Disclaimer- Obviously, I don't own Hetalia or it's characters. If I did, there would be a lot more PruCan . . .
Edited: October 26, 2013
And good God damn. that was a lot of editing.
Morning light poured down on the city of Winnipeg- capital city of Manitoba, Canada- making dew sparkle, animals stir, and high schoolers begrudgingly get out of bed. One specific student is having trouble with that last one. As light coming through the window hit his face, Matthew Williams let out a groan and rolled over to hide in his pillow. Do I really have to get up? he thought to himself. Is it really worth it to leave this comfy, cozy bed . . . His thoughts trailed off as his mind wondered back into dream land. And then he heard a snore from downstairs. His father's snore. All traces of sleep fled at the reminder of what waited for Matthew if he wasn't gone by the time his father woke up.
Throwing the covers back, Matthew jumped to his feet- and then almost fell to the ground as a burning pain laced the back of his legs.
That's right, he thought as he hobbled over to his dresser- where he had bandages, Neosporin, Aspirin, hydrogen peroxide, and pain relief ointment- he hit the back of my knees last night when I tried to get away.
In a practiced manner Matthew quickly pinpointed the worst of the bruises, rubbed some ointment on them and bandaged any cuts he could reach (the ones on his shoulder blades would just have to heal on their own). A particularly nasty cut had manifested on the back of his left hand- courtesy of his father's switchblade. After doing everything in his power to ease the pain the battered boy riffled through his drawers until he found a long sleeved navy shirt, a faded pare of Levi's, a not-so-matching pair of socks and his favorite red hoodie. He snatched up a hair tie from the top of his dresser and- while looking into the mirror on the wall- pulled back his shoulder-length blonde hair into a sloppy pony tail. Of course, that one disobedient curl bounced about in front of his eyes, refusing to stay tied back.
Staring at his reflection he couldn't help but wonder at all the "what if"'s surrounding his life. What if he hadn't been born with such a girl-ish face? What if, instead of having his slight frame Matthew had achieved some muscle definition? What if he could defend himself? What if, instead of taking his brother Alfred, his mother had taken him to safety when she left?
But he didn't truly wish his mother had taken him instead. Alfred and the woman he could barely put a face to had left right after he turned 6, so he only had hazy memories of them- but he remembers loving his older brother very much. Whenever Matthew felt scared or got hurt Alfred would be there to make him feel better, proclaiming "I'll be your hero Mattie, so don't cry!" He had always made Matthew smile. Through every scraped knee and ghost in the night, Alfred had been there. He might not have always remembered Matthew's name, but then nobody did. Matthew only felt glad that his brother didn't have to stay trapped like him.
These thoughts flew around his mind as he walked in circles in his spacious, yet empty, room- getting used to the now throbbing pain in his hips and legs so his walk wouldn't look different than usual once he left the house.
Another snore cut through the silence and Matthew quickened his pace. Grabbing his backpack and slipping on his shoes he swiftly and silently started down the stairs. Only a few steps away from the first floor he spotted something- a rust-colored stain in the white carpet. Blood. His blood
"Shit," Matthew hissed, his voice less than a whisper. He flew back up the stairs and found the small jug of bleach and bundle of rags that he keeps in his closet. In his haste to clean the stain he spilt some of the chemicals on his hand but just ignored the burning sensation until there wasn't a hint of discoloring in the carpet and the cleaning supplies were back in his closet. Although his father enjoyed the act of beating his son, he didn't enjoy any reminders of it afterward- it put him in a foul mood. And anything Matthew could do to keep his father away from the delicate breaking point of his temper was appreciated.
Sneaking through the kitchen on his way to the front door, Matthew grabbed a granola bar and a can of tuna. Just as he began to turn the doorknob he heard a yawn and the creak of floorboards
"Mon dieu," Matthew whispered so quietly he barely made a sound. He always slips into his preferred language in stressful moments. Wrenching open the door, he ran outside, got in his car and drove.
"Guess it's time for school," Matthew said in his quiet voice once his heart stopped beating like a humming birds. He softly chattered to himself, just to fill the silence.
The car ride to school seemed long, uneventful, and silent other than his one-sided conversation. He drove out of the luxurious "Gated Community" where he lived and into the husle-busle of the city. Soon he pulled into the parking lot of the school, slowing to a stop at the security block. A guard in a black and yellow uniform knocked on his window and gestured for him to roll down the tinted barrier.
"Student I.D. and permission form for driving please," the guard commanded in the polite way you only attain when constantly surrounded by those of higher status than you. His eyes lazily roamed over the plastic card and folded paper Matthew held up. "Thank you Mr. Williams. Please remember to keep your I.D. with you at all times and only park in spaces marked for student use," as a last thought he added "have a nice school year."
"Thank you," Matthew whispered, but he wasn't sure the guard heard him. Oh well, Matthew thought as he expertly parked his car. Not a lot of people can hear me anyways.
He grabbed his backpack and started to exit the car when he heard a-
"Meow."
But he couldn't have- had made sure not to let the stray into his ca-
"Meeeeoooow," the sound repeated, coming from the back seat of the SUV. Craning his neck, Matthew saw a fury white head peek out from an old sweater he had thrown back there a few weeks ago. It meowed again, looking at him with huge eyes that seemed to say I don't know exactly who you are, but please feed me anyway.
"Kumajirou!" Matthew complained as he reached back, scooped up the kitten, and brought him up into the front seat. "This is the third time you've snuck into my car! You know I'll bring you food everyday, so you don't need to wait in here for me." He raised the scraggly fur ball to his eye level, trying to stay mad, but the longer he looked into his big questioning eyes (Who're you? they seemed to say) the more amused he became. Finally he let out a tinkling laugh and rubbed his frosty nose against Kumajirou's velvety one. He set the cat down in his lap and pulled the can of tuna out of his pocket.
"There," he said as he set the opened can in the passanger seat and watched as the small kitten pounced. "Enjoy that. I'll leave the window open, in case you want to get out, but I've given up on trying to keep you out of my car."
With a silent chuckle, the young Canadian cracked a window just enough for the limber cat to escape if it wanted and then walked towards the awaiting school building ahead of him.
As Matthew drew closer to the front doors of the building he spotted two figures leaning against the wall, passing a cigarette back and forth. Once he got close enough to see their faces, he realized it was Francis and Antonio.
Those two are always doing something that'll get them in trouble, thought Matthew as he hurried past. And it's a true statement if there ever was one. Francis had moved to Canada at the age of nine from France because his mother- the daughter of a wealthy movie star- decided to have a divorce and "Get some space" from her ex-husband. The Atlantic Ocean's worth of space. Antonio's father is some kind of producer and always busy traveling the world for one thing or another. When Antonio was young he would leave his son with his sister's family when he left. Somewhere along the was, it became a permanent situation. These two and another friend- Matthew couldn't remember his name, but he knew he was German, odd looking, and quite the wild card- could always be found together, causing mischief. As Matthew walked by them Francis called out-
"Vous n'avez pas l'air bien Matthew, voules-vous certains?" the Frenchman asked, relishing in the chance to speak to someone who could properly hold a conversation in his native tongue. He held the cigarette out towards the younger boy. Antonio gave him a quizzical look but just pulled out another cancer stick from the pack in his back pocket for himself.
"Non merci, je suis juste fatigue'," Matthew replied, pausing in front of the doors.
"Vas bien," Francis said with a shrug, bringing the cigarette back up to his own lips. He could barley make out what the boy had said but he guessed the parts he had missed.
With a small nod of his head Matthew continued walking again. Once inside the hallway he kept his head down while he walked towards his locker near the end of the corridor. A few yards away from his destination Matthew froze. Someone rather large had decided to lean against his locker, and for a moment Matthew felt the irrational sense of fear that always came with the feeling of being noticed- until he saw it was only Ivan. Letting out a sigh of relief he kept going.
"Morning, malo Matthew. How are you this morning?" the tall Russian asked as he took his weight off of the aluminum door so Matthew could open his locker.
Ivan is the son of the Russian ambassador and looks exactly like his father- 6''2, shoulder length silvery blond hair, and completely ripped- while both his sisters looked like his mother. The younger sister, Natalia, is quite the terrifying little psycho- even with her gentle appearance. But they're all very nice to Matthew and some of the few people that notice him. Ever since they had met as children, Ivan had become Matthew's self-designated protector- although he could do nothing about what happened once Matthew went home, even if he knew about it.
"I'm okay, Matthew whispered as he unlatched his locker door. He winced as he raised his arm to get a book from the top shelf, stretching one of the half healed cuts on his back, and hoped Ivan didn't notice.
Luckily Ivan didn't notice, being too busy looking at Matthew's hand. "What happened there?" he asked, a dangerous glint in his eyes.
Matthew drew his hand back closer to his body. The timid Canadian had begun to worry that the large Russian would put together the pieces and figure out went on at his home. His friend seemed to pick up on every little injury, and all the stress of keeping his 'little secret' didn't help Matthew on the whole speaking in public thing.
"I-um . . . I c-cut myself in the kitchen," Matthew quietly stuttered out.
Ivan raised an eyebrow and gave his friend a questioning look. "Really? You cut the back of your hand? So deeply that it's bleeding through your bandage?"
At that last statement Matthew looked down at his hand and saw indeed a little crimson spot quickly spreading across the white expanse of the bandage.
"Oh, maple," Matthew hissed and gathered up the things he'd need for class. Closing his locker, he turned and looked Ivan in the eyes (to do which he had to lean his head back as far as it would go) "I cut myself in the kitchen," Matthew repeated as steadily as he could, a blush spreading across his face because of the lie. "I'm gonna go to the nurse to get a new bandage."
With that, Matthew ran down the hallway as fast as he could towards the nurses. He could hear Ivan calling for him to wait but ignored him and just kept going. Once he rounded the corner at the end of the hallway and his friend was out of sight he slowed down to catch his breath. The warning bell rang and the hallways slowly emptied as students went off to their first period classes. Matthew stopped in front of a door with a name tag next to it which read
"Nurses Office
Roderich Edelstien"
Taking a deep breathe, Matthew opened the door and slipped inside.
Translations:
Mon dieu- Good God (french)
Vous n'avez pas l'air bien Matthew, voulez-vous certains?- You don't look well Matthew, would you like some?
Non merci, je suis juste fatigue'- No thank you, I'm just tired
Vas bien- Alright
Malo- Little (Russian)
Authors Note: So, I've been dieing to write a PruCan fanfic for a while now. I had several ideas I could have started with, but this is the one keeping me up at night. I hope you liked it and I hope you'll point out any typos or mistakes I made. I don't want any sugar-coated comments, my dears. If it sucked tell me and please tell me what I can do to get better. And I don't know if this was clear, but it's supposed to be the first day of the school year.
P.S. I used Google translate for it, so I hoped it worked- cause that's what I'm going to be using for the rest of the fanfic
