~o*oOo*o~
The cathedral was really more of a castle of sorts, with enormous towers covered with onion domes that looked like large, spiraling tops, or gigantic pieces of candy. Ivan liked the colors very much, for while faded with age, they were still snappy and cheerful, gleaming golds and rich emeralds and blues as deep and light as the summer sky, as blue as Alfred's eyes. Ivan gazed in awe at the colossal building, and Alfred must have forgotten that Ivan could understand nothing of his language, because he was babbling non-stop in what sounded like gibberish, lighting up whenever he noted some new detail on the beautiful building and turning to his new friend, poking him and jabbering excitedly. Beaming, Ivan simply nodded and pointed a lot, able to forget the pain of his bandaged hands until Alfred accidentally pulled on one as the three moved into line.
Ivan hissed in pain and Mr. Jones stopped and stooped, his look of concern foreign and made the child suspicious and angry all over again, his bony shoulders tensing as Alfred's father started talking, alternating between gently speaking in Russian to Ivan and scolding his son in English. Biting his lip and kicking at the frozen pavement, Alfred reached for one of the Russian boy's forearms and squeezed, muttering apologetically, shamefaced. The look on Alfred's face was just enough to keep Ivan from racing off into the streets, though he knew he had to leave, and soon.
The idea made his heart throb bitterly, and he stayed close by Alfred's side as Mr. Jones showed some guard a pass and the three were allowed to cut ahead of the line into the colossal old building.
How nice it would have been, to convince Alfred to leave with him. How lovely it would have been to stick the child into his pocket like the candy Ivan occasionally stole from the drugstore a mile or so from his home. Yekaterina and Natalya were fine enough company, but Katyusha too sad, and Natalya…scary. The little girl claimed to love Ivan so much so that she wanted to marry him, yet he could not for the life of him remember the last time she had smiled, if indeed she ever smiled at all.
Not that Ivan could blame her. He felt stupid and self-conscious, willing himself to look at Alfred rather than his muddy boots or ragged excuse for a coat. It was almost a shame the American was so nice, because Alfred was precisely the boy he would have loved to hate.
His brow creased with some sadness as they stepped into the cathedral, the dry, nippy wind stifled by a warm, hallowed gloominess. Ivan shivered, eyes wandering from the dust particles drifting silently across sunbeams to the colossal space around him and stared. Alfred's jaw had dropped, a true testament to his wonder being that he had at last fallen silent.
He'd expected some kind of satanic dungeon from a place bearing the name 'Spilled Blood.' This was heaven. It had to be; the tour group huddled together like timid field mice as the guide calmly began to speak—how could they be so disaffected?—about the building's origins, explaining that the church had been built under Alexander the III's instructions. Apparently it had been built the exact same place his father, Alexander the II, had been assassinated.
If someone were to murder his stepfather, Ivan thought that he might like to build a circus over the spot the man died. He would invite everyone.
As the tourist began patiently explaining the construction process, which both Ivan and Alfred found disinteresting, they wandered away to admire the walls, every bit of available space covered by mosaics. Religious ones, which Ivan supposed was fine only because they were so beautiful.
But though the ceiling towered on to the sky and he made his neck stiff staring up at the stained glass windows meeting the sun's setting rays, his eyes very frequently wandered over to Alfred at his side, who had again found his tongue and was talking happily of some Disney film—Ivan could tell that much.
Jealous. Ivan could be sick with jealousy, but what was that compared to the fondness he felt for the young boy chirping away in his ears? Alfred wouldn't come with him, wouldn't leave his nice father to stay with him. Ivan wouldn't. Unless he convinced Alfred somehow that it was an adventure and—but no, no, Stepfather would likely only tear the boy's throat out.
And suddenly Ivan did not feel weak, did not feel like cowering under the insane man's abominable stare. No. If Alfred were in danger, it'd be different. He wouldn't stand for any more cruelty—anger would make him strong. He'd knock the heartless son of a shit clean off his feet, rush to Alfred's side and comfort him, would give him anything he needed, language barrier notwithstanding. He would just know.
"Alexei," Mr. Jones said, in a voice Ivan recognized and did not like at all. "Why don't you come over here, son? There's a real pretty picture of Noah and all the animals."
Pretending he could not hear, Ivan wandered away, the back of his neck prickling with sweat. And shame.
What was he thinking? At the end of the day, he was only a ratty-looking boy in a ratty-looking coat. Alfred should and would not stay with him, and Ivan had to leave before his stepfather locked him out in the cold. Again. He couldn't risk stepfather forcing him to take another ice bath or clouting his ears or bolting him the closet for an entire day.
Katyusha had called social services once, and only once, after the man had dragged the frightened young girl to the barn for the first time and hurt her. And what had it come to? The police had poked around, asked a few questions, left, and then stepfather had flown into such a fury Ivan was certain neither he nor his sisters would survive the night.
The investigators had not come back. And it needed to stay that way, because they would do nothing. Mr. Jones had an incredibly strange, almost earnest 'how-can-I-help-you'-ness to him, but Ivan knew he was probably just another patronizing, lying son of a bitch. He would take Ivan to the police station if only to make himself feel good and shove the boy into a grave.
He had just decided to slip out the doors unnoticed when he stole a glance back at Alfred, and his breathing hitched.
"Oh," Ivan breathed, descending a step. "Oh."
The full ferocity of the setting sun was shining through a myriad of stained glass, draping Joseph's cloak over the young boy. Alfred curiously looked down at the pale shadow staring at him, his face bathed in light, so many colors. A rainbow-like halo crowned his visage, surrounded by dry sunflowers on an altar of holiness, offerings to an image of perfection.
Thoughts of escape went raw with longing, and Ivan slowly ascended one step after another, willing the dazzling firestorm of hues and life and happiness to envelope him, to make him Alfred's equal. No, he would never be the same, but what did that matter, when Alfred was standing before him with a bouquet of sunshine tucked in one arm, so vibrant, so pretty, so….
"Alexei?" Alfred asked curiously, cocking his head and extending a hand. "Alexei?"
Transfixed, Ivan just gazed at him, violet eyes as bright as stars, burned hands prickling hotly and unpleasantly as sweat trickled into the bandaged wounds.
"The day will come when I am like nothing to you, because I will be dead. There will be precious light in your life that if you do not hold tight to, it will slip away like a fish. Hold fast to it, Vanya, never let it go. Else someone smarter than you will snatch your angel and you will be bereft."
Hunger. It was a different sort of hunger than the one that had pained him so only this afternoon, but this one gnawed at him with razor-sharp teeth, made greed gleam in strange lavender eyes. Ivan reached out a trembling bandaged hand, wanting to touch Alfred's face. His mouth was as dry as sandpaper, dark and drifting thoughts illuminated by one perfect word:
Angel.
They are waiting, my darling, waiting to heal you and enfold you. When and if the time is right, they will come into your darkest dreams and give you the strength to try again."
"Does my angel love me?"
"Better than anyone else-it can only ever love you."
Another step. Such a lovely and good thing that had come to him. Come to him, to Ivan, found him and healed him and comforted him.
"Ангел мой," Ivan breathed, touching the startled boy's cheek. "Ангел мой."
The Sunflower Messiah
Sorry for different chapter name….upon reflection, this one seemed a lot more suiting. Hope y'all are doing well, and that everyone has a marvelous new year. So sorry it took me so long to update, but accidentally lost a lot of my work-in-progress through sheer stupidity. Like twenty pages worth of stuff. I almost cried/threw myself out a window.
I don't like this new chapter...*Grumbles* It's mostly Ivan-soliloquy.
For those of you who guessed where the quote from last chapter came from Corpse Bride—Guest and skyspottedshadow—you two have really good eyes! Kudos and hugs for you.
And to you, my lovely reviewers, I adore each one of your comments. I love you like Batman loves his cave. I love you like a child loves a teddy bear. I love you like advertisements love annoying us. I love you like Alfred loves his hamburgers. Aaaand I think I just might stop now before I seriously embarrass myself. ^^;
But I loves you! *Pounce huggles* Um….I don't love you like Ivan loves Alfred, though….sorry…
Happy Valentine's Day! I loves you!
Reviewers will earn my appreciation and heartfelt gratitude.
o~*oOo*~o
His cell phone was ringing and the sound sent his heart pounding like a jackhammer inside of him, leaping up and down against his throat. Alfred tried his best to ignore the percussion instruments blaring insistently at him to pick up the damn call, stared ahead at the gloomy gray and white world before him as he swung back and forth. Back and forth. Between this and the butterflies fluttering frantically around his stomach, he was going to be nauseous. More so than he was already.
The device in his pocket at last fell blissfully silent, but before Alfred could reach for it it started to ring again. He cussed. Not again. Please not again. Why didn't he remember to just keep the thing off?
He hesitated; maybe it wasn't even him this time, though the chances of that seemed most unlikely. But the person trying so hard to reach him might be Kiku, or Mattie even. Without a second thought, Alfred pulled his vibrating and humming cell phone out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. Wished he hadn't. Wished the stupid, stupid phone would stop blasting its cheesy, over-the-top music that sounded as if it belonged in a children's cartoon or bad commercial. He needed a new ringtone. It honest to God scared him to hear it just a little now. Hell, a new phone altogether might be nice, with a different number.
Why couldn't Ivan get a hobby? More importantly, why couldn't he take a hint?
At last his phone fell silent, but Alfred still considered chucking the device into one of the great dirty snowmounds nearby and running away, as if it were an activated grenade.
"Crap," he whined to no one but himself as he watched the new voice mail alert appear on the screen. He shoved the miserable cell back inside his pocket and leaned back in his seat, his sigh a misty puff in the frosty February air, disappearing quickly.
He didn't know why he was so scared. Because it was JUST Ivan. Ivan, who was obviously worried about him, Ivan, who made it a point to bring him unpoisoned baked goods and fuss over him and stroke his hair when he thought Alfred was sleeping on the sofa during one of Mattie's games, petting him even after Alfred had at last told him explicitly to knock that shit off—
Alfred kicked his feet up in the air as high as they'd go, swinging so far that the entire set began making warning clicking sounds, old and dusty-with-salt frame trembling. The rusty chains were slow to absorb any of his body heat, no matter how tightly he clenched them.
His teeth chattered, and not necessarily from the cold swing freezing his rear off. Ugh, this hadn't been such a hot idea to work out his stress. If it weren't so icy out everywhere, he'd be out running. Running sounded pretty good to him right now, but not on his mother's stupid treadmill. He wanted to run, huffing and puffing, over large and towering distances and zigzag paths and speed until his feet were smoking stubs underneath him and he wound up—
Where?
He didn't know. But he didn't want to stay here anymore. Didn't like being out alone in this desolated and cold playground, out in the open like a mouse in an open prairie, but being confined in the house was worse. It reeked with grief, despite the good news that had come just a day ago: Mattie had been accepted by his top choice school in Canada. And Alfred had been accepted by his third choice school, so at least he knew he was going to college.
But Mattie was still too miserable to celebrate, glazed, dead eyes staring at nothing, his face bleak and hopeless no matter how hard Alfred tried to charm it into a smile. At night, after Matthew had chased Alfred from his room, the soft sound of sobs could be heard from behind his door, and Alfred's heart broke for him, broke for Ismael, for Ismael's parents, for Kiku, for Ismael's little sis, now all alone in the world—
Getting lightheaded, he took a quick gulp of sharp, icy air as he swung forward, exhaling deeply.
The only wrong thing to do in a great number of situations is nothing, Mr. Yao had remarked before his...going away. Oh, who the fuck was he kidding himself, he didn't believe in the slightest anymore that the man had just all of a sudden packed up and went to pursue his lifelong dream of being a costumed character at Puroland.
But that didn't answer two of the many questions burning inside of him, bumping around like a great number of atoms, into each other like a horde of confused and frightened children, shrilly calling out, demanding to be heard first:
What's going on? He didn't want to know, oh God, he didn't, but he had to.
And, What do I do now?
Ismael was dead. Dead. Alfred's new glasses slipped off his nose and landed in the snow, but Alfred didn't even notice, still staring blankly at nothing. Ismael was dead. When would the shock, as if he'd been doused with a vase of cold water, go away?
Blue eyes wandered around the playground without actually seeing anything. Dead. Burned to a crisp. His parents too. The authorities had confirmed that it had been no accident, found Kiku Honda's bag at the scene full of flammables, took the frightened young Asian in for questioning despite his parents' protests-
Alfred leapt off the swing and rolled into the cold-hardened old snow, hugging himself. A second later, a sob escaped him, and he angrily socked the icy slush with all of his might. It wasn't Kiku. Kiku wasn't that kind of cold-blooded, heartless nutjob. He was definitely a pervert, but he was a pervert with a heart of gold, and Alfred had all but begged his father on hands and knees to drive him to the police station for a character witness. Thank God Mr. and Mrs. Honda had been with Kiku the night of...the night of the incident three days ago, out at a Japanese steakhouse. Mr. Honda had just been promoted at work, so the family had gone out to dinner to celebrate.
Swiping at his eyes with a gloved fist, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, listening to the forlorn sounds of the swing still swaying back and forth in his wake, creaking softly.
Thankfully the police had released him, because unless Kiku had suddenly sprouted an evil twin, there was video evidence of him being at the restaurant at the time of the crime. Just like Ivan had photo proof that he couldn't have killed Yao. Sort of. It hadn't been HIM in the picture, but it had been on his phone.
But what kind of proof was that? Alfred didn't even want to think about it. He grabbed his glasses, polished the lenses meticulously.
Either way you sliced it, it couldn't have been Kiku. Alfred had known this, but he'd still shook with relief when he'd grabbed his best friend in a bonebreaking hug when he was let go. They hadn't talked since, but they'd have to eventually. Mrs. Jones wasn't about to let her boys stay home from school forever. It had already been a few days.
He supposed he ought to go home, but if Ivan were waiting again there, he could probably just go hang out at the library again and look at the same page in a book for a couple of hours again. He'd call his Dad for a ride, and he could warn Alfred if Ivan were "hanging out" by their driveway again. The teen scowled angrily, kicked a stray can and fly across the ground, still shivering.
Ever since Ismael died, Alfred was tempted to ask Ivan to leave his toothbrush over; after all, he practically never left. It wasn't the friendly my-home-is-your-home thing he had with Kiku or Francis or whatever, but it had passed the fine line into creepy. Ivan either didn't get or chose not to understand Alfred's many hints of 'get the fuck out of my house' whilst his crying twin clung to him. If Alfred left the room, Ivan would follow. If Alfred went to the bathroom, he could hear Ivan shifting from behind the door, waiting, and whenever he least expected, arms were snaking were around his waist, pulling him in an embrace that was as possessive as it was friendly.
At first, Alfred tried to laugh it off as a joke, a particularly bad and recurring one, then had ignored it, and at last his patience snapped and he'd started batting at Ivan's hands, smacking them more than once. The Russian had looked like such a sad, bewildered child when Mrs. Jones at last gently suggested that perhaps it wasn't the best time for Ivan to be over right now.
He rolled his eyes when he felt the familiar flicker of guilt, but it was quickly extinguished with a cool sense of foreboding. Nowadays, it was far easier for Alfred to see what people had meant when they'd muttered uneasily about Ivan being creepy sometimes. Because Ivan really could be creepy, fucking waiting near the driveway in his car, reading a book. Ivan claimed he had nothing better to do, but Alfred had begged him to go paint, go play soccer, go do anything anywhere away from Alfred, preferably over the state border.
Because it wasn't funny anymore. Not in the slightest. Even when Mr. Jones himself asked Ivan to leave, when Alfred looked out his bedroom window late at night, he could have sworn he saw an all-too- familiar vehicle passing by, taillights shining red in the darkness.
Those lights had scared him to no end, ended up haunting his dreams in the form of red eyes, violet eyes. He hadn't bothered to answer Ivan's many messages and calls, didn't check and see this morning whether or not Ivan were still skulking around the neighborhood. He'd simply pulled on his coat and boots, went to the backyard and hopped the fence, walked to the nearby park. Just what did Ivan want with him, anyway?
His eyes narrowed. I just want to see your face, Alfredka. That was something you said to your girlfriend, NOT your straight guy friend. Not your straight guy friend who hadn't properly slept for some time now, haunted with horrible dreams of Ismael writhing in flames, screeching.
Ismael was murdered, just hours after Alfred had fought with the guy.
His teeth were chattering so badly they were nipping his lips, making them raw, decorating them with little cuts. Oh, God. Alfred seized his stomach and tried to hold onto his breakfast. He never wanted to think about this, but he had to, how could he not, because Yao, Arthur, Ismael and his parents were gone...
"Help me," Alfred whimpered, taking a step back. "Help me."
He'd talked to the police, told them his concerns and they asked him about a million different questions, probably suspected HIM now, oh, God, was he a secret murderer? There was that ugly, ugly word bleeding across his thoughts-murder-but Ismael's death was the last straw-
Something was happening. Because of him. What was happening to all these people? Yao, Arthur, were they even alive out there? Or had they been...silenced? Because of him?
The world trembled before his eyes, distorting his vision and Alfred staggered back another step, his back not meeting air but something sturdy, made up of sinew and bone, something warm. Alfred let out a soundless exclamation as a pair of warm hands seized his shoulders and twisted him around, purple eyes boring into his own, so close they were consuming his immediate vision.
"Privyet, little one," Ivan said pleasantly, his eyes very cold. "Have you been ignoring me?"
o~*oOo*~o
Two Years Ago
He'd skritched at the hard floor so much his nails had been reduced to stubs; one of them had fallen off. The raw pink flesh pulsed and stung angrily as Ivan pressed his bleeding knuckles to shaking lips.
This was a mistake. He did not belong here in this cell. He had done nothing wrong.
With a roar of fury, he charged against the wall, pounding against it even as iron hot pain became his bloody, madly shaking hands, the blistered and ruined stubs that were now connected to his wrists—
It's not fair. Let me out. Let me out!
The young man struck the filthy wall so hard a surge of agony shot through his entire body and Ivan fell to his knees with a wild cry, still scratching wildly away at the walls as if several of his now nail-less fingers, torn off and exposed and pierced with pain, could wear away through solid stone.
When the pain became too much for even him to bear, he fell backwards, and for the first time in years, Ivan wept. Wept wildly, wept until his throat was burning and he was certain he tasted the metallic tang of pennies, the scent that permeated the air, rust that burned into him, over his eyes until Ivan wanted to claw them out, because death would be better than this great injustice, anything would be better than this living hell which he could not endure alone—
Tears slowly oozed down his dirty and grubby skin like hot tar. Ivan rocked back and forth, trying to will the great despair that wailed from every crevice of this mad place like so many lost, keening angels, their eyes cut with woe and hopelessness and let me out let me live I've done nothing wrong it's them who made me what I am!
He'd never wanted to hurt anyone. Or perhaps he had, but that was only after they'd harmed him first. Then the bloodlust was on him, splattered before his thoughts in so many dark, shining droplets, painting the world red even as he calmly went out his business, holding a writhing body below the water until it was at last still. Peacefully still.
Ivan's pale and cracked lips tentatively mouthed a near-forgotten tune.
There was some satisfaction when at last there was peace and stillness, when silvery bubbles stopped drifting to the surface and the body only lay a still and calm lump of flesh, though it seemed to be obstinate even in death by incriminating Ivan yet again, bore testament to supposed violence with blackened handprints around a neck where no pulse beat, but—
The name they gave him in the papers was a cruel falsehood. He wasn't the Butcher Boy. Resignation that had come from this faux justice had long since evaporated, leaving him cold.
The little rabbits that had struggled and kicked deserved to die, for hurting his feelings when he had only ever been gentle, loving. It wasn't as if they would be missed—the others were mere larger rabbits, not likely to be missed by anyone, really. He'd been doing society a favor, even if people at large looked away and dismissed him as a lunatic, when all he'd been trying to do was scrap together some form of life for himself and his sisters—!
And yet they would call him mad. Condemn him to this pissant hell, where dark shadows leered and twisted and loomed, and madmen beckoned with gnarled fingertips and held you down and HURT YOU if you did not hurt them first, and once you did you were sent to solitary confinement, which upon arrival was even worse than the touches and manhandling itself, because you were alone, alone, alonealonealonealonealone—
Every inch of his battered frame aching, he breathed in; the cold air tasted like rust and the mustiness that came with cobwebs and emptiness and broken dreams. They were impervious to his screaming, the fact that he'd ripped so many tufts of his hair out of his sore scalp, crusty with clotted blood.
A signal flared in the dark mires of his mind like an unexpected firefly in the darkness, and Ivan abruptly sat up, tears still rushing down his dirty and pale face.
He ripped the threadbare sheet off his ruined and stained old cot, staggered to the grimy, cracked toilet and flung it into the dirty water; with hands that continued to throb with searing pain, a gasping Ivan fashioned a noose and flung it over one of the many pipes, rushing to his cot and shoving the loop over his neck.
Ivan took one last look at the gloomy and dingy cell around him, his vision clouded with raw terror and tears.
Soon all of it would be over. With some difficulty he kicked the bed over and suddenly Ivan was dangling in midair, gasping, crying silently as he choked, feet flailing hopelessly as he braced himself for the snap—
And the knot he clumsily made undid itself and Ivan went crashing to the ground, his head colliding with the floor with a sickening crack. He tasted blood in his mouth from where he bit his tongue—black.
ooooo
oooo
ooo
oo
o
Wheezing, he lay in squalor, bleeding, dirty and so ready to die, when they burst into existence; little hands. Perfect, uninjured little hands that had found Ivan's so many years ago, lead him up the stone steps of the cathedral of light. Trembling, Ivan's breath hitched, eyes widening in horror, than wonder.
Alfred.
The boy was just as he remembered him, bright, bright blue eyes, freckled face, large smile. But so much more impossibly, breathtakingly beautiful than a young Ivan had recalled. The child's skin glowed, as if he were not a young boy but a fallen star, a lantern, and instead of overalls and sneakers, Alfred wore a white gown that looked soft to the touch. Brilliant wings exuded from his back, magnificent, white as driven snow, yet shone with the colors that mysteriously appear in luminous pearls reflecting firelight.
Transfixed, aghast, Ivan uneasily edged away from the holy creature, wondering wildly if he had already died so quickly, so suddenly. Was this sweet little memory the specter of death itself? It was certainly an improvement over the grim-eyed skeleton Ivan had pictured.
The cherub gazed at him, expression neither happy nor unhappy. It scrutinized him, as if puzzled.
Ivan.
The young man choked on a sob, hot tears pouring down his battered face, nose bleeding from the impact of his fall. It was Alfred. Even with his wings and the crown of stars circling his head, it was Alfred. And he came to the same conclusion he had ten years ago:
"You are mine," Ivan marveled, almost daring to believe it. The little angel cocked his head, smiled.
Yes, it said plaintively, as if this were old news. Don't cry. A soft hand, so soft it nearly felt immaterial but it wasn't and Ivan pressed it to his ugly, imploring face.
"How can I not cry?" Ivan choked, gritting his teeth and revealing a few empty spaces. Someone had beaten him very badly, knocked a couple of molars free. "I am in hell. I am alone and I am in hell."
Alfred's precious face twisted in sorrow and Ivan's heart twanged. Such spellbinding eyes. Such lovely eyes looking at him with such sadness, both terrible and marvelous at once because these were the eyes Ivan had so invariably craved his entire life. But Alfred was so tender and pure a creature that Ivan loathed to see pain reflected in his eyes. Those eyes did not reflect the horrified heartbreak of his sister's face when Natalya and Ivan had been lead out of the courtroom—these were twinkling, overflowing, azure eyes that shone with pity and love and Ivan shakily clapped dingy hands over the rosy cheeks, still gazing dazedly at the angel who looked at him in turn. And did not look away!
But you are not alone. I am here.
"How can you be?" The flesh was solid under his feelings, pliable and sweet, but still impossible. "Nyet, I do not believe it, you are gone, lost…"
Alfred put a tiny hand over Ivan's dirty, infected hand, keeping it pressed against his face. You don't have to continue hiding from me, Ivan. I'm easier to find than you think I am.
"You…" A trickle of blood raced from Ivan's mouth. "You, like that day…..you cried…."
A croaky laugh.
"It is so beautiful…."
Come back to me, Ivan. I will set you free. It wasn't your fault. What you did.
"Da, da, it is, it is…." His face screwed up, and he bit back a sob. "It is, little one…."
Your conscience absolves you, Alfred said gently, leaning forward and kissing both of Ivan's eyes with petal soft lips. Tears trickled down from both, as if in response. You did what you had to do to protect yourself. Others. Me, whose home is in you. You did the right thing, Ivan, and your hands are not bloody for it. You are glorious.
"Me?"
You. If someone tried to hurt me, Ivan, what would you do?
A predatory glint appeared in Ivan's dilated eyes, which darkened with rage.
"I would kill them," he snarled. "I would rip and tear and burn them away from this world. No one will touch you, ever. It is as you say: You are mine."
I will give you light, the cherub said as Ivan pressed him to his heart. Everything that is mine will be yours. I won't look at anyone else. I will give you the strength to carry on, even in hell. So be kind to yourself, Ivan. You are better than them, and so you deserve to live. Protect me the way you say you will, and I will forever keep you from harm. I love you.
"You've done enough," Ivan muttered, wiping his eyes and feeling ashamed of himself. Alfred had already given him purpose to live again, proof of genuine, glorious benevolence, was the living embodiment of his mother's words. How could Ivan possibly expect any more from him when he was so heartbreakingly breakable, so innocent with those large, sweet eyes, so very tiny? It was as if a linnet had hopped to him and proposed to bear Ivan with its little wing. Almost laughable in its impossible sweetness.
Realizing that Alfred was very likely freezing in this hellhole, Ivan seized a dirty sheet and wrapped it around his shivering angel, wishing sorely that he had damask and silks instead.
"This is a despicable world we live in, rotten to the core, and they will eat you alive," Ivan smiled lopsidedly when Alfred buried his little face in Ivan's shoulder. "Hush. Do not worry. I will not let anyone touch you. You are mine, my own little innocent, and I will keep you safe in my dreams."
Hours later, one of the asylum staff went to check on Ivan, and found him rocking back and forth, crooning a lullaby and clutching a bundle of rags, a beatific smile upon his mad face.
o~*oOo*~o
Alfred nearly shrieked, but he just managed to clap his hands to his mouth in time, his ears burning red. Holy. Hell. How the hell had Ivan managed to find him all the way out here? Did Ivan have to freaking stalk him because Alfred wasn't available to "play" at the moment?
As usual, some of his anger dissipated when he looked up at Ivan, who was smiling slightly, a boyish, albeit fixed smile. He was clearly waiting for a response. Well, if Ivan could play stupid, so could Alfred. It was only fair.
"Uh...hey, man," he said weakly, making a wan attempt to grin. He wondered if it even showed on his face. "Fancy meeting you here. Sure you're busy doing whatever right now and I just remembered something I have to do, so—"
"Little one," Ivan said gently, stepping forward. Apparently the ten minute tutorial Alfred had graciously given him last time they'd met on what not to call him had been completely wasted. It had been cute last year, but now he just wanted to punch Ivan in the big nose. He wasn't even that much shorter than him! "I have been very worried about you, da? Have you been getting my calls at all?"
Alfred forced a laugh. "Sorry, I uh, lost my phone."
And then, THEN of all times, someone other than Ivan chose to call and the device in his pocket began to ring shrilly. Alfred jumped, resolving immediately to take the cell to a quiet place in the woods and shoot it. "H-hey! It was in my pocket this whole time! Who knew?" Play it cool, don't stammer, don't stammer "Well, it was very nice seeing you—"
"You cannot mean to be walking back to your place in this weather," Ivan objected, stepping forward until the two were almost nose to nose. Extremely uncomfortable, Alfred looked at the ground and uneasily inched away, but to his great annoyance (and admittedly some panic), he saw Ivan's boots step forward again, following him. "My car is nearby. I will take you home."
"Nah. I'm good. Thanks though." Goddammit, no wonder Lizzy didn't want to go out with him when his voice was so freakishly high. When did THAT happen? "I just needed to get out of the house for awhile. Things have been…" Shaky bark of laughter. "Really weird…for a long time now."
Ivan's strained grimace eased up just a little bit, and the Russian looked a little regretful at the very least. "I am sorry, Alfred. How is Matthew doing?"
"As good as anyone can be when their best friend's gone," he muttered dolefully, walking away.
"But how are you?" Ivan pressed, his footsteps crunching the solid snow beneath him as he easily kept pace with , one stride for every two of Alfred's. "What with Kiku being interrogated and all…"
Alfred made sure his voice would not crack before speaking. "Rotten," he said honestly. "I feel absolutely rotten about the whole thing, so I probably need a little more alone time right now." Please, please don't make me tell you to get the fuck away from me. He had no idea how Ivan would react to such a response, did not want to find out.
"I am thinking that is the last thing you need right now," Ivan said firmly, and with such sincerity Alfred mentally shot himself. "When I am sad, I like to have my friends around. We are all here for you, Alfred. I am here."
Troubled, Alfred just let out a noncommittal grunt.
Ivan couldn't kill anyone. He was too gentle, the Lenny to his George, for Christ's sake. He even had solid proof that he couldn't have killed Yao.
Gentle? He was anything but a few days ago, A slightly hysteric voice in his head snapped. When he beat the living shit out of Ismael. And so what if he had a picture on his phone? His phone might have been in the city, but he could just have easily been here, after Mr. Yao! Wake the hell up, Jones!
"Alfred?" Ivan sounded more concerned than ever. "Alfred, are you alright?"
He almost smiled at that. Almost.
"N-not really, man. But it's not me so much as it is Mattie."
The Russian's eyes thawed again, though the tall and awkward young man still looked so sad. Alfred could hardly stand it.
"Would you like to go see a movie?" Ivan offered charmingly, albeit in a somewhat brusque fashion. "I believe there are some good ones in…"
"No," Alfred said, too fast. "Can't. Sorry, buddy, but I really have to-"
"Would you care to get something to eat?" It didn't sound like much of a suggestion, and Ivan had already slipped a warm hand on his forearm, was clearly trying to hurry him to his car. Alfred instinctively recoiled, immediately went to flick some dust off his jacket so as to not have to look at the hurt expression he already knew was on Ivan's face.
It's so freaky. But is he just lonely?
What if...?
"Where were you three nights ago?" Alfred blurted out without thinking.
Ivan blinked. "Oh, Katyusha and I were putting old puzzle together," he said vaguely, still smiling that large, painful-looking smile. "Was missing some of the pieces, though…why do you ask?"
His voice was lighthearted, but also guarded. Alfred just looked at Ivan, really looked at him. Ivan looked curiously blank, certainly wasn't sweating bullets like any other murderer would be when being questioned. And just who the heck could lie so well as that? Ivan was his age, and Alfred was practically Pinocchio when it came to telling falsehoods, as Mattie was so keen to point out.
But Arthur had injured Alfred right before he disappeared.
Mr. Yao had been about to fail Alfred.
And now Ismael and his parents were lost. He and Ismael had gotten into a fist fight days ago. Ivan showed up. He'd somehow been involved each and every time. Either the worst coincidence of the century or something lurked behind Ivan's childish, innocent smile.
Alfred shrugged, mentally making a map of the area and planning escape routes to take if need be.
"Just curious. Ivan, did you and Ismael-"
"Are you certain you would not like to get some ice cream or something?"
"No, thanks," Alfred said hurriedly, glancing nervously around the mostly deserted parking lot. How did he miss Ivan's car? "I'm going to see how Kiku's doing. Hopefully he's not too shaken up by the whole thing, though I'm sure he is. The whole school was, from what I heard. Well, have a nice—"
"So odd, that his bag would be found on lawn…." Ivan mused aloud, conveniently cutting the young man off yet again and effectively pissing Alfred off. "Full of fire-starters, no less!"
"If he says someone broke into his locker, someone broke into his locker," Alfred snapped defensively. "It's not like that hasn't happened to me before. His folks insist that he was with them the whole night of the…the fire. Aaaand they can prove Kiku was with them, without a doubt." Okay, NOW Ivan was starting to look a little unnerved. "Besides, Kiku and Ismael got along pretty good, considering, so there's no motive. And he's not a violent person. Someone's tryin' to frame him."
Someone's walking around killing people. Might have killed Arthur. My teacher.
And they're all connected to me.
Forget going to Kiku's house. He wanted to hide underneath his bed and never come out.
"But what about that kiss?" Ivan asked falteringly as Alfred strode away, trying to lose his drifting shadow hurrying along beside him. "He ignored fact that you are straight, forced himself on you—"
"Like I said, the two of us go way back," The boy said abruptly, not even looking in Ivan's direction. "We've gotten through a lot of crap before, so we'll get through this, too." He sighed, a long, heavy sound. "I just wanna be there for him after all the garbage he's been through. Poor guy's probably scared out of his mind, and he didn't even do anything…"
"I think he is guilty." Now it was Ivan's voice's turn go an octave higher. "His bag was at the scene, WITH materials to start a fire! What more proof do you need, Alfredka?"
Alfred shook, willing himself to calm down. The last thing he wanted to do was lose it around a guy who'd proved time and again that he was a little emotionally unstable. "Ivan, I just need to be left alone right now, okay?"
"You should not be alone. You are upset," Ivan insisted, grabbing the young man's arm and yanking him backwards. "Tell me what you need, Солнышко, and I will—"
Alfred ripped his arms free with a snarl, and screamed:
"I JUST TOLD YOU I NEED TO BE ALONE! SO GET THE FUCK LOST!"
Silence. As soon as the last word spilled out, Alfred went cold, then white-hot with dread. A thousand apologies stampeded into his head like panicked buffalo into a wall, but he remained curiously still, though his body tensed for the swift fist he was certain would smash into his face any second now. It was a long, painful moment before Alfred looked up and when he did, he found himself wishing for the violent blow he so expected.
A stricken Ivan was staring at him, looking shocked, large violet eyes set with hurt. He looked like a child who has just stroked a fuzzy and docile-looking guinea pig, only to have the creature immediately sink its teeth into his skin.
"….sorry, man," Alfred murmured quietly, tearing his eyes away from the silent Russian's destroyed face. "I just…..just…."
The words that came next were easy because they were true:
"I don't know what to do anymore."
And he ran away.
~*oOo*~
Alfred hadn't planned on heading to Kiku's that day, but by the time he finally heaved over and fought to get air inside his burning lungs, he found himself in Kiku's subdivision. Hesitant, half-hoping the Hondas would not be home, he awkwardly shuffled over to the familiar house, heart sinking a little when he saw Mrs. Honda's car in the drive. Well, it was now or never.
Still panting, he cut across the lawn (which Mr. Honda hated) and knocked. After a moment or so, Kiku opened the door, wide and scared-looking brown eyes narrowing slightly when they took in Alfred. Set shoulders sagged somewhat, though the young man still looked inexplicably nervous, reminiscent of when Alfred had first glimpsed the shy boy standing alone at the playground many years ago, but worse. Alfred blinked, taken aback-judging from the dark shadows littering Kiku's careworn face, he obviously had not slept.
"Konnichiwa, Alfred."
He scuffed his worn white sneaker on the cold concrete. Just a week or so ago Kiku would be standing aside to let his friend in with a small smile and Alfred would be merrily blabbing on about nothing. Now, he just meekly returned, "Hey, Kiku." Another pause. Dude, having your parents walk in in the midst of sex was probably less painfully awkward than this. "Mind if I come in?"
"Of course."
Alfred obliged, sighing slightly with relief as the door closed behind them, a sentiment Kiku seemed to share. He turned both locks behind them before glancing away, not seeming to know where to look. "I thought...you might be police again."
"How...how ya been?"
Kiku didn't answer that. It was probably better not to ask.
"Wanna play something?" he asked uncertainly, hoping to diffuse the tension somewhat. "Like...Mario or maybe one of those board games ya like?" He knew Kiku well enough by now that whenever he wanted to be seriously distracted, he'd go with some complex strategy game or some shit.
The hint of a smile appeared in Kiku's weary brown eyes. "I would like to play Go. But every time we play, you forget the rules and assume we're playing Chinese checkers. Or immediately make up your own rules."
"Hero's word of honor I won't do whatever it was you just said," Alfred said with mock solemnity, grinning when at last the smile melted just a bit onto Kiku's face. "And I totally don't do that, though if I did, it's cause the rules are too damn hard. Uh, lead the way?"
He traipsed after Kiku upstairs to his room, staying unusually quiet as his friend set up the board. Maybe they wouldn't need to talk about the Russian or kissing at all; maybe it was just something best swept under the rug and ignored. But as enticing as it sounded, Alfred wanted to herd the elephant out of the room as quickly as possible, as well as finally get some answers.
"I saw Ivan today," he remarked as he picked up a black game piece, turning it over in his hand.
"Oh" was the boy's only response as he pushed a white piece forward. "I see."
"He's...god, Kiku, he's..." The dam burst. "I don't want to be alone with him anymore. I feel like some scared effing girl now, but he won't stop calling and he won't stop driving by! It's completely insane! And the worst part it, he's being a jerk about it by NOT being a jerk about it, so I can't call him out without yelling at him and being an absolute prick, which I kinda did before I ran over here."
A piece slid out of Kiku's hand. "You yelled at him?"
Alfred nodded sheepishly. "Yeah...he found me outside...he didn't want to go away...it's so annoying and creepy but I feel so bad for the guy, I just..." He shook his head, letting out a weak chuckle. "I'm probably gonna end up apologizing before long."
"I wouldn't have the courage to deny him anything, Alfred-san. He's...he's frightening."
Uneasy, Alfred had to agree. Now that he wasn't actually in the intimidating boy's presence, it was easier to pity him, view him in an easier life. God, why couldn't Ivan just be a jerk or be nice so that Alfred could neatly file him away in some category? "Bad enough his stupid cat knocked up my stupid cat. Vodka ought to wear freaking protection if they don't get him fixed," Alfred griped and Kiku looked up, startled.
"Franklin? But Alfred, I thought Franklin was a-"
"Boy?" Alfred asked dully, dropping a black stone on the Go board. "Yeah, so did I when I found the poor little guy...girl..a few years ago. I looked, and..." Alfred fidgeted, flushing from the roots of his hair to his toes. "Well, I THOUGHT she was a he," he said defensively, making a face when Kiku started to smile again. "He'd...she'd just been born...and I didn't KNOW cats had umbilical cords...and..." Alfred shifted as Kiku dropped a white piece, still blushing. "It was a prank my family played on me. They let me call the damn cat Franklin and now I can't take it back, cause she won't answer to anything else. Mattie woulda laughed so hard until he crapped his pants if he wasn't so sad."
Kiku sighed. "Poor, poor Matthew-san. So you are going to keep the kittens?"
His face was composed, but inwardly Alfred gloated. Yeah, I know you, even if they're kinda sorta Ivan's creepy grandkittens, you want one. "I guess. The vet felt around and said there's definitely two at least, probably no more than four. Ivan's ecstatic about the whole thing, and I'm not sure whether or not Vodka knows or cares he's going to be a Daddy, but I guess he thinks something's up, considering how many dead animals he's dragging in the house and leaving in Franklin's bowl."
Kiku didn't say anything for a moment. "You don't seem very excited," he began hesitantly as Alfred dropped another piece. "And I know you love animals."
"I should be happy," Alfred returned dully. "Mom's not so gleeful because we have to find homes for the cats, but that shouldn't be too hard." He grinned wickedly when Kiku fidgeted a little. "Normally, I'd be real happy right now, Kiku-I'm gonna graduate in a few months, my cat's having kittens, going to college...everything's fine...besides the fact that you and I...um...and that you've been accused of crap I know you'd never, ever do. It must be..." Alfred pathetically trailed off again. How do you squeeze 'you've been accused of murder and arson' into one little 'too bad?'
He glanced up again, and the blond's stomach twisted when he saw Kiku's normally composed face twisted with pain, eyes shining with tears.
"I am sorry, Alfred-san, so sorry—"
"Naw, man. My bad." He said hastily, holding up his hands. "I shouldn't have freaked out on ya like that. It's okay."
"I'm still sorry."
Kiku still looked miserable, and Alfred wanted so badly to see him smile again, to somehow make everything right. "Look...do I have your word of honor that it wasn't you getting inside my locker and leaving those notes?"
"Of course!" The Asian protested, looking indignant at his best friend's doubt. "Alfred-chan, despite what you may think, I have never, ever lied to you. Ever. You know me too well for that. Even if I did lie to you, I am awful at it-even you could pick up on it immediately."
Unaware for the moment that Kiku had ribbed him just a little, Alfred plopped on his back with a near-comical sigh. Looking apprehensive, Kiku peered up from the board. "Al...?"
"I believe you, man." And he did, a hundred and twelve percent, which was more satisfying than it had any right to be. But until days ago, he trusted the Asian the way he trusted his twin-infallibly. It felt so good to have some of this uncertainty back, even if it wasn't cleared up just yet. "And no duh ya wouldn't have...seriously hurt anyone. We'll get this cleared up in a matter of days, they catch the bastard, and..." His breath caught, and a hot blush settled on his face. Clearing his throat, Alfred pressed his heels together and swung himself back into a sitting position, this time unable to look his worried friend straight in the eye.
"You're my brother from another mother, Kiku, my sister from another mister, that lost triplet that doesn't actually look like Mattie or me and is a whole lot shorter, but-"
"Alfred-san, you're rambling."
He swallowed. "Yeah. Yeah I am. Uh, point in...point, man, even if ya weren't the one breaking into my locker, you're still the guy that k-kissed me." Damn it, damn it, damn it all there was that squeak again, maybe he could somehow have that surgically removed.
His little panda face flushed, Kiku stared at his hands with large amber eyes. "Hai, there is that."
"Why?"
"Because I like you very much. I discovered last year through some...wandering and...much spiritual exploring..."
"You were surfing porn, weren't you?"
Huffing, Kiku threw a pillow at him. "Last year, I came to terms with my own bisexuality. I did not want to tell you, Alfred-chan, because you are my best friend and while I knew you would accept me, I was afraid...you might assume that I had some perverted reason for hanging out with you all the time."
"Kiku, you are a pervert," Alfred said kindly. "My own seriously polite, closet pervert. C'mon, you've been stashing your Dad's Playboys in your closet and buying weird ass Japanese porn since you were ten. But I wouldn't have ditched you over that, man."
Face still ruddy, Kiku gave Alfred a pitying glance. "But the truth is...at risk of sounding silly, I always felt drawn to you, Alfred-chan. You attract everyone of course, with your big booming voice and your happiness and your 'can-do'-ness and your ridiculous schemes and your obnoxious laugh..."
"Hey!"
"Ismael is...was a great exception." Kiku drew his knees up to his chest and smiled a timid, tired smile. "You may rub a lot of people the wrong way, Alfred, but I think the best part of you is that most cannot help but love you and root for you. When I began to think I wanted...well, it did not matter, because you liked girls and I did not want to make you uncomfortable. Then," Kiku's eyes narrowed into slits, and Alfred shivered; he swore he felt ice crystals radiating off him. "Ivan showed up, who is very obviously in love with you."
Playing with his stockinged feet, body a living flame of sheer embarrassment and something that felt strangely akin to pleasure, Alfred sputtered. "W-wha? No, Kiku, Ivan's not gay, he told me so." At least he told me he kissed a girl, but that doesn't make a piece of cooked spaghetti stand straight.
"He told you he is not attracted to you?" Kiku sounded skeptical.
Alfred seized a nearby pillow and hid his face in it. "No, but he never said he was...s'not like he's ever asked me to go out on a date or anything..."
"You really are hopeless."
Scowling, Alfred peeked out of his cushion just a little so that his nose and narrowed eyes poked out. "Yeah? And what about you? Ivan showed up, ya think he...likes me a lot, so what?"
"I was jealous." Kiku said simply, hands curling into fists from where they rested on his thighs. "He was making point to keep you all to himself even after you two finished soccer season. You used to ride your bicycle alongside me as I went home, then suddenly Ivan insisted you come with him in his car every day. When the three of us talk, Ivan, who normally says nothing when everyone is together, now will not shut up, will say anything to keep your attention. He wants to carry your books, he gives me ugly look when you choose me over him, like he wants to slide penknife in my back—"
"Kiku, j-just wait, I can—"
"I was jealous," Kiku emphasized again, biting his lip as he always did when he had to be brutally honest about his opinion. "He always wants to touch you. Anytime you complain about a sore muscle at the lunch table, he is first to volunteer to massage. He has to sit next to you in every class! If I try to feed you from my bento because you forgot your lunch again, Ivan knocks it aside and insists on feeding you his own food. THEN he starts bringing two lunches every day, just in case you should forget yours!"
Alfred flinched. "Okay, okay, even I knew that was a little weird, but—"
"Anywhere he can follow you, he goes. You mention that you and I are going to bookstore, guess who we run into? If you asked him to throw himself in front of a bus for you, you know he would do it! I see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is noticing; it is like dog who adores his master! The way he brushes dirt off your clothes and touches your hand to get your attention and the way he smiles when you hug him! He does not want to let go!"
Starting, as if remembering himself, Kiku bit the inside of his lip, hard. "And you are dense, Al-chan, so for the most part you just smile. But lately you turn red, and it is..." God, Alfred felt like throwing himself from the window right now out of sheer mortification.
"What I want to do for you. To you. With you. I understand, Alfred, if you only like girls, and I am sorry for being so inappropriate and forgetting your feelings, but that day you were about to leave, I just..." Kiku's eyes glittered with unshed tears and the bottom dropped out of Alfred's stomach. Please don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. He wanted to wave a hand over this and just fix it all.
After a long pause, Alfred said brusquely, "You know, I never even thought about liking...liking another guy. I'm not attracted to Ivan that way. But..." A flash of pink as he licked his lip, mouth suddenly very dry.
"If you wouldn't...mind, if you promise...just this one time, okay?" He pleaded when Kiku looked up at him again. "Please, please don't get the wrong idea here. I just….this is for me, too," he warned. "If I don't….like it, d'you promise your feelings won't get hurt? Can we go back to being friends?"
This was probably a bad idea. A very bad one. He was getting Kiku's hopes up, and probably just confirming his own 105% heterosexuality. But just one flimsy kiss with someone he'd shared peanut butter and banana sandwiches with in preschool and watched horror movies with and seen naked in a bathtub (first grade, he had convinced Kiku it would be fun to try repainting the kitchen wall) would probably be innocent enough if by chance...well, there was no chance. They'd walk away having learned valuable life lessons: Alfred was not gay, and Kiku needed to stick with tentacle stories or find someone that could give him what he wanted.
"I-" Kiku quietly inhaled, exhaled slowly. Alfred would have paid anything to have known what he was thinking. "Yes. I should like that very much."
"Alright. Get over here."
Kiku slowly crawled over on his knees, and the scene was so ridiculous Alfred could have laughed. But his heart was thumping against his windpipe, making it hard to do so much as smile. The Asian paused feet away from the blond, probably hoping or expecting Alfred to make the first move.
Shaking his head, Alfred scooted over, taking hold of Kiku's chin after a moment's hesitation and guiding it up so that the young man would make fucking eye contact with him for once. Kiku squirmed, uncomfortable but holding his gaze, and Alfred felt the cream-colored skin beneath his fingers burning.
How would I have kissed Elizaveta?
He leaned forward, and Kiku hastily copied him. Their lips touched, and while Alfred wasn't exactly exploding in desire, the kiss didn't leave him with a bad taste in his mouth or paralyzed with disgust. It was just soft, simple, not terrible, not fantastic, just the simple, warm brush of skin against skin. It was nice enough that he felt an agreeable warmth briefly flutter across him. He drew back, and Kiku followed suit, eyes downcast and blushing darkly. It was good to know that despite Alfred's appalling lack of manliness-feeling lately, someone could still want him.
Someone whose name wasn't Ivan.
Without discussing it, they moved again for another tentative kiss. And then another. This wasn't bad. Kiku squeezed his eyes shut again, and Alfred very tentatively ran a tongue over the boy's pale pink lip, shivering when Kiku opened and gave him access. He wasn't exactly an open mouth smoocher because the idea was more than a little gross to him, but if he was all about trying something new...
Why not?
Kiku whimpered, his fingers digging into Alfred's sweater, eagerly tugging him closer. Just one kiss more and I'll be done. Kiku was cupping his face-okay, just another. Then that's it. Caput.
Ankle-deep in snow, a stricken Ivan Braginski watched from the front yard, haunted eyes the size of dinner plates as he watched his darling One, his god embracing Kiku Honda, kissing him. Like a leech, the dark-haired wraith clung to him, his hands sifting greedily through Alfred's beautiful, sun-spewn hair-
No.
The sunflower he'd been holding broke in his grip, yellow petals drifting to the ground. No.
At last they broke apart, Kiku looking incredibly dazed, Alfred sheepish but smiling, not shrieking because of the abomination, not calling out for his Vanya, the follower who loved him unduly and to whom Alfred had promised to adore unconditionally-
No!
Ivan would have howled if there were any sound left in him, room for anything else but horror. No. No. His cherished one was being defiled. Kiku was kissing and touching his sweet and Alfred was allowing it. He had betrayed his safekeeper. Ivan had allowed his little boy to run away from him and this was the price he paid.
"There will be precious light in your life that if you do not hold tight to, it will slip away like a fish. Hold fast to it, Vanya, never let it go. Else someone smarter than you will snatch your angel and you will be bereft."
One ragged, stuttering breath that had no air in it, no relief. He staggered to the door, his thoughts painted with the red-black tendrils of death, ravenous death, the black of justice laced with the dark ribbons that were the screams of the wrongdoing. Kiku belonged in hell, belonged to oblivion, and Ivan would not give him a moment's mercy when he sent him on his way. He would force the boy to swallow hot oil, he would kill his parents and force him to watch as he took his angel to paradise, the feast in which Kiku would never, ever be able to partake in. With yellowed eyes, the craven figure watched as the two started talking again, the seductive whore thankfully making no more moves on little Alfred, though Ivan knew what direction the wretched cogs in his head were turning.
Alfred was being tricked. Distracted by a poisonous vapor, a devil, seeking to corrupt snow-white purity and defile the angel, drag him into damnation. Anything to keep him away from his soul's twin, who understood his perfect one's value, his nobility, his beauty.
His angel was pink-faced, laughing slightly as Kiku shyly leaned forward to bump noses with him, eyes shining in the warm glow of his room.
And so It and Them were set free.
Ivan's hand flew onto the door handle, and he very nearly wrenched the door off its hinges, ghosted upstairs and stabbed Kiku in his throat. But as he watched the two only talk and laugh, he only festered in silence, in deep and absolute hatred.
There would be no more waiting. Regardless of the circumstances, Kiku Honda would die.
When Alfred and Kiku stumbled out later that evening (Alfred had wound up staying for so long that it grew dark, and Kiku offered to drive him home), talking and laughing, the former stepped on something that crunched under his shoe him. Curious, he'd looked down to find a frozen sunflower, stripped of most of its petals.
~*oOo*~
A few days later, iron bells solemnly tolled the funeral procession for the Sanchez family at St. Mary's. Needless to say, it was hardly a cheerful ceremony, presided over by Ismael's grandparents and wide-eyed little sister, who blankly looked at the mourners wishing her condolences as if she were watching a farce. Alfred hurt for her, for Mattie, whose straight and solemn face collapsed into tears not three lines into his speech. Kiku kept petting his elbow on one side of him as Alfred kept wiping at all the dust specks that kept gathering in his eyes. Damn old musty church.
Sitting next to a gaggle of Ismael's close friends, feeling hot and awkward and somewhat ashamed, wishing that he had not felt compelled to come, Alfred rocked back and forth in the pew, fingers loosening his black tie. His eyes wandered to the three coffins at the front of the church, where photos and wreaths of flowers surrounded Ismael and his parents' bodies.
What was left of them, anyhow. Alfred felt his stomach roll, and he nearly bolted out then and there.
Thank God this isn't open casket.
"Poor little girl," he heard Ivan say quietly from not too far away, not looking at him. Alfred had indeed apologized (much to Kiku's displeasure) two days hence, and while the Russian assured him all was well, the boy was distant now, no longer hovering beside him or just appearing behind him. Maybe he'd ruined things for good with him.
Sadness, relief, yet more bitter guilt and confusion when he saw Ivan soberly lay a bouquet of sunflowers at the altar, taking a moment to stoop to the little girl's level and quietly wish her well. That wasn't the face of a murderer. Was it? Shit, when would it all end?
~*oOo*~
As people began to drift off home or to the reception, Ivan called out, "Francis."
The young man turned and Ivan hurried to him, eyes strangely keen. "I was thinking…perhaps tomorrow….we might throw a little party at my place. Would you care to come?"
Francis blinked, looking taken aback.
"Party? Ah, Ivan, you know how I love a good party, but right now…."
"That is just what I mean," Ivan urged. "I think…even if the mood is somber, it might be nice to get together with friends. Ismael's friends. We can hold our own service for him, maybe have a margarita as well…." He added, and Francis had to crack a sad smile. "I think he would like it if we all got together and made a little noise."
The Frenchman thought for a moment.
"That is not a bad idea. I have no plans this weekend—I will go ask Matthew and Alfred what they are doing." His face twisted just a little. "Matthew…may not wish to attend, but maybe this will be good for him. I will see what Ludwig and Gilbert are doing as well…they'll likely bring over an entire keg of beer, any excuse to drink….I will make something sweet, sneak a wine cask from my Papa's basement…."
"Oh, and one another thing," Ivan added sweetly before Francis could wander away. "Be sure to ask Kiku to come, too."
~*oOo*~
Maybe this would be a good thing. Help Mattie get closure. Still, it was with an air of reluctance that Alfred got ready for Ivan's dumb little shin-dig, Franklin meowing in protest when he didn't bother packing her in her carrier. God, how did she know?
"You know, technically she and Vodka are living in sin," he joked to Matthew as his twin quietly fixed his tie. "We oughta throw 'em a wedding or something when this stuff's...over with."
Matthew just threw him a dirty look, and Alfred's heart sank.
By the time they arrived at the Braginski residence, Katyusha had already excused herself for the night, with the excuse that she and Natalya were staying at a friend's house. But she left a note for Matthew, and while Alfred supposed it just said something along the lines of 'wishing you sincere condolences, blah-blah-blah,' it seemed to make the young man's violet eyes brighten considerably so, his hands begin quivering incessantly. If Matthew were not in mourning, he would have loved to have stood on tiptoe to read it.
Ivan greeted Alfred and Matthew cordially, respectfully, abstaining from giving Alfred his usual bear hug whenever he came to visit, much to Alfred's relief. He still had some use for his ribs.
It wasn't long before the apartment was full of people, and once everyone arrived, Ivan cleared his throat and proposed a toast.
"To Ismael," Ivan said softly, holding up his glass. "I…did not get to know him very well, and I am sad to say we…had a disagreement…" Turned his face into pudding, more like, Alfred thought warily. "Before he passed away, but—" Ivan's voice caught, and he turned to stare at the ground, a shy and watery grin on his face, his eyes moist. "I am glad I got to meet him, with all of my good friends here." He cast the small circle of people around him a grateful, happy look, though his eyes were still quite bright, as if he were about to cry at any given moment.
"With any luck, he is in heaven right now, enjoying pina coladas with supermodels." Some people chuckled a little bit at that. Matthew even smiled just a little, eyes still downcast, red with unshed tears. "But we will not forget him, nor forgive the evil, abhorrent people who would do this to him and his family. May they find justice, and little Maria get hers for the loss of her family." He toasted and everyone soberly mirrored him. After a few gulps of his drink, Ivan turned to Matthew, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
"I am sorry, Matvey," the Russian said quietly, crossing the room to clasp Matthew's shoulder and pat it affectionately. "I know how much he must have meant to you."
Matthew managed a wan, watery smile.
"…thanks, Ivan," he said gratefully, leaning in for a brief man-hug.
Uncharacteristically still, Alfred soberly watched as Ivan wandered off to sit in a corner alone while others wandered into groups to chat. The Russian sank into an armchair and stared at his hands whilst Vodka nuzzled at them, probably wondering why his owner wouldn't scratch behind his ears.
Before he could stop himself, he had wandered over to Ivan's side, at a loss for words. He'd apologized to Ivan for his rude behavior when he'd seen him again at school at Ivan had generously waved it aside, but the two hadn't talked much since then, nor had the Russian continued haunting his home. It was certainly nice to get a vacation from him-and Kiku all too eagerly took the now vacant seat beside Alfred at his table-but it definitely left a considerable disquiet on Alfred's part. It would've been better if the Russian yelled at him and called him a couple of names, but instead he simply just avoided walking beside Alfred in the halls now, maybe talked to Francis every now and again if the young man approached him, but otherwise insisted on being alone.
Doesn't Ivan have any other friends?
But someone intent on going so far as to axe someone for him would probably be more consistent. More devilish. Not occasionally creepy, childlike and sweet. What did he say? Thank you? Great party? Sorry I was half-convinced you were an ultra-psycho, chainsaw-wielding lunatic?
"Hey, big guy." He smiled as Vodka gleefully jumped into his arms, and he affectionately patted him. "Er, nice…speech you gave."
"I am sorry, Alfred," Ivan said morosely. "I feel like I have made fool of myself."
Alfred didn't say anything. Ivan went on, sounding fretful: "All these people just…going away, it is very disarming," He shuddered as if someone had just slipped an ice cube down his back. "In Russia, such things did not happen so…so very often." A shaky laugh. "I have been thinking about it for past couple of days, Alfred, and I am starting to think there might be a connection here...behind Ismael's death and Arthur and Mr. Yao's disappearing. Ah, it is like scary story! I am afraid to know who will be next." He sounded so scared. "I never anticipated this would happen when I came here."
Kiku appeared behind his best friend, scowling at Ivan. "Al-chan, let's go. I do not want to stay long." The Asian had full intentions on denying Ivan's invitation, but Alfred had dragged him here.
The Russian's face betrayed no reaction at Kiku's appearance. His eyes were glazed over with some unreadable emotion as he looked up at the two of them, shoulders hunched in, unkempt silver-blond hair strands falling over a cheekbones that seemed more sharply protruded than usual.
"Maybe I bring bad luck with me wherever I go, da?"
Alfred swallowed heavily, instinct and sympathy starting to overshadow his prior disconcertment.
"Iv…"
"I was so angry," Ivan whispered, and Alfred half-wanted to run away then and there, as if a fish hook with favored fare were dangling above him. "When I saw him punch you, I just…" He shook his head. "Did not know what to do. I was scared, and I hurt him, and now he is dead and I will never get to apologize. Is not fair," he whimpered, looking up at Alfred with the largest, saddest eyes Alfred had ever seen.
Well, maybe not so. The look seemed dimly familiar. "Is just not fair, Alfred. Why would anyone do this? I beat Ismael because he beat you, but for someone to kill him..."
"Hey there, man," Alfred muttered gently. "You did what you thought was right at the time. You couldn't have known. It's not your fault."
Of course is not my fault. I'd do it again, and if I had more time, I would have tied his whore of a mother and horse of a father to the railroad tracks.
"Alfred..."
But the boy was not listening. He handed Vodka over to Kiku (a low blow, the shorter thought sourly as he looked pointedly away from the purring kitty) before approaching the Russian. Not starting anything back up, just taking care of a buddy. "C'mere, you big lug. Looks like someone could use a hug."
Ivan hid his bliss as Alfred gave him a squeeze, keen to make it brief and casual.
Return to my arms where you belong, my love, return to my arms.
He reluctantly let his arms took a quick, albeit reverent inhale of Alfred's scent before quickly stepping back, smiling widely and turning to the mutinous Asian glowering at him from a distance. Sensing the atmosphere, the Siberian hurriedly jumped out of Kiku's arms and zipped underneath the sofa.
"Would you care for something to drink, Kiku?" Ivan asked, picking up a flask of vodka. "You look terrible."
Kiku simply gave him a very rude hand signal. Frowning, ears burning in embarrassment Alfred just stepped forward, putting a cautionary hand on Kiku's shoulder. "Dude," he mumbled reprovingly. "I know this has been a real hard week on you, been tough on all of us, but he's really trying, man. Just give him a chance."
"I will have drink with you," Ivan offered, setting down the peach-flavored alcohol next to Kiku and heading back to the liquor table. "Just let me go back and get regular vodka…I like it better when it is not flavored."
He fetched another bottle, sat down at the table across from Kiku, and poured himself a generous amount of liquid. After a long pause, Kiku reluctantly obliged, still glaring at him.
"To Ismael." The slightest twitch at the corners of his mouth as he downed his beverage. "And to you, Kiku," he said consolingly, reaching across the table for Kiku's hand, only for the Asian to whip it back in disgust. Ivan apologetically retreated. "I know how difficult it must have been for police to question you like they did. But we all know," the Russian added, taking a sip of his drink and making a face, "You could never do such a thing."
You could never, ever love Alfred the way I do, you selfish, evil thing, and I will be the death of you, make no mistake.
Staring at Ivan with obvious loathing, Kiku downed his glass. Ivan wiped his mouth and refilled his own glass. "Care for another?" He clapped a hand to his forehead. "Oh, but you may want to take it easy for awhile. You look a little off."
"I am not 'off!'" Kiku snapped, snatching up the peach vodka. Ivan raised an eyebrow.
"Is this a challenge?" he asked mildly. "Because if it is, you really must go easy on me. I am novice drinker. Although," he sized Kiku up, smirking just a little. "You ARE very small, so I guess alcohol would catch up with you quickly, da?"
"Take another shot," Kiku snapped, refilling his glass. "And I will have another."
"Very well. To you, Kiku, for fortitude." The two drank, and Alfred turned to Matthew with a disapproving huff. "C'mon, you guys, we're supposed to be...y'know, all...uh..." He supposed the correct answer was 'sad and stuff,' but he'd more than enough of sadness these past two weeks. "Not drinking." He blinked a little at his own words. Hell, since when was he the responsible one?
His brother shrugged.
"Aw, I think Ismael wouldn't mind us getting a little rowdy," he said cheerfully, and Alfred resisted the urge to check his normally levelheaded twin for a fever. At least he was smiling again, which immediately put Alfred at ease, even as Kiku and Ivan downed another shot. "He'd just be mad that he was missing out on the fun..." Matthew shook his head a little as if to clear a fog out of it, eyes wistful. "I think I'll eat some ice cream...maybe smoke one of the cigars Francis brought on the porch. Care to join me, Al?"
Alfred wrinkled his nose. It was wonderful, seeing Mattie feeling a little better-he certainly looked more cheerful than he had in days-but Alfred wasn't in the mood to drink, and didn't want to risk his athletic health by smoking. He wasn't even in the mood to binge out on sweets. Well, beyond three or four pieces of that cake Katyusha made, anyway. "Nah. I think I'm just going to chill and watch TV for awhile. Ismael would be happiest if he knew I was rotting my brain out."
Matthew snorted but squeezed Alfred's arm all the same before he wandered over to the dessert bar and started making himself a maple syrup sundae. Alfred watched Gilbert gleefully join in the drinking contest, already a little drunk.
"Hey Al! Wanna-hic-join us?"
"I see pretty lights," Ivan sang, kicking his legs back and forth in his seat. "And pretty flowers, pretty horses, pretty, pretty angel..." He hiccuped, accidentally spilling his drink all of himself.
"Ha! I think someone can't hold their liquor!" Kiku exclaimed triumphantly. Alfred couldn't hide a grin-he knew for a fact that Kiku held the revered title of undisputed sake master amongst his cousins. Poor Ivan was in for a bad headache come tomorrow if he kept this up.
"Uh, no thanks, guys." If it were any other event besides Isamel's We're-sorry-you-burned-to-death party. "It's his first time, so don't let him have too much, okay?" Lightweight.
He headed over to the sofa and turned on the television, Vodka (the cat) diving happily into his lap.
If Alfred had asked for a drink, he might of asked for some vodka out of Ivan's bottle. And he might have wondered why Ivan would have been extremely reluctant to give him any.
Why?
Because Ivan's vodka bottle was filled with nothing but water, which was certainly not the case for a swaying, but still stoic Kiku.
~*oOo*~
By two a.m, the party seemed at last in decline. Ludwig had carried his snoring younger brother out the door, but not before admitting to a crush he had on Art teacher Mr. Vargas and breaking down in tears. Around midnight, Alfred had sent his irate parents a text message saying that he and his brother were staying over at Ivan's (Matthew got a little tipsy and Alfred was tired and admittedly a little sugar high from polishing off the lion's share of Katyusha's cake). They promised chores were waiting for them come tomorrow for breaking curfew, but he didn't mind.
For the first time in a long while, Alfred felt at ease enough to sleep soundly. Lately the nightmares pursuing his sleep had only increased, and gotten even uglier, with red skies melting into black as a horrible, iron tight, pressure fell on him, crushing him even as a dying Alfred cried under the weight of the suffocating mantle, begging for freedom. It had gotten so bad that he'd begun waking up in the morning in a cold sweat, yelling out once or twice. Matthew, being the psychologist-in-training he was, suggested that the pressure might be reflective on some bad, personal experience or a fear of enclosed spaces. Stress, maybe.
But he wasn't very overworked, nor could he recall the slightest hint of a memory bad enough to induce these dark dreams. Well, besides Ismael's confirmed murder. Lately, the Cuban boy had joined the party of faces that paraded through his thoughts at night, but the dreams were haunting him even before then. And he wasn't claustrophobic. Preferred wide open space, but a closet wasn't enough to make him nervous.
The party was an excellent idea, if only to see Ivan snoozing at the table, Kiku the triumphant standing atop it and beating his chest in victory before nearly tumbling off. While what had happened to Ismael and his family was a tragedy-a tremendous one-being here, surrounded by friends helped his heart be at ease. Ivan was simply a normal, awkward and weird human being who could drink too much and stumble off to bed singing weird ditties in Russian. Kiku was...well, regardless of what he was now, he was Alfred's childhood buddy, his closest beside Mattie. And everyone else was just there, maybe a little sad, but young and determined and fresh and alive and full of cake and booze. It had been a good night.
Francis decided to take Katyusha's vacant bed, and Alfred wondered where Natalya's room was. He had politely declined Ivan's request that he use his bed and insisted on balling up on the sofa, Mattie taking the opposite end and Kiku taking the floor, considering that was where he'd collapsed.
"Al-chan….Al-chan…yer pretty kawaii…" The young man slurred, giggling under the blanket Alfred had thrown on him. "Kawaii, kawaii, you know, I think…y'know what I…I think…Alfred?"
"I don't know. What do you think, Kiku?" Alfred asked coyly, propping himself up on his elbow and smirking at the shorter boy from the couch. Kiku laughed, face flushed.
"You're suh funny, Alfred, suh sunny...be shiny! Shiny happy good times!"
"I think this one's pretty long gone," Alfred said with a yawn, heavy eyelids flickering considerably. God, did he want to sleep, and badly. Matthew opened an eye.
"If you kick me during the night, 'Al-chan,' I'm knocking you off and you can squash Kiku."
"I love ya too, bro. Good to have you back."
"Mmmph. What's going on between you and him, anyhow?"
Alfred uncomfortably shifted around underneath his quilt. "I...I dunno. I mean, I really like Elizaveta, Mattie. And I like Kiku, as in, he's my pal, my amigo, my soul sister and all that jazz. We..." He shook his head. "Wait. I never even told you that we..." He trailed off, too embarrassed to continue.
Matthew whistled. "Wow. You did the horizontal hello?"
"The what?"
"Never mind. I'd totally know if you did...you have the exact opposite of a poker face, Al. You kissed him, right?"
"I guess."
"You don't 'guess' these things, unless you're seriously wasted, Alfred."
"Fine. Yes. I did."
"You kissed a boy, did you like it...?"
"Stop singing," Alfred snapped. "It was fine. Not about to go marching in the mustache parade," He added shortly, face hot. "Just a kiss. I don't feel...very tingly or bubbly when I do it. It's just kind of nice and sweet. Not sure if it's gonna go anywhere. I mean, I'm fine as is."
"Well, at least you're an open-minded guy," Matthew sighed, stretching awkwardly. "Oog. Al, you sure you don't wanna go sleep with Ivan? You've done it before."
"You go sleep with Ivan." Ivan may not be the persona chasing him through the forest in the dead of night, but remembering his...off dreams from last time he stayed over didn't leave Alfred keen to do it again.
"I'm fine, thanks. Do not envy him. He got awfully tipsy pretty early on, didn't he?"
"I guess. What about you and Katyusha?"
"What do you mean, what about me and Katyusha?"
"What'd she say in her note to you?"
"That you're a colossal douchebag and should go to sleep now. Francis, Ivan, Kiku and I are trying to get some shut-eye, here."
"Yeah, like she'd ever say that." Alfred's smile flashed wicked and pearly white as Kiku mumbled something in Japanese. "Does she liiiiiike you?"
"Good night, Alfred."
An hour later, it was three in the morning and the apartment was completely still. Matthew and Alfred had at last stopped pinching and punching and muffling snorts and giggles from the couch and were now dozing, both greedily drinking in the dreamless sleep that had eluded them for a large number of days. Kiku lay in the sleeping bag Ivan had gotten out, out like a light, likewise Francis, who was tucked away in Katyusha's room, drooling slightly on her pillow.
And Ivan...
...was fully awake. He'd humiliated himself for the sake of a performance before, would likely be mocked and ridiculed for it later on, but not by Kiku. After drinking several shots of water, he'd babbled the most absurd nonsense that came to his head, made a good show of pretending that he was pretending to be sober, took a nap and listened to the conversation about him before walking in loopy circles to his bed. There, he waited, heart tight with anticipation.
Around half-past three, his door slowly slid open with a quiet creak, and then there was silence. Then, after dressing and packing his equipment, he stepped out again, been careful to step only on the plush carpeting to muffle his footsteps, cringing when he heard the slightest of creaking noises anyhow.
Vodka looked up when Ivan came into the living room, perched comfortably on Alfred's back. How could his angel sleep in such a strange position, he'd never know. Grinning, he quietly hefted Kiku over his shoulder, bag, and all (so much like a worm, a worm, how suitable, a worm) before he headed to the door, taking immaculate care to do so silently and without letting cold air drift over the sleeping twins.
As he descended the steps, the nipping February wind playing at dark and beige hair, Kiku began to stir, grunting unhappily. More likely than not he was still tipsy from all the alcohol he consumed, which only worked in Ivan's favor.
"Whaddaya doing? Where are we going?"
"Shh," Ivan muttered, his cold, cold eyes fixed ahead of him, not flickering to Kiku's direction. "If you wake anyone…" He didn't bother to finish.
This was a bad, reckless move on his part. He knew it. If Kiku disappeared in the middle of the night, the police would immediately be suspicious. Feigning ignorance and claiming that the young man wandered off alone probably wouldn't work out so well; he had been at a party in memory of a departed classmate, who'd just died under mysterious circumstances. Maybe Ivan could use that to his favor, mimic Kiku's handwriting and make it seem like the young man was trying to elude the law...but invariably the spotlight would be flashed on the occupants of the apartment: Francis, Matthew, himself, and his beloved. One of whom was connected to two missing persons in their school and one missing person in a school not very far away.
He paused, feeling ill. Last chance. Kiku was kicking feebly, hopelessly, and he could return him to the floor before anyone noticed a thing.
I can't let you live. You tried to take my Alfred away from me. I have no choice.
But he hadn't thought this one out properly through. This was dangerous, and he could potentially be putting his sweet one in jeopardy if he went along this.
He could get another opportunity. Could he? When would Kiku ever be this close and vulnerable to himself again?
Before he could stop himself, Ivan let out a howl of frustration, tortured.
~*oOo*~
Matthew heard a noise from outside and stirred, groaning.
"What was that?" he mumbled, blindly fumbling for his glasses (Why? It's dark in here) before attempting to rouse his sibling. "Alfred? Alfred?"
But his brother just pushed his hand away, rolled onto his side and continued to snooze, Vodka sleepily crawling to a new spot as not to be squashed underneath Alfred and went back to sleep, purring contently. Oh, lord. Smiling, he glanced down to see how Kiku was doing, only to find to his surprise that the boy was gone, sleeping bag and all. Was he in the bathroom?
He waited, but Kiku did not appear; curious, he ventured to the bathroom, only to find it dark and unoccupied. Had Kiku stumbled off to sleep in Ivan's bed? Seemed highly unlikely, but he peeked inside anyhow, only to discover the bed empty.
Huh.
Bewildered, he leaned back and forth on his feet, unsure as to what to do. He thought he heard a noise outside, so he headed over to the window, making out two shadowy figures underneath the weak yellow glow of the parking lot lamplight.
Where were Kiku and Ivan going, this time of night? Was Ivan going to drive Kiku home or something? That probably wasn't the best idea, considering just how angry Mrs. Honda would be if she knew her underage son were drunk...
Dispiritedly considering his warm sleeping space, Matthew slowly trudged to the door, sighing. Well, he probably wouldn't catch them in time, but if Ivan were going for a drive, Matthew thought he might like to go with him. It had been a long few days and he had a lot to think about. Besides, while he didn't mind his present company, it would be nice if they weren't snoring.
What did he do? What did he do?
Ivan's mind spun as he carried Kiku out underneath the silent stars, feeling their cold gaze press into his back on the way to his car. He couldn't let the filth get away now, but driving all the way to his cabin and back would take a couple of hours, at least eight. They'd wonder where he'd been. Where Kiku had disappeared to. They'd ask questions. Then, there was the killing itself, and the beautiful mechanisms of Kiku's demise were whispering sweetly in his ears, making him long for his pipe and hacksaw.
He paused before his red vehicle, closing his eyes and forcing himself to count to ten as Kiku bumbled inanely underneath his arm. He didn't want to slaughter Kiku while the boy was still high on liquor, still buzzed with the good news of life. No, he wanted him sober, sober and cold when he received the punishment for touching what Ivan so fiercely protected and adored. While the idea of Kiku screeching in mortal agony for several hours was very appealing, before the end of it he would be begging for death, and Ivan by no means wanted to be merciful. Better not to draw it out too long, so that when Kiku died, it was whilst he still clung to life and practically died with terror when Ivan cut into him. Or put the bleeding boy in a box and buried him underneath the frozen ground as he still wheezed for air. Yes, he would bury him alive. Ivan couldn't imagine something else more horrible, considering his stepfather had done the same to him, enclosed him a cold tomb even as he cried for mercy, mercy and air.
But his will to live pushed him to break free, to dig his way back up into life. Kiku hardly looked like he had such spirit inside him, but he would have to pile stones atop his casket.
They'll wonder where you are, pleaded the last remaining strands of Ivan's sanity as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from the trunk, shackling the woozy Asian. They'll be suspicious when you return without him. The police will connect the dots and they will know.
Tough deal, as Alfred would have said.
"You...you can't..." Kiku stammered, hiccuping and writhing helplessly in his bag, letting out a confused moan.
"Oh, I can," Ivan breathed in his ear, seizing him by the hair and hold him aloft, the sleeping bag sliding off his struggling body as the young boy let out a cry of pain. "And I will destroy you, you ugly mongrel, filthy son of a bitch. Like Arthur, like Yao, like Ismael, only I intend to be much, much less kind to you."
"Ivan?"
The Russian froze, huge smile not quite falling, but his eyes widening considerably as they turned to face Alfred's brother, who stood near the apartment entrance, gawking at him, looking lost for words. "Matvey?"
Kiku slid out of his grip the way a bar of soap will when you squeeze it hard enough. Staggered, not wearing a jacket and shivering considerably, Matthew cautiously approached, staring at Kiku's whimpering form, bug-eyed.
"Ivan, what in the world are you doing to him? Why is Kiku..."
"I wanted to play practical joke on him," Ivan said lowly, still radiating in shock. "Make him think he is...in trouble?" Why did that come out sounding like a question? He couldn't blame Matthew for staring at him the way he did, like he was crazy. "I wanted to...take him on drive around the neighborhood..."
"Matthew-san...Matthew-san..." Kiku groaned, fighting his way past the opaque barrier the drink had put around his thoughts. "Please help, please help me..."
"Ivan?" Matthew asked, his voice high and nervous, and Ivan's eyes followed the way Matthew took a step or two back, like of a snow leopard's following their prey. "Let's...let's get this guy inside, okay? He doesn't look so good, and..."
"But of course, Matvey," Ivan said charmingly, picking up Kiku from the ground and grunting a little. "Will you help me carry him back in? I apologize."
Matthew didn't move for a moment.
"Ivan, where were you going to take him?"
"Just around," Ivan said sweetly, more sharply than he'd anticipated. "The block, I mean. I wanted to make him think he'd been...arrested, so I pull out old handcuffs and..."
He shook his head.
"Would you mind helping me?"
His hand casually slid into his pocket as Matthew took Kiku's other arm, wondering why on earth the normally considerably gentle Ivan Braginski had been positively seething at Kiku with that absolutely mean, almost positively vicious smile on his face. It'd been...for lack of better words, terrifying.
Ivan drew out something from his coat that glinted dully under the few working streetlamps, but poor Matthew never saw it coming.
His cell phone hummed beside him, and Alfred cussed into his pillow, rolling again to grab it and prepared to turn it off. But to his surprise the space where Matthew was sleeping was gone, and Kiku was gone as well. Nonplussed, he looked at his phone. Did everyone go out for early morning pancakes without him? Because if they did he was going to be so pissed.
Text message from: Mattie
Alfred? Alfred, wake up.
Still dazed, he nonetheless replied:
Matthew? What, are ya texting me from inside the bathroom or something?
Alfred, I'm outside. Kiku ODed.
Alfred's heart nearly stopped beating.
what
Ivan got up and found him collapsed outside. We're taking him to the hospital, stat. You should come too, in case...
A second later found Alfred slamming the door shut behind him, racing down the steps.
~*oOo*~
Ivan exhaled in relief as Alfred raced to him, turning white at the sight of not one but two bodies at the Russian's feet. The hell?! Mattie!
"Alfred! Thank God!" he exclaimed. "We have to hurry and leave now...he's barely breathing...and Matthew fainted!" he stammered as Alfred turned an incredulous face to him. "I don't know what happened to him-he just-"
"ALFRED!"
Alfred jumped about a foot in the air, staring as his supposedly near-dead best friend started shrieking from where he lay on the ground.
"ALFRED, RUN FOR YOUR LIFE! HE DID THIS TO MATTHEW, I SAW HIM—HE WANTS YOU, TOO!"
"He is very drunk, I think," Ivan murmured, with barely moving, very dry lips. "Shall you and I take him and Mattie home, zaichik?"
"ALFRED! GET OUT OF HERE! GO!" Kiku screamed, tears rolling down his face. "RUN! ALFRED, PLEASE, RUN, HE KILLED ISMAEL—I HEARD HIM SAY IT HIMSELF! RUN! HIDE!"
Oh, God.
"He is speaking madness!" Ivan cried, holding out his arms to Alfred imploringly. "I would never, ever hurt anyone, Alfred—you know your Vanya better than that, right?" His voice developed a low, near hypnotic throb as he held his hand out to the stunned American, a purr that was more a command than a request:
"Come, Alfred, trust me."
"RUN!" Kiku screamed, sobbed. "ALFRED, RUN! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?! HE IS GOING TO KILL YOU!"
And without thinking about it, Alfred seized his brother from the armpits, hoisted him into his arms, and ran. He heard Ivan crying out something behind him, but didn't pause to listen, though panic bit into him when he realized that Kiku was still keeled over on the ground where the Russian was. Whimpering in indecision, for split second he shuffled back and forth like a crab, head pounding.
Kiku, Matthew, Kiku, Matthew—! He was strong, but he could hardly do more than trudge across the parking lot with both bodies, and he had to get to safety first. Get someone to help. I'm so sorry. So sorry. I'll come back for you.
Alfred seized the cold bar of the door and tugged, but it wouldn't open. "C'mon, OPEN UP! Please! Open up, open up, open up!"
Christ. He fell back, shoved on the door with all of his might as if he could still coax it open. It was after hours and only residents had keys. He fell back, seeing Ivan's car was already zipping across the parking lot towards him-
"Come onnnnn!" He begged Mattie, roughly patting and then slapping his face. "WAKE UP, MATTIE! Wake up, wake up, wake up!"
But Matthew did not move. A new type of fear blossomed in him; what had Ivan done to him? But Ivan was clamoring out of the car now, crying his name:
Oh, hell.
With a whimper of terror, eyes on the road adjacent to the buildings, Alfred ran, running faster than he'd ever ran in his life, even with Matthew's head bobbing against his shoulder and his weight on Alfred's back.
A dim glow began to illuminate the darkness in front of him, and Alfred glanced back in spite of himself, blue eyes dilating when he saw a familiar vehicle roaring towards him, gaining on him-
Help, help, help, help.
Alfred cried out in desperation, willing to see another car's headlights appear in the darkness or better yet, flashing blue and red lights—but none came. He tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, his clumsiness and Matthew's extra weight sending the two falling with a loud THUD, liberally scraping both his palms and his knees before he dragged out his cell phone, sobbing wildly. He immediately dialed 9-1-1, seeing his shadow grow darker beneath him as he was enveloped in glaring headlights, the red car screeching to a stop-
"Help," he implored, tears sliding thick and fast down his face. "Help, please, the man who—"
He heard a door slam and Alfred's voice became caught with terror, a cool, stern voice asking him to continue on the phone line. But before he could draw breath, a hand ripped away his cell and sent it flying, and it was in abject horror Alfred watched the device fly underneath the pale yellow glow of a streetlamp, screen flashing before it plummeted to earth, shattering against the concrete.
"Noooo!"
And in a flash, Ivan was on him, violet eyes wide and mad in the darkness as the Russian tackled him, seizing him by the forearms and pinning him against the ground. His hand flew against Alfred's screaming mouth, ignoring the boy's desperate clawing and kicking for freedom, tears gleaming on his face.
Something sharp and hot and painful plunged into his arm and Alfred's struggles increased tenfold, the way a stock animal's might when it senses its impending doom.
"Shh," Ivan whispered soothingly in his ear, his hands twisting harshly into Alfred's shirt as the thrashing boy screamed behind his gag, teeth biting down in Ivan's palm and drawing the hot, metallic tang of blood in his mouth. "Shhh, my little sun. It will be fine. You're safe now. Stop struggling, dearest," The shadow breathed in his ears, holding on so tightly, so tenderly as Alfred continued to writhe and kick, despair gleaming in the lidding blue eyes as the sedative raced through his system. "It only makes me love you more."
In a matter of seconds, Alfred's flailing feet began to slow their kicking against Ivan's torso, and a few seconds later the boy lay limp, his teeth slowly releasing their death grip in Ivan's hand. Nice and limp and quiet and compliant.
"Mine," Ivan hummed, scooping Alfred up as easily as he would a four year old, planting a kiss on the silent boy's cheek. "Mine, mine, you're back where you belong, my love, so don't cry, don't cry, don't cry." A warm pink tongue languidly slid up Alfred's face, lapping at any stray tears.
Ignoring the ragged bite wound on his hand, Ivan carried Alfred to the backseat, humming as he slipped a thick quilt around him, slowly laying him down with a loving touch at Alfred's temple, smoothing his hair away as he set a pillow behind his head. Then, after closing the door shut behind him, he briskly trotted to the edge of the road and picked up Matthew, who groaned slightly as Ivan carried him to the front seat but did not stir. His face fell just a little. Poor, poor Matthew. Why did he have to go sticking his nose where it did not belong? Now Ivan had no choice but to take him with him. What had to be done wouldn't make his Alfred happy in the slightest, but what else could he do?
"I am sorry, Matvey," Ivan said quietly, before slamming the door shut, feeling the satisfying roar of the engine as he floored the accelerator, making a beeline for the apartment parking lot. Kiku would be thrown into the trunk, and with any luck there would be enough air to keep him alive during the drive. The young man had a good, hard punishment awaiting him for trying to tempt his angel, and Ivan was already salivating with thoughts of the earth drinking up Kiku's blood.
But that could wait. He had a few things to pick up if he wanted his darling one to feel at home.
His passengers were very quiet on their way up North, not questioning Ivan's choice of music, which was primarily Tchaikovsky, interspersed with the occasional low lullaby.
~*oOo*~
*Swoons*
Okay. So I don't update very often. Sue me. But I wanted to have something ready for St. V Day, so here's your valentine! :) I hope everyone enjoyed.
Ivan acts so well, he oughta go for Broadway. But I think he's a little…preoccupied as of right now.
Alfred's like the Princess Peach in a lot of my work...well, write what you know.
Poor, poor Alfred, Matthew, and Kiku. I'm something of a sadist, aren't I? Anyhow, if you guys are still interested in this story, please review, and I will love you like my firstborn. ^_^ Literally, I will track you down and hug you.
Next Chapter: Matryoshka