused, he was damaged. He'd just lost control. This hadn't happened in months! He'd thought he'd finally helped fix him. He'd thought he'd been a hero.

Some hero he was. He had barely helped his dad and now his lover was wandering the streets scared and confused. Shit! How was he going to fix this?

He had been certain that Ivan was on the path to recovery. His boyfriend had slowly stopped closing himself up, had stopped smiling those horrid fake smiles. He'd opened up so much.

But had he really been helping?

If Ivan could snap that quickly, that violently was there really any hope for him?

Alfred made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, sitting down on his messed up bed. He couldn't think like that. He couldn't give up on Ivan. He loved him. He was the only one who did. He couldn't just abandon him.

He shot up from the bed in a start. Wait. That was a lie. He wasn't the only one. There were two people out there who loved Ivan just as much as him. Two people who wanted to see him, who'd been forced to abandon him. Two people Ivan longed to see again.

Maybe...Maybe if he brought them back Ivan would be better. They could help him convince his parents that it wasn't Ivan's fault. It was all a misunderstanding. Yeah.

It could work. It could definitely work.

He would show them. He had to be the hero after all. It was simply really, all he had to do was get a plane ticket to Moscow, find Ivan's sisters and bring them back. Then he could convince his parent's that Ivan should be forgiven. And then they could all be happy again.

It was perfect. It would work. He was sure of it.

Without another thought he opened up his laptop.

Alfred snuck down the steps, fully dressed. It was the second time this night actually. He'd come down a little earlier to take his father's wallet, using it to pay for the plane ticket. He'd then printed the ticket before slipping it into his pocket.

He set his packed bag down by the door, padding away too look for his father's car keys. He'd packed his clothes and toiletries as well as some food into his bag. He grabbed his savings, slipping them into his dad's wallet before rifling through one of the cabinets for his passport. Everything was going fine. He just needed the car keys and then he could leave.

The thing was, he couldn't find them.

The American searched as silently as he could, his mind racing with possible ideas where his parents could have left them. Maybe in the shock of the moment they had dropped them somewhere? They weren't on the counter, nor on the floor. In fact, there was one place he hadn't checked yet...

He took a deep breath before tip toeing toward the family room where both his parents had decided to sleep for the night. He needed to be careful. If they woke up it could ruin everything. He saw the glint of metal, spotting the keys right on the coffee table. At least he had found them.

He ventured further into the dark room, watching his sleeping parents' reactions closely. He edged closer to the table, cringing when his leg nudged the table and made it creak. He held his breath and tensed up when green eyes fluttered open. They drooped back down, though; his father seemed to be half asleep.

"Alfred?" Came a soft, sleepy whisper and Alfred found himself kneeling down so his father could see him. Shouldn't he have run? Why was he getting closer? He was on a mission.

"Y-yeah, Dad?" He answered back just as quietly. Arthur smiled at him, another hint that he was a half asleep. Alfred felt the beginning of guilt form in the pit of his stomach. He'd been so preocupied with Ivan...He hadn't even check on his dad to make sure he was ok.

"You're a good lad.." Arthur commented, his eyes slipping closed.

"Wh-what?" Alfred whispered, surprised at the sudden praise. That didn't normally happen. The eyes opened again, only slits though. His father made a soft noise and Alfred bit his lip. "Dad...I'll be back soon ok? Don't worry. I'll fix everything. I have to do this, because I'm a hero." He assured, chewing on his bottom lip.

Arthur's eyes had slipped shut again tiredly as he spoke, he seemed to be exhausted. Alfred really couldn't blame him. He straightened up, grabbing the car keys and padding out of the room and to his bag. He picked it up, opened the door and left.

Ivan closed the front door behind him and sank to the floor. What had he done? What had he done? What had he done?

How could he have lost control? He could have killed another person. Alfred's father. Alfred would hate him forever. Actually, he hated him now. He'd just attempted to murder his father, of course he would hate him.

He had ruined everything.

He'd never be able to see Alfred again. Alfred wouldn't even want to see him. He would be repulsed by his very presence. He'd never be able to hold him again, to feel that warmth. He felt so very cold all of a sudden. Alfred was gone.

What did he have now? He had nothing. There was nothing here but Alfred. And now Alfred was gone. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have lost control so easily? He was an idiot. He'd ruined everything.

He ran his hands through his pale hair. He wanted to punch something. He wanted to hurt something. But that was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place. He needed to be calm more than ever. Maybe some water would calm him down. Yes, that could work.

He got up shakily, heading for the kitchen. He opened up the cabinet, taking out a cup when his eyes spotted a bottle. He hesitated, staring at the offending item. He swore he would never drink any of that vile liquid. It was his father's obsession and he wanted nothing to do with the man. That horrid man.

Still...His heart hurt. And he deserved some sort of punishment. And what better way then drinking the very drink that had started his murders? The very drink that drove his father to the point where Ivan had to kill him. The very drink that had cursed him into this life of suffering and abandonment.

He grasped the vodka bottle, uncapping it and without another thought took a gulp. He cringed, letting out a choking cough. It burned. His throat ached from the substance but he couldn't help but think that Arthur felt worse. He had strangled him. He had tried to snuff his life out. He'd almost killed Alfred's father. Alfred hated him.

He'd lost Alfred.

He squeezed his eyes shut and took another swig.

Arthur's eyes fluttered open and he groaned. His neck throbbed, his shoulder ached and he felt like shit. He sat up, looking back to see Francis still sleeping. He suddenly had the urge to touch him, and for once he didn't try and suppress it. He pet the soft blond hair, smoothing it down idly.

Blue eyes blinked open slowly before their owner sat up as well. "Are you alright?" The Frenchman immediately asked, looking at the Brit with so much worry and concern that it made Arthur sick to his stomach.

"I'm fine, frog." Arthur snapped, reddening slightly. He'd survived worse. Francis, though, didn't seem convinced. He sat up beside his husband, running his fingers along his bruised neck. Arthur tensed, feeling at his own neck as well. "...Does it look that bad?" He asked after a moment, gently removing his lover's hands from his neck.

"I'm sorry." Francis whispered, leaning forward to kiss his neck. Arthur swatted him away with a blush, standing up. Enough of all this.

"Oh shut up! You're acting like you did back when I got my scar." He growled, crossing his arms. He was perfectly fine. He didn't need to be coddled by a wino. This was nothing.

"Arthur. Arthur, I'm serious." Francis insisted, standing up. The lack of humor in his voice sickened the Brit even more. He preferred the other care free. "I-I'm sorry I doubted you before. You were right about...about him. I should have listened to you." Francis confessed regretfully.

Arthur blinked. Francis agreed with him, finally. And yet, he felt no sense of victory. It was almost hollow. But that thought reminded him of his son, "Wait, how's Alfred?" He quickly asked, concerned about how his son had taken all of this.

Francis darkened a moment,"He...He defended him. Even with you gasping on the floor! I-I sent him to his room. He's still there." He was so angry at the boy. So terribly angry. He just—He couldn't believe he would defend him! He needed to calm down more before facing him again.

"I'll go check on him." Arthur responded after a minute. He wasn't mad, oddly enough. He was tired. He didn't want to fight. He just wanted to make sure his little boy was ok and to hug him. This whole ordeal... He just wanted to hold him.

"I'll start breakfast." Francis decided. He needed to calm himself, and that was the best way. He could focus on the task at hand, relax himself and then speak with Alfred like a calm adult.

They separated and Arthur climbed up the stairs while Francis left for his kitchen. The Brit bit at his lip, wondering how he would approach the situation. In truth, he didn't want to say anything. He couldn't stop the growing need to wrap his arms around Alfred and to hold him tight. He should have hugged him more. He should have told him he loved him more.

Is this how people feel after near death experiences? He didn't give the idea much thought.

He paused when something caught his eye, turning to look at it better. It was himself. The mirror in the hallway revealed what Francis had seen. No wonder he was worried. Arthur immediately touched his neck, staring at the bruises in the reflective glass. He felt sick just looking at them.

They looked awful. He rubbed his neck before clasping both hands around it to cover the damage. How was he going to hide it? It was spring; he couldn't just walk about in a scarf or a turtleneck...

It was an issue left for another time, though. He needed to talk to his son. He left the mirror without another glance and headed for the closed door. He paused in front of it, recalling how he had just burst in last night. He shouldn't have blown up like that. He shouldn't have let his anger consume him. Maybe if he hadn't known of this would have happened.

He knocked, "Alfred? Alfred, I-I want to speak with you about last night..." He said through the door, twisting the knob. Thank God, it was unlocked. He pushed it open, stepping inside only to freeze.

Alfred wasn't here.

The bed was still unmade, discarded clothes were still on the floor and Alfred was gone. He didn't even have to check another room. He could feel it. That sinking horrible feeling every parent gets when they just know their child is gone. Without another thought he sped back down the steps calling for his husband. Francis was doing the same.

They almost crashed into each other at the foot of the stairs but stopped themselves in time.

"Alfred's gone." Arthur gasped out.

"The car's gone." Francis responded in turn.

I told you there would be a curve ball...
Please don't hurt me for this /hides/

And, Alfred's still in shock. He's not thinking straight. He's really confused and scared and terrifyed and is just jumping into action without really thinking.

I hope this isn't too weird for you guys.

OH AND OH MY GOD MORE THAN 1000 REVIEWS HOW IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME. THIS STORY ISN'T THAT GOOD AT ALL. I'M GOING TO GO CRY. I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH. I'M GOING TO REPAY YOU FOR THIS. I WILL. I JUST DON'T KNOW HOW. I'LL FIGURE SOMETHING OUT.

I LOVE YOU ALL FOREVER AND EVER.