a/n: Wow. This is SO late wtf. I'm sorry! I just wasn't sure if I would continue this, but I probably will?

Anyway, hope you like it! I don't know if I've mentioned Ivan's age yet, but if I have, I'll go back and change it sometime..this year. Because I'm lazy. Clarification - Ivan: 26, Alfred: 23.

I always forget to do the stupid disclaimer! UUGH. No, I don't own Hetalia. Can we all agree I never will? Yes? Good, then continue one with that knowledge, because I'm too lazy to put that before EVERY chapter. (seriously, why?)

-Chapter 2-

Ivan raised an unimpressed eyebrow as he walked down the cereal aisle. "Americans would not be so fat if they did not eat so many unhealthy foods," he said.

"Vanya!" Katyusha chided lightly. "Please do not say such things."

"Is true, sister, there is nothing natural in this store. I do not see why we cannot eat from our garden."

Natalya appeared behind him suddenly, latching on the arm that wasn't carrying a half empty basket.

"There is no meat in our garden, brother." From any other person, it would have been a normal sentence; coming from Natalya, it was some sort of threat.

"Ah, y-you are right, Natasha, let us get m-meat," Ivan stuttered out, quickly losing the battle in getting his sister to let go of his arm. It was already starting to get tingly from the lack of blood flow.

Natalya made a satisfied nod and led him to the meat department.

Grocery shopping was relatively painless. Ivan was given a very venom-lacking speech by his older sister when he caused the other people in their line to scurry away. Katyusha sometimes forgot he did not do it purposely.

This time he had, though. Ivan was surprised she was still able to tell when he did and didn't take advantage of his vengeful glare.

He figured the faster they paid, the faster they would get out. He couldn't shake away the bad feeling he had in his stomach.

And he was right.

As they left the store, of course he saw a familiar blond stapling flyers to a huge cardboard box that held watermelons. And at that moment, the blond saw him. Ivan swore some god in the sky had a grudge against him.

"Sister, please hu-"

"Hey, big guy!" Alfred called to him.

Ivan groaned internally, but smoothly replied with, "Hello, little one."

Alfred frowned at the subtle insult much to Ivan's delight. But immediately after he perked up when he spotted Ivan's sisters standing uncertainly behind him, Katyusha with a hopeful expression and Natalya with a hateful glare.

The obvious resemblance between the three siblings made it easy for Alfred to guess how they were related.

"Hey guys, I'm Alfred!"

Katyusha smiled. "Hello, my name is Katyusha. Are you a friend of my brother's?"

"Sure am!" Alfred responded, surprising all three siblings.

"Oh, how wonderful!" Katyusha said with an enthusiastic clap of her hands. "How long have you known each other."

"Ivan and I go waaay back, Kat." He said cheerfully. He slung an arm around Ivan's shoulders.

Ivan tried his best not to shove him off. Alfred's touch alone made him to tense, made his neck burn slightly with anger. Did this idiot not know anything about personal space?

"You did not tell me about Alfred, Ivan," Katyusha said, turning to her brother.

Hiding a sneer, he adjusted his position with the obnoxious American so he could elbow him in the back without anyone seeing. Alfred responded with a push of his own-it had gone unseen, of course-which was surprisingly forceful, but did practically nothing to the Russian, who had been taught to deal with much worse.

"It did not come up." Ivan said through gritted teeth.

Katyusha was oblivious. She was too busy being overjoyed at the sight of her brother getting along so well with another human being. She was also touched that Ivan's nice friend had given her a nickname. Perhaps it was a sign of friendliness in America?

"What is it that you are doing here, Alfred?" she asked.

He grinned and held up a bright yellow paper. "I was hangin' up some flyers for our support group back on Cambers Ave."

Katyusha could not have smiled wider in return. "Are you speaking of the one-oh, what was his name-ah, yes! The one Leon attends?"

"Sure is!" Alfred exclaimed. "His older brother was one of the guys who started it, actually. You interested? Like, not being offensive or anything, you guys don't look fucked u-er, I mean, messed up or anything, but people get really shy about their issues and shi-stuff." He winced at the cussing, but tried to be considerate of the pretty lady.

Ivan pushed him away, and Alfred stumbled back-ready to retort-but Katyusha interrupted him.

"Well, I was hoping Ivan would go, but you are right," she nodded solemnly, "he does get shy."

Alfred gave Ivan a flat stare. Shy wasn't a word he'd use to describe it.

"But you will convince him to go, yes?"

"'Course I will! Ivan, and I say this from the bottom of my heart, I would love for you to come," Alfred said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "It's real fun and everyone's super supportive and cool."

"Nyet," Ivan said with flaring eyes.

He pulled his sister aside and spoke to her in Russian to avoid the ears of unwanted people-specifically, person. Even more specifically, Alfred.

"You had no right to do that, Katyusha," he said in a furious tone.

"It is my duty to help you. That is what I am doing! You do not realize it, but you have become unhappy. The internet was very adamant about that."

Ivan blinked. Unhappy? Of course he was unhappy. But that didn't mean she should have mentioned anything.

"That does not matter. I will not go."

"Yes you will, brother!"

They went back and forth, arguing but getting nowhere.

At the same time, Natalya had stalked up to Alfred once she saw that her siblings were occupied. "Do not come near him ever again." she said, poison injected in the sentence.

Alfred stumbled over his words for a second, surprised at the innocent-looking girl's ferocity. "H-hey now, I'm just tryin' to help your brother out."

"You are doing no such thing, fiend."

"Fiend? Are you-are you for real? Dude, that's like, not even from this century. I mean, if you're gonna be an ass, you gotta do it right, you know?"

Natalya frowned.

Alfred smiled and leaned closer, looking around before turning back to her as though they were exchanging secrets.

"Okay, here's the deal, you want to insult me, go for it, but you have to do it effectively, yeah?"

"I…do not understand."

"Well, I suggest using words from-wait, how old are you? Because I really don't want your middle school teacher calling me in when you start cussing everyone out." He scratched the back of head with a mildly concerned expression and continue rambling, "After what happened with Peter, Tino won't even let me near the little guy! It was one time! I swear, this teacher was being a jerk to him, so I have to be the hero and tell him how to protect himself, right? And how cou-"

"I cannot tell if you are stupid or a narcissistic ass," Natalya said, her eyebrow raised in an unimpressed stare.

Wow. She and her older brother are way too much alike, Alfred thought, but beamed anyway. "Dude, that was good!"

"I meant it."

"Even better, Nat, it's-"

"Do not call me that, you swine." Natalya growled.

The American continued past the interruption. "-the passion behind your wonderfully bitchy words that count. Well, we'll think of that last one as two steps forward, one step back." That was how the phrase went, right?

"I hate you. Very much, you ass."

Alfred nodded sagely. "I see you are learning. You've made me proud, grasshopper. With time comes irrevocably rude words that make the world go round, that's what I always say."

Natalya narrowed her eyes. "I do not think I have ever wished misfortune upon someone so quickly."

"It's a gift, sweetheart."

"I would like to kill you."

Alfred grinned. "The feeling's mutual." He patted her on the shoulder and she slapped his hand away.

"What is mutual?" Came Ivan's voice as he and Katyusha entered the conversation.

"Oh, you know, how much your sister and I just love each other's company. No joke, she's the angel's reincarnate." Alfred snapped his fingers."Or is it the devil's? Damn, I always forget how the phrase goes." He sent a smile in Natalya's direction.

She sent back a sneer.

Katyusha frowned slightly, unsure as to what was behind the looks they were sending each other. "Um, Alfred, I was wondering if I could have a flyer for the-"

"You got it, babe," he handed her a paper, then shoved one in Ivan's face. "I'm gonna see you at the next meeting, right?"

He could see the Russian's jaw tighten. "I believe so."

Katyusha put an arm on her brother's shoulder. Alfred could see his tense muscles just barely relax against her touch, his furious eyes becoming more passive as she whispered to him quietly in Russian. Ivan nodded in response to something she said, doing nothing more before turning and walking away.

"Quite the social butterfly." Alfred said sarcastically.

"He was not always like this," murmured Katyusha.

Alfred's lips twisted. "So what changed?"

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I am sorry, Alfred, but that is not my story to tell. I hope we will run into each other again."

"Sure, Kat. Nice meetin' ya. You too, Nata...where'd she go?"

Katyusha sighed almost inaudibly. "After her brother. She loves him very much."

"Er, yeah," Alfred said awkwardly, not knowing when the air had become so strained. "I should get going, but, uh, the meeting's on Friday, so…"

"Of course. You have been wonderful, Alfred, thank you for your help. Ivan will be there."

"Aw, shucks, Kat, I'm just trying to do my duty as the hero of this town."

"Ah, yes," Katyusha laughed, "you are our hero."

"I get that a lot." He beamed. "But I can, er…" he coughed into his hand, "I can pick up your brother from your house. If you want. I mean, whatever."

"Oh, that would be nice!"

"Cool, what's your address?"

"1191 Boston Avenue."

"1191 Boston Avenue. Got it. I'll be there at six."

"Thank you. Goodbye."

"Bye." Alfred said with with a friendly wave.

…

Ivan let out a pained breath as the blood-stained whip created a long cut down the front of his chest. Crimson liquid seeped out, making the sudden urge to vomit very difficult to fight. The rope binding his arms above his head dug into the scabs that had just started healing, adding red to the blue and green bruises.

He hated this. His throat burned and his eyes could barely stay open. They would not let him sleep, or eat, or do anything other than feel pain.

"This is for your own good, my son."

"I am not your son," he growled.

Another two lashes.

"Is that so? You see, I have been making this easy for you, but when you defy me like this, I cannot stop myself." Ivan felt sweat run down his forehead. Eyes as cold as a Russian winter met his. They were cruel, angry, and filled with glee. Ivan closed his eyes as dread pooled inside his stomach. They were like a snake's, and looked far too much like his own. "Tell me what you know."

"I don't know anything," Ivan responded immediately in a monotonous voice.

"You are lying."

A metal-tipped boot collided with his stomach.

"I do not know anything," he choked out, disgusted by the taste of iron that invaded his mouth.

"Look at me when I talk to you."

He reluctantly did as he was told, lips twisted with hate.

"That's better. Where are they holding her?"

How long are we going to do this before you are satisfied? "I was not informed."

"Tell me what you know."

"I do not know anything!" Ivan roared suddenly, feeling very exhausted.

"You are lying!"

"I AM NOT!"

A sickening crack echoed in the dark and barren room. Ivan let out a strangled gasp. And then he was gripped by a scorching fire that made him scream in agony. He screamed and screamed and screamed, not knowing what else to do. But it wasn't going away. All thoughts vanished, replaced by a relentless pain that he could not pinpoint; it was everywhere. Bile forced its way up his throat. What was happening?

A door opened, then closed.

"Oh for Christ's sake," he heard someone say. It was difficult for his many to comprehend anything other than pain pain pain, "That fucker's crazy, killin' the kid like this."

"He didn't kill him. He'll live, Alec."

"Go get Marina, you stupid fucker, and make sure the kid doesn't bleed out."

"Wasn't his fault."

"Bullshit. He didn't have to go so far.."

"It's torture training. What did you expect?"

"He's nine, asshole."

There was silence. Then, "Since when has that made a difference?"

Ivan bit back a shout, rising from the tangled and sweaty sheets of his bed. He curled his fists so tightly his nails made red crescents in his skin as he put them against his eyes and hunched over. Phantom pain ran through his body like an electric shock.

The nightmares again. Always the nightmares.

Ivan looked at his clock, breathing heavily. 4:34 p.m. With a groan, he slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom to take a cold shower, well aware that he would not be going back to sleep.

He shouldn't have been surprised by the reappearance of his dreams, but it had been at least three weeks since he had one bad enough that it stuck in his mind, even after waking up.

The cold water felt good against his feverish skin. But he was still tired. He wanted a good night's sleep, he wanted good dreams; he was so tired. Why couldn't it all go away? Ivan leaned his forehead against the cool navy tiles. There was nothing he could do about the lingering memories, nothing that would keep them away.

Ivan needed help. He needed help from another person, another human being. How long had it taken him to admit that?

His entire life. Yet…he had never been so alone.

His thoughts drifted back to the so called support group that he was being guilt-tripped into attending. It was difficult to imagine that he could be helped by others whose problems were probably nothing like what he was experiencing. They weren't having bad dreams about the their days in torture training, or climate training, or poison training. Training, training, training. They probably weren't trying to forget their days being molded into a killing machine, or trying to convince themselves that murdering didn't feel good, because it was wrong, no matter what they were told.

But there was still the slimmest of hope that stayed buried in the back of his mind, thinking perhaps there was a chance that this was the right thing to do. Maybe going to see others would make him better, not worse.

But how? What was the cure to his illness? What was his illness? Depression? Mild anxiety? Trust issues? All of the above, Ivan thought bitterly. There were more too. A lot more. He didn't even think he was sane, technically. His mental balance was constantly adding more weight to one side, always leaning more toward his sudden urges to hurt and kill and punish. They certainly weren't sound thoughts, which, according to the definition, meant he had a few screws loose. It was funny how that didn't bother him all that much. It was more a feeling of acceptance. After all, he had to come to terms with his nature at some point, else he would have hated himself too much to function.

"Vanya," Katyusha's voice scattered his thoughts. "It is 5:15, Alfred will be here soon."

Ivan didn't respond, but his sister did not call again to make sure he heard; they lived silently together, like wind and water, both quiet intermittently, speaking up only to whistle wind through the air or crash waves against worn down rocks.

So he would be seeing Alfred again? He didn't know what to think of that. The American was intriguing, at least. His spectrum of emotions seemed to range in every direction; mad one minute and happy the next. But his obnoxiously nosey personality was very annoying. As was the lack of grammar, manners, and anything else pertaining to chivalry. He was not afraid, though. And Ivan wondered why that was.

He decided to wait, to let time create a more defined judgment.

The loud doorbell echoed throughout the house just as Ivan finished drying his hair. He took his time walking downstairs, tempted to lock the door to his room and send Alfred on his way. Was it really necessary? Katyusha hadn't been so insistent on something in years. In fact, she'd never been this insistent, period. If she truly thought this would help him, Ivan would do it for her sake, but not without showing how much he didn't want to go to the meeting.

Alfred wore jeans, a red pair of Converse, and a shirt with one of those superheroes plastered on the front. He looked comfortable in an old bomber jacket. Its worn leather and thick fur shoulder padding seemed warm enough in the freezing weather.

And why was it so cold all of a sudden? It was as though California were some bipolar teenage girl.

The American grinned and saluted in the doorway. "Hey, y'all!"

Natalya entered the lounge through the dining hall, practically hissing at the man. "Why are you here?"

"I'm borrowing your brother for the night, m'lady."

"Please, Natasha," Katyusha said worriedly, "he is here to take Ivan to the support group we talked about."

"I would like to come also."

"Sorry, Nat, there ain't room left in my car."

"You're trying to keep me from coming," she snarled.

"Or I'm telling the truth. Unless you want to sit in your brother's lap-" she seemed too pleased by the idea. Ivan may have been a complete asshole, but he didn't want to condemn the poor guy. "-oh! You know what, I just remembered, that's illegal." He gave her a not-so-apologetic look. "Hm, bummer. Welp, let's get going, commie, the night is young!"

Ivan let out a quiet breath of what the American assumed was relief.

"Yes, being late is an American thing to do. Come, Alfred," said Ivan, walking past him and into the night.

Alfred threw his hands into the air, following close behind. "Really, dude?" He called after him.

As they pulled out of the driveway, Alfred rolled down the window of car and yelled, "See ya later, ladies! Stay safe!"

"We go in my car next time," Ivan said, unimpressed by the messy and beat up old car. It smelled of grease and bubblegum, an odd mixture that wasn't terrible, but would be better with a damn air freshener.

"Sure, whatever, I bet you've got a nice-ass car," Alfred glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He nodded to himself, for what reason Ivan didn't even try to guess. "Listen, man, I've gotta ask: what's with the scarf? Seriously, I've got nothing against pink, that's totally cool, but with the whole macho-macho thing you've got going on, it looks pretty out of place,"

"'Macho-macho'?"

"Tough, kinda scary, y'know? Macho-macho!" Alfred explained with a grin. "But I want my answer."

Ivan looked out the window, away from the driver. "And I why should I give it to you?"

"I'll...tell you something about me in return." Alfred suggested eagerly.

Ivan sighed. It wasn't that he wouldn't share such meaningless information-that's what he reasoned, anyway-but telling anything to Alfred just didn't seem like the thing to do. He felt like a child who didn't want to give any candy to a sibling. There was also an uncomfortably loud nagging voice that insisted he would be laughed at. "My sister gave it to me."

"That's nice," Alfred said, sincerely as far as the Russian could tell. A much better reaction than expected.

Ivan's eyes softened. "Yes, she is very kind."

"And the coat?"

"That's another question."

"Which usually entails another answer," Alfred quipped. "C'mon, it was ninety degrees on Wednesday, and you were wearing it anyway. It must've been like an oven in there!"

"It was a gift." Ivan didn't say anything else, refused to, even after the narrow-eyed stare he was given.

"O-kay, be vague, whatever."

He gave a small smirk. "And what is it that you will tell me about yourself?"

"Hm. Well, what do you want to know?"

"Nothing in particular. I leave it up to you to decide."

"Um, okay then." Alfred drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he thought.

Five minutes past, and still he said nothing.

"I hate jewelry." Alfred said just as Ivan was about to protest against his silence.

He wasn't sure he heard correctly. "You hate jewelry?"

"Yeah. Hate it."

Of all the things to say… "Why is that?"

Alfred shrugged. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, staring hard at the road when there was nothing there. Ivan could very easily tell there a lot more behind it, but let it slide. He'd had enough conversation for one night already.

He didn't say a word until Alfred slowed down, announcing their arrival. "Alright, commie, we're here."

Ivan rolled his eyes. He refused to rise to the bait. They'd be arguing in the car all night if he did that. Instead, he got out and looked at their destination.

It was big, but not too big, yellow, but not too yellow, and...there was something very different about it. Perhaps it was the way the windows were different sizes and the door was bright purple. Or the way he could see different colored lights coming from each floor. And certainly because the statue in front of the building looked like a mixture between a man and a wild animal.

He began to seriously question his sister's decisions.

"Well, what're you waitin' for?" Alfred shouted excitedly, beckoning him with a hand, "Let's go!"

a/n: I realized writing from Ivan's point of view is a total pain in the ass, but it's a bit too late at this point. Por favor, lemme know what you think? I'm not really getting the tone that I wanted, so I'd love some input on whether or not this Ivan is okay!