A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry for not putting anything up for what... 3 months. Excuses: Traveling Europe and lazyness. What I wrote I did during my Anthropology courses. Way to not pay attention me! These are on how Alfred and Matthew met Arthur and Francis. Even though I will be going back to writing historical moments, this is set in modern day.

I hope I don't insult anyone with these, especially Alfred's. I don't know what you guys will think, but these are completely fictional and not at all related to real life. I know that most are extremely kind people who care a lot for those they bring in. (Do you guys know how difficult it is to apologize when you don't want to give away the story)

He had been minding his own business, walking down a back alley, his hands dirty with blood, when he heard it. Above all the sounds of scurrying rats and buzzing flies was a high pitched squeal that seemed out of place.

Looking to his left Francis could only see a large pile of garbage, just sitting there waiting for whatever poor person had to pick it up. There was nothing to his right, so Francis thought he would just continue on and ignore whatever that sound was. Just as he was about to step back onto the main street he heard it again, though the whine was now accompanied by a small sneeze.

It definitely came from that pile of trash.

Walking over, Francis carefully put an arm in front of him, making sure he was ready for any surprise attack that might come his way. Who knows what was making that noise.

The little whine came again and Francis kicked a small tin off of the top of the pile. It amused whatever was in there as a little giggle rose up. Another tin and a piece of paper was next, uncovering the mound little by little till he saw a little fist waving in the air.

There was a child in there.

Grabbing the tiny hand he pulled on it, the body attached slowly coming out till he could see patches of blonde hair. Pushing aside the last few pieces of garbage off the small form, Francis finally got a good look at the kid in front of him. The child was curiously looking up at him, the wide purple eyes trained straight on him and wrapped tightly in a ripped dark blue blanket.

Cautiously pulling the child up, Francis remembered to support its neck before loosening the blanket and looking down. Definitely a boy.

What was he going to do with him?

Francis hated being confused. His best bet would be to just dump the baby back into the pile of garbage and be on his way, but he could see the boy growing up to be ruthless. Perhaps this could be an interesting test. People aren't born with talent after all, it needed to be trained into them.

Hefting the child up into a more comfortable position, for Francis not for the child, he walked out into the street.

Little hands grasped at his fingers and the hem of his shirt, pulling and trying to stick the fabric in his mouth. When he couldn't get the fabric high enough he let go of Francis' fingers and stuck them in his mouth instead, babbling around them and looking up at the man carrying him.

Rolling his eyes, Francis continued on, ignoring the angry looks from women passing by him. Probably because of the improper way he was holding the child, but he could care less at the moment. He was trying to think of a name.

Alfred was done with all of it. All of the moving from house to house, the new "parents" he was housed with, the fact that these people only let him sleep in their home because of the money he brought them. The money that should go towards supplying him with clothes that would actually fit his growing body, and food. Instead his fosters spent it on luxury goods, new couches he wasn't allowed to sit on, games he wasn't allowed to play. Although he was allowed to watch them play the games.

It wasn't anything that a six year old should be watching, blood splattering on the street, heads rolling around on the ground as bodies dropped. Alfred couldn't get enough of it. He wanted to see more blood, more wounds, hear more screams... and not the fake ones yelling from the television.

Often, his foster parents would get phone calls from his school, telling them that he had pushed a child down the slide, or played too rough during gym. He would get punished then, locked in his room or no food for a couple of days. But it was worth it to hear the yells of the kids as they ran away from him in fear.

Many times he had told his foster parents that he would run away, and every time they would freak out, pampering him with candy, food, and television. The treatment would only last a day or two before going back to their neglectful selves, leaving Alfred to hunt the streets for food as his fosters ate a three course chicken dinner.

It was on his seventh birthday that Alfred had had enough and began telling the two that he was going to run away. After nearly bi-weekly threats of this, they didn't take him seriously. Instead of giving him the usual princely treatment, they shoved him into his room, falling on his side, his face hitting the corner of his desk, as the door was slammed behind him. Cupping his now bleeding nose, Alfred pried open his window and climbed out onto the nearby tree, his small hands tearing as the bark caught and pulled.

Finally hitting the ground, hands and nose bloody and dripping, he ran. Alfred didn't care that his feet were bare, his shoes that were sitting in the house were probably worse to walk in, but it was getting cold as the darkness set in.

Nearly five hours later, Alfred thought he had gained enough distance from that damned house, but just as he was about to stop for a break he heard his name being yelled. Jumping, Alfred turned into the nearest alleyway, hiding behind the large green garbage bin as lights from a passing car hit it. It was from this car that his name was being called, the vehicle slowing down. Alfred was worried that they were going to get out and find him, but just as he was about to run out from behind it and hope for the best, they hit the gas and sped off.

Smiling to himself, Alfred was about to leave the alley and be on his way when a hand grabbed his shoulder and prevented him from moving.

"Those your parents?"

Alfred tried to turn around, unable to do so properly as the hand tightly gripped his shoulder. From what he could see, the man was of average height with large eyebrows and bright blue eyes. Alfred could only shake his head in the negative at the question.

"No, they are just some jerks that I have to live with. They only want me back for the money I bring in." A pout as he crossed his arms and huffed.

The man behind him loosened his grip slightly only to kneel down and turn Alfred around to face him. "Do you like... games, boy?"

Alfred's face lit up, although he hadn't played any, he had watched plenty. "Yeah! I love the real violent ones!"

The man grinned, his teeth seemingly glinting in the darkness, his eyes beginning to tint with a shade of pink. "Well then lad, my name is Arthur. Want to mess around with those two?"

Alfred nodded excitedly and a knife was dropped into his hand.