Disclaimer:i don't own Hetalia.

sorry guys, i know i told you that i would be going onto Mattie's teen years, but this chapter had to be written. haha also i apologize for the wait! i hope you like the story so far!

Matthew sat down on the chair at the councilor. He wouldn't talk to the brown haired woman. He hadn't talked once in these months after…after…That… his mind still didn't fully register what had happened that night. He knew that it was bad. And bad things…aren't good… his father was dead. Some part of the Canadian was relieved by that fact, but still…

I am alone.

"Matthew…"

Completely alone…

The woman stared down at him with a pleasant smile plastered on her face. She was still waiting for him to tell her what had happened. Even though they all knew that he was a lost cause. Or at least they should. Because he wasn't going to tell them. He didn't want to! Her gray eyes stared expectantly at him, but… The boy just clutched his beloved Kumajirou to his chest, and looked off into space.

"Matthew? You need to tell us what happened to you okay?" she paused before adding; "and your father." Matthew flinched back and looked widely up at her. Father…

She was curious about father.

For some reason the child felt that it was something that he should keep to himself. It was private. No one else needed to know about it.

Father was dead.

That was it.

He had been the reason.

But she doesn't need to know that.

"Do you want to draw?' She tried, failing at getting the shy boy to open up. She had been trying this for six weeks now. Why wouldn't she give up? The blond reached out for the crayon box with one hand, while hugging his white bear close to him with the other arm. Slowly, one by one, the child pulled out each colour.

He didn't know what he would draw. So he picked up the red and began to draw a maple leaf. His mind trailed back to the red velvet blood on the carpet. The face of his father. Dead. The note that had been left on the table. The child dropped the crayon, his mind returning to that time.

Matthew stepped backwards and fell onto the bed. His head was pounding as he looked down at his father. No matter how badly he wanted to just look away from that lifeless face he couldn't bring himself to do it. This was his dad. Despite everything what happened he still loved him. The man's death was not what Matthew wanted. No!

The child curled himself into a ball on the bed.

Yes, the bed was not covered with that disgusting red colour. He could be safe there. But he wouldn't be able to stay there forever. He would have to get up; the decaying body would be too much.

Meat rotted fast.

Matthew felt the tears slipping down his face as his body shook with the violent sobs. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing all of this to be some big bad dream. But somewhere in his consciousness he knew that it wasn't. This was real. Too real.

The Canadian looked up, tears burning in his eyes.

Phone.

He needed the phone. Needed to call someone, anyone. He needed a hero. But….

Heroes weren't going to save him.

The phone sat on the bed stand a few feet away, but still too far for Matthew's arms to reach from where he sat. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to touch the floor because it was soaked in blood. All of it. Wherever he moved the mocking colour met him.

He finally swallowed his fear and moved closer to the stand, as he reached for the phone his eyes locked onto a piece of paper, his name written on it. Slowly, gingerly, he reached for the paper. His hand drew back as he feared what may be written there. His eyes widened as he saw the marks. Like small bruises. All over him.

It struck him that calling anybody to come help him would be bad.

They would see…

See what had been done do him. That fact embarrassed him. He felt that no one should know of it except for himself. It was an unspoken rule. But still…that paper… he reached towards it again and quickly snatched it up, retreating back to his ball in the middle of the bed.

Matthew opened it, and began reading.

Dear Matthew

I am so sorry. There is nothing that I can say to make up for it. I have gone too far. I promise that I will never hurt you again. Ever. Thus I will end my life to give you what you need. I understand if you never wanted to see me again anyways. There should be some people coming to get you. Let them. You deserve a better life. I truly do love you, I am sorry.

Matthew stopped reading, and just stared at the words. It was so short and hurriedly written. It was the last thing the Canadian had of his father. A suicide note. And that note needed to be disposed of.

People were coming, quickly Matthew got off the bed. All of this…it all needed to be gone. Not caring if the blood stained his bare feet the child searched through his father's drawers looking for something that could be used to erase all traces of the note. His eyes locked on the book of matches. Yes, a fire would take it all away. It would cleanse the impurity of it. Make the note look as though it had never existed.

His clumsy fingers opened the box and he pulled out a match. Bringing the top of it over the striker and watching as it sparked but did not light. He dropped the burnt out match and tried again. Bringing the tip yet again over the striker. Suddenly, the flame spring to life.

Matthew's indigo eyes widened as he watched the flame. Hurriedly, he brought the flame towards the paper. Carefully…he set it against the note. The fire leapt onto the paper, and suddenly the note was engulfed in the crimson flames. It was hot! Too hot for the small boy's hands to hold…slowly it tumbled to the floor and everything caught…

It wasn't long after that when the police came; the firemen had brought him out of the burning building. Then he had been brought to the orphanage. And they had made him come here….

"Oh dear…Are you okay?" Matthew snapped out of the trance, and looked at her with wide indigo eyes, surprised by the alarm in her voice. Had he done something wrong? His eyes immediately snapped to the paper to find—

It was still just a half-finished maple leaf….

Good.

He nodded his head, and picked up the purple crayon. Purple was a good colour. Like his eyes. Slowly he began to colour the outside of the leaf in with the crayon.

"Matthew?"

He looked up at the woman.

"Sweetie, can you at least talk? How are you feeling today?" she tried. The child opened his mouth in an attempt at response, but he couldn't will his voice to rise up. Biting his lip he pressed the crayon back to the paper and drew a smile in the leaf. "That's good!" she exclaimed with a wide grin. "Now we are getting somewhere! Matthew, do you remember what happened that night?"

He nodded.

"Will you tell me?"

He shook his head.

"Why not?"

Because.

The woman sighed and wrote something down in her notes before a ringing sounded from her pocket. She asked to be excused while she answered the phone, and for him to just keep on trying. Of course that was fine. Matthew wasn't going to talk anyways, but he couldn't help but overhear the conversation.

"Hello? ...Oh! Good day Mister Bonnefoy! ...orphan...oh you mean Mathew! ...you have? ...that's….That's fantastic! ...yes, I will tell him! ...okay! ...alright…goodbye!" she shut the phone and turned to face the wide eyed child with a real smile on her face. "Matthew you have been adopted, I just got off the phone with the man who will be your new father!"

The child's mind spun. New father…? He didn't want a new father. Did that mean that he was going to be moving somewhere else? What if something bad happened? What if he wasn't safe?

"No…" he whispered. The councilor didn't hear him she was too busy ranting on about how much of a wonderful person he was, and how he had a son a few years older than Matthew, and a wonderful wife. The woman told him that she was going to drive him to the orphanage to get his stuff and to meet Mr. Bonnefoy.

He was scared…but it seemed that there was no other choice….

Matthew waved goodbye to the children of the orphanage. Most of them didn't even know that he had been a resident there until that day. Matthew had Kumajirou, his suitcase full of his clothes, some books, and an old picture of him as a baby with his mother and father and brother that he just couldn't seem to throw away…

Beside Matthew there sat a French boy just going into his teen years who insisted on talking Matthew's ear off. His name, he had said, was Francis. The family did seem nice, and it was possible that it wouldn't be horrible, they were moving to America soon. Maybe Matthew would be able to just leave all of the horrible memories behind in Canada, and start a new life.

Yeah…he thought as his eyelids became heavy. I'll be able to start all over…

yay! new chapter~ really it has been one hell of a week, i've been sick... haha but that is no excuse for not updating in forever... NEXT chapter will be about his teenage life~! reviews make me happy~!