Disclaimer: I own not Hetalia just the plot line. Some of this words belong to an RP partner and have been rearranged to better suit the story. With her permission of course.

As the summery says, this deals with Cancer. At any time does this story become too much, feel free to stop.

The Bonnefoys were rather spiritual people. No, no not overly religious spiritual, despite the heavy Catholic background. No, the lovely parents of Matthew and Francis Bonnefoy were first class hippy. Well they were yippies, and rich ones at that. So, at a seemingly random moment in their younger son's life, packed up three backpacks and took the housekeeper with them on some soul-searching journey across the world. Thus they dumped the junior in high school onto his older brother's lap. For the most part the event was no surprise for the brothers.

But neither was it really comfortable for them. Like most siblings with a sizable age gap between them, they got along more like acquaintances rather than close family. It didn't help that they viewed and enjoyed the world differently. Francis preferred wines and cigarettes while seeing the cynical arts, Matthew saw flaws and kindness hand-in-hand and saw the real beauty of nature.

But, what were siblings for when parents went out of town?

Sometimes Francis didn't believe that Matthew was his brother. They were much too different- and well, Francis was quite the age older. He didn't mind the age gap, despite the fact it probably made him a little... Well, lets just say they were not the closest of brothers. Or even friends. Oh, no, Francis never minded staying with his younger, definitely mature brother. Still. Too young- the gap was too big, and even if Francis wanted to bond, he would not be able to. How could he, be born again? Just maybe a year older than the other?

As if that could happen.

Then there was Matthew, who couldn't tell if it upset Francis to have him around nor did he really care. He felt weak. Lately nothing felt right. The sun was too bright, noises too loud. The street went topsy-turvy on occassion. He didn't know what was wrong but neither did he seek an answer. The younger simply didn't want to worry anyone.

And he became too scared to when he coughed up blood the first time.

And became too embarrassed when he started to faint.

He swore his friends not to say a word when those things were joined by his stomach rejecting food.

But none of that mattered when his normally quick showers of ten minutes stretched to a worrisome hour. Even Francis would worry (perhaps only about his water bill) when the noise of falling water lingered too long.

Especially when the falling water started making a miniature lake in the hallway.

Matthew was taking too long in the shower. He usually took a measly fifteen minutes-at most, which always made Francis think that he wasn't clean enough. One had to admit that a teenage boy scent was not one to be too fond of. Even though it was mostly a friend of Matthew's who smelt like grease. He shuddered at the thought. But frowned as he realized his water bill was going to rise. Not like he minded, really- but he could be using that money to buy shoes.

Standing up, Francis went upstairs, humming a bit to himself, but it stopped instantly as his foot was met with a trail of water that seemed to continue to slide down the corridor. His eyes widened, and his pace quickened, opening the door without a warning.

"Matthew?" he said, and ran into the bathroom, trying not to slip on the water, and he noticed his brother prone and unconscious.

"Shit," reaching into his pocket, he called the police and asked for an ambulance. His brother needed to go to the hospital. "C'mon, Mattie- Wake up-" he whispered, worried and feeling very, horribly, guilty.

The woman on dispatch confirmed that an ambulance was on the way and gently suggested that Francis carefully prod his brother's side...or at least stop the water and cover his brother so he wasn't indecent. It was a lucky night since Matthew forgot to lock the door as well.

He started to come to when the screeching of sirens reached through the walls of the house. There was a knock on the door and a blury transition of lights and sounds as he was manhandled from leaning over the tub (ow, his ribs cried in pain) to a stretcher and into a cramped car. Matthew vaguely recognised his brother's voice, octaves higher with distress talking to a paramedic.

"Shit," he groaned. This caught the paramedic's attention.

"At least there's one good sign, he's woken up."

The thoughts in Francis head screamed relief. This was so unexpected, heck Francis was more likely to be in one. Alcohol and all that jazz, but Matthew was a good boy. What was he doing in the bathtub, suddenly passing out like that? Hearing the swear come out of his brother's mouth, he shot towards him and took the others hand, squeezing it.

"You piece of shit!" he scolded, almost instantly, "You never told me you were fucking sick!" he said, and breathed in and out for a few seconds, heavily, to calm himself down. "Goddammit, Matthew- You can tell me these things, I'm your brother, for god's sake."

Francis sighed, and squeezed his hand again, "We're going to the hospital, okay? And once you can speak properly without sounding like a tree is stuck in your throat, you're telling me whats going on with your body."

Guilt swelled in Francis' chest soon after the words left his mouth. His brother did just wake up and still looked rather dazed. "I'm sorry- I'm just worried."

Matthew couldn't help it when Francis announced his worry for him, he snorted in disbelief. After all in the span of three minutes he the word 'shit' had been tossed around thrice, once calling Matthew the insulting form of it, Francis was the one riding beside him in an ambulance instead of it being the ever believed opposite way, and the older blond said 'brother' and acted like it meant something to either of them.

So yeah, when Francis announced that he was feeling worried over Matthew- well everyone was allowed one moment to scoff at the impossible, right?

Francis felt only slightly hurt at the scoff. Fine, don't believe me then, he thought to himself as he reached in his pocket to grab a cigarette- then he remembered that he was probably not allowed to actually smoke in a hospital. That would be morally incorrect. Stupid boy wasn't even grateful that he was using his time to haul his immobile body out of the damn bathtub. The Frenchman rolled his eyes at the memory, but sighed and pushed the box of cigarettes further into his pants. He could put it off until later.

Now, the younger wasn't for lying, so he couldn't say that he wasn't sick. He couldn't say everything was fine. He could remain silent and shoot dubious looks at his brother. It wasn't like Matthew knew what he was sick with, so maybe hallucinating a more caring Francis was a side effect.

Matthew never answered Francis though. Made sense, with his little scoff. Okay, maybe he was a little more than hurt, but that was only because the one time he did something nice, it was brushed off like that. Maybe they did have something in common. They were both assholes at times.

The ride to the hospital soon was over. The manhandling returned as he was moved from the gurney to a wheelchair and then onto a reclining bed. The room felt too stirile, lights too bright and the bleeps of his own heart too loud. When he was given water it tasted bitter without the minerals. A doctor came in and said from the paramedic's analysis Matthew was suffering from a concussion. Then Francis was asked if they could run tests on his brother just to make sure it wasn't something more serious.

"Yea, of course," he mumbled to the doctor when they asked for permission. More serious? Like... This could get worse? Francis felt his heart sink slightly.

Matthew would be fine. He usually was.

Yea. Of course. He will. Francis thought.