Chapter One

Alfred opened the front door to his house as quietly as possible and stuck his head in to see if the coast was clear. So long as he made the four or five steps from the door to the stairs, he'd be home free and no one would ever know that he was two hours past curfew. He glanced from left to right. The living room light was on, but no one was in there. He heard soft voices from the kitchen, but if he was quiet enough and quick enough he was certain that no one would catch him.

Alfred took a deep breath and opened the door just wide enough to fit through. He took one step, then another; he was half way there! Two more steps and he'd be- "Just where the bloody hell have you been for the past God knows how long?"

Shit.

Alfred put on his best "I don't know what you're talking about" face and smiled at his father.

"Hey Dad, sorry I'm late. It won't happen aga-"

"I'm too old to fall for your cock and bull stories, lad," Arthur cut him off. Stalking across the floor to get a better look at him, Arthur gave his son a once over. "You've been drinking," he said, the displeasure evident in his voice. It wasn't a question and Arthur left him with no room to argue, silencing any excuses that might have followed with a single glare.

"I've still got my associates over," Arthur said. "Get up stairs and go to bed; we'll discuss this in the morning."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "It's not like it's a school nigh-"

"I said we'll discuss this in the morning," Arthur said, putting an end to the conversation.

Alfred turned around and began to climb the stairs. "And don't you dare slam your door, Alfred," Arthur called up after him.

Alfred flipped him the bird and slammed his door, just to spite him.

Sighing, he sat down on his bed, kicking his shoes off and throwing off his coat, not caring where they landed.

"Why should I listen to you?" he managed to mumble before falling asleep. "It's not like you're my real Dad anyways..."

The next morning at eight o'clock sharp (thanks to his alarm clock) Alfred woke up with a slight headache and an extremely dry mouth. He had fallen asleep with his glasses on (again) but thankfully they had been shoved, unharmed, to the side. He put them on and, noticing he had fallen asleep in yesterday's clothes, found a new t-shirt and a fresh pair of boxers.

By 8:05 he was making his way down the stairs and nearly tripped over his little sister's stuffed fish doll. He picked it up by a frayed fin and brought it with him to the kitchen where, judging by the smell of tea and crepes, his two least favorite people were.

"Marine," he said, shoving the toy into the the little girl's arms. "You gotta stop leaving your shit on the stairs. You almost killed me, kiddo."

Marine giggled and apologized, hugging the plush toy to her chest.

"Watch your language around your sister," Arthur said from behind the paper, not bothering to look away from the article he was reading to properly greet his son.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Good morning to you too, old man."

At that remark Arthur snapped the paper shut and gave Alfred a warning glare. "You're already in hot water, boy. Breaking curfew and coming home..." he spared a glance to the youngest member of the family and stopped himself before saying 'drunk'. He cleared his throat and continued. "Would you really like to add disrespect to your ever growing list of offenses?"

Alfred was about to reply in kind, but Francis cut him off. "Must you two start everyday this way?" he said with a sigh, setting a platter in the middle of the table.

"Well maybe if he'd stop being such a prick-"

"If Alfred would simply learn some respect-"

"Would the two of you fermes les bouches and eat?" he said between clenched teeth. Every morning was the same with these two. Of course he and Arthur had their spats, but at least they waited until breakfast was over. Usually.

"They're peach and blackberry," he said, indicating to the crepes. "Now eat."

Arthur regarded the food with distain. "I don't see why I must be forced to eat this rubbish every weekend, frog."

"Ah, rosbif, I thought we agreed not to fight in front of les enfants?"

Marine tugged at the sleeve of Francis's silk dress shirt. "What is it, ma coeur?" he asked sweetly.

"We can't eat yet, Papa. Mattie isn't here."

Francis and Arthur both seemed shocked by this news and looked around, both doing a mental head count.

"Be a dear and go fetch your brother, darling," Arthur said.

Marine bounced out of the kitchen, shouting for Matthew to wake up at the top of her little lungs.

Alfred rolled his eyes at the entire exchange. If he had been late for breakfast, he never would have heard the end of it. Not that he was jealous of his brother, but it always seemed as if Matthew could get away with anything. If Matthew had broken curfew last night (not that he ever would) Arthur would not have cared, or even noticed. It was hardly fair.

"So what's my punishment?" Alfred asked with mock interest. He grabbed two crepes and took a large bite, waiting for Arthur to speak.

Arthur took a sip of his tea, regarding his eldest child with a look of equal parts irritation and disappointment. "Alfred," he began, "you lack humility and respect-"

"I learned from the best," Alfred chimed in, cocky grin firmly in place.

"You're not helping yourself, cher," Francis said, though he couldn't quiet help smirking in amusement. Those two were exactly the same; it was a pity that fact caused them to fight more than they got along.

Arthur's face was beginning to grow red with anger. "I will not stand for your insolence any longer, Alfred," Arthur warned. "Until you decide to grow up and stop acting like a child I'm going to-"

"What, ground me?" Alfred snorted. He was so used to this speech he could practically recite it verbatim. 'Alfred, you're a disappointment, Alfred you're so immature, Alfred, why can't you be more like your brother? Alfred, you never listen. Until you learn your lesson you're grounded young man.'

Arthur smiled. "No, I'm not going to ground you, seeing as that never seems to work with you."

Alfred raised a brow at that comment, trying to look as if he was humoring the older man, but his stomach clenched a little. This was new; what was Arthur planning? From the look on his face, it wasn't anything good...

"Until you've learned some respect, I'm confiscating all of your video games and consoles."

Alfred rolled his eyes. Sure that would suck, but it wasn't as if he couldn't just go over to Kiku's and-

"And I'll be calling Mrs. Honda and letting her know that you are not permitted to play video games for the time being."

Alfred shot up from his chair. "That is completely unfair!" he shouted. "You never do this to Matt!"

As if on cue, Matthew and Marine appeared in the door way. Francis noticed them and shook his head. Matthew bit his lip, looking between Arthur and Alfred. He sighed and ushered Marine away from the kitchen.

"Sit down, Alfred," Arthur said.

Alfred didn't move.

"Sit down," Arthur said again.

"Cher, listen to your father," Francis said soothingly.

A few more moments passed and finally Alfred listened. He sat down and pointedly turned his face away from the two of them, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"I realize that your behavioral problems are largely my fault," Arthur said. "So from now on I will be taking a more active role in your life."

Alfred snorted. "Right, like you have the time for that."

Arthur continued to speak as if he had not heard him. "Everyday after football practice you will come to my office where you will do your homework and help around the office. This is not part of the punishment, Alfred," Arthur added, speaking more gently. "This is to help you foster a sense of responsibility. Of course you will also be pai-"

Alfred stood up again, no longer listening. His chair tottered for a moment before falling back as he stormed from the kitchen and up the stairs. He threw on some clothes, a heavy coat, and grabbed his keys. As headed for the front door he ran into Matthew.

"I'm going out for a bit," he muttered. "Don't call me."

A half an hour or so later Alfred found himself pulling off the highway and into the city. He grabbed his cellphone to check the time (the time in his truck was never right) and he saw that he had five missed calls and two voicemails, all of them from the house. He put his phone on speaker and played the messages.

"Alfred I understand that you are angry with me," Arthur said, voice tired and aggravated. There was a long pause. "Look I understand that things have not always been great between us. But believe me I am... I do try. Perhaps I have been too harsh." Another pause. "Alfred, come home. We need to talk."

"I don't have a damn thing to say to you," Alfred said aloud.

The next message played.

"Alfred if you don't come home this instant I will do more than take away your video games, do you understand? I am sick of your constant disobedience and foolhardiness. Get your arse home. Now."

"Bite me," Alfred said to his phone and deleted the messages.

He glanced down at the time. It was nearly ten AM. Surely someone would be awake by now? Barely paying attention to where he was driving, he began looking through his contacts-

And promptly rear-ended someone.

He hadn't been going more than twenty-five miles per hour (thank god) but it had been enough to cause his airbag to deploy.

"Mother fucker," he cursed, pushing at the airbag. Finally it went down, and he looked out the window to asses the damage. His truck looked ok, but he couldn't say the same for the tiny convertible in front of him.

Suddenly there was a distinct tap, tap at his frosted window. He turned to find a frighteningly tall man in a business suit smiling down at him.

He gulped and stared, realizing that it must be the man whose car he had hit. He glanced back to the car and gulped again.

Make that the man whose expensive car he had hit.

The man motioned for him to roll his window down. Reluctantly, he did.

"Perhaps if you had not been too busy texting you would have noticed the red light, da?" the man threatened in the guise of a question, his voice thick with a Russian accent.

Alfred put on his most winning smile. "Man, I am so sorry about that! You're right, it is totally my fault. I'll pay for the damages." Inwardly, he was cringing. He'd never hear the end of it from his old man...

The stranger's face remained frigidly cheerful. Alfred's stomach dropped to the floor.

The Russian laughed. "It is a pity that I know for a fact that you could not afford to have my bumper replaced, as the contraption you are driving seems to be more rust than anything else."

Alfred took great offense to that. He had worked long and hard on his truck, painstakingly finding all the right parts and lovingly putting it together himself. He had built his truck from the bottom up, and no one, not even the man he had run into, was going to trash-talk his baby.

"Maybe if you didn't waste your money on foreign crap and got a good ol' American car this wouldn't be an issue," he seethed.

He laughed again. "Da, but American cars are so ugly, and it would not have stopped you from rear-ending me would it, you stupid boy?"

By now the light had turned green. People were honking their horns and starting to drive around them. Alfred's face was flushed with anger and embarrassment; he could feel everyone staring at them, and if the stupid foreign guy hadn't already called the cops, he was sure that someone else would if they didn't get off the road.

"We're blocking traffic," Alfred said, trying to keep his cool.

The man gave a surprised look around, as if noticing that fact for the first time. "So we are," he laughed.

Alfred got the distinct urge to punch him in the face. Maybe then he'd change his expression.

"So are you going to call the cops or what?" he asked.

The man tapped a finger against his chin, thinking it over. "Nyet, I think that will be unnecessary," he said. "But I would very much like to have a look at your driver's license."

Alfred rolled his eyes but dug in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He slipped it out and handed it to him.

The man glanced at it then pocketed it.

"Hey you can't just-"

The Russian paid him no mind and had already walked back to his car and started the engine again. Alfred had no choice but to follow him.

Alfred felt like he had just been on a wild goose chase. The stupid man's car obviously hadn't been too banged up (ok so the bumper was definitely bent and crooked, but it wasn't as if it was causing sparks to fly on the road or anything) but it was in good enough condition to get back on the highway.

Three exits, two red lights and one left turn later, and Alfred found himself in the parking lot of a nearly empty diner.

Alfred wasn't the most observant boy, but he knew there was something a little off about the situation. What sort of man took the guy who had just run into him to the parking lot of a restaurant?

"A serial killer," he said out loud. "Oh my god I rear-ended a serial killer."

He instantly locked his doors. There was noway the Russian serial killer was going to get him. Unless he beat his door in with a baseball bat or something. He instantly paled and took his car out of park, intent on leaving. It had been stupid to follow him; he didn't need his license that badly. He could just go to the DMV later and get a new one and not get killed and everything would be OK.

He began to drive but the Russian was blocking his path. Alfred gave a (very manly) screech and slammed on the brakes.

The Russian smiled and beckoned for him to roll his window down. Alfred wasn't sure why, but he did.

"You weren't planning on leaving, were you?" he asked.

Alfred glared but didn't say anything.

The Russian stepped up to the driver's side and procured some papers from his briefcase. He held them up to Alfred who took them reluctantly.

"What's this?" he asked. He flipped through the pages but there were just so many words he couldn't bring himself to read it. The last page, however, had a signature and a name typed directly beneath it. The name was Ivan Braginski.

"Are you Ivan Bra-whatever?" Alfred asked, ever tactful.

The Russian's smile seemed to grow more sinister. "Braginski," he corrected with false cheerfulness.

"Whatever," Alfred said. "What are these papers?" he asked.

"Oh, if you'd just sign the last page I'll clear you of any and all financial responsibility for the wreck."

Alfred frowned. "Why do I have to sign papers for that?"

Ivan giggled. "It's just paperwork. Boring legal stuff; it is nothing for you to worry about."

Alfred thought about it for a moment. Sure it wasn't the best idea to sign papers some stranger gave you, but if it got him off the hook and he didn't have to pay for any damages and never hear the end of it from Arthur...

"Gimme a pen," he said, making up his mind in under two seconds.

Ivan was more than happy to oblige.

Alfred quickly signed his name and handed him back the papers. Ivan promptly put them away.

"So can I go now?" Alfred asked, all smiles and happy to have gotten out of the predicament scott-free.

Ivan's smile grew larger. "I am thinking not," he said, placing a hand on the door to Alfred's truck, as if to keep him in place.

Alfred felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "W-what do you mean?"

"I said that you will be free of all financial responsibility," Ivan explained as if he were talking to a small child. "You will still need to be paying me back, da?"

Alfred was almost too afraid to ask, but he did anyways. "...How?" And did he even want to know?

Ivan did not say anything at first. Alfred chanced a glance at his face and noticed that the Russian's smile did not reach his eyes.

Finally, Ivan said, "I am so glad you asked."

A/N: Marine is Seychelles. Her name means "of the sea" in French. And as far as Alfred and Arthur's personalities are concerned... think Arthur back in his colony collecting days, and, well, Alfred is just being a whiney teenager. He wasn't beat enough as a child, I swear. But don't worry. He won't always act like a big baby. Maybe. Also, fail title is fail, but honestly, it gets the point across...