A/N: HAPPY EASTER EVERYBODY! This is my first Hetalia fanfiction, and it is also an AU. This chapter's a bit short, but I just wrote it last night heh. Don't worry though; I promise that the chapters will get longer. So in this, Arthur is Alfred's father and Francis is Matthew's father. Alfred's going to have a lot more... moody moments in this, as he is a teenager, and a very rebellious one at that. I apologise if this chapter is lame and if the characters are too OOC. Nothing happens much, but I didn't know how to start the story. I'm not a very good writer, but hey, way to go for the very creative, not-at-all-unoriginal chapter title, right XD? Please leave a review and tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is welcome. Please read and enjoy. Have a very happy Easter! :3
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.
Chapter One- The First Chapter
O.o.O.o.O.o.O Alfred O.o.O.o.O.o.O
Loud snores echoed around the dark room. There was a shuffle and the teenager turned in his sleep. His covers had already fallen on the floor and he was sprawled out on the bed. His glasses had still been left on the entire night and they were slowly making their way down the bridge of his nose. The boy gave a loud snore and that was when something truly horrifying happened; his alarm went off.
Slowly peeling his eyelids back, Alfred lazily whacked the alarm off his bedside table. The alarm fell with a bang and Alfred rolled over. He noticed that his covers were nowhere to be seen and peered over the edge of his bed. His covers were lying at the foot of his bed and he picked them up before dumping them over himself. He hugged them tightly and lay his head back down on his pillow.
Alfred yawned and blinked a little before closing his eyes and trying to get some sleep. He managed to get a few minutes of rest and mostly dreamt that someone was yelling his name. He buried his head in his pillow, very close to falling into a deep slumber.
Unfortunately for him though, the door flew open to reveal an irate Englishman standing at the door, "Alfred, get up! It's almost time for you to go to school!"
"Don't wanna..." Alfred muttered as he curled up into a ball.
"Alfred, you're going to be late!"
Alfred grumbled something incoherent and turned his back on the Englishman. Arthur's eye twitched. He marched over to Alfred's bed and pulled the covers off. Alfred wimpered as the cool air washed over him like waves.
"You have five minutes to get ready for school." Arthur said firmly and left the room. He went to the bathroom and picked up a black bag that lay on the floor. He unzipped it and took out a hair brush. Arthur stared at the mirror and brought the hair brush down over his messy blond locks. He continued to brush his hair, but it was useless; his unruly hair kept sticking out at odd ends, no matter how much he brushed it. Frowning, he placed the brush back inside the black bag and left the room.
He headed towards his new study and when he entered, he was met with the sight of a bunch of boxes. Arthur sighed. He'd probably have to unpack after he got home from work. Arthur and his son, Alfred, had just moved to the United States. Prior to moving, they had lived in England. Alfred had never liked the weather in England, nor had he really fit in with any of of the students at his old school, and he was ecstatic that they had moved to the US. Arthur, on the other hand, had not been happy at all. He had only been to the United States once before, and that had been long ago, when he had adopted Alfred. Adopting Alfred had been the only good thing that had come out of his trip. He had vowed to never set foot in that country again. However, Arthur's job had required him to break that vow and to move to America, lest he lose his job. Arthur and Alfred had stayed in England until the Christmas holidays so that Alfred could finish his school term.
Although they had already been here for a week, the father and son duo had been very disorganised, and had only managed to unpack a few boxes and to move some furniture into the living room, kitchen, and the bedrooms.
Arthur walked over to a box in the right corner of the room and bent down. He retrieved some of the documents that he needed and grabbed a thin, black briefcase that leaned on the box. He left the room and went down to the living room, sitting down on the one of the few pieces of furniture that had been unpacked; the sofa. He skimmed through the documents, making sure that he had everything he needed before safely stacking them away into his sleek black briefcase.
The sound of a ticking noise made him draw his eyes to the clock that was seated on the mantelpiece. He gritted his teeth; if Alfred didn't come downstairs now, he was going to be late for his first day of school. What was worse, Arthur was going to be late for work.
Arthur had half a mind to get back upstairs and drag the lazy teenager into the car, but ultimately decided to give him just a few more minutes. He had been told many times that he should be patient with Alfred and a few more minutes was more than enough time for the boy to get ready to go.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
Eyes of emerald green narrowed slightly at the clock and the Brit started tapping his right foot. The ticking continued, and when the blond man had had enough, he stood up, left the room, and stomped up the stairs. Screw being patient! He was going to be late! He came to a stop in front of a wooden door and immediately started pounding on it with his fists.
"ALFRED! Get out right now, or I'll-!"
Arthur didn't even bother finishing his sentence; he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door. He was about to yell again when he froze. He was horrified to note that his son was still in bed, half-naked. Arthur bit back a growl and barked, "GET UP!"
The two simple words awoke a startled Alfred. He stared at his father with a blank expression on his face, "Wha-?"
He was interrupted by a bunch of clothes being thrown at him. "Hey!"
"Get dressed and get in the car." Arthur hissed, trying to keep his temper under control. It would do no good to lose his temper when he was already late. Oh, his boss was going to kill him.
"But I haven't had breakfast-"
Arthur silenced his son with a down-right murderous expression. A shiver ran down Alfred's spine, "OK, OK, I'm getting dressed."
"I'm going to start the car. Don't take too long." Arthur said with a warning look and left Alfred to get dressed.
Alfred threw his t-shirt on and pulled his jeans up over his thighs. He was so glad that he didn't have to wear stupid uniforms anymore. He pulled his socks over his feet and tied his sneakers on. When he was ready, he grabbed his backpack and raced downstairs. He took his jacket from the coat-hanger and flew out the door. A sheet of snow covered the ground and Alfred's sneakers were already getting a little wet. His father was waiting for him outside the rumbling red car, wearing a large red coat. His large eyebrows creased into a frown upon seeing his son's attire.
"Alfred, what in the Queen's name are you wearing? It's bloody freezing out here!"
"I can handle the cold, Pops." Alfred said smoothly.
"Alfred-"
"Shouldn't we be going?" Alfred interrupted. As much as he hated reminding his father about school, he really didn't feel like standing out here and arguing. Arthur shot him a look, but Alfred could tell that he had won this round. Alfred: 1, Arthur: 0.
"At least put your bloody coat on, for heaven's sake." Arthur said as he got in the car. Alfred grinned as he went over to the other side and got in the passenger's seat. Arthur buckled his seat belt in and raised a bushy eyebrow at his son, "Put your seat belt on, Alfred."
"I don't need a seat belt."
"Alfred."
Sighing, Alfred did as he was told, if only to avoid another argument. Arthur drived out of the driveway, out of the street and onto the main road.
"Hey, now that we're in the good 'ole US of A, d'ya think that we can sell this hunka junk?"
"The car?"
"Yup. We should get one with the steering wheel on the right side." Alfred said.
"The steering wheel is on the right side."
"No, on the right side. As in, the right side of the car... and right side, as in the correct side. There's a reason it's called the right side... 'cause it's the right side."
Arthur rolled his eyes, but didn't reply. They drove on in silence before Alfred grew bored. He turned the radio on and a horrendous noise echoed around the car; something Alfred liked to call `dubstep´. Arthur tried to ignore it and, to his credit, was doing a very good job... that is, until Alfred decided to turn the volume up.
"Alfred, turn the volume down," as usual, his son ignored him, "Turn it down, now."
"No."
"Turn. It. Down."
"No."
"Turn the volume down."
"Nope."
"Alfred," Arthur turned to look at his son, a forced smile on his face, "that wasn't a request."
"I know, but I like this song."
Arthur scoffed. Song? That crap was considered a "song"? By God, did he worry for future generations.
"Well I don't. Now turn the volume down or I'll change the station."
Alfred didn't reply, staring out of the window at all the cars, people and buildings that passed by. True to his word, Arthur changed the radio station.
"HEY! I was listening to that!"
"And now you're listening to this." Arthur said, pleased that that there was something actually good on this station. He didn't think that there were many radio stations that played `The Beatles´ anymore.
Alfred glared at his father for a while before switching the station back again. The song had changed to a rap song- something about a `Rap God´? Alfred bobbed his head and started rapping along. Arthur's green eyes narrowed and he changed the station. Alfred shot his father a death squint and changed it back again. The two kept switching the stations without speaking a word to each other until-
"Would you cut it out already?!" Alfred demanded angrily.
"Would you!?" Arthur snapped back, his eyes fixed on the road straight ahead. He switched the radio off. Alfred huffed,
"I just want to listen to that song. Is that such a crime?"
"You can listen to that garbage later, when I'm not driving you to school."
"It isn't garbage!"
"I beg to differ."
"Just because your taste in songs is so outdated, doesn't mean good songs are bad."
"I'm not saying that it's bad... even though it is."
"You just said that it was garbage!"
"Your point?"
Alfred's icy glare seemed to have no effect whatsoever on his father, "Garbage generally means bad, idiot."
"No, it means it's worse than bad... and don't call me an idiot because you have no taste in music."
Alfred shook his head, "You're a jerk, Arthur."
"`Arthur´?"
"Yes, Arthur. That's your name, isn't it?"
Arthur gripped the steering wheel tightly and an uncomfortably tense silence fell over them. The father and son didn't exchange another word to each other. Arthur focused his attention back on the road and Alfred resumed staring out of the window.
The car suddenly screeched to a halt and Arthur turned to Alfred, "Get out."
"W-what?" Alfred exclaimed with a shocked look on his face. Was his father seriously going to kick him out of the car?
"We're here, you bampot." Arthur said and Alfred looked past him to see the school building. Oh. Alfred unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. He grabbed his backpack without saying a word to Arthur before slamming the door and walking off. He could hear Arthur driving away.
Alfred stared at the school building for a good long minute. It was a large beige building about three stories high. It had two large double-doors painted a maroon-ish colour. Even though it was pretty big for a high school, it still seemed un-impressive; Alfred was disappointed. This looked a bit like the same boring old school he had attended in England. Alfred had expected more. It was then that it dawned on him that he should get inside. He was probably already late. Oh well.
O.o.O.o.O.o.O Matthew O.o.O.o.O.o.O
Large, strange-coloured, violet-blue eyes stared at the large stack of pancakes that were piled at the centre of the table. They were all a golden shade and looked extremely delectable. To top it off, there was a large bottle of maple syrup right next to them. The pajama-clad teenager gazed at them lustfully.
"Good morning, Matthieu." a smooth voice startled Matthew. Matthew turned around to face a handsome man with wavy blond hair and cerulean blue eyes.
"Good morning, Papa," Matthew smiled before once again turning his head to the stack of pancakes, "Did you make this?"
"What do you fink?" Francis smirked. Matthew's smile widened as he approached the table. He sank down on a chair and grabbed some of the pancakes before dumping them on his plate. He inhaled the sweet, mouth-watering smell and reached for the bottle of maple syrup. He squirted the syrup all over the pancakes. He grabbed a knife and fork and started digging in. He seemed to gobble them up while still attempting to act in a polite manner. His father ate a little slower, watching in amusement as Matthew gasped for air. "You should not eat so quickly, mon fils."
Matthew sent him an apologetic look, his mouth too full to speak with. Francis went over to the coffee machine to make them both some coffee.
"I thought you weren't going to use that again." Matthew said between gulps of air.
"I know, but I do not have ze time to make it myself."
"Papa, it doesn't take very long to make."
"True, but look at ze time, Matthieu." Francis said, jerking his head in the direction of the large clock that hung on the wall. Matthew froze.
"Papa, I think we should go- I-I'm going to be late at this rate." Matthew stood up.
"Nonsense, we've still got a leetle time. You've got twenty minutes left before school starts."
"It's a fifthteen minute drive." Matthew said. Francis blinked.
"And so what?"
"So I n-need to get dressed." Matthew rushed out of the kitchen and ran upstairs to his bedroom. He stripped out of his maple-leafed pajamas and put on a red hoodie that was far too big for him. He grabbed a pair of jeans and put them on. He spotted his maple-leafed backpack (man, did he love maple leaves) and checked to make sure that he had all of his books. Today was the first day of the new term and he didn't want to be late.
When he was sure that he had everything, he went back downstairs. He went to the kitchen and said, "J-je suis prets, Papa."
Francis turned around and gasped in horror at the sight of him. Matthew blanched.
"W-what is i-it? W-what's wrong?"
Francis pointed a long, accusing finger at him, "Y-you... what are you wearing?"
"M-my clothes?"
Francis grimaced, "You mean you're telling me that you are actually going to wear zat on your first day back to school?!"
"...Oui?"
Francis crossed his arms, "Well, zat is simply unacceptable."
"W-why?"
"I would fink zat it would be obvious. What you are wearing is completely hideous, Matthieu. I am appalled."
"But I wear this all the time-"
"Exactly. This is going to be your first day back. Iz a special occasion, non?"
"...Non."
"Don't be silly, of course it is. As it is a special occasion, you should be wearing something fabulous. What you are wearing is simply attrocious. Really, it does not even deserve to be considered clothes."
"...Quoi?"
"I refuse to be seen with you dressed like zat, Matthieu."
"P-papa, I don't think there's time to get changed, though."
"Then I guess you'll simply have to be late for school." Francis said and Matthew gave him a blank look. Francis almost always said that, but that was never the case; he hated being late as much as Matthew, if not more so. He just didn't show it at times. The minute hand ticked and Francis wouldn't budge; Matthew knew that it was only a matter of time before Francis's will crumbled. There was another tick and Francis sighed,
"Fine. Montez dans la voiture, Matthieu." Francis said and tossed the car keys to Matthew, who caught them. Matthew went back to the hallway. He took his white and red jacket from the coat hanger and put it on before opening the front door and taking his leave. He went to the car that was parked in the driveway. He walked towards the left front door and opened the car door using the key. He climbed inside and strapped the seat belt on. Francis was out the door not a minute later, a sleek black briefcase in hand. He got in the driver's seat and twisted around to put his briefcase on the back seats. He sat back down, closed the door and started the car. Francis pulled out of the driveway and drove off.
"W-what's in the briefcase?" Matthew asked awkwardly. He barely ever attempted to make conversation, even with his father.
"Oh, nothing important. Just some recipes."
"Recipes are not important?"
Francis simply smiled at Matthew. He was a chef at a local restaurant. Matthew knew that his father dreamed of becoming the famous owner and Head Chef of the best restaurant in the world. His father worked very hard and Matthew didn't doubt that one day, he would be the best chef in the world, if he wasn't already.
"So Matthieu," Francis started, "are you going out with your friends again today?"
Matthew looked down at his lap for a while before answering, "No."
Well, that was the truth. Matthew wasn't going out with his friends today; he didn't have any. Not that his father knew that. Matthew had told Francis that he had a few friends, but really, he was invisible to practically everyone. He just didn't want Francis to think that he was some social outcast that nobody liked. Not even his teachers acknowledged his existence. Francis was the only one who ever payed attention, but even then, he did tend to... forget, sometimes. It wasn't very serious or often, though. He would just forget that Matthew was in a room, or that Matthew had asked something, or that he wasn't, in fact, the ghost that sometimes lurked in the bathroom... just little things like that.
Even though his father tended to forget him at times, he was still the best person that Matthew ever knew. Matthew remembered when his father had found him, all alone and abandoned. Matthew couldn't remember much of that night, but he still remembered his father taking him in, feeding him, loving him... saving him. Matthew had been around four years old when Francis had met him, and he had legally become his son at the age of five. Although Francis had already explained to Matthew that he was adopted, Matthew hadn't believed him at first; after all, they looked very similar. However, as time went on, Matthew grew to accept that Francis was not his biological father; he was better.
Matthew looked at his watch; he was definitely going to be late. He sighed. He had woken up early enough, so what had gone wrong? He supposed it didn't really matter... the teachers didn't really know he existed anyway...
Francis hummed, "When am I going to meet your friends, hmm?"
"One day." Matthew replied. One day... when he had some. If he got some.
"Well, I sure 'ope that that day comes soon!" Francis smiled and Matthew couldn't help but smile back. Francis turned on the radio and a horrible noise blurted out. Both Francis and Matthew cringed. "Eurgh, what is that 'orrible sound?" Francis exclaimed, immediately switching stations.
"I t-think that's dubstep..." Matthew winced.
"It sounds like merde."
Matthew nodded in agreement. Luckily, the song had switched to something that Matthew liked very much: `The Beatles´. His father hummed along.
"Zis is a nice song. Who sings it?"
"`The Beatles´, I think." Matthew answered as a red light shone brightly at them.
Francis stopped humming, "An English band. Turn it off immediately, Matthieu."
Matthew rolled his eyes. The traffic light turned green again, but the line wasn't moving.
"Oh, putain." Francis swore and Matthew looked out the window. Some car at the front of the line wasn't moving and when the light turned yellow, the car sped off and the light turned red.
After what felt like a really long time, the light turned green again. There were two attractive women wearing very revealing clothing (Matthew wondered why they were dressed like that when they were surrounded by snow... they might catch a cold, or worse) standing outside with a large sign that said: "Honk if you support women's rights".
Francis honked many times in rapid succession and they flashed him a smile.
"Papa..."
"What? You don't support women's rights?"
Matthew sighed, knowing exactly that that was not the reason why his father had honked. They were close to the school now and a tiny part of Matthew couldn't help but want to get out of the car and run away. Ever since they had moved here last year, Matthew had felt so alone. Back in Canada, where they had lived for a while before, he had a friend; Kumasaka. Kumajaga had been his best friend, and the coolest one at that; he had been a polar bear. Matthew remembered when he had brought him home to introduce him to his father; Francis had very nearly fainted. He had wanted to get animal control and move Kumagaka to a zoo or something, but Matthew had begged and pleaded with him not to. At the time, Matthew hadn't understood why it was wrong to befriend a bear, but now... he still didn't understand. The day that they had left had been the worst day of Matthew's life. Matthew had had to say farewell to Kumasagi; it had been a tragic moment in his life.
"We're here," Francis brought him back to the present. Matthew opened the door and grabbed his backpack, "Have a nice day at school. Je t'aime."
"Je t'aime aussi." Matthew smiled and got out. He waved as Francis drove away and sighed. He turned around to look at the school building. He had better get to class...