Young Fathers
Arthur had never seen his rival look so… broken. He clung to the younger companion's jacket and blinked up at him pathetically, his blue irises were rimmed with an unsightly red and tears streamed down his paled face. He shivered as the younger cocked a brow at him and tried to pull his coat out of the other's grasp.
"Take him, please," he murmured, "I know you can take care of him, god knows how many colonies you have and your America is healthy and grows well everyday. He needs someone like you, please just take him."
Britain sneered at the whimpering French nation, "You're just going to push your kid onto me because you can't handle him? How cruel, Francis. I've seen the way he looks at you, he adores you, bloody frog. How can you do that to the poor boy?"
Francis' expression changed suddenly, all pitiful woe melted away and he was angry, his brows knitted together and he gave the other a shake. Arthur attempted to interject but was cut off by the other screaming,
"Don't you think I know that? But it would be crueler to keep him with me, I'm unsuited to this and he deserves better. You can be that better person, Arthur! Please, don't do it for me, just do it for him. You wanted him as your own from the start, I know you did, so just take him already!"
Alfred was a boisterous little dear, when he smiled everyone in the room turned around and cooed at him as he obnoxiously proclaimed himself the most heroic nation yet. Angus watched him fondly, having the youngster around made being part of the British Empire a whole lot more bearable, although it was inevitable that he would move onto bigger and better things soon, the child grew rapidly and steadily and already spoke of independence every now and then as a possible aspect of his future. His eyes snapped up from the rampaging American though as the door snapped open and Arthur emerged with a small frame cradled in his arms.
Alfred, of course, ran over to him with his arms outstretched, his grin hit his eyes as he looked up at his caretaker. The Englishman smiled back and ran a hand through his hair fondly, the little frame in his arms whimpered and buried its head further into Arthur's chest. Angus watched it for a while before sighing heavily and murmuring,
"Another? Was that really smart, Arthur?" Gareth, whom had been sat silently on the window pane and observing the rain intently pried his bored eyes away from the scenery and looked at the shivering ball in Arthur's hold, his eyebrows raised for a second before motioning for Alfred to come sit by him as his anticipated a minor dispute between the two.
"France gave him up," he murmured quietly, his tone was sincere as if to converse that he didn't just snatch the other nation from his long time rival to spite him. Angus' brows furrowed and he peered over as the little ball moaned and gave a little sob,
"Papa," he cried morosely. Arthur flinched and let his hand robotically go up to pat the younger's head and murmured soothing words to him.
"Does he even speak English?" Angus retorted although his view had softened now, "Gareth and I are going back to Britain next week, you know we can't help to teach him. Plus, he's still not so cop at speaking the bloody thing yet." There came a small snort from the corner indicating that Gareth disagreed.
"I know, I know," Arthur sighed, "B-but… You should have seen him Scotland, I've never seen him look like that and what he said made me worried for the poor kid."
Angus sighed dismissively, and started to pace slightly as though considering everything. Alfred's tiny voice piped up next to Gareth,
"Is he my new brother, England?" Arthur smiled at him, his look conveying all the fondness and unconditional love he felt for his colony as he nodded and bent down slightly. The nation in his arm's whined gently but Arthur persisted,
"Want to see?" he whispered, Alfred nodded almost dementedly as he dashed over and peered at the younger nation. The whimpering ball looked so much smaller, his plump cheeks showed that he obviously never went hungry yet his skin was a delicate ivory and he was an obvious few inches smaller than Alfred. His hair fell effortlessly neat in gentle waves, America felt his hand unconsciously rack at his own slightly unruly hair in envy. His violet eyes twinkled with unshed tears and his face was flushed slightly. Alfred's pudgy hand went out and stroked his new brother's cheek with what he hoped was affection.
"Does this mean I'm a big brother?" his voice, which always seemed somewhat like a whine, rang out and broke the gentle silence. Arthur nodded, making the younger beam and jump on the spot with excitement, startling the younger nation that was still whimpering in the Englishman's embrace.
Gareth took it upon himself to gently pat Angus shoulder as he brushed past before peering too, he smiled and took on of the little hands in his own large labour-work ones, he balanced the younger's palm on his index finger and with a smile murmured,
"He do have artist hands," for once, Arthur didn't flinch at the bad use of English grammar but smiled gently and nodded. Angus groaned slightly in the background before murmuring,
"Yes, yes. He's adorable. Does he even have a name?"
Arthur gulped and nodded, "Matthew, that's what France called him, but I suppose officially his name is Canada."
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Matthew had gotten used to the larger than life characters he had been made to meet, Alfred had quieted down now that the other British brothers had left but was still incredibly energetic and all around tiring, The first few weeks, he barely spoke. It was only until one of the other brothers took him aside and handed him a paintbrush and a plain canvas did Matthew start to pipe up now and again. The brother gave him a great grin and pointed him to the paint pots and declared that he put his 'artist hands' to good use.
Arthur had worked hard the first few weeks to make him feel like one of the family but it was obvious that he was struggling with the burden of bringing up two colonies at such a young age, during the daytime he would disappear into his study and work leaving both boys to study and develop their own culture, at lunch he would quickly whip up something that Alfred would eat wholeheartedly although it was obvious that it was barely edible and Matthew with his distinguished taste could barely stomach it. Then, he would work some more before bathing them both and sending them to bed. Alfred always insisted on visiting their caretaker before he slept and at first Matthew didn't understand why, soon enough his curiosity got the better of him and he found himself hovering outside the door.
Alfred insisted because Arthur was the greatest storyteller ever. All the American had to do was feign that he couldn't sleep and Arthur would scoop him up into his bed and read to him, sometimes it was stories from his own or his brother's countries, sometimes they were just drabbles he made up off the top of his head however he would always engage himself as much as the child on his lap and it was as though the images he described were right there, dancing in the pretty dull room right in front of them. Matthew was reluctant to be noticed, he wanted to just listen and creep back in bed because he didn't want to disturb the two but Arthur turned as though he had known the Canadian had been eavesdropping and grinned.
"Do you want to listen?" he said, Alfred beamed up at him, his head popping over Arthur's shoulder. Matthew's breath hitched and he froze, he contemplated turning on his heel and dashing back to his room but found himself unable to do so, his new caretaker came over and softly took him up into his arms and carried him back to the bed and led him next to the American fidgeting due to his eagerness to hear the rest of the story. Words would fall off the tip of their caretaker's tongue and form to make a scenario play out in front of their bewildered eyes. That night, Matthew felt as though he was apart of their family.
Weeks had passed and Arthur was unusually on edge, instead of giving them breakfast and immediately going to work, he made them wash again and dress in their best clothes. Occasionally, Matthew would see Arthur craning his neck every now and then to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror and his hand would subconsciously go up to attempt to pat down the flyaway spiky strands of hair that stuck out awkwardly among his halo of gentle blond hair. He glared up at his untamable eyebrows as an obnoxious knock from the door came to their attention, he cursed before glancing back at the two colonies and running into the passage.
There were a lot of muffled voices, a small chuckle and Arthur's defiant growl before their caretaker burst back into the living room, slightly breathless. He smiled at Canada who blinked up at him suspiciously; Alfred however had been completely unfazed by the obvious change in atmosphere that morning and dangled over the Canadian and continued speaking very loudly about food.
"There's someone who wants to see you, Matthew," the Englishman's grin broadened.
"Ugh, You say his name wrong, sourcils. It's Mathieu."
Canada's eyes widened. In stepped a lean man draped in fine clothes, blond waves framed a chiseled jaw and a gentle smile, his eyes crinkled at the corners as his lips tipped up into that smile as he looked at the small colonies on the floor.
"I remember you!" Alfred cried enthusiastically, "I remember him, Mommy!"
"Alfred for goodness sake, don't call me that!"
"Papa?" The Canadian's eyes watered slightly as he edged over to the tall man stood in their doorway, the blond nodded and smiled.
"It's been a while, mon cher."
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"Mathieu? Alfred? Haven't you two already had your story? What's wrong, boys?"
A loud rumble of thunder echoed throughout the room, making the two boys clutch onto each other, Alfred smiled up bashfully but Matthew simply buried his head in his taller brother's chest. Francis chuckled,
"Ah," he wandered over to them and grabbed Alfred's hand before leading them into the room in a comical fashion with Alfred trying to balance the meek Canadian clutching at his front and keep in time with the elder. Thunder erupted again and both boys's jerked but Francis was quick to bundle them under the blankets along with him, Canada's eyes blinked unsurely in the sudden darkness.
"The thunder can't get you here, or the lightning or the rain, oui? So calm yourselves, boys."
"Bloody hell, what's my best quilt doing on the floor?" Francis poked his head out and smiled to the obviously peeved looking Arthur who was dripping wet after braving the weather to collect in the washing he had hung out to dry earlier that, typically, was also wet. He had a towel dangled over his shoulders that caught the droplets of rain that fell from his hair. Francis grinned, looking slightly cattish as he did so,
"You're soaked, Arthur! You should have just left it, no?" Arthur rolled his eyes and walked over to the mess of sheets on the floor before crouching down and peering at the boys who smiled up at him in an attempt to look angelic.
"You mean to get soaked? Though, I suppose there was no use after all, the rain had already started to come down heavy before I got outside."
"Well if you will leave them out the whole day, mon cher…"
Alfred's head popped out of the blanket haven and he smiled up at Arthur and tugged at the elder's damp sleeve, "Tell us another story Artie!"
"You should be sleeping," he rolled his eyes and groaned before opening his mouth to interject again just as another clap of thunder made the house vibrate slightly, the boys flinched and Matthew hurried to the Frenchman sat on the floor with them. Arthur sighed before bundling under the sheets too so it made a substitute for a tent.
"Big boys like you afraid of thunder?" he smiled as a soft head of hair buried into his chest a little too enthusiastically, "I guess one more wouldn't hurt."
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Arthur had become accustomed to sleeping in the same bed with the frog he had sworn was his life-long rival, Francis' 'every now and then' visits turned into weeks away from his nation, although Arthur bitterly yelled at him to go away, he was thankful for the man's presence. Raising Alfred on his own was hard enough, now that frail little Matthew had joined life had become more of a struggle and it was nice to have some relief every now and then.
Two strong arms found their way around the Englishman's waist and a bare chest was suddenly pressed up against his back. Arthur sighed and complained about Francis' lack of clothes as usual before turning around to look at the Frenchman behind him.
"In some ways, I'm glad that you took Mathieu from me, mon cher… It feels more like a family now, even though neither boys are really mine, he still calls me Papa and Alfred called me Dad earlier. It's nice, non?" His voice came out in a whisper, he tried to keep his voice calm and collected but inevitable excitement edged through his voice.
"Well don't get used to it, frog, they're growing rapidly. Alfred's going to be taller than you," his lips upturned into a little smirk as his eyes lidded slightly, heavy with tiredness.
"I think you might be tired, Angleterre," he got no reply however as Arthur was already asleep, his smirk softened into a gentle smile.