They only met once, but it changed their lives forever.

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

The principal of Hetahigh was an odd man. He was middle-aged and quite scruffy looking. Not much was known about him—only that he had two grandsons (Feli and Lovi) and that he had a slight crush on the history teacher (Adalbert Beilschmidt).

However, he was not very strict at all. An overprotective man—true—but not to the stressed-out levels his boyfriend was.

However, that day—the last day of the school year—Romeo Vargas was nearly steaming.

It happened every year with the senior class—they would always act out on the last day. This year, however, it was worse; then again, perhaps it was the fact that both his and Mr. Beilschmidt's grandson's had been victims of a few of the pranks. However, whether that was the cause of Mr. Vargas's frustrations or something else, it seemed that the man's anger had been directed at five particular boys, that one special day...

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

"Come on! Fight me, you asshole!" a deep and accented voice rang down the halls, before echoing about the principal's office.

Vargas lifted his head, tilting it slightly. Another shout confirmed his fears.

"Come on, Vanya! It's the last day!"

Vargas sighed, standing up and striding out of his office in search of the impending fight.

"Don't call me 'Vanya', Beilschmidt! And don't call me a 'commie', either!"

"I did no such thing," the second voice spoke with smug tones.

"Do. Not. Lie. To me," the first voice growled. Vargas hurried his steps along, knowing that something was about to go down.

"I'm not. I merely said that you and your sisters should head on back to Russia, where you might actually fit in with your commie buddies."

Vargas just rounded the corner when the first crack of 'fist to skin' contact sounded, followed in quick succession by several shouts and hoots; there was large crowd of students gathered.

"Hey! Break it up!" Mr. Vargas shouted over the students urging on the fighting. There was no reaction.

"What is going on?" Mr. Beilschmidt questioned as he came to stand beside the principal. "Ivan and Bataar again?"

"No. Your grandson."

Mr. Beilschmidt's eyes widened. "Then why aren't you doing anything?!" He didn't give Mr. Vargas a chance to say that he *had* been trying to get them to stop, but he couldn't be heard over the noise. Instead, the strict history teacher yelled, "Braginski! Beilschmidt! Stop fighting this instant!"

The hall miraculously cleared out in the few seconds that followed the loud outburst; cepting, of course, for the two boys that had been fighting.

"Well. Look who it is," Mr. Beilschmidt growl-sighed, glaring at the two tall boys. One of the boys was taller than the other; he was sporting a black eye, and seemed to be favoring his wrist. He was wearing a long tan coat, gloves, and a scarf; odd, since it was very hot at that time. The other was dressed in a blue shirt and tan pants, looking far more put-together than the other, despite having more injuries than the other.

"Ivan. What have we told you about these activities?"

The taller boy let a childishly cruel smile flit across his expression. He swept a hand across his forehead, brushing beige strands from the near-glowing violet eyes. "Do you need talk to me as if I'm a kid? I'm graduating tomorrow night, da?"

"Maybe. I don't really know anymore, what with how you've been doing this year."

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I care?"

Beilschmidt growled. "You should. But I suppose a criminal like you wouldn't really."

Mr. Vargas sighed, trying a more gentle approach. "Honestly, Ivan. What are we going to do with you?"

Ivan's smile grew, as did the cold glint in his eyes. "Throw me back to the 'commies', as Gilbert wants to?" he offered.

Mr. Beilschmidt turned to look at his albino grandson, who was attempting to stifle his giggles. "We'll talk later, Gil. Get to class."

The shorter one—Gilbert Beilschmidt—nodded solumnly, walking away; not, of course, before shooting a mocking look at the now-glaring Russian.

"Well Mr. Braginski? What do you have to say?" Beilschmidt snarled. He was obviously upset by his normally-strong grandson being beaten up by someone like Ivan.

"Uh...good-night and good-luck Hetahigh! See you next year?" Ivan guessed. Vargas sighed, whilst Beilschmidt shook his head.

"Do you want to stay in high school or in the jail for the rest of your life? Or do you want to graduate tomorrow evening?" Beilschmidt said seriously.

"Whatever gets me away from your *wonderful* family fastest."

Vargas intervened. "Behave, Ivan. In order for you to graduate, you must serve a detention tomorrow, under my instruction."

Ivan smirked at the "under my instruction" part, figuring the his principal was a pushover.

Then he realized that "tomorrow" was a Saturday.

"Um, I don't mean to correct you or anything...but tomorrow is Saturday, da?" Ivan questioned, changing his voice to fit his childishly innocent face.

Beilschmidt smirked, slightly. "Indeed it is. Saturday detentions: reserved specifically for the seniors who decide to act out on the last day of school. *Da*?"

Ivan bowed his head forward slightly, a bit of a dark aura casting over him. If one listened closely, they could hear him chanting slightly under his breath, "kol kol kol..."

Vargas sighed, as the bell rang. "Adal...don't you have a class?"

Mr. Beilschmidt grumbled something unintelligible, before slouching into his classroom, like a child in trouble.

Ivan glanced up at Vargas, glaring slightly. "It isn't right. Gilbert gets nothing and-"

"Gilbert's grandfather will make sure things get handled." Ivan merely gave Mr. Vargas a hard look.

"Yeah. Right."

Vargas frowned. "Remember. Tomorrow at 7:00 am."

Ivan rose an eyebrow, before walking slowly down the hall.

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

Vargas was walking back to his office after the fight, when he heard someone shuffling behind him. He paused briefly, before turning around.

There was no one there.

The principal shrugged, rubbing his greying-brown hair from his forehead; it must have been early-morning stress getting to him.

However, when he continued his trek to his office, the overwhelming sense of being followed took over again. Again, Vargas paused before turning around.

Nothing.

Vargas turned back, walking again. This time, however, when he felt the person behind him, he whirled around quickly-

And nearly fell backwards, at seeing how close the person was to him.

The figure was not very tall, though it was shrouded in a heavy, dark cloak—that made them look rather ominous.

Similar to how Ivan was chanting under his breath, this figure was as well:

"Santo Rita Mita Meada Ringo Jonah Tito Marlon Jack La Toya Janet Michael Dumbledora The Explorer! I've summoned you from the depths of hell! SHOW YOURSELF!" the boy—for now the voice was obviously male—shouted, whilst flinging an arm at the principal.

Mr. Vargas stared at the white hand, holding his breath; nothing happened.

"Ah, well...this usually works..."

Mr. Vargas let forth a shallow growl, yanking the hood of the cloak down.

A head of wild dyed-redish black hair fluffed out. Bright green eyes stared through the waves, with bushy, catipillar-esque eyebrows making the eyes further shadows.

"Mr. Arthur Kirkland. What the hell are you trying to do?" Though his voice was still calm, Mr. Vargas's face showed his irritation.

"It's Iggy," the boy corrected. In addition to his dark, choppy hair, the boy was also wearing leather-y clothes in the same colors.

"Arthur, your parents gave you a nice name-"

"I go by Iggy. That's all," the boy interrupted.

Everyone knew about the odd, punk-rocker boy with gothic tendencies. The boy was nice and polite enough (he hardly talked), but he was known for having odd quirks—such as practicing witchcraft.

"Well, Iggy," Mr. Vargas sighed, putting emphasis on the nickname, "what were you trying to do?"

"I was trying to put a curse on you, sir."

"And why would you do that?"

"You were annoying me today. So I tried to summon some demons to smite you."

Mr. Vargas bowed his head, incredulously. "Honestly, Mr. Kirkland. This is not a healthy habit."

"But it's rather fun."

Mr. Vargas looked at the boy. Was cursing your teachers—attempted, anyway—against school rules? Well, the boy had meant harm to him, anyway...

"Mr. Kirkland, you are sentenced to Saturday school tomorrow for attempted...cursing? of a teacher."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "May I bring my cloak?"

Mr. Vargas blinked, before shaking his head slightly. "Have at it."

Arthur nodded. "Very well," he said, before walking away.

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

Alfred F. Jones jogged ahead of everyone in his gym class, laughing at his panting classmates.

"Come on! Keep up, bitches!" he smirked, before running faster.

"Alfred!" a quiet voice sounded beside him. The lively boy glanced to the side, before beaming again.

"Hey Mattie! What's up, bro?"

The other boy looked much like Alfred—they were obviously twins; they both had blond hair, glasses, and blue eyes. However, Matthew had more wavy hair, with a single knot sticking up, and his eyes were more indigo than the sky-blue his brother's were.

Matthew also had a perpetually worried expression on his face. "Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio are getting annoyed..."

"By me?" Alfred smirked back at the 'Bad Touch Trio', as they had been dubbed. "So? Do I LOOK like I CARE what those dudes think?"

Mattie was huffing as much as Mr. Vargas's younger grandson, Feliciano. "Alfred, you're going to get in trouble!"

Alfred rolled his eyes; he was still going strong. "Trouble? Come on, I haven't been in 'trouble' since second grade! Besides, it's our last day of high school in our senior year! Why not 'stir the pot a bit', as Mama says?"

The younger twin sighed. "Al, I don't think that's what he meant..."

Their family was pretty odd, if one really thought about it. Their "mama" was technically a male, though he was as calm and gentle as a woman (not counting that girl in their grade, Liz). Their father, however, was quite cold and stoic all the time; Matthew and their adopted brother Peter got along with him fine, but Alfred...

"If they wanna mess with me, they can go ahead; I'd be able to beat them, real easy," Alfred smirked. They had finally done all the laps, and Matthew was catching his breath against the chain-link fence.

Matthew sighed heavily. "Gilbert...already...got beat up...by Ivan..."

Alfred laughed, though it was rather bitter. "Figures, that stupid commie hogging all the fun." Mattie shook his head.

Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert had finished, and were laid out in the grass, laughing and such. Ludwig—Gilbert's younger brother—was cheering on Feli, whilst Antonio did the same with Lovi.

The last person to finish was a badly flushing boy named Roderich. Gilbert pushed him about, before Liz (the scary-as-hell chick) got the albino to leave the out-of-shape Austrian alone.

Alfred shook his head. "Everyone is so unhealthy here, jeas!" he said, rather loudly. He got several glares, but only Matthew said something.

"Al...you eat tons of Micky-D's... do you think THAT's healthy?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "But I at least exercise regularly. Unlike these fat losers..."

"Alfred..." Mattie warned, seeing as their classmates were now openly glaring at his older twin. The teacher was also starting to notice something...

"I mean, really? Four laps around the track isn't that bad. Does it really take TOO MUCH effort to exercise? I mean look at that Edelstein kid-"

"Alfred Jones," Mr. Køhler said, in his loud—nearly as obnoxious as Alfred's—voice. Alfred froze slightly, before turning around.

"Uh, what's up Coach?" Mathias Køhler was also the head baseball coach—the sport at which Alfred was best at. Needless to say, Alfred respected Mathias Køhler above all other teachers.

"What were you saying about your classmates?"

"I was just sayin' how it's not good for us to not exercise regularly..." Alfred murmured. He HAD been saying that...though in a less-than-nice way...

"No, I heard you mention Mr. Edelstein's name. What were you saying?" At hearing his name, Roderich lifted his head. Liz was giving Alfred a warning look that basically said, "say something I don't like, and you will be beat up by my home-ec class!"

"Well..." Oh, what the hell? "I was telling Mattie about how Roderich over there can't run worth a shit, and how he's probably one of the most out-of-shape people in the school, cause he can't DO anything."

People gaped at Alfred, though he was well-known for his rude/blunt tongue. Roderich bowed his head, becoming even redder. Liz was slowly making her way over to Alfred. Gilbert was—surprisingly—patting the Austrian's back.

"Alfred Jones!" Mr. Køhler yelped, overcoming his shock. "You...don't talk about things you know nothing about! Apologize!"

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'm sorry that you are a horrible runner, Roderich."

Mr. Køhler had to physically restrain Gilbert and Liz from jumping on the star baseball player.

"That's IT! Either you serve Saturday detention tomorrow, or you're off the team!" Alfred gaped.

"But...it's the WEEKEND! And we graduate tomorrow!"

Mr. Køhler's lips thinned. "Be there at 7:00am. You'll be done before graduation, don't worry."

As the Coach rounded up the other students, Alfred gaped at Mattie.

"This sucks!"

Matthew sighed, shaking his head. "You brought this on yourself, Al."

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

Gilbert was still fuming when he, Antonio, and Francis entered the locker room.

"The nerve of that asshole! He doesn't know a THING about Roddy!" he fumed. Antonio nodded in agreement, before splashing some water on his face (the Spaniard was so handsome and sweet-smelling, he needn't shower after gym).

Francis sighed. "Oui, I know. What happened again?" the boy questioned. He stripped of his shirt, revealing his pale, blemish-free skin; Francis was known to be even more handsome than Antonio, though his smell ANYTIME was not great (as he reeked of French cologne ALL THE TIME).

Gilbert sighed. "In our old school, Roddy and some kid from Switzerland got in a fight. They used to be good friends but...I really don't know what happened...but things went down, and Roderich got his legs broken. Permanently deformed, I guess..."

"Poor Roderich..."

"I know..." Gilbert sighed. He pried off his own shirt, revealing several bruises—remnants of the earlier fight. "Stupid Russian," he muttered.

Francis sighed, glancing at his friend. "We keep telling you to stay away from him. He's just a no-good bully."

Gilbert laughed, grabbing a bright red towel with a black bird on it, and making his way towards the shower. "Hardly sums him up. The piece of shit will be in jail the day after we graduate, most likely. You know he used to beat up Toris and his friends, when they were dating."

Francis walked with him, carrying a blue, white, and red striped towel. "I know. I feel so bad for Toris; he's such a dear..."

Gilbert laughed. "You're a real softie, sometimes." Francis shrugged, smiling.

They climbed into the shower, before shedding their pants. Gilbert and Francis were very confident about their bodies, but they—or Francis at least—still had a bit of teenage awkwardness radiating about them.

The steam was rising around them, leaving only their heads visible. Francis ran his hands through his hair, making the long golden locks lay flat against his neck.

After his quick rinse-down, he reached out to shut his shower-head off. Unfortunately...

"AHHHGGG! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME, YOU PERV!"

Francis jerked his hand back, before swiping at the steam.

Oops.

Antonio's boyfriend—being as short as he was—had easily been lurking in the fog.

Francis blushed deeply, retracting his hand. By now, Mr. Køhler had come running, his eyes and hair wild.

"What is-happening...?"

Francis blushed deeper, bowing his head.

He was in sooo much trouble...

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

Yao loved school—at almost unhealthy levels. He loved nearly every class (though not art or physical education). He was probably the only one who looked forward to Mr. Beilschmidt's AP world history class, at the end of the day.

Yao walked into the classroom, settling down in front. "Nǐ hǎo, Mr. Beilschmidt!"

The man with the long blond hair glanced at his star student. "Ja. Guten tag, Yao. We aren't doing much today, just a small verbal quiz."

Yao smiled. He loved spreading his vast knowledge to others. "That's great, aru!"

Once everyone in the class had settled down into their seats, Yao sat erect.

Yao's AP World History class had two types of people in it: The kids that cheated, and Yao (basically, everyone cheated off the Chinese kid). Therefore, he was mildly popular for that reason.

Yao—it was said—had an obsession with school, especially with history. There was also a rumor that he had passed this trait onto his many siblings (especially the sophomore one, Kiku).

"All right, seeing as it's the last day and most of you already checked-out a couple of weeks ago, we're taking it rather easy today." Yao sighed, as others did high-fives.

Mr. Beilschmidt clapped his hands together. "Pop quiz."

This time, the students' dismay was audible.

"First electrically-lighted city-ja, Yao."

"The first electrically-lighted city was Wabash, Indiana. It happened March thirty-first, in 1980."

"Very good," the teacher praised. Yao beamed. "Now, who invented the lightbulb? Yao?"

"Thomas Edison, American, born-"

"Alright, we don't need his whole bio, thank you Yao," Mr. Beilschmidt gave a slight smile. The students chuckled at this, causing Yao to frown, before shaking them off.

"Okay; how about this one: When was the end of the USSR?"

This time a thin boy with glasses (also in the front) rose his hand.

"Yes Roderich?" Mr. Beilschmidt questioned.

"The USSR collapsed in September of 1991, sir," the teenager answered. Yao cringed, though he also gave a half smile—no doubt Mr. Beilschmidt would call on himself to correct the Austrian boy.

However, he was wrong. "Correct, Mr. Edelstein. How about-"

"Mr. Beilschmidt! If I may interrupt, aru..."

The history teacher raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Though September was when the Baltic states left the USSR, it officially collapsed in December."

The teacher's brow scrunched slightly. "Yao, that's not correct-"

"No, I'm sure. It was December twenty-fifth, 1991."

"Yao, it was September."

"SIR, it was December, aru."

Both teacher and student were starting to get irritated. "Do not correct your teachers, Yao."

"Oh, I don't," Yao placated, before murmuring, "except for when they're wrong."

At that, the old German whirled on the teen. "What did you say?"

Yao paled, before blushing darkly. "N-nothing sir."

Mr. Beilschmidt growled. "I expected better of you. You seemed better than these other hooligans." Yao stared at his teacher.

"Detention, tomorrow at seven. Don't be late."

O_.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._.~•*'*•~._O

A/N This is a Breakfast Club-esque fanfic, though I won't go directly from the movie (due to the fact that I changed the pairings, and had some other things in mind for them to do, that was not in the movie). So...

Criminal: Ivan

Basket-Case: Arthur

Athlete: Alfred

Prince: Francis

Brain: Yao

So... The Allies Club!

Pairings:

Arthur/Francis

Alfred/Ivan

Arthur/Alfred (former)

Antonio/Lovino (mentioned)

Ludwig/Feli (mentioned)

Ivan/Toris (unrequited/former)

Also, some names I made up for people:

Grandpa Rome: Romeo Vargas

Germania: Adalbert Beilschmidt

Mongolia: Bataar

General Winter: Viktor Winter

Unofficial names:

Denmark: Mathias Køhler

Also, Finland is Mama, and Sweden is Father. Yep. And they are still both guys.

So, if you want me to continue this, please review!