A/N: Just a quick one shot of a glimpse of Arthur raising Matthew. The italics indicates Matthew speaking french.
"Arthur, what was I first like when I came here? After leaving Papa's?" The Canadian had been an independent nation for a long time now. He came to Arthur not speaking a word of English. The Englishman barely knew any the Frog's language. It took about three years for the boy to be able to speak coherent sentences. The English lessons proved to be a bonding moment for Arthur and Matthew. The boy started off nearly hating the man for taking him from his 'Papa' but by the end of it, Arthur had went from: Angleterre, to England, to Arthur. Finally, after two-and-a-half years, the boy started calling him Father.
Never with the fondness he said Papa. Never. Francis was always the boys favourite. Arthur knew that from the beginning, he knew that no matter what that would not change. The Frog had a hold on the boys heart. Even now. Even when the boy came to visit Arthur, making pancakes and bringing him a bloody large amount of syrup.
Even now the boy called Francis 'Papa' while he was just Arthur.
"You were, a lot of things. I remember teaching you English. That's what I remember the best…."
"England." Arthur repeated himself for what felt like the fiftieth time. The boy still looked hopelessly lost. He had no idea what Arthur was saying. "I'm England, bloody hell this is hard."
Arthur put his hand on the bed and patted it. "Bed." he stared at the boy, who seemed to be getting it, finally.
"Bed." Matthew repeated to him, patting the bed as well. "Bed. Bed." He said the word a few more times before smiling at Arthur. "Oui?"
"Oui." Arthur replied and picked up a pillow. "Pillow." Matthew looked at the pillow and pointed to it.
"Pi-low….Pillow. Pillow." He had a look on determination on his face, like he was getting it wrong, when he wasn't.
"Oui, Bien." Arthur told the boy. He hated speaking that Frog's language, but it was the only way to tell the boy he had gotten the words right.
Two years later, the boy was getting better, even picking some things up on his own. "Arthur. Arthur. I'm hungry. Food?"
He still needed work. But at least he could understand the young boy. He was learning a bit of French, which proved to be useful, he now knows what Francis is saying half the time when he is insulting the Englishman.
"Yes. I'll make you some food." The boy scrunched his nose. Oh yes. He had the Frenchman's taste in food. The boy ate Arthur's food, but usually with protest.
He was still so bloody attached to the damn frog.
Part of Arthur was hurt. The other part didn't give a damn. He would just keep continue on with the lessons, eventually the boy could understand and talk like a normal English speaking person.
A year later Canada was speaking sentences, but a lot of them were still French laced when he was tired or upset. The boy was upset a lot.
"Please. I just want to see Papa! Please. I don't want to be here anymore. I just want Papa. Please." The boy cried a lot in his sleep like this. Matthew told Arthur that his dreams were of getting trapped. He never cried for Arthur.
It was always Francis.
He supposed it would stay that way.
He was always his Papa.
Arthur was just Arthur.
"You were…You were pleasant. Such a contrast from your annoying brat of a brother." Matthew smiled a bit as he put his pad of paper down . Arthur took a sip off his tea.
"Especially during those English lessons."
Arthur would never admit it out loud, but he was slightly jealous of the Frenchman. He had a hold on the Canadian. Even now. Matthew sat across from him, now taller than his former 'father', smiling as an independent nation. He still had a part of Matthew that Arthur could never have in his heart.
The man may have forgotten Matthew a few times, but he still loved him. Arthur still love him like a son.
Those English lessons were the highlight of raising Matthew. He still remembered every one.