A/N: Here we are, the last chapter. I'm so sorry if the fic was so short and it took me so long to get to the point...but I wanted to end it here since four is a nice number =D. The number represents death in Japanese culture (I think), and that I'm running out of E Nomine songs to match each chapter. Other than that, thank you to all who favorited this and greater thanks to those who reviewed!~

Chapter 4: Wiegenlied (Lullaby)

"I'm home," Arthur announced as he entered his quiet home. "Alfred, Matthew, where are you?"

"Up here, daddy," Alfred's faint voice traveled down the stairs. "Mattie had to go back to work somewhere."

Relief quickly flooded Arthur after hearing his son's voice; since the empty first floor and cold feeling upon stepping foot into the kitchen made him fear the worse. But then his brows furrowed a bit at a thought.

Does that mean that Matthew left Alfred all by himself this whole time?

The father went upstairs feeling a bit disappointed in his adopted son. He headed towards Alfred's room but stopped when he passed by Matthew's. The wooden door was closed, but it looked tampered with, its metal keyhole scratched with jagged slashes. Arthur opened the door out of pure curiosity, for the older one was never the type to be violent or destructive. The door opened well enough, and the inside was the same as what it looked like before he left.

Except for the closet room. There was a hole near the bottom of the door, and the darkness within the closet made it so that what was on the other side couldn't be seen. Now that he looked around with more scrutiny, Matthew's study desk was a bit crooked in its corner of the room. And the wood beneath him was darker. Regardless, the closet demanded his attention.

What could have happened? He thought as he approached the door, wood chips adorning the floor around the area. With almost unreasonable caution, Arthur slowly turned the doorknob and pulled, only to yelp at what fell out – a pile of clothes.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" he heard Alfred a door down.

"N-nothing…" the father said just loudly enough.

What am I getting all worried for? I'll just have to ask Matthew what this is all about once he gets back

Remembering that there was still one son left in the house, Arthur abandoned his suspicions and strode over to Alfred's room.

"Alfred, dear boy, how have you been?"

"I'm fine." The blond replied simply. His back was toward his father, apparently preoccupied with something in front of him. "Mattie took good care of me…but I'm sad he had to leave so soon…"

"He should have at least called me at work," Arthur shook his head disapprovingly. Upon entering the room, something made his blood run cold. An oppressive, iron smell pervaded his nose and made the Englishman stop his advance toward his son.

Alfred must have noticed the footsteps halting, because he then turned his head to his father. "Don't be mad, daddy, it isn't Mattie's fault,"

Arthur couldn't quite figure out what it was that was in the blond's hands. "Alfred, can you tell me what it is that you're-"

Dear lord…

The boy must have read his mind, because as he turned his body to the side, he showed Arthur what was in his sticky hands. The pet rabbit he bought for Alfred was convulsing, its white fur dyed crimson in some areas. The thing was, most of it was not on the rabbit. Alfred was literally skinning the pet alive! As Arthur watched, Alfred resumed pulling on the skin clean off, revealing raw, red flesh beneath. When he was done, only little tuffs of fur were left around the rabbit's ankles. The now-visible muscles on the leg twitched and a bulging eye stared at Arthur.

"Son…what are you…" the Englishman didn't have the breath to finish his question.

"Don't be upset, daddy. Look, I got you real bunny fur~" Alfred presented Arthur a lump of the fuzzy skin, tinged red and pink underneath with little hands drenched in the animal's fat and blood.

X.X.X.X

Something's not right…

Francis pondered in his living room while taking a sip from the glass of wine in his hands. He raised the wine glass to eye-level, and swished the content around gingerly, staring at it as if it provided all the answers to his questions. But through the red liquid he saw that the front door opened on its own, a little blond toddler letting himself in. The glass slipped from the Frenchman's fingers.

"Big brother, I thought I'd-"

"Stay away from me," Francis was already on his feet, fetching a rapier mounted on the far end of the wall.

"But aren't you glad to see me again? Now that I'm alive, you can teach me all the French you want," Alfred teased, stepping closer to the other blond.

"You…you're the reason why Arthur is acting so happy and why Matthew is not coming to work…you're not the same petite Alfred," Francis hissed, ready to strike the boy.

The toddler was unfazed by the hostility. "Very good deduction, Francis. I never knew you cared so much for the both of them,"

"It's something humans do,"

"I wonder…"

Before another word was said, Francis cautiously encircled the boy to stand behind the sofa he just sat on, never intruding the five feet radius he set himself apart from Alfred. He reached for the telephone sitting on the small stand next to the couch and dialed a three digit number.

During the whole situation, Alfred only stared innocently at the Frenchman.

"Bonjour operator, get me the police. This is-" the sentence was completely cut off when Francis toppled to the floor with an agonizing scream.

The boy…he was just in front of me!

In the few seconds of looking at the phone to dial for help, Alfred somehow managed to sneak behind the Frenchman and hit him with the wine bottle still left out. The vial broke in half, some of its glass shards stuck in the older blond's legs.

Red wine began mixing with red blood on the beige carpet.

"Ciao~ You have reached the police department, what is your situation?" the phone handle, still dangling off the table, spoke up.

"Help! There's an intruder in my house!" Francis tried to say as he bit through his own pain.

"Ve, can you repeat that? Your voice sounds faint, where is your location?"

"It's…" the words snagged in his throat when he saw Alfred walk up to the phone and pull on the cord connecting the speaker to the base. With a simple tug, the wire snapped in two.

"You bastard!" Francis forced himself up from the ground and picked up his rapier.

With the broken neck of the wine bottle, Alfred also raised his makeshift weapon and smirked. "En garde, grand frère."

The demon child never ceased to shock the Frenchman. In addition to being able to speak both English and French fluently, he was also good at fencing. At the beginning, Francis looked like he had the upper hand, but because of his injury he soon found himself backing up. The two clashed up the stairs, Francis walking backwards and Alfred forward. The boy, because of his height, effectively struck low, making it hard for Francis to parry the attack. Just as they reached the top landing, and when the Frenchman felt himself tiring, he saw an opening and successfully knocked the bottle out of the toddler's hand.

Alfred started to bleed, but simply waved his injured hand at Francis to shake off the crimson liquid.

The older blond jumped back to avoid getting any of the putrid substance on him.

This is my chance – I have to finish him off!

"Tell me Francis, do you really care for Matthew and Arthur equally?" the dark undertone was back.

"Of course." the answer was immediate.

"Perhaps you are misunderstanding me. I'm asking where your heart lies."

"I'm not obliged to answer your questions," the ache in his leg was taking a toll on him, and Francis had to lean against a door before making the preemptive strike. But he never once took his eyes off the boy standing in the hallway.

"Why am I not surprised? But I really am curious; are you interested in my older brother Matthew, or my father, Arthur?" When Alfred captured the look of surprise Francis tried so hard to suppress, he grinned wickedly. "I see, you're not so sure yourself…or rather, you're only using Mattie to worm your way to daddy!" the giggle that followed the assertion sent chills down the other blond's spine.

"How dare you address them that way!" It aggravated Francis how this…thing was speaking of the two as if it was familiar with them.

Alfred continued to laugh derisively, clapping his hands together as a child would when amused. "Please don't change the subject, Francis."

"Enough!" the Frenchman roared, charging at the toddler. "You must not be allowed to live. But before that, tell me what you did to Matthew!"

The disarmed Alfred merely stood his ground, giving him a toothy smile.

What the…?

Francis did not finish his strike, the sharp end of the rapier never reaching the demon child.

But it was so close.

An inch away from his heart, the blade was being held fast by a bleeding hand. "Funny, I thought I was the one asking the questions," the demonic voice made Francis snap his head up from the spot he was gawking at. The spot on the boy that should be scarlet by now.

His hand was trembling now, only part of it because of fear; he was still trying to drive the steel into Alfred. But the young blond's grip on the rapier was firm. And with a flick of the wrist, the tip of the weapon was broken off. Francis had no time to cuss at the boy, for the toddler was already on top of him, wringing his neck.

"Why don't I give you a demonstration of what I did to Matthew?" With the broken tip of the rapier, Alfred began repetitively impaling the Frenchman's chest. Each stab was accurately placed to be between the ribs and away from the heart, puncturing both lungs. When the man beneath him no longer squirmed or screamed, he got up and licked the steel clean of blood.

X.X.X.X

"Francis you frog! Where are you?" Arthur barged into the Frenchman's house, failing to notice the oddity of the front door being unlocked. The only reason why he would even step foot into the accursed home was due to the fact that he can only assume that Matthew was staying here for the last few days.

The lad didn't come home after work…surely the trip could not be that long. What if that perverse man did something to him?

He also deducted that Alfred was here as well. Ever since the incident with the rabbit, Arthur still told himself that the boy only did what he did out of childish innocence. He doesn't know any better was what the Englishman persuaded himself into believing, and continued to treat Alfred like the real and living son he was. A couple of days after Alfred told his father that he would take care of the dead rabbit's remains, the son soon began playing outside again. It was on one of those days that Alfred did not come back after Arthur called for him in the kitchen. He then went outside to check up on him, only to find that the backyard was devoid of a child and that the sky above was ashen grey – like the soil of the Graveyard of Angels.

Silence greeted Arthur as he let himself into the home. And the sight in front of him made him even more suspicious as to what happened here. Red blotches scattered about the carpet, the broken bottle of wine and telephone were enough to make him a bit nervous and worried for his adopted son. "Matthew, are you here? Francis?" A trail of the red wine caught his eyes, and it led up to the second floor. A part of him wanted to flee the scene that instant, but stubbornness and curiosity got the better of him, and he climbed the stairs two at a time. During the whole time, the house was silent as a grave.

…

The trail ended abruptly in the middle of the hallway with no indication as to where it was headed to.

"You frog…if this is some sort of sick joke…I swear I'll…" the unfinished threat came out strangled, fear slowly seeping into his pores. Arthur opened the first door he saw on the left. Similar to the time when he opened his adopted son's door, the Englishman did so slowly and carefully. But unlike that time, there was reason to be acting so prudent. The door, unlocked, opened easily, revealing a clean bathroom. The spacious room looked untouched, the single window on the opposite wall of the door drawn closed with laced curtains. A sink with its faucet turned off occasionally let a single drop of water fall into the pearl-white basin. Arthur opened the curtains to find the unusually calm view of the neighborhood. From where he was, the blond saw his own home across the street, and to his right, the wall of Yao's home.

The anxiety was killing him. Arthur knew something was wrong with this house, but the rooms he went into, even the Frenchman's bedroom, was…normal. The blond began opening the doors with less nervousness and more impatience. It was then on the right side of the hallway, behind a door that looked like all the rest, something finally stood out. But it was not something Arthur wanted to see.

Like the carpet on the first floor, there was a pool of wine in the middle of the empty room. Arthur really had no idea what it was used for, but based on the simplicity of it, it may have been a storage room. The only difference was that it didn't smell like wine in there. He went in, the wet carpet squishing underneath his boots. Other than the stain, there was nothing peculiar about the scene.

Where can those two be? What happened here?

Panic once again rose in Arthur when he realized that both of his sons were still missing somewhere, and that there was no time to waste. Abandoning his spot near the window in hopes of catching a glimpse of the two walking across the street, Arthur only stopped in the center of the room when he felt something slip down his cheek.

"Oh my god!"

When more of the substance dripped on his face, he looked up to the ceiling only to regret it instantly.

Cerulean eyes were staring down at him from above.

Francis, his neighbor, was hanging on the ceiling like a marionette. Pain and shock still etched itself on the crucified man's face as blood spiraled down the tips of his fingers to land on Arthur below.

Arthur was hyperventilating, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the slashed corpse, the intestines dangling in loops and curls like the designs on the curtains in the bathroom. Paralyzed with fear, the Englishman continued to stand in the middle of the room when the weight of the corpse snapped the strings supporting it; the Frenchman's body falling on him. "Get off me you frog!" Arthur screamed hysterically at the deceased, kicking and pushing Francis away from himself with much effort. When the unmoving body was to his side, apparently still staring at him in horror, Arthur scrambled to his feet only to retch in a corner of the room. He jumped out of his skin when he heard the phone conveniently placed inside the room ring after he emptied his stomach.

"Daddy, do you like the gift I got you?"

"…"

"Daddy, are you there?"

"A-Alfred…did you do this?"

"Yup!" the boy on the line said with pride. "It was hard setting it up you know."

Arthur turned his attention to the fallen Frenchman. Now that he had a closer look, it made him want to throw up again, but only dry heaves came out.

Hooks impaled Francis' limbs to keep him suspended, but the tattered ropes were not strong enough. No…they looked like they were tampered with to break on purpose. Multiple stab wounds still welled with blackened blood across Francis' chest, while other parts of his body were missing skin and flesh. They all appeared to be ripped out from him. He never noticed it before, but on the red carpet, tiny footprints led to the door he just entered through.

"Where's…Matthew?" Arthur could hear Alfred giggle through the phone.

"I have another surprise for you, daddy. Meet me in the attic~" The line went dead after that.

Arthur feebly placed the phone handle back on its stand.

His reality was finally broken.

X.X.X.X

"I knew you'd come, daddy!" Alfred pranced over to his father, giving him a quick hug before locking the door.

Arthur noticed the small action, but smiled lovingly at his son and took his hand. "Of course, now what is it that you wanted to show me?"

"This way," the toddler led the Englishman to the other side of the attic, away from the door.

On the far end of the small room, a spare bed was left in the corner along with a few picture albums on its stale blanket. There was no electricity up here, but Arthur noticed that the boy had lighted and placed candles on top of a vanity mirror stand. The wooden cabinet and mirror once belonged to his wife; Arthur wanted to save at least one memento even though he hardly went up to visit the piece of furniture. The piece of ashen sky seen in the small window above the bed showed unchanging, morbid clouds.

Alfred climbed onto the aged bed and awaited Arthur to sit next to him. The father did just that, and subconsciously began flipping through the album.

"Can you tell me what happened here?" Alfred pointed to one of the photographs in the album while leaning on his father's arm.

"Sure, anything for you, son."

"Yay! Thank you daddy, I lo-" The boy could say no more. The chef's knife, coincidently the same one Alfred held once before, was now lodged in his neck. It went right through, from the small of the neck to jut out near the collar bone. "Dad…dy…?"

"Don't you dare call me that," Arthur said with such venom that it made the boy jump off the edge of the bed. "You are not my son. Now tell me what you did to Matthew!"

Tears began streaming down Alfred's face. "H-he went to work, I-"

"And do you really expect me to believe that?" How he wished he could do such a thing. He wanted to believe that the person in front of him was his dear Alfred; that everything was back to normal. But after knowing that he killed Francis, he could no longer force himself to acknowledge Alfred's innocence.

The boy calmly peered into emerald eyes. "So, you're not as deluded as I thought you were," With that said, Alfred reached around and pulled out the blade without even wincing when blood began spurting from the wound.

Arthur cringed at the sight, but held his gaze on the demon child.

What? Why isn't he dead yet? Did he even feel it?

"You're a selfish man, Arthur."

The biting words brought the older blond back from his state of shock.

"Bringing me back to life when I already died, only to kill me again; do you enjoy seeing me suffer?"

"How can you even say that? I have always loved my son," Arthur was on his feet before he knew it, scowling at the shorter boy.

The toddler's next words were ones no father wanted to hear from his child. Pointing the bloodied knife at the blond accusingly, he said "You're a horrible father, a coward who can't accept his son's death."

"What?" the word came out as a whisper.

"Letting your son die, and pretending that all is right if you bring him back. Did you actually think there would be no consequences?" the question was punctuated with a kitchen knife thrown deathly close to Arthur's foot. It missed, but the tip slicked with the son's blood was stuck fast in the floorboard.

The father has had enough of this. Thinking quickly, he remembered what Yao told him, how he was able to kill the undead.

The Chinese moved away quite a while ago, ever since he saw Alfred walk the earth again.

Arthur dashed toward the vanity mirror and knocked all the candles over so that it set the whole place on fire.

Alfred tilted his head to the side. "Daddy, what are you doing?"

"Shut up. Go back to hell!" Was the last thing Arthur snapped at the demon child before turning his back on him.

"Wait daddy, please don't leave me!" he heard Alfred sob. "I love you."

It took all his strength to continue walking, abandoning the albums and memories. He felt a tear slip down his cheek.

I'm sorry, my son

"Papa, I'm home!~" Matthew sang, revving chainsaw in hand.

"What the-!" Just as he was about to leave the attic, his adopted son was right there at the doorway. "How…where were-"

Next to the new undead, the skinless rabbit hissed at Arthur before entering the room to lie on Alfred's lap.

"Surprised to see me eh? I should be the one who's surprised, you actually remember me for once~" the older son said as he lunged toward his adoptive father.

Still baffled at what he was seeing, Arthur finally believed that this was all real when the chainsaw dug into his shoulder. The Englishman let out a howl of pain before kicking Matthew back. The adopted blond reeked of decay, the right side of his neck purple and black with flaps of skin around the wound.

Was he brought back to life? When?

"Nice one, Mattie." Alfred applauded from behind, sitting on the bed and petting the non-existent fur on his rabbit as if this whole thing was just a spectacle.

"Matthew…what happened…?" Arthur managed to groan out, clutching his now bleeding left shoulder.

"Wow, are you slow or what papa?" the deceased snarked, amethyst eyes twinkling impishly.

While the two struggled, Alfred began singing. "London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down,"

Arthur ducked the whirring blade and made for the doorway, only to find that it was locked from the outside.

"Take a key and lock him up, lock him up, lock him up. Take a key and lock him up,"

The smoke, flames, and blood loss were all making him dizzy. After barely dodging the weapon swung at him, Arthur knew he couldn't keep this up for long. He looked back at his baby boy, who was still sitting on the bed now ablaze, smirking at him. Was it just because of the heat, or did Alfred look like the Devil himself seated at his throne? The Englishman then turned his attention to his adopted son, leering at him over his cracked glasses with a depraved smile on his pale face.

Was it all my fault…? Did they both die because of me? Did I turn them into these things? Did everybody die for my sin?

"Eh?"

Suddenly, the father stopped running.

Matthew slowed and kept a safe distance from him. However, he still had his chainsaw raised with caution.

Arthur then turned to Alfred and walked to him slowly. There was no fear or hatred in his green eyes, his arm extended toward his son on the burning bed.

Somehow, Alfred understood Arthur's intention, and quietly climbed into his father's arms.

The Englishman once more pulled up the album and flipped back to the page he was on. "That picture was taken when…"

Matthew, confused, looked at Alfred, who gave him a knowing look and nod. Dropping the revving chainsaw, he approached his father and brother.

Making room for his oldest son, Arthur bit against the pain as the wound on his shoulder continued to bleed and fire licked the exposed flesh.

The three sat there, a family, looking at the open photo album while the house burned and burned.