Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine! Oh, how I wish it was...

Gilbert sat, clutching the neck of his beer bottle with an intensity that threatened to shatter the thick glass. A look of concentration and confusion clouded his usually piercing red eyes as he stared out across his expansive yard from his perch on the front porch. The events of the day were on replay in his mind- Matthew skating, Matthew laughing, Matthew actually talking, Matthew's Band-Aid, Matthew's mysterious French rant, Matthew running away…all Gilbert could think about seemed to be that beautiful, shy Canadian.

'What happened back there?' Gilbert questioned in his mind. 'Where did Matthew get that burn? Why'd he run away? Why did he fucking freak?! His father wouldn't- he doesn't-' Gilbert's thoughts stuttered out in horror. He must be wrong, he must!

"AAAAARRGGGH!" the frustrated German screamed, throwing his now empty bottle out towards the sea of impeccable green. Now the glinting pieces of murky emerald sat scattered in the grass, breaking up the never-ending illusion.

With a sigh Gilbert let his head fall into his hands. "Vhy is this happening? Vhat exactly IS happening?!" he muttered through his fingers.

He stumbled out of his inner turmoil when he heard the sounds of his two bubbly friends pulling up. The albino didn't even need to look up to identify the new arrivals. He always recognized the sound Antonio and Francis arriving.

"Now I'm lying on the cold hard ground

Ooooh, oooooh

Trouble, trouble, trouble

Ooooh, oooooh

Trouble, trouble, trouble"

Two very off key voices rose above all else as the smooth engine shut off. For all of their short-comings in singing, they were somehow able to perfectly imitate a goat on every last squeal-ish "oh", and then proceeding to laugh like madmen every time. Finally, finally the song ended and the two exited the car and headed up the long driveway.

"Ohonhonhonhon, what would I give to see Ivan's precious little sister's reaction to his make over," Francis cackled as they neared the wide porch.

"Amigo, you couldn't pay me enough to go near that psycho- especially after what we've done," Antonio replied with a playful smile. "Although, Ivan's pretty scary himself."

The reminder of the large Russian's terrifying nature had the two rubbing their necks like they could feel phantom hands attempting to wring them. Once they reached the base of the porch steps, though, they had somehow managed to shake off the dark mood and get back to laughing and joking, giving each other stinging high-fives that made dry paint flutter down from them.

Antonio's glimmering green eyes were highlighted by the streak of purple paint on his cheek, making them seem even more crazed than usual, but when he looked up and saw the state the third part of his trio was in, the energy faded. The Frenchman by his side had almost the same reaction.

"Mon ami, whatever could be wrong?" he asked worriedly. Bounding up the steps he took a seat on Gilbert's left, Antonio on his right. "Did your rendez-vous with Mathieu not go well?"

The depressed German begrudgingly lifted his face but didn't answer. Instead he repeated back to Francis Matthew's mini rant (phonographic memories have their perks). "Translate," he demanded when he finished.

After a quizzical look and a raised eyebrow, Francis spoke. "No, no, no. Everything was going so well. I was having fun. You weren't supposed to see this; you weren't supposed to know about this. Why couldn't you let this be? Why couldn't you let me have a good memory to think back on when things get bad again?" he stated in a detached voice. Refraining from asking his million questions he locked eyes with Antonio. 'What's going on?' both their gazes screamed

With every word Gilbert grew more and more distraught. By the end of the translation he looked horrified. Letting out a strangled breath, the silverrette slumped his shoulders forward as a defeated aura all but oozed out of him. Antonio and Francis cast matching looks of worry at the downcast actions of their usually-chaotically-energetic friend.

"Gilbert, amigo, what is going on? Is someone in trouble?" Antonio asked, placing one of his green covered hands on Gilberts shoulder.

"Fick, fick! So not awesome!" Gilbert muttered.

Francis grabbed his German friend and turned him around, shaking his shoulders with a blue covered hand. "Focus, Gilbert! Tell us what happened!"

The crimson eyes lost some of their insanity and came back into focus. "I-it's Birdie . . . ." he trailed off.

This response only confused the two further. "Birdie?" Francis and Antonio asked in sync.

Gilbert sighed again but this time with amusement. "Matthew," he clarified.

"What about Matthew?" Antonio asked.

"He- he had this. . . . and then he . . . . and now I think . . . I just- I don't- I- ARRRGH!" Gilbert babbled without giving any real information. His ruby eyes darted around in panic.

With brows furrowed even further, the German's two friends stared intently at their temporarily illiterate pal. "I don't know if you noticed, but that didn't tell us anything, Gilbert," Francis said.

Taking a deep breathe, Gilbert started again. "So, vhen ve vere skating today I noticed that Birdie had a Band-Aid on his collarbone- I assumed it vas a hickey. I mean, who vouldn't? So I teased him about it und then the awesome me came up vith the idea to just take off the Band-Aid. But there vasn't a hickey, it vas a cigarette burn. It looked very unawesomely purposeful. Then I tried to ask him about it and he freaked out and gave me that super weird rant-o-French. Then he ran away. SO unawesome!"

Silence. Silence as Antonio and Francis tried to process what Gilbert had just said. As per usual, the Spaniard came to grips first.

"Soooo . . . . Someone's abusing Matthew?" He asked hesitantly.

"I- I think so," Gilbert replied, just as unsure.

In one graceful leap Francis stood at the bottom of the steps staring up at his two friends. His intent blue eyes held a sparkle that promised either a wonderfully genius plan or lots of mischief. Gilbert fervently wished for the first.

"It seems to me the only thing to do is ask someone close to Mathieu," Francis stated, looking expectantly at his friends, as if assuming they would instantly jump to his conclusion.

The stressed German was having none of that. He definitely didn't feel like playing Francis's games. "Himmel, arsch und Zwirn, Francis, just tell us vhat you're talking about!"

His French companion gave a disappointed frown but continued to talk. "I believe you need to go and see the person who has known him the longest. And who would that be?" he gave them a prompting smile.

Both Gilbert and Antonio drew in their eyebrows, thinking hard until realization hit. Gilbert let out a dread-filled sigh and screwed his scarlet eyes shut.

"Ahhhg, that sheisskopf Ivan," Gilbert grumbled.

"Oui."

The guilt ridden Spaniard rubbed at the purple and green smears on his skin and cleared his throat to grab their attention. "Well, if it was my Lovi in this position I know I would want to go and see Ivan right away, but amigo, I'd advise against it for now."

The albino raised a pale eyebrow and turned to fully face his friend. "Vhat are you talking about, Toni?"

"Mon ami, you didn't exactly clarify on how you wanted us to distract Ivan," Francis tried to explain, raising a hand to his own decorated arm.

"So we, um, took it upon ourselves to come up with a plan," Antonio continued with a sheepish grin. "We commandeered some paint-"

"-and did some redecorating of the school-" Francis interjected.

"-we somehow ended up in the principals office-"

"-all three of us-"

"-covered in paint too! You should have seen the look on Mr. Oxenstierna's face-"

"-but Ivan wasn't as good-humored about the event."

Once again phantom fingers ghosted over their necks and both the Frenchman and the Spaniard shivered.

A German is hard to deal with on a good day- especially Gilbert- but an enraged one is simply impossible.

Ruby eyes darkened to a burgundy as a steadily increasing anger took up residence on Gilbert's expression. "You did vhat?!" he roared, jumping to his feet.

The other two knew for a fact that their friend wouldn't hurt them (too seriously) but still they couldn't help backing away from the hysterical third. By some blessing or miracle, they kept their mouths shut as well.

"Arrrrgh! VHY DOESN"T ANYTHING EVER GO RIGHT?!" Gilbert thundered as he strode towards his awaiting Mach 1.

"Where are you going?" the two left behind called together.

"To go see that fucking commie!"

And with a slammed door, a purr of an engine and the screeching of wheels, Gilbert was gone.

Ivan stood in front of the floor length mirror in the locker rooms. One hand held a bar of soap and the other held a thick wash cloth, scrubbing furiously at the yellow marks on his face. No way in hell would he let Natalia see this- she would lose her shit.

While thoughts of maniac sisters floated in the back of his mind, the tall Russian's main concern lay elsewhere. What had happened to comrade Matvey?

"Klyanus' Bogom, yesli eti dva idiota lezhali so mnoy ya naydu ikh i bit' ikh po golove truboy . . ." Ivan muttered to himself as he drew his hand back to see if he had missed any paint. Nope, nothing left on his face but a slight red where he had rubbed his skin raw. No shock there; he had been here trying to remove all traces of his little encounter with the idiot duo for almost an hour.

The worry eating away at his insides raced through his body like poison, getting to the point where Ivan wanted to race over to his small friend's house. Right now. But he wouldn't. Ivan might be oblivious to the extent of dysfunction that household went to, but he knew it came nowhere near perfect. Or even good. Or even minimal. The one time he had gone over to the William house, it hadn't ended well. Ivan's violet eyes clouded as the memory stole away his thoughts…

"Ivan!" Matthew exclaimed- his voice almost at a normal volume- as he answered the door. "What are you doing here?!"

The unusually chipper Russian held out a plastic Walmart bag. "You mentioned that you were running out of maple syrup and didn't have time to get more, da? So I got some for you," Ivan explained as he pushed past the stunned Canadian and stepped into the house. Nostalgia flooded him as he strode down that hallway. The last time Ivan had been here he had held Alfred's hand and headed up those stairs . . .

"Y-you can't . . ." Matthew stuttered to a stop, following his large friend to the kitchen. "Y-you can't be here," he tried desperately to drag the pale blond back to the front door.

Ivan's brow crinkled in confusion. "Why not?"

"Because my father will-" Matthew cut himself off and froze, surprised that he said so much to his protective-to-a-fault friend. Too much.

"What will he do?" Ivan spoke with a cold voice. When Matthew ignored the question and continued to tug at his arm the Russian dropped a hand on the curly blond's shoulder and stared into his strange violet eyes so similar to his own. Eyes that gleamed with tears. "What. Will. He. Do."

"N-nothing," Matthew insisted, breaking eye contact. "He just won't be happy if I h-have a friend over when he gets home from work. That's a-all." Lie-induced blushes always seemed to have a unique pink tint that nicely contrasted with those purple eyes.

Ivan responded with a skeptical look and nothing more- he didn't budge, didn't say a word.

"Please," Matthew pleaded, desperation leaking into his voice. "Go."

Eyes narrowed with bewilderment and suspicion, Ivan slowly walked to the door he had just come through and departed.

What he couldn't have possibly have known is that the moment the solid oak door clicked shut behind him Matthew slid to the floor, hid his face in his knees and shook with relief.

Shaking himself out of his recollection, Ivan started to get dressed in his spare (not covered in paint) clothes. Ever since that night, Ivan had watched carefully, more carefully than usual, and he had noticed things he should've seen a long time ago. How skittish Matthew was when it came to physical contact- was it really because of his shyness? All the bruises and scrapes that always covered Matthew's petite body - was he really just a klutz? No, something else was going on here, and Ivan knew he had to take action- soon.

Just as this conclusion had been drawn, Ivan heard the heavy metal doors leading to the locker rooms slam open followed by a crashing noise that sounded suspiciously like the trashcan near said entrance being kicked over.

"Hey, arschloch! Ivan, you in here?" Gilbert's arrogant voice rang through the silent, echoing room. Thundering footsteps soon joined the reverberating noise. "Seriously man, it is not awesome to hide from me right now!" he continued when there came no reply. "I've got something important to talk to you about- about Birdie."

The Russian's brow crumbled at that last statement. 'Who the hell is "Birdie"?' he thought as he crept through the empty walkways lined by grey aluminum.

Gilbert winced at the sound of his nonsensical words bouncing back at him and started again. "I mean- I have to talk to you about Matthew," he called to the unresponsive room.

Quickening his steps, Ivan came up behind the German- the expression on his face one of cold, detached suspicion.

"What has happened to comrade Matvey?" Ivan suddenly announced his presence right behind Gilbert. "If you've hurt him, I'll beat you, da?" I'll ring your pale neck, and then I'll find your annoying friends and do the same to them for lying and for ruining my favorite coat- if those stains don't come out of my scarf... He added inside his head, hoping his mind set came across through his glare.

The albino's ruby eyes widened and he spun to face the new arrival with a (very manly, very cool, very awesome!) squeak. Once the shock passed he took in the dangerous state the Russian seemed to be in and wisely chose his next words. "I haven't done anything to him," he slowly stated, taking a step back. "I swear. But he is in trouble. I think."

"Trouble?" Ivan stated, muted in tone yet sharp edges on every syllable. "There are many types... of trouble." Hidden fear lay behind these words as the foundation of his suspicions only increased.

"Vell," Gilbert, gave a dark chuckle. "Bottom line, he's in big, totally unawesome, trouble. Do you really need more?"

"Nyet," Ivan sighed in resignation to his smothering thoughts. "I know."

Roderich hurried down the hall towards the Principal's office. Even if it took him an entire week, the fickle man had finally come to a decision. The Austrian needed to alert someone with more power than himself to the situation, before everything got out of hand.

And before Matthew became impossible to save.

As the glass door and repetitive plaque came into sight another figure started down the hall from the other end. The sound of signature billowing skirts and the penetrating smell of acrylics assaulted the nurse's sense as the two met at their shared destination.

"Roderich, dear!" Elizaveta cheered and leaped the last few steps to throw her arms around the man.

"Good afternoon, Elizaveta," he greeted stiffly.

Elizaveta released the poor man before speaking again. "I'm going to guess that you're here for the same reason I am," she whispered leaning forward until her face was only inches away from his, hands clasped behind her back and a playful, forced grin on her lips.

"And what reason might that be?"

The grin dropped. "Matthew was absent again today."

Roderich's eyes darkened and he glanced at the door they both stood before. "Yes, well, it's about times this matter was dealt with- preferably by some sort of higher authority," he stated in a detached tone. He lifted a calloused hand to knock gently on the glass but as he moved the door across the hall opened. Out walked a man with bright eyes and gravity-defying blonde hair.

"Hey there Roderich! And Elizaveta too! What's up?" Matthias Kohler, Vice Principal of AE asked as he exited his office.

"Ah, Matthias. We just wanted to talk to Berwald," Roderich answered, a hint of nervousness showing through his calm facade.

"He just left with Tino to do some damage control about that security scandal- can you believe that guard would dare to hit on a student? Toni's been worrying that adorable little Finnish head of his to the brink of insanity trying to figure out how to deal with the public relations office while pleasing the parents," the Dane elaborated with a chuckle. "What did you need to talk to him about?"

Both teachers shuffled their feet and look anywhere but at their superior. Finally, Elizaveta gathered herself and spoke.

"Well, it's a bit of a delicate matter- if we could go into your office?"

Translations:

Fick, fick!- Fuck, fuck! (German)

Himmel, arsch und Zwirn!- God dammit! (German)

Sheissekopf- Shit head (German)

Oui- Yes (French)

Klyanus' Bogom, yesli eti dva idiota lezhali so mnoy ya naydu ikh i bit' ikh po golove truboy I swear to God, if those two idiots were lying to me I will find them and beat them over the head with a pipe (Russian)

Arschloch- Asshole (German)

Nyet- No (Russian)

Author's Note: This took wa~y too long, and really all my excuses are lame- so irresponsible writer is irresponsible. I rewrote this chapter about eighteen times before I was pleased too. Please just take my most earnest apology to heart. Quick question- do you guys want more on Elizaveta and Roderich? Or should I focus on the others?

In deference to tradition I beg forgiveness on behalf of Google Translate.

And once again I thank my amazing beta for not hating me for my hiatus! Love ya Princess Twila