So, here goes my first Hetalia fic! Contains F.A.C.E.S family (the S part being Sealand). Except France is sorta like a roommate type of guy, and isn't really related to the A.C.E.S. part like that. The relationship is complicated. :P

Nevertheless, I have fallen in love with this family! (It's all canon in my head!)

Also, this fic is AU. This means they are gonna be actual people here, instead of countries. Some foul language is used too. So be warned. Yeah.

I really should be focusing on my Vocaloid fic (Snipe), but this plot just struck me, and wouldn't leave me alone! This oneshot HAD to be made! I can only hope you guys find it funny, like I did! I feel like it may not be ALL funny, but it has its moments.

But I'll let you guys decide.

And yes, I got the title from a 'Boondocks' episode.

Anyways, here goes!

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"So… how old did you say you were?"

"I'm 63 years old. You got a problem with that, buddy?"

"Oh… really?" Matthew said weakly.

Matthew was sure he was going to have a heart attack right then and there. His smallest brother stood before him, glaring defiantly. His little fingers were looped around another's, entwined in a "loving" embrace.

Ever since he hit that wonderful phase past puberty, Matthew had always looked forward to the day when his perfectly adorable little brother would bring home a girl to show to the family. Now that the day had finally arrived, he wasn't so sure that he wanted his dream to become such a reality anymore.

"…A-Al? ALFRED! Come in here, please!" he called, never taking his eyes off the woman standing in the lobby. Earning no response from his other half –probably stuck on the couch, watching television– he called out louder. "ALFREDD! GET OUT HERE!"

A muffled thump, a few loud curses, and the sound of something breaking, and soon his elder brother (only by 2 minutes! 2 minutes shouldn't make a difference!) shuffled in the room like a zombie. "What?" he growled, lazily brushing back disheveled hair with a hand. "What is it? The hell is so important, man?"

Giving his twin a tight lipped smile, he gestured at the two standing by the front door. "Al, w-we have a guest…"

At once, Alfred froze in his tracks. Hand still stuck in his hair, he stared wide eyed in the direction Matthew pointed to. "What… the fuck…?"

Peter sneered boldly at his big brothers. "This is Roxy. She's my girlfriend."

"Wha?"

"You heard me!" little Peter said hotly, "This is my girlfriend! We're gonna run away and have babies together, and get married, and do grown-up stuff in hotel rooms, just like you guys do! And don't tell me to break up with her, because I love her! Do you even know how many cats she has? TEN! TEN CATS!"

The (almost) identical twins stood motionless, stunned and speechless. Peter glared at them, wrapping his hands tighter around his "girlfriend's".

"…So, this is a joke, right?" Alfred asked lowly.

Scowling darkly, Peter marched over and gave him a hefty punch in the stomach. "NO! S'NOT! She's my girlfriend, and I love her!"

"Stupid, you're like, only ten! How are you 'in love'?" Alfred asked, clenching his teeth and stifling a groan. "How are you 'in love' with that… thing?!"

Matthew began praying silently, asking God to save his little brother before things really got out of hand.

"Her name is 'Roxy'!" Peter yowled, gearing up to throw another punch.

"You tell 'im, kid." Roxy cheered from behind.

Collecting himself, Matthew calmly eyed Roxy. "So… you're 63, you say?" he asked Peter's girlfriend quietly.

Roxy snorted, and propped herself up on the doorway. "You're damn right, cherry boy. Why you keep askin'? You want some? I get it now. You want a piece of this all to yourself." She cackled wildly, flashing a toothless smile. Giving Matthew a flirtatious wink, she began to primp herself. She tugged up her tight, leather mini-skirt an inch higher, before running her hands up and down the length of her scantily clad body. Her tight, low-cut halter top threatened to burst at the seams as she pushed up her sagging chest.

The twins paled.

Alfred began to pray silently to God, asking for Him to remove this woman from the house before the doorframe caught syphilis. He then turned to Matthew, with a panicked look in his eyes. "Mattie! Mattie! Did you see that? I-I think I saw some dust falling from 'down there'!"

"You!" the elderly woman growled, pointing at Alfred. He refrained from yelping as her red-painted fingernails drew closer and closer to his face as she moved towards him. "You look like a real man."

He suddenly regretted not wearing anything besides his boxers and a worn wife-beater. Warily, he waved her off, and stepped back to avoid her touch. "Trust me, I'm barely legal."

Outraged, Peter punched him in the stomach once again. "STOP STEALING MY GIRLFRIEND! She's MINE!"

"Mattie! Help!"

Matthew knew that it was time to take control of the situation. Quickly, he split the two brothers apart, and pushed away Roxy with a placating smile. "Ah, I think it's time to have a talk. Can you wait here while we have a little conversation with Peter, Miss Roxy…"

"Glitter-Jugs. It's Roxy Glitter-jugs," she supplied.

"Oh… Is it, now?" Matthew said faintly. He looked ready to drop any second now. "How pretty…"

And without further ado, he whisked both his brothers away and into the kitchen.

:::

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Pulling them both behind the counter, he turned to face his older brother. "It's about time to give him 'The Talk'."

"That one? Really? Already?" Alfred asked, eyebrows raised. "Artie didn't even give us ours until we were, like, 13."

"I believe this is a special case." Matthew replied tightly. "We need to fix this now, or I swear, I'll kill him, I'll kill 'Roxy Sugar-Tits–"

"– It's Roxy Glitter-Thighs." Alfred interrupred.

"No!" Peter chimed in, "It's Gitter-Jugs! And stop talking like I'm not here!"

"I'll kill you both!" Matthew hissed. "And after I kill you, Arthur is gonna' kill me for killing you! And then what?! Then this family will get a hell of a lot smaller!"

Giving a resigned sigh, Alfred took a seat on the kitchen counter (ignoring Matthew's disapproving glare), and pulled up a seat beside him. Getting the hint, Peter clambered up on the bar stool, taking his place next to his big brothers.

"Now Petey–"

"It's 'Peter'."

"Petey. There comes a time in every little boy's life, where they suddenly find little girls to be pretty and smart, and then they realize they want to do… special things with them."

"Grown-up things, right? All that junk?" Peter asked.

"Yeah, 'grown-up junk', that only grown people can do."

"Oh." Peter said, eyes clear and bright. "Like how you always do grown-up stuff with all those girls that you bring home sometimes? If you're gonna talk about grown-up stuff, it's okay, because I already know about grown-up stuff."

"Huh?" Alfred said blankly.

"It's easy. It's a bunch of kissing, right? You kiss a lot, and then you take off your clothes and sit in a bed, and go to sleep."

Matthew looked constipated.

"But sometimes, you have to drink a lot of beer first. That, or you drink some of that red apple juice that Francis likes to keep on the top shelf. You just drink a lot, and then get naked and talk a lot. Then you go to sleep."

Alfred's expression wasn't far from Matthew's. "H-How do you know this stuff?"

"It's easy," Peter said plainly, as though he was talking to a child, "I see you do it all the time. Every time I sleep over at your house, you always go outside and come back with one of those pretty ladies. Then you lock yourselves in your room (and sometimes the closet), and then you start making grunting noises.

And I know sometimes you pray too. Because once, I heard one of your girlfriends say 'Oh God, Oh God' really loud behind the door. Then you made this really REALLY loud scream, and I thought she was killing you. When you guys got all quiet and stuff, I looked inside your room, and you were sleeping naked with that girl. It was gross, because she has girl parts."

Matthew looked ready to die. "You make me sick," he whispered to his twin.

"Fuck you!" Alfred whispered back.

"It's crazy, because everybody in our family does the same thing. Except for Arthur. Probably 'cause he's too much of a jerk for girls to like him." Peter continued. "Once I saw Mattie do the same thing with a girl when I went to his house.

And every time I go to Francis's house, he does the same thing every night. Except it's weird, because when Francis does grown-up things, sometimes he brings other grown up guys in his room with him. And sometimes, he brings a whole group of guys and girls in his room, and it's like they have this big party in there. Except they never invite me."

"OKAY~!" Alfred said, slapping a hand over his little brother's mouth and effectively shutting him up.

"We'll have another talk about this later…" Matthew said quietly, a threatening aura radiating from where he stood.

"As I was saying," Alfred continued, "There comes a time where you will find girls to be very pretty. BUT, the thing is, you have to be careful about exactly what kind of girl you find to be pretty. Glitter-Thighs out there," he paused, pointing to where the elderly woman stood impatiently in the lobby, "is NOT the kind of lady that little boys should be attracted to."

"And why not?!" Peter snapped. "She gave me candy! She gave me one of those peppermint candies, so now I love her! Since I love her, I have to marry her! Her CATS!"

A gentle smile creeped across his older brother's face. "Ya' see Petey, Roxy is what many would call, a 'whore'. 'Hooker', or 'prostitute', if you will. She's a festering garbage dump of disease and famine, and will probably infect and then kill you within a month."

Peter stuck out his tongue petulantly. "Don't call my girlfriend garbage. Your girlfriends are worse."

"But there's a difference!" Alfred growled. "At least my girlfriends have regular jobs, like regular people! At least my girlfriends aren't 60something year old, shriveled up, disease-transmitters! Oh, and by the way, did she touch you somewhere, or kiss you on the face or anything?"

Peter shook his head 'no'.

"Good then. You could've caught something. But yeah, at least my girlfriends aren't worms! At least my girlfriends aren't old enough to be my MOTHER! Mattie!" he shrieked, turning to his twin, "Talk to this boy, before I choke the crap outta' him!"

Quickly, Matthew soon took over the reins. He knelt down besides the boy, and began speaking at eye level. His face was the picture of gentleness and understanding. And a tad of homicidal malice. "Peter, I understand that you just want to do certain things because you see us do it. That's okay, but you have to understand that there are some things that you can't do. And that there are people that you can't trust. Next time you see an old lady, make sure that she at least has on enough clothing that could pass as an outfit for a pool party."

Grudgingly, Peter nodded his head. "Okay… I will."

"So, no more old lady future-wives with suspicious names?"

"No. No more old lady wives."

"And next time you want a wife, you'll find one within your age margin?"

"Okay. I'll find a girlfriend that's my age." Peter replied.

Matthew smiled at his little brother. "That's fantastic," he said, ruffling blonde locks. "After all, you're only ten."

:::

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Matter resolved and put to rest, he got up and guided his two brothers back out into the lobby, and in front of the still-waiting Roxy.

"Well Roxy, there seems to have been a misunderstanding of sorts." Matthew began, "We're sorry our brother has sorta… mislead you to believe that you were his… lover. It was a misunderstanding on his part."

Roxy nodded, hitching up her skirt a bit more. Her ripped fishnet stockings were proudly on display. "I see…"

They stood in the lobby in awkward silence.

"So… yeah…" Alfred said quietly.

"Uh-huh…" Matthew joined in.

Roxy grunted.

The awkward silence returned. Roxy still stood in front of the door, glaring expectantly at the boys. She dug in her tiny purse, whipping out a cigarette and a cheap lighter.

"So… which one of you guys want a handy?" she asked, voice muffled as she tried to speak around the cigarette.

"E-Excuse me?" Matthew choked.

"You heard me, cherry-boy. Who wants a handy? I can work in a quick one, if one of ya' wants me to. Or we can skip all that stuff, and get straight to the part where one of you guys just work me over. Or, wait, are all of you gonna be doing this at the same time? Because that costs extra."

"Why does she want work? Why do we gotta work with her?" Peter asked, tugging on Alfred's shirt.

"I think it's time for you to leave." Matthew said, brushing past her (and trying desperately to avoid making skin-to-skin contact with her) and flinging open the door.

A dark look crossed the woman's wrinkled face. "So. This is how it's gonna be? You trying to stiff me, boy? You not gonna pay me? Huh?"

Alfred laughed behind her. "Pay you? Last time I checked, you don't have to pay to not have sex!"

He was silenced by a sharp smack to the face. Snarling, Roxy watched as her hand was sharply imprinted in the young man's skin. She hissed, drawing him closer. "I ain't cheap! You just gonna fuck me over like that?"

"Technically, we aren't fu–"

He was silenced by another sharp smack. "Shut up! You know what I'm gonna do to you, boy?"

"Hopefully, let me go…" Alfred mumbled, rubbing his bright red cheek.

"No. I'm gonna tell Big Daddy. I'm gonna tell him that I got two punks trying to stiff me. You robbin' me, boys. And when you robbin' me, you robbin' Big Daddy."

"We're not robbing you!" Matthew spoke, holding the door open wider. "How about we resolve this?! Huh? We don't have to call a Big anybody! J-Just talk about this over some tea, or cookies, or… or waffles! Anything!"

But it was futile. The 63 year old woman had already whipped out a cell phone, and made a call. "Yo, Big Daddy!" she barked into the receiver, "These clowns are trying to punk me! They keep sayin' junk like, 'I'm not gonna pay! I'm not gonna pay!' Take care of these punks!"

"Let's not 'take care' of anything!" Matthew called out in the background.

Roxy ignored him. "They're at this fancy-ish, yellow-lookin' house. It's all the way downtown," she said, giving the person on the phone directions. "Get here fast."

And with that, she hung up. She flashed a smile at the two men. "You're fate is sealed, punks."

An unsettling silence washed over them all. Bending down, Alfred came eye-to-eye with his brother. "Where did you find this woman, exactly, little dude?"

Peter scowled. "I saw her when I was walking home from school. She was smoking, and she gave me some candy. And then said we should shack up sometime, so I took her home. DUH!"

"Ah." Alfred said quietly. "I see your logic."

"What logic?!" Matthew exploded. "There WAS NONE!"

"That's the point." Alfred explained.

"Fuck you guys." Roxy interrupted, shoving Matthew aside and waltzing out the door. "Just to let you know, you guys should watch your backs."

"And you should be enrolled in a retirement home!" Alfred called after her, "I hear 'Sunny Havens' has an opening! Maybe you should go there and wait to die, like normal old people do!"

It wasn't a surprise when Roxy turned around and grabbed him by the arm and put out her cigarette on the crook of his elbow. Letting out an indignant squawk, Alfred stumbled back while the prostitute stormed her way out the door.

"Your ass is GRASS!" she screeched, turning around and flipping them all the 'bird', before disappearing into bushes.

Another awkward silence permeated the house.

"So, Petey, could you do us a favor?" Alfred asked, breaking the quiet and absentmindedly rubbing at the burn-mark on his arm, "Don't answer the door for a while. A long while. Probably a few days."

"He's gonna kill you, isn't he?" Peter asked, looking at his brothers. "She's gonna get some guy to screw you over, and murder you. Will you tell me if it hurts a lot?"

"Peter, eat your salad." Matthew said, closing the door and peering out the window.

"But we're not eating fo–"

"DAMMIT, Peter! Eat your salad!"

Pouting, Peter retreated upstairs.

:::

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An hour later, and the twins were on the couch. The television was blaring, but only one of them paid it any attention.

"She won't be back, will she?" Matthew asked quietly.

"Shut up, Mattie. 'Oprah' is on. You know the rules about talking while 'Oprah' is on." Alfred mumbled, eyes never leaving the TV.

Matthew began to nervously pick at his fingernails (a chronic bad habit). "What'll we do if she comes back? I bet she'll bring others with her. What if they break in?"

Alfred scowled, turning up the volume on the television. "We'll tell them to come back later, sometime around 5. Because I'll be damned if they interrupt Oprah. Today is the episode on mimes and circus performers."

Becoming increasingly anxious, Matthew began to toy with his (overly) curly cowlick. "What if they have guns? What if they ruin the house?! Arthur will kill us if we leave his house in a mess!"

Alfred snorted. "Yeah, about that; Why are we here, anyways? I mean, we have our own houses now, so why do we always crash here? It can't be for Iggy's cooking, because a blind, dumb, deaf garbage-man could make better food than him."

"Oh man, if only Peter didn't have to bring that awful woman home!" Matthew said, brushing his hair back with shaking hands. "I blame you! You and Francis! You do those things, and say these awful things in front of him, and now he's picked up on it! It's a wonder that his teacher hasn't called home yet!"

"I'm simply passing on knowledge to the younger generation." Alfred said, producing a beer can out of thin air. "But seriously though, shut up. Oprah waits for no man."

Then, the doorbell rang. The boys froze.

They cursed silently as they heard Peter fly down the stairs at breakneck speed, almost tripping over himself, and hitting the front door. The click of the latch was heard, and they groaned as the front door swung open with a creaky moan.

Then, it was silent.

"Al? Mattie?!" Peter called from the lobby, "There's some guys here, and they keep saying they wanna talk to you."

Their eyes went wide.

"Fuck, Peter! I said not to answer the door!" Alfred called out from the living room.

"Uh… guys?" Peter called nervously, "These guys really wanna' talk to you!"

The twins sank behind the couch. They looked at each other, both panicked and freaked out of their minds.

"How about we don't go out there?!" Alfred whispered.

"We can't! Peter is out there! We can't leave him alone!" Matthew whispered back.

"Yeah we can!" Alfred insisted. "He sold his ass on Ebay before! This is almost exactly the same! Except, we sell him to some thugs, instead of a Nordic gay couple."

Matthew went silent, and pinned his twin with a piercing glare. "You're willing to sell your little brother to thugs? Who knows what they'd do to them!"

"Probably not bust his kneecaps open and skin him alive, like they'll MOST LIKELY do to us!" Alfred contested thoughtfully. "Plus, we've probably trained him well enough, right? I'm pretty sure he can handle male prostitution good enough, if he puts his mind to it. Right? I mean, all these years living in this house? With Francis? It'd be a shame if he didn't know at least a trick or two on how to please someone."

Matthew's glare could wither a tree. "Shut up, Al. We sell him, and Arthur would be on our ass faster than any man would."

"…Mattie? I don't think I'm comfortable with the way you worded that…"

"Shut up." Matthew sprang up from behind the couch, dragging his brother along with him ("NO! I'm watching fuckin' Oprah!") as he headed for the front door. Upon entering the lobby, they both froze.

Little Peter stood in the doorway, looking up in wonder at two heavily armed men before him, all dressed in black. They cradled their guns with the intent to kill.

One stepped up, giving the two siblings an once-over. "So you gonna come quietly, or are we gonna' have to get physical?"

Matthew smiled politely. "How about, we discuss this over som –"

Before he could finish the sentence, both boys found themselves facing the cold, hard, unforgiving barrel of a gun. The two men whisked the twins out the door, and directed them to the trunk of a worn, blue car.

Peter watched as his brothers were hustled out the door at gunpoint. "So, are they gonna kill you guys?" he called out worriedly.

Matthew smiled at his brother over his shoulder. "Don't worry about it! J-Just watch the house while we're away! Can you do that, please?"

Alfred was another matter. Kicking and squirming wildly, despite being at gunpoint, he turned back to look at his brother with a crazed expression. "Remember Peter! Whatever happens is all your fault!"

The men shoved them both into the car trunk, before slamming it closed and cutting off the last sight of their house.

:::

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"So, do you know why you guys are here?"

"I assume it has something to do with your disease infested, rat trap of a whore?" Alfred said, voice muffled by the bag over his head.

"Shut up!" Matthew hissed, just as muffled as his brother. "You'll get us killed!"

"Your boyfriend is right," the mysterious voice spoke.

"Not my boyfr–"

"I don't care," the voice cut him off. "I'm just here to talk. Boys, take off the bags."

At once, the twins were gifted with sight, and air that wasn't stale. Taking a look at their surroundings, they realized that they were in a meat packing warehouse, most likely the ones on the outskirts of town. Standing in front of them, surrounded by armed thugs, was the most outrageously dressed man they had ever seen. Dressed in neon greens and yellows, and fitted with platform boots, this man seemed to be stuck in the 70's.

"So as I was sayin'" the man continued, "I hear you two have been tryin' to skip out on payin' me. Now, I'll have you know that Big Daddy doesn't take kindly to stealers."

"Ah, may I ask, exactly who is 'Big Daddy'?" Matthew asked nervously.

The man's face contorted into something ugly. "I'M Big Daddy! Idiot! Who ain't heard of Big Daddy before? I should kill you two where you stand."

"NO! No need to do that!" Matthew said, mentally chastising himself. "It's my mistake. I'm SO sorry!"

"Techically, we're sitting." Alfred chimed in. "Also, I'm still in my underwear. I'm very uncomfortable right now, and I'd like to lodge a complaint."

Ignoring him, Big Daddy continued on. He paced around them, sizing up the two men he had tied down (one still in his boxers), back to back, in rickety chairs. "Now, because you cheated Big Daddy–"

"Talking in the third person is weeeird, man." Alfred huffed. At once, one of the burly sidekicks came out of the shadows with a metal pipe, ready to take aim. Alfred quickly shut up.

"So, Big Daddy needs to teach you a lesson." Big Daddy said. "I need to teach you a lesson, so you'll never get it in your tiny brains to cross me again."

"And what kind of lesson do you have in mind?" Matthew asked shakily.

"It's a simple one, really," Big Daddy said as he took the metal pipe from the background thug, "I'm just gonna play with you guys a little. Maybe bust a kneecap, or even peel some skin off your faces."

The crazed look sparked back up in Alfred's eyes. "See?!" he hissed, whispering at his brother, "I told you, this was exactly what was gonna happen! I've watched enough 'Fast and Furious' movies to know where this goes!"

"Kill em'! Kill em', Big Daddy!" Roxy cheered from the sidelines.

"Well, you hear the crowd," Big Daddy said, drawing closer to the boys with the pipe, "They want blood. What kind of performer would I be, if I didn't give them a little something?"

"A very courteous performer!" Matthew said hurriedly.

"No, a crappy one." Alfred said soon after. "The nerve of you, pulling me outta' my home like that! Do you know that I could be sitting on the couch right now, perfectly happy, watching a BRAND NEW episode of Oprah?! Huh?"

"Forget Oprah!" Matthew cried, wanting desperately to punch his brother in the mouth. "They're gonna kill us, and all you can do is blab about Oprah?!"

Alfred leered back at him. "Your loss, Mattie! When you're confronted with a dangerous mime situation, you'll be SOL! I'll be properly prepared when the time comes!"

Matthew kicked at the air in vain, face getting redder and redder. "What the hell are you talking about?! We're gonna' die, you moron!"

"You know what?" Alfred said, squinting his eyes, "I'm sensing a LOT of negativity coming from your end. Something the matter, bro?"

Nobody was surprised when the younger blonde let out a shrill yowl of pure, unadulterated frustration.

"Okay, enough of this crap." Big Daddy interrupted. He smiled big and broad, and looped his arm in with Roxy's. "Time to off these clowns. Nighty night, boys~!"

With a squeak, the boys both closed their eyes as Big Daddy raised the pipe high above their heads. It was time for the finishing blow. The impact that would crush their skulls and send them into oblivion.

And, when all hope was lost, salvation came in the form of a rough, commanding voice.

"FREEZE!"

Timidly, the twins opened an eye, and watched the scene before them.

Big Daddy certainly was frozen, caught in mid-strike, inches (centimeters, for our metric-buddies!) away from cracking a pipe over his victim's heads. Behind him, an armada of cops stood in the warehouse entrance, guns drawn and ready for battle. Upon seeing the intrusion, the thugs had their guns drawn as well, and were taking aim at the policemen in return. It was a stalemate, nobody moving or breathing.

And then all hell broke loose.

Without asking any questions, Big Daddy drew his pistol from his overcoat pocket, and fired off a bullet at the officers. At once, the police responded, with several rounds of bullets of their own. The thugs fired off their weapons in retaliation, and soon, a full-scale gun war had been unleashed.

And stuck right in the middle of it all, were Matthew and Alfred.

"Mattie!" Alfred shouted over the sound of gunshots, "If we get shot and die, I wanna' tell you how much I love you, man!"

Matthew was close to simply bursting into tears. He jumped as a stray bullet planted itself right in the ground before him. "Al! I love you too, man! I mean, you're stupid and lazy, but you're also really, really smart, even if you don't like to show it a lot! I'm sorry we fought so much when we were kids!"

Alfred howled as a bullet blasted a hole into the side of his chair. "I love you too, Mattie! You're smart all the time, and I'm sorry that I used to get jealous when you always used that 'shy guy' routine to bag chicks back in high school! I love you too, man!"

A guttural groan came from one of the goonies beside them, and they both watched as the man went down heavily, with a nice, neat hole blown into his forehead.

Matthew went white, and Alfred's head looked ready to explode.

"MATTIE! I LOVE YOUUUU!" Alfred screeched, watching as a police officer went down as well.

"I LOVE YOU MORE!" Matthew screamed, almost sobbing.

"NO! I LOVE YOU EVEN MORE THAN THAT!" Alfred screeched, lifting a foot and almost weeping in relief as a bullet grazed past his limb.

"FORGET IT!" Matthew shouted over the noise. "I DON'T WANT OUR LAST CONVERSATION EVER, TO BE A FIGHT!"

"ALRIGHT, FAIR ENOUGH!" Alfred agreed.

They spent the rest of the gunfight screaming loud, and unintelligibly.

In the midst of the battle, they were treated to the lucky sight of seeing Big Daddy blast the head off of a police officer. Panicking and screaming besides him, Roxy flailed her arms, knocking the gun out of her pimp's hand. Falling to the ground, the gun went off, and accidentally blew Big Daddy's face off.

The twins screamed louder.

Not knowing what to do, Roxy picked the gun up, sobbing and firing blindly at anything that moved around her. Narrowly missing Matthew's cheek and clipping the very edge of Alfred's chair, she continued to shoot while crying over the man she had accidentally killed.

"Ma'am! Put down the weapon!" an officer shouted above the noise. Crying madly, she flipped him the 'bird'. "Ma'am! Please put down the weapon!" he shouted again.

"Screw you!" Roxy shouted, firing into the air. She managed to hit an officer in the arm, before a stray bullet caught her in the stomach, sending her backwards with the force of impact. She made contact with a window, and the boys watched on in horror as the glass gave way, and she pitched over the side and disappeared out the window.

The shootout went on for several more minutes, sending up dust and debris into the air. When it was finally over, the carnage was unimaginable. Blood stains smeared the floor, painting the ground in a horrid black. Hit-men and police officers alike were scattered face-down on the ground, either dead or unconscious.

And in the middle of it all, were two screaming, frightened young men. Miraculously, despite all odds, unscathed.

Once the excitement ended, some remaining officers ran towards the twins, untying them from their binds.

"You boys okay?" a policeman asked, smiling kindly as he let out the knot tying the two brothers together. "You boys have been through a lot today, eh? I'm sorry you had to sit through so much!"

Wordlessly, the twins got up, rubbing at their chafed wrists. Eyes wide and vacant, they remained motionless as blankets were thrown over their shoulders and they were lead away from the scene.

:::

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Humming a happy, limey limerick, Arthur Kirkland made his way up his wonderfully trimmed and tidy home. He stopped to marvel at the little pink petunias he had re-planted last week (after a little monster by the name of 'Peter' destroyed them), and smiled as a butterfly happened to land on one of the bright petals.

What a sight to come home to, after such a nice, peaceful day! He had spent the entire day downtown, relishing in the sights and sounds of the city, and surrounding parks. It was relaxing, being far, far away from any stressful family members, and his dirty frog of a 'roommate'. A peaceful change from having to deal with screaming, shouting, things being destroyed, and guests being chased away. What did he do in his past life, to deserve such a large, dysfunctional family in the present?!

Putting his key into the front door and flinging it open, he prepared himself to face utter disaster. What he saw, blew his mind.

The house was intact.

Almost immediately, Peter bounded from the stairs and collided into him.

"Jerk-Arthur!" he began, smacking the bag of groceries from his second eldest brother's hands. "Al and Mattie are broken!"

"What the devil are you going on about?!" Arthur asked, scowling at the canned goods rolling across the floor. There goes the canned corn-bits… "And I'm sure I taught you better than to behave this way!"

Peter simply disregarded Arthur's inane complaining. "They're broken! They just sit there on the couch, staring at the wall. The TV isn't even on! I think they're zombies or something. It's boring, 'cause they don't even wanna' play Xbox with me. So fix them!"

Gently nudging aside his youngest brother, he went into the direction of the living room. Peering in, he saw exactly what Peter had described to him. His little brothers were frozen on the couch, dirty and looking worse for wear, staring up into nowhere. Matthew's eyes were stuck on the window, staring outside at nothing but the side of the neighboring house. Alfred stared at the remote, barely blinking.

"What's wrong with you two?" Arthur spoke loudly, watching them stare off into nothing. Slowly, their gazes turned to him, and they both looked haunted and empty inside. "…Well?" Arthur urged them on.

Slowly, Alfred began to speak. "I-Iggy… I saw things today…"

"I t-think I may have died a bit…" Matthew echoed hollowly.

"What bloody nonsense are they going on about?" Arthur asked, looking back at Peter. The boy shrugged cluelessly.

"I dunno! Ever since they got back in that cop car, they just been frozen like mummies!" he responded. Arthurs fuzzy eyebrow raised.

"Policeman's car?"

"Yeah. They left with these guys with guns, and came back in a cop car. I guess Mattie and Al are just being BIG CHICKENS!" Peter laughed, pointing at them, "I bet they got scared 'cause of the gun guys!"

"'Guns'?" Arthur echoed. Quickly, he turned back to the twins. "Guns?! Men with guns came into my house?! What the hell went on in here today!? Explain!"

The boys simply blinked. Matthew sighed painfully. "We almost died today…"

"I… I-Imma go get me a beer…" Alfred said, sluggishly peeling himself from his well-worn spot in the couch. Arthur and Peter watched as he shuffled to the kitchen, and out of sight. Matthew's eyes stayed focused on the empty space behind Arthur's head.

"Boy!" Arthur snapped, getting back to Matthew, "Why are you all acting so odd? And what's this about gun men in my house?" Matthew looked at him blankly, but didn't reply. It didn't matter much anyways, because they were soon interrupted.

"Mon Dieu!" a shocked, froggy voice echoed out from the kitchen. Curiously, Peter scampered into the kitchen, dragging Arthur with him. They were greeted with the sight of Alfred, pouring can after can of beer into his mouth. After a while, it seemed like he gave up on attempting to aim for his mouth, and settled for having the beer pour down his chin and staining his clothes. Francis was only a few feet away, watching in disgust. Seeing the entrance of his 'family', he shot a mocking grin at his big ol' Brit of a roommate.

"Eh? Is this how you raise your boys, Arthur?" he asked, brushing back a stray blonde hair. "It looks like this one hasn't gotten all his marbles inside his head, eh?" His grin got wider as Arthur's eyebrows furrowed. Peter laughed beside him.

"Your sayings are real stupid, Mister Frog!" he cackled. Arthur simply chose to stew in angry silence. All of a sudden, Matthew waltzed his way into the room. Walking robotically, he pried a beer from his brother's mouth, and began to drink as well.

"Ah! Not my Matthieu!" Francis said, watching in despair at his favorite twin (he was the only boy that showed a slight amount of respect!) fell into the same state as his brother. "S'il tê plait, Matthieu, explain to me why you are feeling so uncouth!"

Hollowly, Matthew stared at his eldest brother's on/off fuck-mate. "I just gotta drink the memories away… Just drink 'em all away…"

The two sat on the kitchen counter, drowning their sorrows in awkward silence. Suddenly, with a hacking, choking cough, Alfred simply snapped back to life.

"Oh shit! Oprah!" he cried, dropping the beer can on the floor. He ignored the incensed squawk from Arthur seeing his floor dirtied, and was oblivious to the fact that his bare foot was in the middle of a beer puddle. He quickly turned to Peter with a frantic look on his face. "PETEY–"

"It's 'Pete–"

"–PETEY! PLEASE, tell me you DVR'd Oprah! PLEASE!" Alfred pleaded, getting down on his knees to stare at Peter. "If you value your life for all that it's worth, you WILL tell me you recorded Oprah!"

Alfred felt his world crumble when the little boy shook his head 'no'. With a frightening growl, Alfred hopped to his feet and stormed out the kitchen. While retreating upstairs, everyone in the kitchen could still hear his voice. "Remember, Peter! Whatever happens now is all your fault!"

They all stared at the empty space where Alfred used to stand.

"He's gonna burn my stuff, isn't he?" Peter asked quietly.

"Probably." Matthew replied.

"Fires are so unhealthy for the environment…" Francis sighed. Arthur nodded in agreement (for once!).

Wordlessly, Peter ran out the room at breakneck speed, and made his way upstairs. Undoubtedly to save whatever he could, before it was all burned to hell.

Then there were three.

"So, are you going to explain exactly what went on in my home?" Arthur hissed quietly, glaring at Matthew. The younger blonde sent him a withering look.

"It's a long, long, painful story, really…" he mumbled. Silently, he took another swig at his beer.

Silently to himself, Matthew vowed that Peter should never be trusted to walk home from school by himself for a while.

And, DONE! I feel like the ending was a little weak, but whatever. Anyways, you can bet your sweet ASS, I loved writing this! It was fun! You can bet I'm gonna re-visit this family again soon! Too fun to write!

I feel a little bit like I strayed a bit away from Peter though. Did I? Gimme some concrit, people!

For those who were confused about the order:

Arthur-Oldest; Alfred-2nd oldest; Mattie-3rd oldest; Peter-youngest

Francis?-Artie's 'special buddy'. Because I KNOW you fangirls (and guys) out there love these two. They aren't officially together though. Maybe I'll expand on their relationship a bit sometime!

For those who don't know: DVR=Digital Video Recording. It's like, VHS tape. Except not.

Also, SOL=Shit Outta Luck. Basically means you're screwed.

Also, I don't mean to offend by saying 'limey'! T'is all used in good humor. I really am fond of Brits. I mean, they got Adele. We got... I dunno... Ke$ha. Ew. BUT, we also got MJ (even though he's dead), so that's good!