A/N: I've just been randomly inspired to write this... I just love Alejandro. So so much :) Every time I click the red X in the corner of my screen, I see him on my desktop, and I've just been infatuated with him like Sierra with Cody lately! Also, I loathe Jose, and I like to think there's something deeper than just teasing (did you see how angry Alejandro was at being called Jose? If it was just teasing, he'd probably be a bit more calm...), and Jose must be the reason Alejandro is the way he is. He's kind of like Draco Malfoy from Harry Potter.

And just so you know, the title is Spanish (according to Google Translate) for Pain.

Disclaimer: As much as I'd love to be as good of an artist as the artists for Total Drama, I don't own it. Unfortunately, I don't own Alejandro Burromuerto either.

Warning: the Spanish in here most likely will be wrong, because I don't speak it and Google Translate is as accurate as Izzy's stories.


The blaring beeps of the alarm clock sounded every single morning, at 6:00 sharp. The 14th of April, 2009 was no exception. It was simply an average Tuesday in a not-so-average household.

Alejandro Burromuerto quickly jumped out of bed and hit the 'off' button. He did everything necessary for departure- dressed, showered, ate, brushed teeth and hair- and left to go to the bus stop. Nothing odd, just an average teen going to school.

Well, except that this was Alejandro Burromuerto, not some John Smith. He was, as Jose had put it all those years ago, hermoso. [beautiful] Of course, every lady in school knew it, and fell for his irresistible charms. They all did eventually. One by one, they all fell for his tricks.

As the other kid at the bus stop, some freshman by the name of Opal, finally left her house, the bus came. As always, the bus driver glared at Alejandro. He always did, for a low-life poor man, he was quite perceptive and knew of the Spanish boy's malice. Alejandro rode the bus, suffered through classes, and ate his lunch before the focus of this story came into play.

"Preparate," he whispered to himself before opening the door to his house. [brace yourself]

The entrance hall looked the same as always. Two loveseats were against each side wall, the curtains on the windows perfectly matching the loveseats' print. Beautiful, expensive portraits littered the walls.

Today was a lucky day for Alejandro, because he was alone in the room. Sometimes, Jose would wait for his brother to return, but it seemed today he had relented. Alejandro looked around the first floor and found nobody. Though he thought it was a bit odd at first, he quickly remembered Carlos had a game in a nearby town today, and everyone else was surely there. With much more optimism than before, the Spanish youth went upstairs to his bedroom and started on his homework.

It wasn't until after Alejandro had enjoyed his solitary dinner of beef vegetable soup that the Burromuertos, minus Carlos, arrived home from the game. They seemed horribly angry; Carlos' team must have lost. He had just finished putting away the bowl when Jose entered the kitchen. It just had to be him of all people.

"Al, we must have a chat, it's been nearly a day, si, Al?"

"Don't call me that."

"Why ever not, Al?" Jose punched him in the arm as the vulgar nickname escaped his lips.

"We've been over this a thousand times, I don't like it!"

"Ah, but Al, it is only your favorite brother who calls you Al. Don't you love me?"

"Carlos never calls me that horrid nickname," Alejandro smirked slightly at the look of rage on Jose's face. "And to answer your question, no, honestly, I don't."

Jose's fists were clenching, he glared at his brother with a look of venomous hatred. "Que. Pedazo de trabajo desagradable, obtendrá lo que viene a ti. Ven a mi habitación. Ahora." [You. You nasty piece of work, you will get what's coming to you. Come into my room. Now.]

Alejandro was starting to regret what he'd said. He didn't lie, but he knew better than to provoke Jose. Why did he have to be so estupido? [stupid]

He followed Jose into his room, subconsciously rubbing the spot he'd been punched in earlier. Jose shoved him in, shut the door, and smiled.

"Well, Al, you've done it. I had my doubts, but there was just a little ray of hope... it has disappeared, Al."

"What do you mean?"

"Ah, estupido still, I see."

"I get straight A's!"

"Do you think I care? What I mean is, I had just a small hope that you wouldn't be like this. That you'd turn out to be a real Burromuerto, worthy of carrying our name. Turns out I was wrong. You, Al, are a failure. A stain to the name of Burromuerto, a bruise on humanity. I'll bet Mama and Papa only kept you out of pity."

His eyes widened, shock and pain evident in his light green irises. "How can you say that?"

"Simple. I was raised to be honest."

"How am I a failure? I do everything right, I'm a good athlete, I get good grades-"

"Good? Al, a 95 is an F compared to my straight 100's. As for being a good athlete, you have as much potential as that guy Tyler on that ridiculous show you love."

"What?"

"You are a failure, Al. That's all there is to it. You were born to the Burromuerto family, yet you have no talent but to be a wannabe, as sharp as a pillow, ugly, and just plain useless."

"How am I-"

"Let me elaborate, your poor, unintelligent mind surely couldn't keep up." Jose gripped Alejandro's shoulder hard enough to make him wince. "You've spent your whole life trying to be me. How pathetic. I am a gift from God, you are little more than an eel."

"I don't try to be you, that would be a horrible life!"

Jose slapped him. "Care to explain how constantly trying to best someone, kissing up to them, and mimicking their actions is possibly not what a pathetic wannabe does, Al?"

"I don't-"

"Don't deny it, you'll only look dumber. Which brings me to the next part. You are as sharp as a pillow, Al."

"Yo no soy retardada, hijo de puta!" [I am no retard, you bastard!]

"My sincerest apologies, Al. I do realize I'm giving you far too much credit."

Alejandro hissed in anger before being kneed in the kiwis.

"Now, I'm not sure if you're blind or something, but long hair is meant for girls."

"It doesn't... matter..."

"Oh, Al, how awful it would be to never see my gorgeous face. I am so sorry to hear you are blind."

"I am not blind!"

"Are you gay, then?"

"Wha- of course not!"

"Long hair, ear piercings, and undershirts are for the other crowd, Al. No straight man would ever look so girly. Act it, too."

"How do I act girly?"

"Remember last Thursday? I do remember giving you what you needed to the point where you were..." Jose snorts. "Crying."

"That never would have happened if you didn't beat me up so much!"

"I do it because you deserve it. How much do you think you need tonight, Al?"

"Don't tarnish my name like that, for the thousandth time. I say none, as I did nothing wrong."

"Nothing wrong? Ha, you're funny, Al. Would you prefer a beating or some extreme torture?"

"I... whatever."

"I'll take that as extreme torture. Just hold on a sec while I find what I need and alert the rest of the Burromuerto family."

Jose left the room and locked it, leaving Alejandro alone. He was terrified, if he was to be honest with himself. What in the name of the lord could Jose need to torture him? As if he hadn't already done enough! Horrible visions of last Thursday entered his mind, and he struggled to think of what was worse. One horrible thing crossed him.

"No..." he breathed. Jose wouldn't. He was many things- cruel, cold, heartless, sadistic- but he was entirely straight. He wouldn't risk his manhood just to torture Alejandro, would he...?

His thoughts were interrupted when Jose reentered the room. Alejandro gasped as he saw the knife in his hand.

"What are you going to do to me?" He whispered.

"Oh, I won't kill you, don't worry. Take off your shirt."

"Why?"

"I said so. The more you obey now, the less it'll hurt sooner." Alejandro doubted his brother meant this, but if he protested too much, his obituary would be written. He removed his shirt, thinking of every happy thought he could muster. Anything to distract him from the pain that would come.

"That's good, eso es bueno. [that's good] Now, Al, lay face down..."

As he turned over, Alejandro started to hyperventilate. He knew Jose was going to write something awful on his back. He'd probably bleed for hours, and the pain, oh, the pain...

"So, Al, I'll go ahead and warn you, this may not be as fun as last Thursday."

Al bit his tongue and tasted blood as the first mark hit his naked back. It was a straight line. Another followed, and he started to breath heavily. The next one brought a slight whimper out of him.

"That's it, Al. There's the letter F, now just keep hurting. I'll go deeper if I'm not satisfied, I like to hear you scream, you know."

Alejandro felt shivers at his words. He couldn't believe that, as a child, he'd idolized Jose and wanted to be just like the cold-hearted sadist.

Another flash of white-hot pain, and Alejandro whimpered again. He couldn't help it, not only was there intense, burning pain, he could feel the blood trickle down his back. It was horrible.

This maniacal torture lasted for another eleven lines. As the pain worsened, he started to scream out Spanish cuss words, mostly telling Jose to go "a la mierda y déjame en paz", [fuck yourself and leave me alone] plus similar phrases. The letters on his back now spelled out F-A-I-L-U-R, and Jose didn't hesitate to share this.

"Almost done, Al! Just need the E, and 'failure' should be tattooed on your back forever!"

"No..." he knew the pain would soon consume him.

By the second line of the E, Jose got what he wanted. The wound spilled out crimson the color of Alejandro's favorite shirt, and the tortured young man had finally screamed.

It was very satisfying to Jose, to hear the screams. They weren't even words this time- all the more pure pain, right? He could tell his brother was seconds away from passing out (he already had a crimson back and sounded like a man dying of AIDS), but Jose hadn't finished yet. He drew another line, listened to the increasingly loud bloodcurdling screams his brother was emitting.

Alejandro passed out just as the last line was drawn.


A/N: Whoa. I feel so bad writing this... I love Alejandro, it should have been Jose getting tortured like that! Anyway, I like to think that something similar to this happened between Jose and Alejandro, causing our beloved Spanish competitor to finally break and become cold and heartless like Jose.