Many thanks to Minatu, who came up with this AU in the first place and kindly allowed me to write a fic on it! Please, enjoy!

The boy that arrived in his father's car that day was unlike anyone Viktor had ever seen. As he was ushered out by the chauffeur, Viktor couldn't help but stare. Hair blacker than coal fell over a pair of dark, angled eyes, the rim of his glasses partially obscured by his bangs. He was small, positively tiny, with a thin mouth and sharp nose, and he seemed nervous, unable to look up from the ground.

He'd never met a foreigner before, but he could tell at a glance that this boy, this small, pale, delicate looking boy, was not Russian by blood.

"Vitya, manners," his father barked, and Viktor gave a start, embarrassed at having been caught staring. He quickly averted his curious gaze and straightened his back, trying to stand as proudly as he could.

The boy was offered a hand by one of the associates, and he accepted it shakily. He was wearing a shirt that looked far too large for him, but he was otherwise dressed so lightly that Viktor didn't begrudge him the trembling; it was the middle of winter, and St. Petersburg was cold enough as it was. Clinging to his dingy looking backpack, the child was brought before Viktor's father, his eyes looking up at the large blonde man apprehensively.

"Welcome, Yuuri," Mikhail said, his tone not unkind. To Viktor's surprise, his father bent down on one knee to meet the child eye to eye and took the boy's face in his hands. "My condolences for your loss."

The boy didn't respond, merely stared back into the brown eyes, confused. Mikhail nodded at a man standing next to Viktor, who stepped forward and began to speak in a strange language. Yuuri listened quietly, then mumbled something in return. His voice was very soft, and Viktor thought it sounded broken, somehow, though he couldn't understand a word he said.

The translator nodded and addressed Mikhail once more. "He says he is thankful for your kind words, and that he is pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Polite, eh?"

"Yes, sir. He was taught well."

"Good, good," Mikhail nodded to himself. "Tell him that he is more than welcome here; any son of Toshiya is, by bond, a son of mine."

Viktor watched the exchange curiously. The words seemed to have a profound effect on the boy; his lip began to tremble and it seemed like he was drawing in on himself, his little hand tightening around the strap of his pack.

"A... ari... rigatou," he choked, tears spilling over his cheeks. Mikhail, though he didn't seem to understand the word, softened his expression and pulled the child into an embrace.

"From today on, you are my son," he said firmly. "Let no one doubt that you are Yuuri Nikiforov, my second son." As the translator repeated the words, Yuuri broke into a wail, throwing his arms around Mikhail's shoulders. Without further comment, Viktor's father lifted him up and settled him in his arms. "Vitya, come along," he said, gesturing for Viktor to follow as he turned to enter the house. He obeyed and hurried after his father, his blue eyes trained on the small, crying face that now belonged to his brother.

"Mama, doesn't that boy know Russian?"

His mother, Katerina, looked up from her book to find Viktor seated at her feet, his normally cheerful face marred by a frown.

"Boy?" she asked, still half-absorbed in the novel she was reading. She blinked and seemed to come back to her senses. "Oh, you mean Katsuki Yuuri."

"Ka... zuki?"

"Katsuki," she corrected, patting the space on the divan next to her. Viktor obliged and took a seat at her side, looking up at her curiously. "Did your father not explain to you?"

"He only said Yuuri is my brother, and that he was brought from overseas because he was alone."

"That Mikhail," Katerina sighed. "Always so vague." She raised her hand to her lips, thinking for a moment. "Do you know where Japan is, Vitya?"

"Japan? Isn't it an Asian country?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"Yes, but it is also one of our neighbors," she explained. "Though it is incredibly far from St. Petersburg."

"Further than Moscow?"

"Much, much farther," she assured him, giving him a small smile. She was very beautiful, and Viktor had often been told that his platinum-blond hair and blue eyes reminded people of his mother. "Japan is on the other side of Russia, after China. That's the country that Yuuri comes from."

"He came all that way?!" he asked, shocked.

"Yes. Russia and Japan have had their disputes in the past, but the Nikiforov family actually has important ties to the mafia there," she continued, ruffling his hair gently. "In Japan, the mafia is called the 'yakuza' and, just like our own organizations, is run by powerful families. Yuuri's father was Katsuki Toshiya, the leader of the Katsuki group. He and your father have been friends for many, many years."

"Really?"

"Mhm. Katsuki and Mikhail go very far back. They met when they were about your age, though only because their fathers hated one another and were always feuding over something. Somehow, they became close friends, and that never changed."

"How come I never met him?" Viktor asked, trying to recall a time when he might have seen this foreigner.

"You did," Katerina said. "He visited you quite a lot when you were a small child, though after his own son was born, he found it more difficult to travel here. His wife died in childbirth, you see."

"So Yuuri's mama..."

"Died, yes. He's never met her."

"Oh..." A pang of sympathy went through him. He couldn't imagine growing up without a mother.

"We meant to visit ourselves, but things never seemed to work out," she sighed, brushing back a strand of his hair. "In the end, we never managed to see Katsuki Toshiya alive again..."

Viktor stared down at his knees in silence. So that's why Yuuri was crying...

"Your father and Toshiya made a promise, long ago," Katerina continued, her voice gentle. "If either of them died, they wanted the other to take care of their families. So when Toshiya died, Mikhail sent for Yuuri. That's why Yuuri is here, and that's why he doesn't know Russian." She stopped, giving Vitya a sad smile. "Be kind to him, Vitya. That boy has lost more than you can imagine, and he'll have to start over in a strange country all by himself. It will be hard to speak to him for a while, but he'll learn your language, if you're patient. He's a member of the family now, so you must treat him like one, understand?"

Viktor nodded.

"Yes, mama."

It was harder than he thought. Yuuri mostly kept to himself, and he seemed to be wary of everyone except Mikhail. He often disappeared for hours, only to be found asleep in a closet or other small space, his face stained with tears. Sometimes, he spotted Viktor and ran in the opposite direction; his father explained that Yuuri was frightened of people with blue eyes because there were superstitions in Japan about demons with strangely colored irises. Viktor thought that was exceedingly silly, but there was nothing he could do about it. At five, Yuuri was four years younger than Viktor, and he wasn't sure what he should do to show Yuuri that he meant him no harm, and that he only wanted to be friends.

His chance came a few days later. He'd been given a bag of sweets by one of his father's men, and he went off in search of his new brother, thinking that sharing would likely break the ice between them.

Yuuri wasn't in his room or in the foyer, and a quick turn around the garden proved that he wasn't outside either. Viktor huffed to himself, slightly annoyed. He fell to the grass, staring up at the clouds petulantly.

No one's ever avoided me before, he thought to himself. I don't like it.

Moodily, he pulled the bag of sweets from his pocket and popped one into his mouth, biting down on it with a satisfying crunch.

There's nothing to be scared of! Mama and I aren't demons! And the family isn't scary either, they're always giving me things, even though they look so angry all the time. I'm sure they'd give Yuuri stuff too if he stopped crying for five seconds! Stupid crybaby.

He reached for a second piece, lost in his thoughts.

Though... I guess I'd be sad too, if Mama and Father were gone... but still, it's not like he doesn't have a family. He chewed pensively for a moment, then suddenly sat up.

"That's right! He's not alone anymore!" he said aloud, startling a bird in a tree nearby. Excited by his discovery, he pulled himself up and ran back to the house to look for his father's translator.

"Onii-san," he said slowly. He'd cornered Yuuri after dinner in the hall and grabbed him by the wrist; the younger boy had tried to fight him off and run, but the sound of his native language stopped him in his tracks.

"Eh?"

"Onii-san," Viktor said again, pointing to himself as he repeated the words he'd been taught. "Boku... wa kimi..." he paused, struggling to remember. "Kimi no onii-san...?"

Yuuri stared at him, bemused.

Viktor soldiered on. "Da... dakara, kimi wa... no, wait, er... kimi wo... I think... wo ma.. mamotte," he enunciated as best as he could. The words felt clumsy on his tongue, and he felt rather self-conscious as he said them. "Itsu... itsumo!"he said, holding Yuuri's wrist with an almost desperate strength.

For a moment, it seemed like Yuuri would say something, but instead he shook his head and tried to pull away. "Hanashite, kudasai..." he said softly. Viktor didn't know what the words meant, but he understood enough to know Yuuri was trying to run away.

"I promise!" he pleaded, switching back to Russian. "You're not alone anymore, Yuuri! I'll be here to protect you, forever!" It was an impulse, but he pulled Yuuri into a hug, trying to convey his sincerity in any way he could. Yuuri sniffled, and a moment later he seemed to break down into tears, his hands clinging to Viktor's shirt.

That was enough for Viktor to know he'd somehow gotten through.

"It's fine," he said, patting that black hair gently. "I'm here, and I'll never leave your side. No matter how much of a crybaby you are," he added. He smiled to himself, remembering a saying the Nikiforovs used often. "That's what it means to be brothers."

"You were a cheeky bastard, even back then."

"You think so? I was only trying to be friends."

"Calling yourself onii-san, ha! And your Japanese was shit."

"Better than your Russian."

"Not a chance," Yuuri snorted, pulling out a cigarette. Viktor held out a lighter for him out of habit. "Still, it was a nice thing for you to do. At the time, I thought Father had put you up to it."

"No... Father always doted on you, but that was my own idea," Viktor said thoughtfully. "I suppose something about you just... called to me."

Yuuri took a drag on his cigarette, crossing his legs casually in his seat. "You always were a sweet-talker, Vitya."

"Guilty as charged," he said cheerfully. "It's a skill you learn, being in the mafia. By the way, Yuuri, you really should wear a seatbelt."

"Please. Russian roads are hell compared to this pathetic, easy going traffic." Yuuri clicked his tongue in annoyance, grimacing out the tinted window. At 23, he had grown well into his rather feminine looks, though it often gave people the mistaken impression that he was weak and docile. Viktor knew better, however. He knew that those seemingly gentle eyes held a spark of fire deep within, and he knew that his quiet demeanor was not due to shyness.

Or perhaps, it's better to say he only ever shows his shyness to me, he thought, unable to hold back a smile.

"What are you grinning about, Vitya?"

"Oh, nothing... Just thinking that no one knows the real Yuuri Nikiforov," he said suggestively.

Yuuri sighed and put out his cigarette, giving Viktor an amused look. "You know, Vitya... if you think you're going to win a kiss with just that, you're very mistaken." He reached over and pulled Viktor forward by his tie. Their faces were inches from one another, and Viktor felt his heart stop at the sudden movement. "You'll have to try harder," Yuuri breathed, holding him in place for a good moment before letting go and leaning back in his seat.

Viktor knew his face was red.

"Y-Yuuri!"

"What? I thought you wanted to see the real me?" he replied calmly, cleaning his glasses on his shirt.

"Well, yes, but it's the middle of the day-!"

"I don't remember you complaining about it yesterday," Yuuri shrugged, driving Viktor into further embarrassment.

The driver cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "Ahem, we're almost to Hasetsu, boss."

"Alright," Yuuri replied simply, looking as unperturbed as ever. "Call Roma and tell him we're arriving shortly."

Viktor adjusted his necktie nervously, trying not to look at Yuuri. The gold band around his finger caught the light.

I guess I shouldn't complain. I got myself into this mess, knowing full well what kind of man he is.

"Vitya..."

"Y-yes?"

"Don't forget, this isn't a social visit. Try not to leave your gun behind this time."

"R-right."

A cold, hard look came over Yuuri's face. "I've waited far too long to blow a hole in that bastard's fucking head."

Neither Vitya nor the driver had anything to respond to that.

Notes: Welp, I told myself I wouldn't start a new multi-chapter fic until i finished one of my currently running ones, but as soon as I saw Minatu's amazing AU comic I couldn't help it, I was a goner. I decided to start with baby Yuuri and Vitya, but the majority of the story will likely be about them as adults, with some flashbacks to how it is that Yuuri ended up succeeding Mikhail... and how they ended up married.

Notes for translation:
1. "Boku wa kimi no onii-san." I am your older brother.

2. "Dakara, kimi wo mamotte! Itsumo!" That's why, I'll protect you, forever!

3. "Hanashite, kudasai." Please, let go.

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought, it always makes my day to get feedback on my works!