A/N: Hey guys :3 I'm completely sorry for ignoring this story for so long . I am sort of losing inspiration for it. Like I know exactly how I want it to go, but I kinda hate the way I've been writing it -_- Like I love the idea for it but I'm a shitty writer and this story is really reflecting that. :P But yeah I'm debating whether or not to scrap the whole story and start over from scratch or just continue it. I'll probably end up rewriting it once I get my laptop in April 'cause you have no idea how super hard it is to write decently on an iPod touch :/ . But anywho~ I wanted to update because surprisingly there are a lot of people who have favorited and followed this story and I would hate to let y'all down. Just beware that I might rewrite it in the near future.
Sweat was rolling down the Brit's forehead as he awoke from his hellish nightmare. Never had he had such a vivid and realistic nightmare before. It had scared the hell out of him. Why the hell was he dreaming about Allistor? Had he been the other little boy in his other dream? Why did he keep dreaming him being... being...
Arthur felt like he was about to be sick.
He scrubbed at his eyes furiously to try and rid himself of the memory of his brother's screams. They had sounded so real...
A knock at the door snapped Arthur out of his thoughts and he looked around and finally noticed that he was alone in his dorm. The idiot American probably forgot his key again. Rolling his eyes, the boy hopped out of bed and quickly answered the door. What he saw shocked him silent, which was a very hard feat indeed.
"Arthur!" His older brother Aiden yelled enthusiastically and threw his arms around the smaller boy. "We missed you so much buddy! The house is way too quiet without you!"
Arthur stood stunned in his brother's embrace and looked at his oldest brother for some sort of reasoning for this visit. Said brother carefully avoided his gaze and made his way into the small dorm, his head nearly touching the ceiling. He looked worn out and for the first time ever, old.
"I'm so happy to see you both..." Arthur began worming his was out of the tight embrace. "But, what are you guys doing here?"
Aiden sighed and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. Him and Dylan exchanged looks over the shorter boy's head which did not go unnoticed by the Brit. Arthur eyes them both suspiciously and tapped his foot impatiently as they both remained silent. They obviously needed to tell him something important if they had to make the four and a half hour drive out here, so why not just tell him? He hated secrets.
"Arthur why don't you sit down-"
"No!" The blonde snapped, feeling unusually angry at the moment. He couldn't explain it. He should be thrilled to see his brothers right now, but a part of him was getting very pissed that they wouldn't just cut to the chase. "Either you tell me why you are here or leave. I am in no mood for beating around the bush right now."
"Arthur... I don't know how to tell you this, but Allistor is... Allistor is dead." Aiden mumbled quietly a he stared intently at the floor.
Arthur felt his mouth go dry. Allistor was dead? As much as the Brit wanted to want to jump up and down and celebrate, he felt a strange pang of sadness. Even if he had been a sadistic bastard, Allistor had still been his brother.
"Oh." Arthur couldn't think of what else to say. Should he say that was terrible? No. Should he break down and weep for his brother? Probably not.
Dylan walked up then and placed a hand on the Brit's shoulder.
"We know he hurt you, Arthur and we will never forgive him for that, but we just thought it would be nice to hold a service for him. You are not obligated to come. We would all understand."
"I'll come." Arthur said shakily. "H-How did he die?"
Aiden looked away and the hand on Arthur's shoulder felt suddenly heavier. "He committed suicide." The eldest brother finally said.
The room was filled with silence. Aiden still had his gaze fixed on Alfred's Steelers posters and Dylan was trying his best to remain stoic in his brothers' presence.
Arthur cleared his throat then catching the attention of the two men. "Can I ask something?"
The Brit exhaled slowly. He knew this was probably not the best time to ask this question, but he had to know. He might not ever forgive the Scotsman for what he did, but maybe he can understand why he did it. "Did my dad... hurt Allistor?"
Both brothers tensed at the question and the hand from Arthur's shoulder snapped back as though the boy had just announced that he had leprosy.
"You were too young to remember that-" Aiden whispered. "Who told you that? How did you-"
"Nobody told me." The younger cut in quickly. "I-I've been having nightmares."
"We don't talk about that." Dylan snapped quickly. His usual stoic demeanor quickly melting away as his rage built up.
"Arthur please. Just leave it be." Aiden pleaded quietly.
"Okay, okay fine. I'm sorry you guys." He really didn't need them to tell him the morbid details anyways. His dreams were doing the job just fine it seemed. Silence consumed them as they all stood there not sure how to continue.
Luckily a loudmouthed American and his much more tolerable brother decided to walk in at that moment.
"I'm telling you Mattie I'm fine! It's really no big-" Alfred stopped immediately at the sight of the trio standing solemnly in the middle of his room. His angry expression melted away immediately and he gave his usual 100-watt grin. "Artie dude what the hell? You should've told us you were gonna have people over. I would've totally bought us, like, some burgers or something!"
"Ah, yes. Sorry about that. Um. Matthew, Alfred, these are my brothers: Aiden and Dylan."
Both brothers nodded curtly and Matthew returned the gesture with a shy wave. Alfred stepped forward dramatically and shook the pair's hands enthusiastically. "No way I didn't know Artie had brothers! That's super awesome!"
"It's Arthur, git." The Brit piped in haughtily. The tense atmosphere in the room was temporarily forgotten for the moment as everyone laughed as the prissy blonde and Alfred continued their banter.
The sun was beginning to set in Berlin when Francis Bonnefoy finally woke up. Two wine bottles he had downed that morning clattered to the ground as he ascended from his bed and trudged over to the bathroom. He felt like shit. Three hours straight of being pounded into by a three hundred pound man and waking up to a hangover can do that to a person. Francis groaned as he pulled out a bottle of pain killers and swallowed two dry.
Another day, another dollar. Quite literally.
The Frenchman sighed as he proceeded to shave his face, leaving just the right amount of stubble on his chin. Nothing sounded better right now than to curl back up in bed and not get up until tomorrow, but unfortunately he was behind on rent again and he could no longer rely on his parents to help him out after that one time where he had lost their money in a game of cards. He was surprised his parents hadn't cut him off sooner seeing how that was probably his third or fourth time gambling their money away.
A stinging in his left cheek brought the man back into reality as he nicked his face with the blade. Cursing softly the man dabbed his cheek with toilet paper to try and stop the bleeding and small drops of crimson were beginning to stain his white button up. It wasn't like the frenchman minded much. Why should he be allowed to wear such a pristine and innocent color when he himself was not? He preferred it for the color to be soiled and stained. It suited him better than white ever could.
There you go being poetic again, Bonnefoy. He thought snidely. True the Frenchman had been very poetic and quite the dreamer in his youth, but very soon he learned the cruel, hard reality that luxury came at a price that Francis could most certainly not afford.
Deeming the cut healed, he threw away the toilet paper and rinsed his mouth before quickly brushing his wavy locks. He had to hurry if he was going to assume his usual position on the corner of Karl-Liebknecht-Straße.
Downing another pain killer for good measure, Francis was ready to depart. He locked up his apartment door and headed out onto the empty street. Any other day the city would've been bustling with life, but it looked like a storm was on its way and everybody had run to the shelter of their homes before it could hit. They were all probably cuddled up and warm with their loved ones and didn't have a fucking care in the world. Lucky bastards.
Lighting flashed in the distance as Francis made it to his corner. Now all he had to do was stand and wait for some poor bloke willing to be suckered out of his money for a good time. The blonde leaned against the street sign pole and brought out a pack of cigarettes. Not even two seconds after he ignited one a man came sauntering down the road. Francis eyes him wearily. There was a swagger in the man's step that the blonde did not quite like. Still a costumer was a costumer.
"Bonjour. How are you this fine evening, monsieur?" Francis purred bringing the cigarette up to his lips as he studied the man. Red hair, piercing green eyes, slim figure; this man was nothing less than gorgeous. This only served to heighten Francis' nerves. His usual clientele were mostly, and pardon him for not being particularly politically correct, fat and ugly but at the same time lonely and craving affection. This man did not look like he needed either and usually when Francis ended up with a pretty boy, they usually turned out to be sadistic jerks looking for a revenge lay.
The red haired man smirked and nodded to the pack of cigarettes. "Hand me one of those. I haven't had a fag in a couple of hours."
The Frenchman blinked at the man's strange accent but extended the box to him anyway. The red head took a cigarette and a lighter from his own pocket before inhaling the tobacco. Francis was stared at the man's smirking lips breath out a cloud of smoke as though in a trance. He couldn't put his finger on it but this man seemed really familiar.
"So how does this work? I haven't purchased a whore before."
This time Francis couldn't help but gape at the man's bluntness. He quickly gained his composure and answered the man. "I have a place not too far from here."
"Great." The man answered with a little too much vigor if you asked Francis. "I'll pull up my car."
With that the man walked away and turned a corner leaving Francis quite bewildered. A sinking feeling began to form in the frenchman's stomach and he had half the mind to turn around and high tail it out of there, but gnawing reminder that he would actually like to et something this week stopped him from doing so. Instead he waited quietly as a black car came around the corner. Assuming it was the man, he walked up and got in.
"Glad you could make it." The man said smoothly and Francis had to force himself not to roll his eyes.
"Yeah..." He answered back awkwardly and shifted in his seat. He did not like the way the man was looking at him. His smile was borderline sadistic and his eyes held a malicious glint.
Please, God, let this end quickly.
"So I was thinking we go to my place instead." The man said casually, his eyes now focused on the road but he snuck a sly glance at the blonde and smirked. "It's much more... private."
"Hn." The frenchman's palms were beginning to sweat. He did not like this at all.
The rest of the drive was silent which Francis was thankful for. He let his eyes wander out the window as they drove out of the city. His mind subconsciously went to a news report he had seen about a month ago where a prostitute had been found stabbed to death after disappearing for six days. He shook his head to get rid of those thoughts. He had accepted many rides from complete steamers scarier than this man, so he did not know why he was overreacting so much. There was just something do hauntingly familiar...
Blue eyes wandered over to his companion as he studied him silently. He did look familiar. Maybe he had been a costumer before? No. Francis was pretty sure he would remember this man. So why did he feel like he knew him. His eyes wandered past the man's emerald orbs and his eyes widened in recognition. Fuck it all only one family had those eyebrows. And only one person in that family had fiery red hair. In other words, Francis was screwed.
Allistor chuckled darkly. "Oh good, you remember me."
"Oh, God." Francis fumbled with his seatbelt clumsily, prepared to jump out of the car if he had to. This was Allistor. The same man who had sewed his childhood lover's mouth shut just for being a little past curfew. What the fuck was he doing here. "Please God, no."
Francis felt a cool hand on his halting his actions and he stared up at the emerald hues fearfully. The scottish man's wolfish grin widened at the horror in the other's ocean blue eyes. This was going to be more in than he had thought.
"Welcome to hell, you filthy French whore."
A/N: Gah! I'm sorry this one's shorter you guys &Yup I am a horrible person :3 Cliffhanger ftw! :DDD Review people or else I'll send Allistor after you with a machete ^_^ tehe just kidding, but you all should still review! :D