"Thanks for the ride, guys!" Alfred called out to a group of big, sweaty teenagers in a rusty red pick-up truck.

"No problem, Al! Hey, nice practice today! Play more like that at the games, and like hell we're gonna win!" shouted the driver, a muscular kid with brown eyes to match his hair.

Alfred grinned and waved as the clunker pulled out of his driveway and rode off, blasting rap as they sped away. Alfred shook his head and sighed happily as he walked inside.

"M'home!" he yelled to no one in particular as he stepped into the threshold. A small response from his father's office was his only reply. He shrugged and walked down the hall to his room. He was about to throw down his book bag when he noticed a figure asleep on the bed adjacent to his. He then realized it was his brother Mathieu, and mentally face-palmed for not remembering. He couldn't help it, the kid was just so easy to forget! As he walked closer to the sleeping boy, though, Alfred noticed that Mathieu had left his glasses on, rather than setting them on his bedside table, which he normally did. Matt never sleeps with his glasses on, Alfred thought to himself. He shrugged it off as Mathieu being so tired that he left them on by accident. He reached down to remove them when his fingers brushed Mathieu's cheek. Alfred pulled back. Why was Mathieu so cold? That's when he looked down and saw the red stain on the sheets that could only be blood. Alfred yanked the covers back and stared in horror at Mathieu's maimed arms. Blood oozed from each wrist, and did not appear to be stopping any time soon. "M-matt?" Alfred yelped as he shook his brother, gently at first, then forcefully. "Matt, wake up! Th-this isn't funny!" He took two trembling fingers and placed them on Mathieu's neck. A slight pulse was fluttering, but appeared to be fading fast. "DAD!" Alfred shouted. "DAD! IT'S AN EMERGENCY!" Hearing no response, Alfred sighed in frustration. He slipped one of his arms under Mathieu's legs and the other supporting his neck, and lifted him up bridal-style. He raced down the hall and upstairs to his father's office. "DAD!" he banged his fists on the door, threatening to break it off it's hinges.

"Alfred, what the bloody he-?" Arthur flung the door open and stopped short. Confusion, surprise and horror flickered across his face. Alfred had blood smeared all over him, and was clutching a figure close to his chest. It took Arthur a moment to realize that the figure was Mathieu, his second son, and guilt replaced all his other emotions. He reached out and took Mathieu from Alfred's arms. "Go get some towels and call 911 now." His voice had taken an authoritative tone that Alfred hadn't heard before, and he ran downstairs to obey his father's request. Arthur looked down at Mathieu, and he felt a lump begin to form in his throat. How had he let this happen? What had pushed Mathieu to do something like this? Tears began to slip out of his eyes, dropping onto the boy's cheeks. "Oh, Mathieu," Arthur murmured softly. "Please, please be all right," He began to rock Mathieu in his arms, just like he had done when Mathieu was a small boy, when his nightmares were out of control. He would thrash around in his sleep, screaming for his papa. Arthur or Francis would come in and wake him, and the helpless child would cling to either of their shirts and cry. A terrible pain filled his heart, and he let out a choked sob just as Alfred came back up the stairs. "Help me wrap them around his arms," he said firmly, his head ducked down so Alfred couldn't see the tears spilling out of his eyes. Together, they wrapped his wrists tightly, hoping to stop some blood flow, and five minutes later, the paramedics arrived. They loaded Mathieu onto a stretcher and took off, with Arthur and Alfred trailing behind them. Alfred put his head in his hands, and tears stung his eyes. No, I won't cry! He thought angrily. Heroes don't cry...

Arthur paced back and forth, phone in hand, as he tried for the fifth (and possibly the last) time to get Francis on the phone. Just as Arthur was about to hang up, a smooth French voice filled his ears.

"Bonjour?" it said happily. Anger filled Arthur's chest. How could he be HAPPY in a time like this?

"Bonjour yourself, Frog!" he snapped back, forgetting the whole reason he called.

"What is your problem, Arthur?" Francis replied, annoyance visible in his voice.

"Look, there's...well, we're-" He sighed. This wasn't going to be easy to say. "We're in the hospital. It's Mathieu," France was in his car and down the road in a minute.

Arthur hung up his phone and sighed. He then sunk into a chair next to Alfred, who had a bleak expression as he stared straight ahead. "This is all my fault," Alfred mumbled quietly. Arthur turned to him in surprise.

"Why would you think that?" he asked curiously. Alfred sighed.

"I've been a terrible brother! I'm supposed to be the hero, but I didn't even notice him half the time!" He got choked up, and tried to blink back his tears, but failed. "Arthur, I feel s-so terrible!" And at once, as if a floodgate had opened up, tears began pouring out of Alfred's eyes. His whole body shook as he sobbed, and he buried his face in Arthur's shoulder. Arthur stroked Alfred's hair soothingly.

"None of us acknowledged him as much as we should have, but it was his choice. Don't blame yourself," That's how they sat for the next ten minutes, with Alfred crying on Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur trying to calm him. When the doctor emerged from Mathieu's room and into the lobby, both men sat up straighter. "How is he?" Arthur asked eagerly.

"He's lost quite a lot of blood," the doctor stated. "It's a miracle he's survived this long at all," Alfred slumped back down in his seat. "However," the doctor said, getting Alfred's hopes back up. "We think he's going to be okay. You can come see him if you want." Arthur and Alfred jumped up at the same time, thanking the doctor profusely as he leaded them down the hall. "He's probably going to be asleep for awhile longer," the doctor whispered as he opened the door. Both men rushed in, and gasped at the sight before them. It reminded them of some sort of medical show. There was Mathieu, lying under sheets that were just barely whiter than him. About a million different IVs and tubes were sticking out of his arms, and a heart monitor beside his bed was giving off low, monotonous beeps. They pulled up chairs beside Mathieu's bed, and soon Alfred was crying again, as well as Arthur. They had been there a little over half an hour when the door burst open and in ran France. He slowed down as he took in the sight of Mathieu before breaking down completely, and walked to the other side of his bed. He clutched Mathieu's small, cold hand in his own as tears fell down his cheeks.

"Oh, mon petit Mathieu!" he whispered. "Mon pauvre petit Mathieu,"

A/N: aah , that took WAY longer than it should have XDD next chapter will be up in a half hour at most ! thanks for reading !

translations:

mon petit mathieu=my little mathieu

mon pauvre petit mathieu=my poor little mathieu