A/N: Teru here, writing to you all for the first time in what seems like an eternity. I apologize for my super long absence but I have had absolutely no inspiration for writing lately (the lack of the new Mark of the Chain chapter is proof enough for all readers). This fic is the first I have attempted in a long time and I hope you all manage to enjoy it. I will not guarantee new chapters will be up as quickly as you like but when inspiration strikes me I assure you, you will see a new chapter on this.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the three Hetalia series, nor do I own any part of Funimation Entertainment. Also all the countries are independent of me, but one day they shall all become one with me, da? :D"She rode into the town completely unopposed, like a shadow, unbeknownst to anyone but herself and those behind her." The blond shut his deep, oceanic blue eyes, reliving the moment as he had three hundred years before. "Although she wasn't immediately there to drive the enemy from the city of Orleans, she raised the morale of those she came to assist, bringing them reinforcements and supplies. She delivered what she was required to by the king and remained in the city. Even though she had finished her duty, she rode out to the battlefield, her beautiful blonde hair flowing in the breeze as her horse galloped towards the enemy, her bright blue eyes sparkling as God bid her to lead her men to victory. She led them into the west side of the city where they defeated the enemy troops and Joan was deemed the most beautiful heroine in French history."
He reopened his eyes to look at the young child laying in bed next to his chair. "Alright Matthew. It's time for you to drift off into your dream world instead of mine. I wish you the sweetest of dreams. I will see you in the morning." He gave the young blond a kiss on the forehead as he prepared to shut off the lightswitch in the room.
"But papa," he protested with pleading sky-blue eyes, "I want to hear more about Joan d'arc. Did she keep defeating the enemy? Did they win the war? What happened next? Who was she fighting against anyways?" He can't end it right here. I have to know more. I won't get to sleep until Alfred is home anyways. Papa may as well continue.
"That's a story for another night Matthew." Papa looked at him lovingly. "You need to get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day and you don't want to go through it without being awake and aware of all the beauty it will show to you." He flipped off the light switch and closed the door, leaving it open a crack.
Matthew rolled over and shut his eyes, his mind still working. Where is Alfred? He needs to be here. It's not right. Sleeping without him here is not right. He tossed and turned a few times, trying to force himself to fall asleep but, alas, he found he would just have to wait for Alfred to arrive. Papa sat in the living room, his right leg crossed over his left, arms crossed in his wooden chair, personally assigned to him. It sat in the far corner of the den facing the door to the front lawn. He stared at the window next to the front door, the purple silk curtains drawn over it. The embroidered indigo flowers seemed to each glow as the headlights illuminated the opposite side of the curtains.
He sat and listened as the car doors slammed outside in the driveway. Two sets of footsteps came up the sidewalk to the entry way, one a small pitter-patter of a child's light step on the circular stone steps, the other a heavier set of footsteps leading the child to the door.
"Daddy, that was so much fun," the young child exclaimed as he walked into the home. He was a spitting image of Matthew, identical except for the curl of his hair. His eyes sparkle from the excitement of the day. "Can you take me to see a football game again next week daddy? Can you please?" He gives his father his most adorable beggar's eyes to try to convince him.
"We will see Alfred. I will not say yes now. My boss may tell me I have to work next weekend. Then what will we do if I already made plans with you?"
"Tell your boss you are busy and if he still has a problem with it, tell him he's a bloody wanker."
"That is not the way we address those that have authority over us Alfred," Papa sternly scolded. "It is completely disrespectful and I will not tolerate that type of disrespect in my home."
Alfred looked at the floor shamefully, the light of excitement in his eyes extinguished in a matter of seconds. His daddy put a hand on his back to show his support of him. "Now Francis, what has gotten your knickers in a twist? He just was having a little bit of fun."
Francis shot a look at the blond adult across from him. Then he walked over to Alfred and knelt down before him, taking his chin in his hand to get eye contact.
"I am sorry Alfred. That was wrong of me to be so mean to you but I don't like you talking like that. It isn't appropriate for a boy of your age. Do you understand?" He looked deep into the boys eyes, hoping to see some kind of assurance that the message had set in but he wasn't mad. "Yes papa. I understand."
Alfred turned his head trying to look back to the floor but Francis was giving him a hug by the time he tried to. "Then be a good boy and get ready for bed. I'm going to have a talk with daddy and then I will be up to tuck you in. Okay?"
Francis didn't let go of Alfred while he whispered all this in his ear. Alfred was a good boy. He was just very impressionable. His "daddy" wasn't a very good help in that department as he taught America all of his bad habits, whether it be creepy chanting, yelling too loud at the footballers on the television, or the use of language he picked up.
"Good night daddy. I will see you tomorrow." Alfred ran down the hallway, through the kitchen, and into the bathroom to change into his pajamas.
After he had shut the door Francis turned to his blond companion in the room. "Do you realize how late it is Arthur?" He cried out. "It is two hours past Alfred's bedtime. How do you think he will get up in the morning?" The anger had been rising up in Francis for almost an hour now and it was time for him to let it loose.
"Francis, there was no need for you to get so rude with him. He is a young boy. He needs to learn to have some fun. Since you won't provide it for him I have to be up to the task." Francis shot the dirtiest look he had ever mustered at Arthur.
In his bedroom, Matthew sat up in bed. His throat was feeling dry and scratchy. No time like the present to go get a glass of water. He put down the stuffed polar bear Francis had bought him for his birthday to get up out of bed. He put on his deep red fuzzy slippers, rubbed his eyes, and shuffled down the stairs into the kitchen.
He noticed the light was on the bathroom. Since papa and daddy are in the den it must be Alfred. Maybe I can finally sleep peacefully soon. He shuffled over to the sink and turned the water onto a low pressure so as to not alarm anyone.
"And what of Matthew?" Papa screamed at daddy. "When are you going to do something with him? Everything you do is clearly for Alfred. Have you forgotten you have another son?" Matthew could hear a deep anger in Francis' voice that he had never heard from him before. Francis and Arthur had had petty arguments before over such small things as a king here, a little land there, sometimes a little bit of hunger for power, but none of those compared to the angry aura he could feel radiating from the den.
"Alfred is my son. He is my only son. Matthew is your son. I never wanted a second son from the very beginning." The tears started to form in the young blond boy's eyes as he walked towards the stairs. He was trying to hold back a sob. He could not alert his parents to the fact he was in the kitchen.
I never knew daddy hated me so much. He seems to get along with me when I am with him. So why has he never told papa that he hated me before? Or has he told him before and just kept his true feelings from me?
The boy sulked into his room, finally allowing the cries of pain to erupt from his heart. He threw himself down on his bed, putting the stuffed polar bear in a hug with a deadly grip. He clung to it, hoping it would make his pain go away. Why does he hate me little bear? Is it because I'm too quiet. Am I too solitary? What is wrong with me? I need to know why he hates me. I have to know. Why won't you tell me little bear?
Alfred walked into the room, all smiles, with not a single worry in the world. He turned his head and saw his younger brother sobbing into the pillow. Instantly the light that he had regained in his eyes turned to a look of a deep blue concern.
"What's wrong Matty?" The brother tried to soothe the other with his playful nickname for him. "Who made you cry 'cause I can make them pay for it." Almost as quickly as the look in his eyes had turned to a look of concern, they changed to a look not unlike a flame, burning it's hottest at a blue tinge. He raised his fist up and started to yell. "I can beat them up, then beat them down, then beat them all around, and then spit on them for you. Just tell me who did it."
Matthew continued to sob. He loved his brother and his brother loved him. However, he could not allow Matthew to know that it was Arthur that had hurt him. After all, Alfred loved Arthur as much as Arthur loved him. He couldn't try to tell Alfred about this. What if he doesn't believe me? Daddy has always been so good and kind to both of us. He doesn't allow himself to appear to have a single mean bone in his body. How could Alfred ever believe that daddy hates me?
Alfred put his arms around his crying brother's waist and pulled him towards himself. "I love you Matty. Now tell me who did this so I can make them pay!" Alfred squeezed Matthew a bit, more to try to push the names out of him than out of love but Matthew was still touched at how much his brother really did care about him.
They had always been close but he didn't realize the bond was that strong. So Matthew proceeded to tell his brother everything that had transpired while he was downstairs. He told him of the fight he had overheard between Daddy and Papa, and how daddy Arthur hated him and did not want him. He told him of his thoughts of doubt, how daddy Arthur had never been mean to him but apparently never loved him either. He cried harder as he recounted each little detail until it turned into one long wail.
Alfred stared at his brother, trying to make sense of everything he had just heard from his little brother's mouth. What reason could Matty possibly have to lie? Then again, what reason would daddy possibly have to hate Matty? Who can I trust? Why?
He looked to his brother, his blue eyes appearing slightly clouded, and gave him the biggest hug he had ever given the boy. In return his brother, understanding the confusion his brother was experiencing, returned the vice grip around Alfred's torso. Even Alfred isn't sure whether to believe me or not. How can I think anyone else will? Will I just have to go the rest of my life knowing one of my parents hates me and I am powerless to change it? I wish you knew the answers Alfred.
The boys finally let go each other as a few moments passed, the only sound of an occasional sniffle from Matthew's nose trying to stop the rivers of tears from flowing from the pools of deep blue in his eyes. Say something Alfred. I can't stand the silence any longer. Will you help me? Or do you not wish to think badly of daddy?
As if reading his brother's mind Alfred finally spoke up. "Matty . . . I honestly don't know what to make of this. I can't imagine daddy ever saying something so cruel, especially that he hates you. I just could never imagine him saying those words unless he was playing war with Papa France again." Alfred looked up at his brother, hoping not to see what he did.
Just from the look in his eyes, Alfred could tell his dear Matty's heart had just broken. I know he was hoping I would take his side on this but I can't lie to him. He is the only brother I have. Lying to him wouldn't be cool at all.
He walked back up to his brother to give him another hug but Matthew violently turned his body away at the last second to avoid it. Alfred's heart sank. My little Matty hates me. I just ruined my brother with one line.
How can he be so mean to me?
Alfred started to tear up a little as he watched Matthew cry into his pillow again. His heart felt like it was sinking lower by the second. Soon it would be down in the living room, directly beneath his feet. He quietly tiptoed over to his bed, careful not to alert his brother to the fact that he was going to sleep. Good night Matty. I love you.
He gently closed his eyelids as the last tears and a sigh escaped his body. How can Alfred not believe me? He's never distrusted me before. Why must it be now of all times? What did I do to deserve all of this? Matthew once again put a stranglehold on his polar bear, trying to transfer all his pain to the bear. What did I do to deserve all of this?
He continued to cry as he thought of how no one was on his side. Would Papa even take my side if I told him that I heard their fight? Or would he try to keep it under wraps to avoid upsetting Daddy yet again? Questions swarmed through Canada's mind up until the wee hours of the morning.
As the sun slowly crept it's way into the red and blue curtains of the boys' room, Canada forced himself rise out of bed. Maybe everyone here actually hates me and just fakes their love to keep me from hurting more. What if even Al hates me but just doesn't want to tell me? With each passing thought he felt less and less at home. Have I ever been wanted here? I thought everyone was so caring. I mean, Daddy has his moments where he ignores me to play with Alfred but I didn't think he hated me. What else did I never know about this house?
He crossed the room until he stood next to his older brother's bed. Most of the big brother's in the neighborhood tormented their younger brothers, asserted their dominance over the younger siblings with cruel tricks, violence, and belittling insults. But Alfred was different. Never once did he say anything slanderous or intentionally harm his little brother in any way. Alfred genuinely cared about him, or so it had always seemed.
I don't know what to make of how you feel about me Alfred. Even so, you are the only person I can trust to tell what I am going to do.
He crossed to the little white stand by his bed with the red doily on it. He pulled the cord on his bright red lamp. He and Alfred had matching bedroom sets, except that Alfred's furniture was all blue, which was his and daddy's favorite color, and Matthew had a red set, which papa said was the perfect color for the two as it represented the passion, whatever that word meant, that they both had for everything they did.
He reached into the white ornate drawer of the drawer and pulled out his box of extra special crayons that Alfred gave him after he finished the last school year. He pulled a blank piece of paper before he noticed an old picture in his drawer. Everyone in the house had a copy of the picture.
It was everyone outside on a warm Sunday afternoon in the middle of July. It was the first family picture they had taken. Daddy was holding Alfred between he and Papa, while Papa had Matthew pulled up to his other side, everyone with radiant smiles on their faces. The sun couldn't match the light in each one's eyes.
What happened to those days? Even if it was faked, why couldn't it just stay that way? Things were perfect as a family can make them at that time. Everything seemed so nice and everyone seemed so happy.
He continued to wish as he started to slowly let little droplets hit the picture, one tear after another. I miss those days. I miss them more than anything. All this because daddy hates me. Out of rage, he tore himself out of the picture and cast it on his stand. You're finally getting what you wanted Daddy.
He scribbled some thoughts down on the paper, put it folded on Alfred's night stand, grabbed his polar bear, and tiptoed out of the room. With each step, he expected the creaking to wake everyone in the household.
The sun still hadn't risen completely above the horizon yet. It was still only peeking into the household windows. The house seemed to amplify the sound each step of his tiny feet had on the hard wood floors of the upstairs hallway. He approached the stairs as he heard Daddy and Papa stirring in their own beds. They are usually up at this point in the morning. Their fight must have gone well into the night.
The little blond boy could see Daddy tossing and turning a bit. He stopped and held his breath. He couldn't be caught now. If he hates me as much as he says and he is the one to catch me, what will he do to me? Maybe he will beat me. Maybe he will hit me with words until I eventually break from the force. I can't let him catch me.
Daddy took one big yawn and rolled away from the door. Matthew walked down the stairs slowly, quiet as he could, and, upon reaching the base of the stairwell, he looked up at the doorway looming at the top of the carpeted stairwell and let out one small sigh of relief.
He continued onwards into the living room through the kitchen, the wooden floor gleaming from the sunlight, which was slowly creeping into the sky. He had to get going. He, still as quiet as possible, began to power walk as quickly as his little legs would take him. He gently slid the door open, the decorated glass window glaring right into his eyes.
He shielded his eyes as he took his first step outside. At that moment, Matthew felt as though he had achieved his freedom already. However, he knew this was not true. Leaping across the circular stepping stones that were strewn across the lawn on the way to the driveway, he began his journey to his new life.
A/N: So for all of you thinking, "You said this is a PruCan fic? Where the hell is Prussia?" I assure you in the next chapter you will get your fill of awesomeness and feels. Hopefully I did a good job of giving you the same in chapter one but feel free to tell me where to improve as I always wish to make these better for all of your enjoyment. Until next time, winks and blows a kiss* adieu lovelies.