Disclaimer: This is my disclaimer for the characters and their traits and any other copyrighted things I mentioned in the story. I do not own Hetalia or McDonald's or any other company or franachise, but I do own the plot for Crying Tears of Lies.

The 9th, 19th, 29th, 39th, ect. reviewer will be recognized in my story!

-x-

Chapter One

College sucks. It really, really does. Especially when you have to take your pain-in-the-ass-brother with you.

"Bye Mom! Bye Dad! Don't forget about me!" He shouted from the window at the city that was at least one hundred miles away.

"Do you think they can still hear me?" My brother asked, recoiling back into the passenger's seat in the truck. I honestly still think he has mental issues.

I was four when Alfred was born. When I first met him, I through he was the cutest thing in the word-that was such a cliche-and I took a protective, maybe even fatherly, way to him. Many people teased me for gay since I hung around him almost everyday...but somehow, those kids would always end up with a black eye when they went home.

Anyway, for the first five years of his life, Alfred was silent as...well...silence. I tired to coax him into talking, but he would almost always shove a stupid hamburger the size of a beer bottle into his mouth and smile. Finally, after all the waiting, the first words he said were, "I'm the hero, so shut-up Arthur!" I am ever-so-slightly please to say he also lost his first baby tooth that day and I had a bruised knuckle and rear, but it was worth it.

"Arthur! Arthur!" He chanted, pounding his knees with his fists, his loud voice filling up the car like a balloon. "I want Micky D's!"

"If you can shut up for ten minutes, we'll stop by there when I get-"

"But I want it now!" He whined.

I wonder how he managed to skip all those grades and end up in collage with this attitude. Technically, Alfred was supposed to be in the tenth grade, being fifteen, but this Canadian the same age that we lived next door to helped him with his geography (but there were questionable noises that came from his house at "study time").

"Can't you see I'm driving?" Oh, how I longed to slap him, but I didn't want to kill us on the highway before I arrived at collage...

...maybe slapping Alfred was a good idea...

"But I'm hungry, Iggy!"

"Go eat you're shoe! It's made out of the same shit hamburger meat is made from-plastic and cow ass."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"I don't wanna eat it!"

"I don't give a fuck! Just fucking shut up!"

"But I'm hungry!"

It happened so fast, if you'd blink you'd miss it. A black convertible as dark as Ivan's (this weird Russian exchange student) aura sliced in front of us, cutting us off. I slammed the breaks, lurching both Alfred and I forward, but not through the window shield. Suddenly, a huge bang on my side flung our sky so high, I could of sworn I groped a cloud. We crashed down on the rough turf harshly, popping all of your tires and shattering the windows. Alfred ducked down with his hands over his neck, and acting on instinct, I threw myself over him to protect him from the shards (brotherly love I never knew I had).

We stayed in silence in the smokey dark of the compacted car as I regretted wanting to die until Alfred whispered, "Arthur...are you okay?"

I was about to reply when I felt something rip through my left side. My breath caught in my throat, my eyes bugled and I whispered a meek, "help" before I placed my hand on my side, unknowingly shoving the chunk of glass into it.

Alfred untangling himself from my numb grip and wiggled out of the totaled truck, screaming in a voice I never thought possible, "Help! Someone help my brother!" Even though all I could see were the torn leather seats and the trashed floor, I assumed his face was covered in ash and smoked and some of his clothes were ripped with some blood-not as much as mine-on them, waving his scratched hands desperately. I tired to move my head but my neck-as well as the rest of my body-was paralyzed and numb and darkness was closing in.

"Please help!" Alfred continued to cry heartbreakingly. "Please help!"

Just when I thought that I was going to die on the side of the road, I heard a car stop, footsteps thump closer to Alfred, and a heavily accented voice ask, "Dear me, is there any thing I can faites?" It sent shivers down my spine, good and bad.

"My brother..." Alfred whimpered. "He's...He's stuck. He...he risked his...life...for...for..."

"Shh..." He hushed. "Is he still in the car?"

"Yes." I swear, I think Alfred was about to drown in his tears.

"You dial 911, while I'll try to get him out," He said, tossing what I think was his cell phone, to Alfred.

Footsteps drew closer to the car, as he called out in his foreign tone, "Mon lapin? Là où êtes vous?"

Having no idea what he was saying, I choked out, "He...here," as pain rippled through my throat and chest.

"If you can hear me, say something, mon lapin!" He shouted, obviously not hearing me. "Say something!"

"I'm here, you damn foreigner!" I shouted, another wave of pain and a new one of nausea rolled in my body.

"Are you in the front of the car or in the back?"

"Front..." I whimpered, feeling something stab me in the side.

"Don't close your eyes! Keep on talking, mon lapin!"

"Okay..."

"I'm at the passenger's window. Can you move any part of your body?"

"They're aren't picking up!" Alfred shrieked, punching random buttons.

"N-no," I uttered, just as a face appeared at the window.

The first and last thing I noticed were his tender, midnight blue eyes. If I was standing, I could of melted.

"Stay with me," He whispered, his voice growing fainter and fainter. Blackness creeped closer until it was all I could see.

Then I realized...he was French.

Damnit.