"What's wrong with him?!"
Arthur looked into Alfred's eyes which were red and pouring tears.
"It's not anything to do with his country, we have looked it over several times and nothing is wrong on that part-"
"Then what 's wrong with him," Alfred exclaimed cutting the British man off, then collapsed next to the bed and threw his upper half over his brother's rapidly breathing body. It was way too warm and he, Alfred F. Jones, was helpless to help his twin brother.
"France said he was on his way," Arthur said in a very monotone croak.
Matthew lay there in silence. He was very much awake, and could hear every word that was said. How could he sleep with is body burning in pain and his lungs trying hard for breath.
Slowly he moved his arm over Al's head and began to stroke his brother's hair.
At this the two men in the room perked up. Alfred began to weep softly, and Arthur placed his hand over Matthew's burning forehead.
The truth was, the Englishman knew why this was happening to the young nation, but it was too late to do anything and it was better that he said nothing about it until he felt the time was right.
Ten more minutes passed in the soft silence, until Francis burst into the room.
The second the Frenchman's eyes saw the Canadian boy, they filled with tears and he cried out.
"Mathieu! S'il vous plaît Mathieu!" The tears began to fall as Matthew opened his eyes and the three men saw the dull and faded violet coloured eyes look back at Francis.
"Bon..jour... Papa", Matthew whispered much softer and even more quieter than usual. He gave a week smile to those who had come to see him. He knew he wasn't going to make it... but he was filled with joy to know that he wouldn't be dying alone.
"Al...fred", The American grabbed his brother's hand and squeezed it softly.
"What is it," Alfred's voice quivered and cracked at the end.
"I want you... to look out for Kumatori for me... when I'm gone..." his voice changed to a sadder tone, "although I don't... really think he will notice the... difference for long." A tear rolled down his cheek. He had tried to stay strong for the three of them but finally could no longer hold back his emotions.
"Bro... you can't say that when you...you'll be just fine-" it was Arthur who interrupted him this time.
"You git! We all know that isn't true!"
His voice was stern but his face was that of a broken child.
Francis had taken to the chair next to the head of the bed and next to Arthur.
The room fell silent once more, until Francis brought up the idea.
"Angleterre... can you really do magic?"
Arthur felt his heart skip a beat.
"Y...yes I can."
The Frenchman got his feet and forced the Brit into the wall.
"Then prove it you stubborn, bushy eye browed bastard!"
Francis had never sounded so serious and his tone rattled the mood of the room. England began to stammer, Matthew looked at his papa wide eyed, and America got up and took a few steps towards France.
"Hey, there is no need to yell," Alfred began. "I mean... it's not like there really is a such thing as magi-"
"Yes there is. And I have a spell that I think will save him." Arthur cut Alfred off again and said it very solemnly.
He pushed Francis aside and walked over to the week and dying nation. "His body is deteriorating, but his soul should be intact, although that also means that it will... but that also gives me a chance to..." Arthur began to mumble things to himself. The two nations behind him watched. One with eyes of cold glares and the other with eyes of pain, yet some small hope.
"I've got it," Arthur said out loud.
"Finally," Francis puffed, "now prove it."
Arthur began to pull out an odd brush and a small bottle of red ink. "Now I just need to-." Arthur stopped and looked down to see week eyes and a hand grabbing the bottom of his shirt.
"You don't have to," Matthew squeaked out.
Arthur looked down at the Canadian and smiled weakly.
"No. I do," he said bluntly.
Arthur opened the small bottle and began to paint a circle on Matthew's chest. He chanted a few lines of what sounded like old Latin. The circle began to glow.
"Matthew, this spell will reincarnate your soul."
Matthew's eyes widened and Alfred moved over to his side and grabbed his brother's hand. Tears were flowing from his eyes, like water from a broken tap.
"You hear that Mattie! You will be alright! I told you so!" France walked over as well, still a bit surprised that it worked.
"There are a few flaws though," Arthur began. Alfred looked back up to the Brit who had moved to the other side of the bed.
"He will not be back instantly and he likely may not even remember ever being Matthew Williams."
Arthur took a breath of air.
"But he will come back. I can promise that."
The circle was almost at its peak. Alfred and Francis gave a nod, to show that they accepted that fact. The glow took over the room and England could not see the other two past it.
He leaned down to Matthew's ear and whispered sorrowfully, "I'm so sorry Matthew, this is my fault. But... I will fix this, so I hope your memories remain so that I may one day explain everything."
Matthew looked over to the teary eyed Brit with a face of confused shock, and before he could give a reply everything began to go black.
'What did he mean by that', Matthew thought.
'Wait who was that? Who am I?' Everything began to disappear from his mind and Matthew Williams went into a deep peaceful sleep.