My first attempt at fanfiction! God knows how bad this is….

-EscargotandScones

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The nimble Frenchman bounced about the messy kitchen, keeping a steady beat and creating his own musical riff using his cooking utensils. He darted about, like a honeybee, moving from appliance to appliance, tasting one thing from one pot, and another from another. He quickly whisked a few eggs in a pan over a hot stove as he hummed a gentle tune that didn't appear to represent any certain song. He continued doing so until another man summoned him from an adjoining room.

"Francis!" the Englishman called. The man called Francis paused his activities, wiped his hands on the rather frilly apron he wore, and took the eggs he had been concentrated on off heat.

"Oui, mon Angleterre?" the blonde-haired man said as he leaned in the doorway. His partner, Arthur sat on a plush and rather comfortable couch placed in front of a television. There were small plastic pieces, packing peanuts, and all sorts of other random materials scattered about the living room. The dirty blonde held a handful of colorful wires and had a look of confusion on his face. He turned his head to look up at Francis, frustration in his emerald eyes.

"I can't figure this bloody plaything out! This... toy Alfred had me get him is going to take more time for me to put together than he will actually spend playing with it!" Arthur was nearly steaming out of his ears. He fumbled with the tangled mess of multicolored cords before giving up and cradling his head in both of his hands. He heaved a heavy sigh. Francis walked behind the couch and patted him on the back compassionately. He leaned over Arthur's shoulder.

"You shouldn't be zpoiling zat child, Arthur. Let him use his imagination. He doesn't need any of ze zings you buy him," Francis whispered into the other's ear. This was all undoubtedly true. The Englishman spoiled his child rotten, and it showed in Alfred's attitude. This got him in trouble often with his parents, but punishment never lasted very long.

"I don't think he has the bloody brain capacity to be creative," Arthur chuckled as a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, "Even if he did, he would be too lazy to use a lick of imagination." As if on cue, a young Alfred Jones scampered into the living room where his parents were. He maneuvered his way around the miscellaneous parts on the ground, having felt the pain of having one embedded in his foot in the past. Alfred's slightly younger brother, Matthew, followed, Kumajiro in hand and snuggling him tightly. Alfred leapt up and plopped down next to Arthur on the couch.

"DADDY! DADDY!" Arthur cringed as the little one spoke, "Can I play with my toy, yet?" Alfred grinned a toothy grin and looked up at his father with hopeful eyes.

"N-not yet," Arthur said through clenched teeth, "I-it will be done sometime soon." Alfred's presence was giving Arthur a massive migraine. As the Englishman massaged his temples, his partner felt a small tug on his apron.

"Père," said a small voice. The tall blonde looked down to find Matthew's large, violet eyes looking back.

"What is it, mon cher?" Francis patted Matthew on the head.

"I'm so hungry," the smaller whined, rubbing his stomach as it growled, "is supper almost ready?" Francis' eyes widened.

"Merde, merde, MERDE!" Francis shouted as he sprinted in panic to the kitchen. He could already smell a hint of smoke in the air. He covered his face with one arm and pushed open the swinging door. Smoke had begun to line the ceiling and Francis sputtered a cough. He pulled his apron up to cover his nose and mouth, and opened the oven. More smoke spilled out, causing the Frenchman to break into another fit of coughs. Forgetting oven mitts, Francis grabbed the tray on the middle rack. He released a whimper and his eyes widened. He tried not to scream, in fear he would suffocate. Tears welled up in his eyes as he tossed the tray onto the countertop.

Francis ran back toward the living room to find Arthur already escorting Alfred out of the house to safety. The youngest, however, was nowhere to be seen. Francis sucked in a few relieving lungfuls of air before questioning.

"Where is Matthieu?" he asked between heavy breaths.

"I thought you were finding him!" Arthur held the door open for Alfred to walk outside. Looking across the room at his partner, Arthur mouthed two words whilst shaking his head.

I'm sorry.

Arthur closed the door behind him to leave Francis, alone, in the living room. When reality hit him, the blue-eyed man twisted around in panic to swing the kitchen door open once again. The smoke in the kitchen was much thicker than before, he realized. The smoldering quiche had caught some kitchen towels ablaze; the flames dimly lighting the room. However, he could still see no more than a foot in front of him. He fell to his hands and knees, releasing a squeal upon leaning on his right hand. It throbbed from the previously made burn. He took a moment to examine the burn; it was already swelling and turning an unpleasant shade of pink.

Young Matthew's coughs could be heard, faint and weak, and interrupted by the occasional, "Maple…" Francis crawled in the direction he thought the coughs were coming from, to eventually find the child, sobbing, and a mixture of tears and fallen ash staining his cheeks. Seeing him like this made Francis' heart sink, and he fought back every parental urge he had to comfort the child then and there.

Francis grabbed the smaller's hand and led him across the smooth kitchen floor. The kitchen towels had caught some nearby curtains, dangling from the window above the sink, on fire, causing the arson to spread. Upon reaching the living room, Francis scooped Matthew up and sprinted toward the front door, avoiding Arthur's mess on the floor. Smoke from the kitchen was just beginning to coat the ceiling of the space. Matthew rubbed his face into his bear, and let out a whimper, followed by a few coughs. Francis shushed him as he balanced the younger on his hip to open the door to the front yard. He laid Matthew on the grass. Francis was breathing heavily as he fell to the ground. Both Francis' and Matthew's bodies were covered with a mixture of sweat and ash.

"Francis!" Arthur clutched onto a wildly coughing Matthew, and ran over to his aid, Alfred close behind.

"P-papa? Mattie? Are you guys okay?" Alfred choked out. Both Matthew and Francis were wheezing, and Francis sunk into the grass as he tried to speak. In instants black dots obscured his vision and things began to blur together.

In a jumble of cries from his family members, everything faded to black.