It was the 23rd of June, 1985, the weather was a bit hot, but it was summer, of course. Little Matthew Williams was a normal 19 year old, looking, boy (Other than that he was the personification of Canada, but you already knew that.) and visiting his father, Arthur Kirkland, would be a terrific small vacation from his over worked life.

Matthew was very excited to visit Arthur; he hasn't seen the man in quite some time, and sitting down and drinking tea with him would be very relaxing. He predicted that Francis would pop up and Arthur and he would get into some sort of fight, but he didn't mind that much; as long as he was with his family everything would be alright.

Swinging his legs and humming a light tune, you could tell that the Canadian was bit impatient waiting to load on the plane. It was just a little past eleven AM when they started boarding the plane; Matthew sat in seat 5B.

He looked out the window the whole way to Montréal-Mirabel International Airport, but they were an hour and forty minutes late due something called a 'fifth pod'. Matthew didn't really know what it was, but there was no smoke or flashing light, so he didn't think it was too bad.

Having an hour to spare until his next flight left, Matt went out to lunch. Not really worried about time, he didn't rush to get back to the airport. And, with the same seat, Matthew sat waiting for the plane to take off. "This is your captain speaking. My name is Hanse Singh Narendra and I'll be flying you to London. The flight is planning on taking around seven hours to get there, so don't get too restless," went the intercom and repeated in a few other languages, including; Spanish, French, Indian, and Russian.

Matthew fell asleep almost ten minutes after takeoff only awaking six hours later (6:30 GTM) to an intercom message telling them that they were 20 minutes away from landing. He sat up, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes to get the sleep away from him.

Yawning, slightly, and putting his glasses back on, the Canadian passenger next to him joked about him in French. Blushing lightly, Matthew turned to him and retailed to him, in French. Right as his friends were laughing at him and when he was about to make a comeback, there was a bright light from the back of the plane.

At 7:14, GTM, a few miles away, off the coast of Ireland, in Shannon International Airport, an Irish man stood, looking at the results for Boeing 747, or a routine activation of its aviation transponder. Liam stared blankly as one of them disappeared, no 'mayday' call, no nothing. The one for Air India Flight 182. He scrambled to contact Air India, but each try was unsuccessful. "Arthur's going to kill me, he's going to fucking kill me," he mumbled to himself as he tried again to contact Air India.

After 16 minutes of trying to reach Air India, Air Traffic Control declared an emergency and requested nearby cargo ships and the Irish Naval Service vessel LÉ Aisling to look out for the aircraft. Almost two hours later, they got a call from the cargo ship Laurentian Forest, they said that they had discovered the wreckage of the aircraft and many bodies floating in the water.

Liam's face paled as he heard this. 'No…. Please no…. Don't be dead…'Liam thought as raced out to see this for himself. Arthur would have probably gone into some sort of state of depression if he heard about this; luckily news didn't reach London yet, but Arthur was getting worried since Matthew was supposed to have arrived over two hours ago.

Realizing that he probably looked over the boy, Arthur headed home, determined to apologize for not seeing him. As he got to his house, he found something unusual. His house was just how he left it; empty.

Liam, not really knowing what else to do, climbed into one of the police/coast guard boats (I don't know what they're called, but you know what I mean!) and went to go search for Matthew. As well as to try and find survivors.

After about five hours and finding 70 bodies, those were not alive; Liam began to think that the poor boy was gone for good. Looking around at the fellow workers, he saw a body off in the distance that was seemingly overlooked. Making his way over to it, his hopes seemed to rise that it was alive; face up. But, as he got even closer, he started to see what the body looked like; blonde hair, pale skin, cuts and bruises up the wa-zoo, and… was that a curl? Liam's hopes rose even higher as he tried to race over there.

Recognizing the nation, Liam pulled Matthew out of the water and began to check for a pulse. Pausing for a second his face went pale, again. He couldn't feel anything… And he was so cold. Not believing that he could be dead, he placed his ear by boy's mouth he waited to see in he was breathing.

"Come on… Come on…." Liam muttered as nothing was happening and as everyone seemed to ignore him. Waiting a few more second, he was about to give up as he felt warm-ish air of his ear. Freezing, Liam felt another one. "He breathes!" he yelled out, gaining people's attention.

Matthew was admitted to a hospital; his lungs were drained of the fluids, his wounds bandages, and his broken bones splinted. Arthur was the first to arrive out of his family, then Francis, and lastly Alfred. They were all waiting for Matthew to wake up. He'd been asleep for a few days now and they were getting a bit worried, but they waited for him, right beside him.

A mumble. The three looked up from what they were doing. "Mathieu?" Francis spoke up. Matthew opened, and then squinted his eyes. He mumbled something as his eyes adjusted to the light, "Where…. What happened?" he asked, his voice dry.

Arthur frowned slightly, "The plane you were on crashed, or something… We don't know for sure," he said with a sigh. "How are you feeling, mon petit Mathieu?" Francis asked with concern. "A little thirsty, but other than that… Just about how I look," Matthew said with a small smile.

The Government of Canada awarded all of Ireland with commemorative plaque, which was placed in Northern Ireland.

((I am very sorry for the fail-ness of this…

It's a historical-fiction of the Air India Flight 182 in 1985. Vancouver to Toronto, to Montréal to London, then to Bangkok, but the plane exploded in mid-flight at 31,000 feet at 51°3.6'N 12°49'W, or just off the coast of Ireland.

Just as a note; Liam is the name for the OC of Ireland/Northern Ireland…. Just to let y'all know… And fail ending is fail….

~~~I DO NOT OWN HETALIA~~~))