A/N: So. Let's go into the warnings first?
Character death. LOTS AND LOTS OF CHARACTER DEATH
Various pairings
Angsty, depressing things (Hence the title)
Some substance abuse/self-harm in later stories.

Some of you who have read my stories before know that I tend to put a really sad twist on things. And I don't know about you guys, but sometimes I like to read really sad things. And that is what this is. A bunch of really depressing one-shots that were too short to make it as independent stories. I get little bits of inspiration from daily things, and not everything is pleasant or humorous (although many of my inspirations are). Some stories are inspired by one phrase, while others are actual situations that have either happened, or that I think of in my head, because I am that kind of jacked up, paranoid person.

So, this one. I actually wrote this a few months ago. This was inspired because my music teacher was talking to us about if we were ever in a shooting and told us to 'not be a hero'. Naturally, I hear the word hero and I think of America. Thus, this story was was originally barely over one hundred words, so I added a LOT to it. So yes. Enjoy the story~!


"God damn it, Alfred, what did I tell you? I said get out, but you just had to go and be the hero, like always. And look what happened. You got shot. Papa and Dad won't like this."

"Don't worry, Mattie, I'll be fine. It doesn't hurt." Just then he coughs up blood.

"Don't you dare die on me, Al."

It takes eternity for him to respond. "…I can't promise that, Mattie."

"Why not?!" I scream at him. "I need you! Damn it, Alfred! You're the only one who notices me! Don't leave me alone!"

"Matthew, you won't be alone. You have Dad and Papa."

"They're not enough! I need my brother! Damn it, Alfred, why did you save me?!"

He gives me this shit eating grin he always gives me." Because I'm the hero…"

"God damn it, Al, don't give me that." No response. "Al." Nothing. "Al, stay with me the paramedics will be here soon. Please, God please, don't die Al!" Silence. "ALFRED!"


Three months, one week, six days. It's been three months, one week and six days since it all happened. Since some kid came to school shooting up the place. Since I tripped when running away, and Alfred jumped in front of me and got shot in the stomach. Since Alfred died. Since I was abandoned by my brother. Since I was left alone.

It's been three months, one week and three days since Alfred was put in the ground. So many people were there, even Ivan, who hates….hated. Who hated Al's guts. The Vargas brothers came too. Feliciano cried. But, then again, he cries when someone kills a spiders. Lovino just nodded calmly in my direction, promising to talk with me soon. He hasn't, really. No one has.

It's been three months exactly since the guilt started to set in. If I hadn't tripped, Al would still be here. It should have been me who died, not Alfred. And I know everyone thinks it, especially Dad. He hardly leaves the basement and when he does he usually drinks. No one says it, but I know it's true. I know the all are thinking it.

It's been two months, three weeks, five days since I tried any alcohol for the first time. Papa and Dad were both working late. I decided to snag one from Dad's cabinet. He wouldn't notice. He still hasn't. Alcohol helps to drown out the guilt. So, I always have a few bottles. And when I run out, Ivan gives me some of his vodka.

It's been a month and a week since the alcohol stopped working so well.

It's been one month total since I started cutting myself for the first time. Seeing my blood flow, like it should have done two months, one week and six days prior, helps me with the guilt. It helps me keep my head straight.

It's been two weeks since I first contemplated ending my life. Maybe the world would be better if I just ended it all?

Last night was the first time I entered Alfred's room since his funeral. I knew exactly what I was looking for and where it would be.

See, for every birthday, we would try to give the other a gift to blow their socks off. Our sixteenth birthday, the most recent, Al gave me a stuffed animal, a little white bear. I gave him a pistol. One of those ones you play Russian Roulette with. I don't know gun names very well.

Tonight, cutting wasn't enough. I have so many scars now, and now…now it doesn't help at all. I didn't even both bandaging my new cuts. I wouldn't matter soon anyway. I grabbed Al's pistol. It would be quicker than just bleeding to death. And it would be fitting. I should have died by a gun-shot would a long time ago.

"Heeeeeey, Matthew." I mutter to myself. "Want to play a game?" I load one of the six bullets. Russian Roulette.

I line the gun up next to my temple.

Click. No bullet.

Click. Nothing.

Click.

Click.

I don't hear footsteps or knocking. I only notice someone came into my room when the gun is knocked out of my hand. Somehow the gun goes off and shoots, missing both me and Papa.

"Matthieu! What are you doing?!" I have never seen him this angry before. He grabs my wrist and I whine, because it hurts. He looks down and sees my wrists. He lifts me up and drags me towards the bathroom, but Dad stops us.

"What the bloody hell is going on? I heard a gunshot…" He trails off when he sees my wrists. Instead of freaking out, he speaks calmly. "I'll go make some tea. I believe Matthew has explaining to do."

Papa orders me to hold two towels to each wrist while heading down to the living room. He makes me sit on the couch while he starts cleaning up the cuts. We're silent, even when Dad comes into the room with three cups of tea.

"It should have been me." Both Papa and Dad look at me, silent. I take that as my cue to continue. "I should have died. Not Alfred. I was the idiot that tripped. He…he…" I can't stop. The tears keep coming. I tell them everything. That I thought I should have died instead, and that I know everyone else thought it too. That I started drinking to drown out everything like Dad did, that I'd started to cut when that stopped working. That I wanted to die tonight. And that I still do.

I stop talking though, when I feel someone hug me. I start crying harder than I thought I ever could anymore. Harder than I had since Alfred died. I can tell its Papa by the way how he's muttering in French. I try to stop my sobs, but it just doesn't work. "Matthieu, none of that's true. No one thinks that you should have died instead of Alfred."

"B-b-b-but Dad was either drunk or in the b-b-b-basem-m-m-ment."

I feel another pair of arms around me. "That's because it's hard for a parent to put their child in the ground. I was so busy trying to drown out the pain of losing one of my boys that I didn't realize I was losing my other one." I could hear Dad say it. I start sobbing again. I just can't stop.

Finally, all of us grow tired from crying so much, and we fall asleep in the living room. I wake up in the middle of the night. I can feel someone sitting next to me.

I look and it's so hard to not let out a loud sobbing noise. But I can tell I'm crying.

Alfred. I can see Alfred sitting next to me. He hugs me tight, or as well as a spirit can hug a person. He tries to wipe off my tears. "Mattie, stop being stupid. I want you to join me as a little old man, not young. You still got a full life to live." I start crying harder, remembering when he would wipe off my tears when we were kid. "Stop crying, Mattie. You gotta be happy! You gotta live. For me." He smiles at me, and I can't help but smile back at him. "There you go! See! It ain't so bad! Watch Dad and Papa for me. Make sure they die at a ripe old age and not a day sooner!"

I nod. "I will, Al."

"Good. I gotta go, Mattie. I've been here longer than I should have been. Love ya bro!"

Before I could even say anything, I guess you could say Al exploded in a bunch of lights. It was enough to light up the whole room. The lights start falling, like stars. I start crying again, even though he had told me to stop. I can tell its loud sobbing, because someone sits next to me, and asks if I'm okay, do I hurt anywhere?

I shake my head and smile through my tears. "It's all okay now."


A/N: So. This had several endings I was juggling through. One was that Matthew dies and Francis and Arthur have to deal with the loss of their other son. Another was that Alfred's ghost stops him. Then I thought about this, and it just felt better. I cried. I cried several times when writing this.

And I almost freaking quit writing when I'm Your Hero came up on my phone. I seriously got up and walked away from my laptop.

After Alfred died, for a while Matthew was still in shock, but then depression and survivor's guilt began to kick in. Those three months Matthew really didn't register what was actually going on. For example, Lovi and a lot of other people had tried to talk to him, but he was just in his own world. He never noticed some of the things that were going on with his parents, which will be gone over if I end up doing a version from Arthur's or Francis's point of view.

So tell me what you guys thought of this, and I'm sorry if it's not ideal FACE Family style, this is really the first time I've actually written FACE Family. Have a good rest of your day, and hopefully I will have another story for you guys soon! Bye bye!