The following weekend, Vladimir stared at the pages of his notebook. Homework. He sighed. Oh well, it was what it was, and if he wanted any kind of life, he'd have to do it. The next moment, someone knocked on his bedroom door. He looked up. "What?" No answer. The person knocked on the door harder this time.

"Answer when I'm knocking on the door."

Vlad recognized his father's voice. He dropped his head to the books he was studying and called, "I DID answer!" He hoped it was loud enough to be heard.

Without permission, the door opened. "No, you didn't. Don't make excuses. Come out here."

"But..."

"No. Don't make excuses. Get out here."

With a silent glare, he clenched his fists and shut his books. He'd been working... on school... the very thing their father claimed they NEEDED to do. Besides, Anatoly had told him to do it. Vlad could think of a hundred things more pleasant to do than school, yet he'd sat and diligently worked at it... now, was he in trouble for that too?

He rolled off his bed and gave one last glance at his books. Breathing out a long sigh, Vladimir left his room, preparing himself for whatever was about to come. Over the last week, he'd been trying-he and Anatoly, had done all they could to please their father. With everything they did, he'd come up with something they weren't doing good enough, and he'd told them. What kind of father actually flat out said his children were an embarrassment? Vlad shook his head.

As Vladimir reached the end of the hallway, he could see that the family was once-again gathered in the kitchen. Lovely. He could see the look of dread on Anatoly's face. Vlad was certain his expression was the mirror of his brother's.

"Vladimir, sit down."

For the first time in a long time, Vladimir felt uncomfortable around the family. Slowly, he walked forward and sat down beside Anatoly. "How was your day?" he asked, making eye contact with Ivan. He swallowed loudly, but hoped it wasn't audible.

"Fine. What did you do today?"

"I... we went to school. I was just working on my homework when you called me out." Whatever he'd said sparked a look of anger in Ivan's face. Oh no... Vlad barely kept from cringing. What did he do? He'd only said that he had worked on homework!

"And you, Anatoly?"

Anatoly shifted in his chair, meeting his father's eyes. "School. Talked to Vladimir, and Mom." The older brother turned away, briefly looking at his brother before he went to staring vacantly into space - as though hoping it would keep more anger from crossing Ivan's face.

Ivan nodded. "You didn't do anything else?"

Vladimir wondered what this was? What answer could he give that wouldn't enrage him? Vlad had found out that the only temper that rivaled his own... was that of his father. He'd rather not get into that, because when they fought, Ivan seemed to drag everyone else into it, and blame Anatoly and their mother for Vladimir's attitude. So, no matter how badly he wanted to say what was on his mind, he had to keep it back. "We didn't do anything else." He hoped that would be good enough.

Ivan sighed. Natalya had busied herself with dishing out dinner - Anatoly was all but counting down every awkward second until they parted ways. "I told Fyodor I don't think I'm capable of love." It was a pointed comment, so innocent but so poisonous - Anatoly could see the world flicker for the briefest of moments, Natalya's hands began shaking as she dished out the food, Anatoly's own expression darkened.

"Why do you say that?" Natalya asked, her voice lined with something buried so deeply that Anatoly could only guess what it was.

Ivan shifted in his seat and looked around the table. "Just because. Love isn't something I can do."

Vladimir snorted. His eyes widened and he hoped it wasn't audible. Still, there Ivan went saying he wasn't CAPABLE of love. That was as good as saying he didn't love his family, though he hadn't said it in that way. "Did anything good happen today?" Vlad asked, hoping to steer the family away from a path down the dark and angry one Ivan seemed to actually WANT to go down.

"Nothing unusual."

"Has Dmitri signed the contract?" Natalya asked.

"Not yet. Why does it matter?" Ivan asked.

Vladimir ducked his head and stared at his plate. Did Ivan actually WANT to fight? They were all trying SO hard to stop that from happening, yet, with everything he said, it seemed that he was trying to start an argument.

"I thought you wanted to work with this contract," Anatoly spoke, once more looking at Ivan.

Ivan seemed stoic. "I am still looking for different work."

"Any ideas where?" Vlad asked.

"No."

This was dreadfully awkward. "I'm sure something will happen soon." Natalya stated.

After a long and painful silence, Ivan spoke up again, his voice thoughtful as he seemed to be thinking aloud, "You know, when someone makes you angry, you hate everything about them..."

Vladimir glared. He looked up and stared Ivan in the eye. "Why do you mention it? Did someone make you angry?" His tone was on the verge of rage. He didn't want to fight, but that comment... Vlad was certain it was directed at them.

Ivan didn't answer. In fact, what he did was ignore - starting to poke at his food with the fork, as though debating what to start with. Anatoly clenched his fists, frowning, but saying nothing.

Vladimir started eating. He didn't feel like waiting for anymore awkward conversation. "Thank you for making diner." He looked at his mother and smiled-or tried to. She nodded and muttered a soft "You're welcome."

"Tastes strange." Ivan piped up. "And it's cold."

Vladimir's fists clenched. How could he? Their mother tried so hard to please him, and he NEVER saw what she did. Wasn't all her hard work important to him? Maybe he ought to make his own meals. "That's why we have a stove," Vladimir growled quietly.

Ivan opened his mouth, and before he could berate Vladimir, Anatoly spoke loudly - just enough to cover anything that Ivan may have been about to say. "Thank you, Mom."

Natalya smiled and nodded, though her eyes were rimmed with red.

Minutes passed, and everyone ate in silence. The clinking of silverware on plates was all that was audible.

"Did I do something wrong?" Ivan asked tersely.

"No one said that." Vlad mumbled.

"You all act like I've done something wrong."

Vlad silenced his anger before it came to the surface... barely. "Mom works hard, and you still act like she does nothing."

"I do not!" Ivan pounded a fist on the table.

"Yeah, you actually do," Vlad stated. Fight or not, Ivan should take responsibility for that. "Yell at me if you want... I'm not perfect, but leave Mom alone."

"When? Tell me a time when I have acted like that." Ivan's eyes widened and he looked at all of their faces.

"I would if I could pick one," Anatoly snapped, snarling.

Vladimir looked at their mother. "You just complained about diner, which she spent an hour making."

"Okay, well, I am sorry, I just thought it would be better warm." Ivan rocked back in his chair, sighing again.

Vlad frowned and shook his head. He didn't say anything else. No, he wasn't perfect... that much he knew. But wasn't it their father's job to love and protect their mother? He didn't... Vladimir couldn't ever recall hearing Ivan tell their mother that he loved her, in thirteen years, he'd never heard those words. Surely that must hurt Natalya. What did it matter if Ivan didn't love his own sons? Very little... Vlad and Anatoly had learned to deal with the cold relationship they had with Ivan-but their mother shouldn't have to feel that.

Anatoly looked at his sibling - he didn't need to say anything out loud, his thoughts were perfectly clear. This was what their life had turned into. After their mother had gotten ill so many years ago, everything had gone spiraling down - Natalya wasn't as pretty, young, and kind as she once was, and apparently it had driven Ivan to whatever this was. His disgust of what she was now was what had broken their family. Not the illness, not Vladimir's and Anatoly's apparent dis-respect.

"May I be excused? I need to do homework."

"No, Vladimir."

"When would you like me to do it then?" Vladimir bit his tongue to keep anything else from being said. Ivan didn't allow them to stay up past ten, and it was already eight. His homework would end up falling by the wayside tonight... he could guess that much.

"Don't talk to me like that. It is disrespectful." Ivan looked livid, even though his voice stayed low.

"We should be doing homework. Is there something else you need?" Anatoly spoke up, his expression something near a dare. School was important, oh the times he had heard that growing up. More than I love you, more than I'm proud of you - do your school, or you'll be homeless and worthless.

"Go. But come back out here when you are done. Do you understand?"

Vladimir nodded and looked to Anatoly. Blue eyes burned as he kept his tongue.

Anatoly stood with a curt nod. He waited for Vlad to follow before walking to the hallway - just like they had done the past three days. Just fast enough so Ivan wouldn't change his mind, and slow enough he wouldn't get angry and call them back.

Vladimir moved along behind Anatoly, treading over the cold flooring. Bare feet padded quietly over stone flooring, and he mused silently to himself that his footsteps were the loudest thing in the house just then.

Anatoly closed the door behind them once they were in the room. He moved for a candle instead of the light. The light from the new flame bounced off the walls in the otherwise darkened room. He felt too tired. There were no words of anger, those had been drained out in the last few days - no tears, his eyes had dried. In fact, his soul felt just as dry and parched.

"What he said... about hating everything about someone when they make you angry. Do you suppose he thinks about how much he hates us?" Vladimir slid down the wall and looked at his brother. Though Vlad wouldn't say it aloud, it hurt to know that his father hated him.

Anatoly followed the motion, his shoulder bumping against Vladimir's. "He said it, he must have been thinking it." The teen let his head fall back against the wall with a quiet thud.

"Mhmm..." Vladimir closed his eyes. "I know I'm... difficult," Vlad sighed, "...but do we deserve that? Hate... just because we're not perfect? I never told him I hated him... not even when I felt like saying it." Vladimir crossed his arms and breathed out a long sigh.

"Yeah." Anatoly wondered when he would feel alive again - feel anything other than dread, and sorrow, or anger, or exhaustion. Because those had taken residence where feelings of peace had once been.

Thank you for reading!