Here's my attempt at writing something new. Yep, more France and Canada familial love and whatnot.

Disclaimer: Guess.


"Mathieu?" Francis whispered to the sleeping boy on the couch. Matthew simply turned over onto his side.

"Mmmmph..." Francis tried again, a little louder. When that didn't elicit a response, the Frenchman began shaking him.

"Mathieu! Wake up!" The Canadian was up immediately. He looked up at his papa, then at the rest of the room.

"Wha...? What happened, what time is it?"

"Don't worry, Mathieu. Nothing is wrong, cheri. I'm just going to the store, and I was wondering if you needed anything."

"Oh..." Matthew sat up and readjusted himself. "I don't know, maybe get some more maple syrup? I think we're out again."

Francis pulled out a shopping list and added "Maple Syrup" to the oddly small list. "All right. It's getting a bit late, but I'll be going now. Make sure you try to get some rest, all right?"

"Oui, Papa." The maple child laid back onto the couch, watching as Francis grabbed his things and left.

As soon as he left, the boy turned on the TV and flipped through the channels. It was, indeed, about six thirty in the evening. Francis insisted on walking to the store, and he was usually there a while. It would be dark before he got back.

Matthew snuggled into a blanket and settled on a random cartoon channel. He made a mental note to himself to leave a light on for Francis.

...

Too many brands of syrup. Francis couldn't for the life of him remember what brand it was Matthew usually got. It was the oddly shaped bottle, that much he knew for sure.

Problem was, all the bottles were oddly shaped to him. Francis simply grabbed the one he thought Matthew would like best, and went on with his shopping.

Even with shortcuts (and cutting out what he thought they didn't really need) Francis took a while. By the time he walked out of the store, it had already become nightfall.

The Frenchman looked around to see what time it was, but it was too dark to see any clocks. He could only go by what he could see, which wasn't much.

He, inevitably, ended up getting lost. Francis couldn't say for sure, but he seemed to end up in an alley. The darkness was overwhelming. The alley was also filthy and smelled of urine. The man was admittedly afraid. The silence was deafening, so in an attempt to make it easier, he began singing to himself.

"Frère Jacques, frère Jacques, Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?" The song did little to calm his nerves. He could hear sirens in the distance, followed by the sound of footsteps behind him.

"Hm? Who's there?" Francis stopped singing, and turned around. "If there's someone there, I didn't realize this was your alley!" He heard a gun cocking, followed by an utterance of, "Bastard."

The shot fired, and the next thing Francis knew, he was laying on the ground, a bullet in his back. The gunman had disappeared.

Francis was all alone now, bleeding to death. The searing pain was bad enough, but now the Frenchman also could feel the vital liquid pooling around him. What little he could see was slowly disappearing into darkness.

By the time he was discovered, it had already become morning, and his body had grown completely cold.

...

Papa wasn't back yet. Matthew had been up all night, waiting for him. When he didn't return at the time expected, the boy grew worried.

"What's taking you, Papa?" The maple child decided to just wait it out and make breakfast. Before he could do so, however, there was a knock at the door. When he answered, there were two policemen he didn't recognize.

"Matthew Williams?" One said. Neither of them seemed fazed by the fact Matthew was dressed only in a bathrobe.

"Yes?" The words they told him next were probably some of the worst he'd ever heard.

"I regret to inform you that your father, Mister Francis Bonnefoy, has been killed."


To those who have been reading Iron Weakened by Rust, I will start the next chapter soon.

-Emerald-Shadow-Knight