Chapter 3; Bad blood

My thoughts; I think this is going to be the worst chapter, as far as Alfred's existence goes… *is shot*

Warnings/other stuff; I don't own Hetalia, if I did *nosebleeds* I'd have a massive collab with Shadow-chan, who is a kick-ass writer by the way, and I know she's reading this and I'm going off on a tangent I swear I need pills for ADHD or something. Includes sex of some variety, not very descriptive. Bad Lispet, Bad! Non-con, dub-con (If you squint really hard) and rape. Yep, I said the R-word =D

I must say, not much Rus/Ame yet. But I'm getting to it, and no, Ivan's not a raving lunatic. He has some edges of unstableness and shit, but honestly, I don't like him stark-raving mad. Sadistic!Russia is hot, but I should shut up now.

If Ivan was worried about Alfred's unusual lack of speech, Alfred didn't notice at all. In fact, he was too busy thinking. And of course, his moodiness also bought Matthew down as well.

'Alfred!' Matthew had finally had enough, 'just go and tell him to apologise. My head hurts!'

'I can't just do that. You know how much it hurt us, and don't even think about saying you're too awesome to have felt it.' Alfred quivered, glad that Ivan wasn't there, having to deal with some paperwork or whatever. 'It was so painful.' He whispered.

'We were too young.' Matthew looped his arms around Alfred's body, 'we didn't know what to do. It's not your fault, so stop beating yourself up about it.'

Alfred nodded. He knew that by dwelling on it, he was hurting Matthew as much as he was paining himself. Suddenly, Matthew's mind cleared and he sighed in relief before grimacing.

'Beat… up…' Alfred said slowly, pushing himself to his feet.

'Alfred don't. It's not worth it!' Matthew grabbed Alfred's arm only to be shaken free.

'I know you felt each blow with me, but you're not the one who lost everything to that monarchal bitch!' Alfred snarled, his mind already set on what he was going to do.

'I can't stop you,' Matthew said, looking his brother in the eye, soft purple meeting sapphire blue, 'just be careful. If anything happens, I'll be too far away to know before it's too late.'

Alfred rolled his eyes and Matthew gave a small smile. Alfred seemed to be a little bit back to normal. 'I'll try.'

'Love you too.' Matthew chuckled.

Arthur winced as someone assaulted his door with their fist. It was too bloody early to have visitors. Oh, if it's that bloody frog, Arthur swore to himself, he's going to die.

Arthur wrenched the door open, his eyebrows practically meeting in the severity of his glare, only to have the fist that was about to knock on his door hit his chest instead.

Alfred's mouth formed a small 'o' as he laid eyes on his former guardian. Maybe he wasn't ready to confront him after all. 'England!' He tried smiling, but failed miserably. Said nation frowned even more before his expression relaxed slightly.

'What do you want?' he snapped, not really relieved that it was Alfred. He sort of wanted to punch Francis and then jump him. Maybe he could jump Alfred instead.

'We need to talk.' Alfred ground out, trying to sound severe. Too bad his voice came out as a half-frightened squeak. He nearly punched himself in the head. Heroes needed to sound strong, not like mice! Grow up America, its just Arthur!

'What about?' Arthur asked curiously, unable to think of anything that he'd done recently to pique Alfred's anger this much. Nor could he think of why Alfred might be so frightened.

'Everything.' Alfred grumbled, pushing past Arthur. What Alfred needed Arthur to do was admit that he was wrong, and apologise, in a way. But Alfred knew that the only way he could achieve that was to get Arthur drunk, otherwise Arthur's pride would get in the way. It wasn't too difficult. He just accepted the tea that Arthur offered him, much to his former carer's surprise and then slipped some vodka into Arthur's own over-sweetened cup when he wasn't looking.

By the time he had finished the cup, Arthur seemed fairly pissed. But Alfred didn't realise that this was probably not the best thing to do until it was too late.

'So why did you come here again?' Arthur snapped grouchily, grabbing Alfred by the wrist and dragging him out of his seat and over to the bench next to his sink.

It was probably about then that Alfred suddenly remembered that Arthur was not the same person when drunk. At all. Sure, he may become loose lipped, but he also lost all gentlemanly thoughts whatsoever, and slipped into his old life. A life of piracy.

And England had been so much stronger as a pirate.

Alfred struggled futilely against Arthur's grip, only to have Arthur turn and catch his throat in a hand, squeezing tightly. Alfred wheezed and floundered in Arthur's grasp and Arthur picked the taller blonde up, dropping him heavily on the marble bench.

'Cut it out.' Arthur barked, slapping Alfred's hand down harshly when Alfred tried to push Arthur away. 'You seem to have forgotten your place, colony.'

Holy shit. Alfred thought. Arthur thought he was a colony again, thought he was younger, and still his. Nononononono! Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and kicked his legs against Arthur's hips, shoving himself backwards as far as he could. Which was exactly 31 centimetres before his head hit the overhanging light.

It hit him in the back of the head right then, along with the light, that Arthur was going to rape him, and that there was nothing he could do about it.

That didn't stop him fighting.

Arthur's hand smacked across Alfred's cheek, throwing the blonde's head to the side violently and Alfred froze. Out of everything that Arthur had done to him, he had never backhanded him before.

Arthur took advantage of Alfred's momentary lapse of movement to take his belt off and tie Alfred's arms together at the elbow, restricting movement.

In a display of strength that Arthur could probably not achieve sober, he somehow lifted Alfred again and yanked the American's pants off roughly. It took him a little longer to undo his jeans though.

Alfred did his best to ignore Arthur, curling his consciousness up into itself, an old trick that almost worked but ohshitNO!

Arthur shoved two fingers into Alfred's mouth, and two more on his other hand into his ass, disregarding the blood that trickled down his digits.

Alfred instinctively gagged and bit down on Arthur's fingers when they went too far down his throat, wishing that he could do more, wishing that he wasn't so scared, or that it wasn't so ingrained in him to not defy his former guardian. A thumb tightly pressing into his cheek, painfully forcing him to open his mouth again, and another finger in his ass rewarded his bite.

Panicking just a little more than he was before, Alfred's breaths started coming in ragged gasps, and he felt his chest close up in what was unmistakably the beginnings of a panic attack.

'That should be enough.' Alfred was vaguely aware of Arth – no, England's voice – he didn't deserve a human name anymore in Alfred's mind – in the background, and then there was nothing in his body. Maybe Arthur was done, satisfied? That was unlikely, but he wasn't going to not hope about it.

His hopes were shot down when Arthur grabbed his shoulder and yanked, forcing Alfred to his feet and gave him a shove, leaving Alfred prone, with his ass presented to Arthur just perfectly.

Arthur grinned and fisted his cock quickly to guide it into place before snapping his hips forward, invading Alfred's land once again.

Laying himself down on Alfred's back, Arthur put his lips near the American's ear, listening to and feeling Alfred's harsh breaths, close to hyperventilation. Arthur liked this for some reason. It bought out some sadistic side to him that he never knew he had. Reaching up, he wound his fingers in Alfred's hair tightly, pulling the blonde's head back painfully. The American tried to turn his head away, trying to hide the shame, the tears.

'You do this with Russia, don't you?' Arthur asked, baring his teeth in a wicked grin. 'Do you let him hit you like I do? Does he force himself upon you, use you?' Arthur pulled his hips back and slammed back into Alfred again. Alfred's breath hitched in a sob and Arthur dropped his former colony back onto the marble bench. Weakly, Alfred shook his head once.

No, he didn't do anything with Ivan. He didn't do anything because every time they got even close he froze up, panicked, freaked out, became hysterical. Name it and it probably happened.

Ruthlessly, Arthur used America's beautiful body, each thrust causing Alfred's hips to crack agonisingly against the corner of the bench whilst Alfred could do nothing but clench his hands into fists so tight that his nails dug into his palms, and lean his head against the cool bench, hoping to numb his brain into oblivion.

For Alfred, it could have been an eternity until Arthur had finished, or maybe it was only a couple of minutes, but his mind kept replaying it all, over and over and over and… He sobbed, curling into a ball beside Arthur's drunkenly unconscious form. This wasn't what he'd planned, he thought, pressing his hands to his face, focusing on the pain in his hands where his nails had sliced through the skin to stave off memories, both fresh and centuries old.

It was like his mind was punishing him for going against what Matthew had said. Had he been careful? No.

He groaned pitifully and pulled his pants back on, hoping that their cold warmth would help him feel safe and protected. It failed, miserably, but at least when he stopped shaking he'd be able to leave quickly. He didn't want to stay here any more. He didn't want to see this house again. Ever.

Scrambling to his feet and away from the Englishman, Alfred glanced down and the memories hit him like a solid kick to the gut.

He hurt, and not in the good kind of I just achieved something awesome, but now I'm sore because I fucked up a few times, he hurt in a bad way. A very, very, bad way.

Tears stained his cheeks, but he was well used to this. He could remember how people stop to stare at England taking him places. It must look bad when you look nine or ten, and your carer looks barely out of his teens. Oh how those people would stop and stare now. It was much worse now that he was on his knees, with said guardian fucking his mouth.

He well knew not to bite; he had accidentally clamped his mouth shut the first time Arthur's cock had hit the back of his throat, purely out of instinct, but it had resulted in his hair being painfully yanked, and that thumb in his cheek, digging into painful nerves.

He had nowhere to run either, he was backed up against a tree whilst Arthur fisted his hands in the straw-blonde locks below him, the back of Alfred's head hitting the rough pine bark with each thrust.

He wished that Arthur would just come already so Alfred could curl up and nurse his injuries.

Another memory, a different time.

He had always wondered if it was uncomfortable to be in a set of stocks. He kept them for the worst of his criminals, murderers, thieves, rapists, so they could feel the humiliation they forced upon others. Shame he couldn't shove England in them. Shame he was stuck in them.

He wished that he could reach his hand so he could bite it and keep in the screams. He didn't want to seem weak, not now. If he was just silent… kept from Arthur what the Brit really wanted… he'd be free quicker, Arthur would lose interest.

He couldn't help but scream though. It all hurt so much. Each time Arthur hit him, or moved, he'd jump or be jolted and his bony shoulders would crack against the wood of the stocks, not to mention that his ass was bleeding and his whole body just hurt because England just wanted some fun and a fuck.

Why did it always have to be him?

The pain was no longer just a hurt, it was a sting as well, and Alfred nearly sighed in relief, nearly being the key word, for it meant that Arthur had finally come and he would be left alone finally.

Raising his foot with full intentions to kick Arthur in the ribs for everything he did, he looked down again and found himself unable to do it.

Tears welling up again, this time at his own weakness rather than in humiliation and pain, he turned on his heel and left the house as quickly as he could without tripping over his own feet.

He took the long way home in order to give himself time to compose his façade, but the moment Matthew opened the door that he had knocked on he broke down into a brother-tackling-ball-of-tears-and-mush.

'Whoa there,' Matthew hugged Alfred back, kicking the door shut behind them, 'you look like shit.' In response, Alfred squeezed his arms tighter and pressed his face into Matthew's jumper.

Canada rolled his eyes, he was kind of expecting this. He wondered what Arthur had done, and looked over Alfred's shoulder at Maria, who was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching them with wide, sad eyes. Call Russia. He mouthed to her, watching her twirl and disappear into the kitchen with satisfaction. Oh he was so damn lucky to be dating her. She was perfect. He tightened his arms around Alfred before letting him go. If Alfred hadn't shown up though, he'd be even luckier.

He bit his lip. It wouldn't do to moan unexpectedly at the random, stupid memories that flooded his mind with images and his groin with tingly sparks. 'You wanna tell me what happened?' Matthew asked kindly, unable to muster the strength to be angry with his twin. Alfred didn't answer, didn't move, and suddenly, he went limp, and Matthew dropped him.

Ooh, what happened to Al, and what will Russia do in response? Review or +fave this and you'll find out soon (But maybe not soon because I have to write the next chapter first, but reviews make Lispet work faster.) They are my drugs... next to sexy Yaoi/Yuri/Het and actual drugs of course (But I don't do drugs, just painkillers and hormone-y shit because I'm f'ed up big time). But Reviews are nice! Very veery~ nice. Also I'll do requests if people want... just tell me what has to happen and you'll probably get a smut in response!~ (but if you don't want that then you'll have to be very clear about that because I can find loopholes everywhere =])