Mei- Taiwan

Mathias- Denmark

Birgit- Nyo Norway

Ulrike- Elleore

Søren- Christiania

Allyson- Nyo America

…

I hope everyone still likes this story. Warning for more death mentions, and burns. I probably could've split this into two chapters tbh.

Also some new pairings in this: namely seywan, dennor and a teeny bit of sunor.

...

Kuzey still felt jumpy.

The incident at the Pharmaceutical Building had shaken him, the memory of Malika dragging a young man out of the hedgerow and beating him senseless still plaguing his waking thoughts. He didn't know where that man was, not since he'd been thrown, unconscious, into the van.

He hadn't told his family. Not a word, not a peep. They knew something was bothering him, but he refused to talk about it.

He knew he couldn't tell anyone. If another member of Commonwealth found out, he could get labelled as a snitch and disposed of, and if he told his family, Baba would make them quit. And even if they got out of that alive, Kuzey didn't want to see his father go back to scrubbing semen out of hotel bed-sheets for minimum wage.

Kuzey knew that young man was probably dead, and it was all because he'd panicked and texted Malika about it. Maybe if he hadn't, then this wouldn't have happened.

Still, what was that man even doing, hiding and spying on him? Was it something dodgy? A rival company? Baba had told him Commonwealth wasn't entirely legal, and the idea of gang warfare crossed his mind. But organised crime like that, here? Didn't add up.

Malika just told him the man was an animal rights protestor, but that didn't make sense either. Who the hell just kicks the living daylights out of an animal rights protestor and dumps him in a refrigerated van?

Sadik was out on another delivery, and Kuzey was sat in a rather crowded mess room with his siblings after working hard all morning. Cora and Temel had been desperate to explore the building at first, but now they sat subdued and timid in the corner. Kuzey wondered if they'd seen something they shouldn't have too.

Next to him, Stelios was sat on the broken sofa, trying to avoid the springs sticking out whilst talking to a member of the organisation that Kuzey had only seen a handful of times.

Mr Mohammad Hassan was a quiet man they would occasionally see walking around the place. Not much was known about him, except that he didn't have a job and was close with the boss. Yet Stelios had struck up a friendship with him.

"Ugh, D'Andre gave us so much work to do this morning. He just didn't seem to stop talking when he was giving out orders," Stelios was complaining, whilst Mohammad made a minimal effort to look like he gave a toss.

"Then you went and pissed him off," Kuzey added.

"Did he now?" Mohammad gave a small smile.

"I was just trying to make a joke!" Stelios exclaimed, "after he'd finished talking I put up my hand and asked how much dick I would have to suck to get out of this."

"And you were actually surprised when he smacked you across the face with his clipboard."

"It was rude!"

"Well since I had Temel following me around all morning asking why his big brother sucks 'peepees', I have very little sympathy for you."

Mohammad shook his head; "if I were a policeman, I would definitely arrest you for public indecency."

"Well I hope you don't expect me to… come quietly," Stelios retorted with a giggle.

Mohammad said nothing, opting for getting up and leaving instead before he tasered him, which certainly would've given away his profession, something he was desperate to keep secret from these people.

In the hall, he passed Angelique, leaning against the wall and staring at the floor whilst another girl tried to talk to her. He recognised the girl as Mei, one of the Wang children, who were often seen running about on some job. He decided the two needed to be alone, and continued walking. It was none of his business anyway. That was the rule if you wanted to survive long in Commonwealth: keep your nose out of things that didn't concern you.

Liz had made more than enough people examples of what happened when that rule was broken.

…

"I'm just worried, that's all," Mei mumbled, determined to look somewhere- anywhere- that wasn't into Angelique's eyes. She didn't want to see her go, off on another dangerous mission where she might get killed. And each mission seemed to be getting riskier.

Mei wasn't stupid; she knew there was a chance Angelique was next in the firing line. Liz was tired of her mistakes, her unreliability.

Liz didn't see Angie the way Mei did. She just saw a useless excuse of an assassin, a weak link in her chain slowly coiling around Europe. But Mei loved Angelique's sunny temperament, her kind heart, how she just didn't belong here.

Angelique deserved better than this life. Deserved more than a job as a killer, in a dingy criminal organisation. And she deserved more than the affections of a murderer's daughter.

But she loved Mei in return. She wanted more for Mei, and they were determined to get out somehow. Away from Commonwealth and away from Liz.

Angelique always said they could go to the Seychelles, far away from everything. They could get by. It was beautiful, Angie told her, thus would suit Mei well. That was it. That was their future. A beautiful couple living together on a beautiful island, with no worries and no one to hurt them.

What could be better?

Mei supposed she'd miss her brothers, and knew Angie would miss her sister, but apart from that, what life did they have? Still, they'd never be able to go back. No one could know where they were, or Liz would hunt them down and send someone to kill them.

So far, only one person had ever escaped without a trace, and even then, it was only a matter of time before he was caught too.

It would be risky, they knew, and they had to make sure no one would discover their plan. They only had each other to lose, and were determined to guard that.

"I know you worry," Angelique eventually replied, "I do too. But it's just a simple job. I'll be back in time for dinner." She smoothed down her grey uniform and stuffed gloves and her balaclava into her trouser pockets before tying her hair into a pair of flat buns.

"I'll prepare something nice," Mei replied with a wink. Angelique laughed as she began to walk off, stashing a gun into a hold hanging from her thigh then wrapping a long skirt around her waist to hide her weapon. It could be pulled off with Velcro when she needed to attack.

Mei could only watch her go, wishing with all her heart that she'd see that face again.

…

Peter couldn't help being dragged back. He saw himself as a child, back before Björn and Eemeli were born, one evening in winter.

No, not again. He didn't want to relive it again.

He tried to call out to his younger self, warn him, tell him not to do it, but it was no use. He'd have to watch his childhood folly all over again.

Papa had brought home sparklers, since he was looking after them whilst his then-wife, Peter's ex step-mother, was at work. They'd been living in Sweden at the time, and it had been dark and chilly as the four children stood in the garden, wrapped up in coats, scarves, hats and gloves, and watched as their father showed them how to use the sparklers before handing some out to his oldest three.

Peter could see them now, their edges fuzzy but still horrifyingly clear. He, Yrjan and Hemming stood huddled together, gazing in delight at their new playthings through their visible, cloudy breaths. He wanted to snatch the things away and snap them in half.

Lars had been two at the time, and thus wasn't allowed to have a go, which upset him greatly. He pulled at the others' coats and tried to snatch Hemming's sparkler before Berwald picked him up and set him down on the garden bench.

Lars, it was safe to say, was somewhat of a brat, and he'd whined and sniffled as he sat there and miserably watched Yrjan, Hemming and Peter waving sparklers and spelling their names in the air.

He wanted to play with the lights too.

Papa Berwald had lit his own sparkler, holding it close to the toddler so he could have a good view of it too, but that made Lars even more upset. Everyone had a pretty light but him!

He'd thrown a tantrum, hurling his mittens at his father and sticking out his tongue, so Berwald sighed, put his sparkler in a bucket of water, and focused on keeping an eye on the other three.

Several sparklers later, and he'd forgotten he'd left the dinner in the oven, only remembering it when he smelt a burning smell, different from the fireworks they were playing with. He made the children dump their sparklers in the water as he rushed inside to salvage whatever was left of their burnt food.

And Peter wanted to drag him back out. Maybe if he'd come back outside a bit earlier…

Lars was still whining that he wanted a sparkler, and it was getting on everyone's nerves. Yrjan had snapped at him to be quiet, but it did little to help.

So Peter, as the oldest, stepped in to solve the problem. And at nine years old, he thought he could. After all, nine was a grown up age and Peter knew everything.

Like how to light a match, for instance.

He'd taken a sparkler out of the box and handed it to Lars, despite Hemming's protests. He'd just been five at the time but already had more common sense than the rest put together.

Peter wished he'd listened to his brother. And he wished he could dash into his vision and knock that thing from his other brother's hand, to snatch away the box of matches his younger self was holding.

But he couldn't move, and had to watch what was happening in horror.

Sure, Peter may have thought he knew everything back then, but it certainly never occurred to him to put Lars' mittens back on first. Or, you know, that giving dangerous objects to two year olds will end in disaster.

So Peter struck a match and lit the sparkler, and the adult watching this wanted to die. There was the panic again, gripping at him with icy hands and dragging him down. He didn't want to see it. He wanted to change the past.

It had taken mere seconds for Lars' expression of wonder to turn to horror as the metal rod burned his hands. He dropped it with a whine.

Right onto his thigh.

It burnt his trousers and scalded his legs, and Lars screamed, a noise that chilled Peter to the very day, forever burnt into his memory. Yrjan leapt forward to brush it away whilst Hemming ran to find their father, who at that moment appeared at the door, and that was the first time the four children had seen true terror on his face.

Embers from the sparkler singed Yrjan and Peter's wrists as they tried to swat the thing away, Lars kicking his legs not helping matters, but eventually the firework was thrown on the floor. Lars writhed and howled, tears streaming from his face as pain shot through his leg, his first true taste of pain and far too young for such an experience. Berwald had removed his still-smouldering trousers, carrying the child into the kitchen to pour lukewarm water on the burns. He ordered Yrjan to fetch a blanket whilst Hemming clung to his trouser leg and wailed for his little brother. Peter just stood in the doorway, horrified with himself with no choice but to watch Lars' suffering.

If Berwald was angry with him, he didn't show it as he quietly asked his son to come over. He lifted Peter onto the counter so he could run his hands under the tap, doing the same for Yrjan after they returned with a blanket. He was calm throughout the whole thing, silently wrapping the blanket around Lars' shoulder to keep him warm and murmuring reassurances to him. Lars still sniffled and whined, touching his burns and bursting into fresh tears.

Berwald decided it was finally safe to move him and packed everyone into the car to take Lars to the hospital, just in case.

Peter's memories after that had faded. He remembered very little of the hospital visit, other than the strong smell the place carried. But Lars had been fine and that was all that mattered. He'd be scarred though, but at least he would live.

The only other memory that stuck out for him was hit step-mother hitting him when she'd come home and found out what had happened. Peter had never been smacked before, because it was something Berwald forbade. It was so unexpected and terrifying that he'd never been comfortable around her since. But he guessed it was all he deserved, for doing something to harm her precious birth son. For putting his little brother in danger.

That was the one thing that had truly angered Berwald that night. It was his most important rule: no hitting and no smacking. After the children had gone to bed, Peter had heard them shouting downstairs.

He blamed himself for their marriage falling apart, only a few years later and shortly after Björn's birth. It was only when he was older that Berwald explained it had been a combination of Lars' mother's refusal to care for a haemophilic child, and Berwald finally accepting that he could no longer live a lie.

But nothing could ever take the blame away from Peter where his brother was concerned. He'd hurt Lars, caused him agony and gave him scars that would never fade.

He couldn't be near fire. Flames petrified Peter in a way even his most dangerous missions couldn't. Fire hurt his family and himself and he couldn't be near it.

His mind finally crashed back to reality, and Peter remembered where he was: sitting on the front steps of the church, looking out over the car park and Berwald was sat next to him. The drizzle had cleared up and the sun was beginning to peek out.

This wasn't the time though. They were burying Tsvetan's family, and Peter needed to be there for his friends, not outside wrapped up in his own problems. But they'd understand, right?

"It wasn't your fault," his father told him quietly. Peter stared ahead, miserable and unwilling to hear reason.

"It was though," he replied. "Who the hell gives a toddler a firework to play with?"

"A small child who was unsupervised and didn't know any better." Berwald wrapped an arm around his son's shoulder.

"I was an idiot…"

"You're not. If anyone's to blame, it's me. And it definitely was my fault. Shouldn'ta left ye on yer own."

"Won't stop making me feel bad about it," Peter shrugged. "Won't make me not scared of fire."

"Maybe y'should go back to counselling?"

"Don't think it would help."

Berwald thought for a long moment. "Y'don't want to be h'lped, do you? You don't think you deserve it. S'why it didn't work last time."

"Why should I forgive myself and get help and move on? Lars still has the burns on his leg."

"I h'nestly don't think he gives a damn. He can't even remember it and h's been getting burns ever since. Poor sod got heatstroke in Benidorm the day we got there, remember? Lars forgave you a long time ago; why can't you forgive yourself?"

"I don't know. Have you forgiven yourself for sleeping with your brother's fiancée and having a kid with her?"

That had been a low blow and Peter knew it. The circumstances surrounding Yrjan's birth were never spoken about within the family, and Peter had only learnt about it as an adult, from Yrjan themselves. He'd been too young to remember it at the time.

Berwald was still not on speaking terms with his brother, though Mathias had eventually forgiven Birgit and still went ahead with their marriage, having two children of their own: Ulrike and Søren, cousins that Peter had only met a handful of times at family reunions.

Berwald didn't look at him, and Peter nearly drowned in the shame of his words. Why must he keep speaking without thinking?

"I'm sorry, Papa, I didn't mean…"

"Just be thankful your mistake was an accident, and that your brother can forgive you." Berwald's face was dark, lined and creased into a glare. Peter wondered if he would get angry, would shout at him, but he didn't. He never could bring himself to shout at his children, unless he thought they were in danger.

He was hurt though, and badly too; Peter could tell that much. It was the one thing he truly regretted in his life, betraying his brother. Berwald was ashamed of what he'd done and tried to bury that episode deep in his past.

He loved Yrjan though, and had always told the kid he'd never trade them for anything in the whole world.

"Look, we should go back inside," Berwald began, "unless you don't think you can."

"I want to say goodbye to them," Peter replied, determined. "I think I'm calm now."

Berwald nodded, taking Peter's hand and helping him up, leading his son inside and squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

Peter knew he could manage this time round, because his father would protect him. Fire couldn't hurt him today, as long as Papa Berwald was around.

They re-entered the church to find everyone was standing to say their goodbyes and they got in line to do the same. Nearer the front of the queue, he heard Agent Magyar, or Daniél Bajusz, whisper as he stroked Alin's hair.

"Come on, you bastard," he murmured, "don't do this to me. I know we never liked each other, but I never wanted you dead."

Peter turned away to look at Skender, their brunet hair framing their face, pinched into a frown with closed eyes and a wreath around his forehead, a prayer printed on it in unfamiliar letters. There was a bowl next to his head, identical to ones in the other coffins: koliva, Andrei had called it, explaining that it was boiled wheat mixed with honey, and in each bowl was a candle.

Peter looked away. It wasn't just the candle; he didn't want to look at the bodies of innocent children, lives snatched away long before their time. He'd visited that family, played with the boys and been an uncle to them. It was wrong that he had to say goodbye to them already. He couldn't bring himself to look at Dragomir or Eugen in their tiny coffins, and instead said a simple, but earnest, goodbye to Alin before stepping back to give others a chance.

…

Outside the church, Lars stood by the car and waited for the rest of his family to join him; he was uneasy, mind flooded with memories of Yrjan and Hemming's funeral. It had been a joint service too, back in Sweden where they'd been living before they were murdered. Tino had been devastated, inconsolable whilst Berwald became a zombie, dead inside with grief he didn't know how to express. Tino was a war veteran, and had been a widower- after Eemeli's mother died in childbirth- when Berwald had first met him, and had seen more than his fair share of death, but losing two of his children at once had been a blow like nothing he'd experienced before.

It had been a crushing shock to them all. They'd died within hours of each other, but at separate locations and of different means. The only thing connecting them was the date and their relation, but the whole thing was dodgy as hell.

Yrjan's death had shocked the world. They had been a famous rock star, combining punk and metal, and writing songs critical of the Swedish government and the EU. They had also given many human rights talks, and got involved in protests for whatever causes took their fancy. Yrjan was a natural-born troublemaker, but no one had ever suspected that one day the world would wake up to the news that they'd been shot in the head in their own home. There had been conspiracy theories about it- of course- ones that Peter and Lars had made sure never reached their family's ears. It would have been too much for them.

Hemming's death made far less sensational news, though it was just as suspicious. He was a biologist, trying to find a cure for Björn's haemophilia at whatever cost. Originally he'd wanted to go into physics, to try and discover a green, renewable, clean source of energy for the world, but watching his little brother suffer had changed his mind. Energy could be someone else's dream, as long as he could help Björn.

But nothing had come from his ambitions, because only hours after his sibling had been discovered by the police, his body was found in his lab after poison had wreaked havoc on his cells. An almond cake lay on the floor, which was confirmed to be the culprit when it was discovered to be laced with cyanide.

Not only that, but his lab assistant, Miss Allyson Jones, had gone missing. No one was sure if she had been the murderer or another victim, and like Yrjan's death, the case remained unsolved to the very day.

But Peter was determined to do something about that.

Lars remembered the funeral well. Peter's horror and fury. Björn sobbing as he filled their coffins with flowers. Flowers made everything better, Yrjan used to say. They would make things better now, right?

Lars would've found his brother's innocence endearing, if it wasn't so horrendously tragic.

He remembered his Uncle Mathias and Aunt Birgit too, who barely said a word during the whole day, with Birgit silently mourning the illegitimate child she'd distanced herself from when they were a baby. Mathias hadn't said a word to Berwald, though he'd given his younger brother a hug, one that said more than he ever could with words. He hated Berwald for what he'd done, but had never wanted to see the man's children dead.

Lars spied Franz striding towards him, a slight frown on his face.

"Can I ask a favour, dear," he began.

"Sure."

"I need you to pick up a cake I baked for the reception," Franz told him.

"You baked a cake for a funeral?" Lars raised an eyebrow.

Franz rolled his eyes. "It's polite to contribute your own dish to a funeral reception. Takes less pressure off the mourning family," he added.

"Right, fine. I'll just pop over now," Lars turned to start walking, but was interrupted by a familiar, pained cry. He wheeled round to find Björn had collapsed at the top of the stairs, on his side and clutching his knee in agony. Tino was next to him, voice raised and panicky as he tried to find out what happened to his son.

Lars burst into a run. He wasn't one for such a thing, but he had to know what was wrong with Björn. Björn was fragile, and Lars would always protect the kid fiercely, just like the rest of the family.

"He's had another bleed," Tino called as Lars reached the bottom of the stairs, "he needs his factor, quickly!"

"Where is it?" Lars called back.

"At home, in the bathroom cupboard."

"I'll get it!" Lars burst into a run, this time in the opposite direction, sprinting faster than he ever thought possible.

But hey, his little brother needed him.