The small town was filled with a hushed silence.
Mothers clutched their children to them behind closed doors as they peered through the window. Their husbands stood by them, holding a free hand, as they watched the strange pair walk down the cobblestone street.
"Isn't this lovely?" one of the men, who was wearing a pink sweater vest, "I just love places like these, Francis. So quant."
The other man sighed, "Yeah, yeah, Arthur. Delightful," the people nearby winced at the sharpness in his tone, "Just don't forget why we're here."
"Of course," 'Arthur' giggled as he skipped down the road, "Two brand new countries! It's so wonderful!"
"Colonies, Arthur," the Frenchman corrected, "They are colonies, not countries."
"They may be countries one day," the Brit laughed, "That's why we're here."
Francis grabbed the other by his arm and started to pull the giggling Brit down the road, "One, were here to keep their personifications out of trouble."
"Right!" Arthur smiled as he punched Francis in the gut to get away from his arm, "I wonder if they'll like my cupcakes?"
"No, Arthur, one of them better like your cupcakes," Francis popped a cigarette in his mouth as he followed, "We agreed earlier, you get one, I get one."
"Oh, but you hate kids, I love them!" Arthur laughed and wrapped an arm around his taller friend's waist, "Either way, why can't they both love my cooking?"
Francis raised an eyebrow, "Hm, I don't know. Cause I would rather not have a cannibal running around my house?"
"Oh, Franny, you wound me," the Brit smiled, "I wouldn't give the kids remains! Maybe a little poison to boost their immunity, but never remains!"
Francis looked at him for a second then rolled his eyes, "You're gonna make a great parent."
"You really think so?" Arthur grinned, an evil kind of happiness entering his cotton candy eyes, "I can't wait to have a little colony! I'll teach it how to read, and how to cook, and how to find the right spot for a clean stab! It will be the best colony in the world!"
"Don't get your hopes up," Francis said, letting out a puff of smoke.
The town held its breath as Francis walked over to one of the houses. He briefly knocked on the door, when he received no answer, Francis took his cigarette out of his mouth, "If you don't open the door, I'll burn it down."
Slowly, a man shakily opened the door, quickly stepping out and closing the door, "W-What do you want?"
"Can you point me in the direction of the falls?" he asked in a highly uninterested voice.
The man pointed north, "Straight down the road about two blocks, then take a left and y-you'll see it."
"Thanks," Francis then proceeded to punch the man's forehead, sending him crashing.
He went off in the direction of the falls, "I'll go look up north. You search here, Arthur."
The Brit waved, "Alright, Franny! Let's meet back at the port when we find them, alright?"
Francis just kept walking down the small road in the New York town. Arthur would be fine as long as his new colony wasn't more insane then he was.
The lazy Frenchman sighed as he reached the large waterfall. To any normal person, the majestic waterfall would have made them gap in awe at its splendor and greatness. Francis, on the other hand, simply lit a new cigarette and quickly started walking along the top of the falls.
It was a bit of a struggle for him to get past the rushing waters of the horseshoe shaped water fall, but, despite Francis' general laze nature, he was extremely strong. He powered his way through the water rapidly, reaching the other side within five minutes.
"Ugh," the Frenchman groaned, as he shook off a little water, "Stupid water."
He trudged his way along the area, not really noticing the less settled land he walked on or the beautiful red maple leaves falling from the ground, littering the grass. As he went on, the world around him just grew more and more breath taking the farther north Francis walked. Snow slowly started to gather on the trees and ground, small villages began to pop up every once in a while, and, of course, red maple leaves graced the trees and ground.
Somehow, the only think France could think about was how the fucking colony better be something special, cause his French ass wasfreezing.
Wadding through the river was not Francis' brightest idea, to be honest, and he was paying for it. Of course, he was a nation; he couldn't die if he wanted to, but that didn't mean frostbite didn't hurt a bit.
Francis wrapped his soaked coat tighter around his body. He better be outta here soon.
He reached a small village that he had to walk through. It was (as Arthur choose to put it) quaint in every definition of the word. There were only a few cottages, a small well, and a lodge. Snow covered every nook and cranny of the settlement, and it was still falling gently down. As night began to fall, a few children still played in the snow, gathering in a semicircle in the street. It was so sweet, Francis felt sick.
It wasn't until he actually got closer to the children that he actually saw what they found so amusing. A small boy, about two to three, lay curled up at their feet, busied and bloody, taking punches and kicks from a jeering crowd. His dirty blonde hair was slightly damp with sticky blood, and his eyes were bloodshot. Still, the kid was still trying to stand up, for Francis had to give him some credit.
"Bastard!" the kids cried loudly as the boy fell to the ground again, "No one wants you here, why don't you just leave?" The boy remained silent, "Answer me when I speak to you!" A kid kicked him again.
"Leave me alone," the boy whispered, hair falling in his face. His request was quickly meet by a fair sized stick hitting his face. Stupid kid, Francis remarked inwardly as he stopped to take in the amateur assault, When they start begging, then you just kill them. Victims are no fun when they're broken.
"I think he's learnt his lesson," one of the bigger kids, whose aura just screamed leader. The leader of the pack grabbed the boy by the hair and made him look at him, "Why don't you just disappear?" With a spit to his face, the group began to disperse.
Francis, in one of his more merciful moments, decided that the kid had enough for the day, and figured he'd just take him out of his misery with a quick, painless blow to the throat. He really was being too nice, but hey, he was just that kind of guy.
He was stopped in his movements quickly as, to his and the groups shock, the boy slowly gripped the stick covered in his own blood and used it to push himself off the ground. A small, still fairly chubby hand wiped spit off his face. Without a word, the boy limped over to the startled group of boys, and smash their leaders face in.
Francis watched on silently as the child slaughtered the others, one by one, sending them from the earth in a spurt of blood. A few of the children ran into houses frantically screaming for help, and some of their parents rushed out, armed with knives or rifles.
Hm, well that isn't a fair fight, Francis mused, walking a little forward to get a better view, It should be pretty fun.
The boy swayed a little as he held his weapon. One of the armed adults jumped for him, grabbing him by the arm. The man's head was promptly removed from his shoulders immediately afterward.
Several of the men ran off at that, or at least vomited. The boy smiled with bloodlust at the sight of it. The remaining of the full grown men raced forward to subdue the child.
The remaining full grown men fell to the ground, completely gored.
The little, blood covered boy examined the bodies at his feet, "Remember my name now?" He laughed as blood dripped from his own mouth. He turned to walk away from the town when a shoot rang out and the boy fell to the ground.
The villagers ran forward to quickly gather the bodies of their dead, leaving the boy sprawled out on the ground. A man went and picked up his son solemnly.
He looked over to the boy who murdered his child, "It's a pity," were the only words he could say as he and everyone else left to mourn.
Francis walked out of the shadows and stood over the boy's prone body, "I know you aren't dead, boy, stand up."
The boy attempt to do so, but his body revolted and he fell into a puddle of his own blood.
"Stand up, now," the Frenchman ordered, "You call yourself a colony?"
"Y-You know who I am?" the boy looked up at him with weak eyes.
Francis glared at him, "I don't know who you are boy, but I know what you are. Do you know who you are?"
"I'm Canada," the little boy glared up, holding back a wince.
"You don't say," Francis rolled his eyes, "What's your name, kid, I'm not in the mood to guess."
"Matthieu…" the boy groaned, struggling to get to his knees.
The Frenchman watched the boy try to get up, only to fall again, "You are a very stupid child," he mused to himself outwardly, "Nothing but strength and action. But… I can fix that."
Matt flinched as the man got down to his level, "I want this made very clear," Francis grabbed the boy's hair to make him look up, "From now on, you do as I say. You can question me all you want, I don't give a damn if you approve or not, but you get it done. In return, I'll fix you up, and I'll make sure this doesn't happen again."
"They deserved it," Matt glared.
Francis looked blankly at him, "No, I mean you losing. I can't allow that, idiot," he started to move the boy's shirt, "Now where's that bullet."
Hairy hands quickly found the hole in Matt's small chest. It was, somehow, not hitting any major organs, but it had to sting a bit. Francis ripped off a piece of the boy's shirt and stuck it in his mouth, "Bite down. You don't want to let these people know your still alive, non?"
Without warning, he pulled a knife he most certainly did not steal from Arthur out and started to pull out the bullet. Much to his surprise, Matt didn't try to scream through the cloth, he only flinched slightly as the cruel knife dug through his flesh. It didn't take long to get the bullet out, and Francis took no time in staunching the bleeding, "There, you'll live. Think you can stand now?"
Matt shook his head, "Fine then," Francis sighed as he pulled the little boy up as he stood, "I want to get out of this freezing country as soon as possible, and I'm not waiting."
"Mister-"
"Monsieur," Francis corrected.
"Monsieur," Matt said, "Are you a pervert?"
It took him a second to register that one, "What?"
"Normal people don't hold strangers, but your holding me pretty tight, so you must be a pervert."
"No, kid," Francis growled, "I'm carrying you. You hold a baby, you carry items. I care for you in no way what so ever. I'm doing nothing more than carrying my prize home."
The Canadian in his arms stayed silent the rest of the way back to the waterfall, giving Francis a chance to better look at his new charge.
Despite his obvious strength, Mathieu didn't seem to be any bigger than an average child. His hair was fairly similar to Francis' own mop, though it was longer and had to get in the way a bit (he made a mental note to have the kid tie it back before Arthur came at both of them with scissors and conditioner). His eyes, as opposed to his later view of blood-shot, were actually a deep purple color with hints of red. They rater fit the country, as the red maple leaves graced every inch of the land. Mathieu's skin was pale underneath the blood, whether natural or from blood loss, Francis really didn't care.
The Frenchman managed to get a cigarette in his mouth without dropping the colony in his arms, for which he silently congratulated himself while remaining outwardly neutral. Sadly though, he just couldn't get the lighter to it, "Hey kid," he said holding the rolled tobacco in his teeth, "Go in my pocket and get my lighter, would ya?"
Mathieu hesitantly reached a small hand down (Francis slightly lowering his arms so he won't start bleeding again all over his shirt) and pulled the purple BIC from his pants pocket, "This?"
"Yeah," the Frenchman nodded neutrally, "Flick the top and light my cigarette."
The little Canadian did so clumsily, and dropped it immediately after lighting the death stick in Francis' mouth, "Sorry..."
"What ever," Francis scoffed, "I have another one." He blew a puff.
Matt coughed as the putrid odor reached his nose, a little blood coming up with it, though he didn't say anything. Francis didn't look at him, but registered to shaking in his arms and the slight red stain on his shoulder (from then on, he would subconsciously turn his head away from his colony when ever he smoked, though he would never admit it).
"We're almost there," Francis dryly commented as the waterfall came into view.
Mathieu turned to see the rushing water, "It's called the Niagara."
"I call it fucking wet," he scowled as he spit his cigarette out in to the grass and stepped on it. The Frenchman moved Matt in his arms and slung his over his bag none too gently before starting through the water.
The water was a huge wake up call, pulling them in all directions as the current fought to keep going down the edge. The first time Francis crossed wasn't that hard, but now he had a Canadian on his back, who was not exactly light weight, clinging to his back. He had to stay up right, or the kid would fly off, and Francis was not going waterfall diving.
This time he managed to cross the border in over thirty minutes, pulling Matt off his back into his arms again. He heard the kid yawn slightly, so he did the logical and shook him, "No, you are not falling asleep."
"Please?" Matt whined, pouting, "I'm tired."
Francis looked at him indignantly. This kid demolished a village in less than an hour, and now he wants to take a nap? He thought to himself as he shook his head. Francis Bonnefoy was not going to fall victim to a murderous, moping Canadian.
"No," he said as they neared the village he left Arthur at again, "You can sleep when we get to the ship, not before."
"But-" the Canadian stopped pouting and looked confused for a second, "Um... I don't know your..."
"I'm Fran-" He started to say.
"Papa!" The little Canadian said in a monotone, "Please let me sleep."
Shit. Shit. SHIT, Francis looked at him in horror, No one can kill a village and be that damn cute. Hell NO ONE could be that cute period. What's with this kid?
"Non," he glared as he regained his composure, "Your playing that card on the wrong person, kid."
Mathieu glared and was about to say something as a bullet sounded for the second time that night.
"Put the boy down you monster!" a teary faced woman screamed, waking the neighbors, "You killed my husband, and you will die!"
Francis sighed and laid Mathieu down on the street. He calmly walked over the woman, punch her in the face, and shot her with her own gun all before the neighbors were out of their comfortable beds.
He scooped up the Canadian and made off like a bandit, too tired and annoyed to want another fight. In no time flat, they were on the Plymouth Pier, where a pink clad man was struggling to pull a little, red-haired, almost Native American looking boy onto the boat.
"Please, Alfie!" Arthur coed as he tried to pull the boy from the log he was holding onto, "I don't bite! Just get on the boat."
"YOUR INSANE!" 'Alfie' screeched as he hugged the wood.
Francis rolled his eyes and walked past them, "Moron," the Frenchman said as he opened the door to their ship.
"Love you too, Franny~!"
Francis threw the Canadian down on a pillow, which would be a fine bed for now, "There," he said as he him self sat down, "You wanted to sleep, right?"
Mathieu leaned up right and looked at him briefly before he looked around the room.
There was only one room on the ship. It had two beds, a table, and a small chest. Francis sat on one of the beds, watching and waiting for him to go to sleep.
The little Canadian tried to sit up and crawl over to the other, but his tired limbs wouldn't do it, and Matt ended up half on half off the pillow, fast asleep.
Sure that he wouldn't wake up, Francis picked him up and laid him on the table. The Frenchman grabbed some bandages and wrapped the boy's chest tightly. He'd have an ugly scar for the rest of his life, but that couldn't be helped.
After bandaging him, Francis hesitated before laying him on the bed and sat down beside him.
He only laid down beside the boy to see why Arthur loved the idea of a little brother so much. That was the reason he gave the Brit, at least, when he woke up in the morning to see the pink haired man and the poor American duck tapped to a chair.
Crappy ending is crappy XD Please let me apologize for my messed up attempt at making this CAFE work. It was serious towards the beginning but then I got bored and shit was born