A/N: PruCan won :D Poor Franada got like no votes ;A; Since this happened we'll have USUK and Papa!France. Sorry it's been like a month lol

Disclaimer: Check it out, y'all, I'm Japanese, I wear glasses, I'm a genius, and I have a throne. Sadly, so does Hidekaz Himaruya, but he happens to be older than little old me. By the way, I just read yesterday that Spain's human name is Antonio. JUST LIKE ME :D And we're both ultra-gay~! JK, but not Rowling :3

Seriously though. I'm not Japanese, nor do I wear glasses. The genius part is debatable.

WARNING: TRIGGERS FOR SELF HARM AND SUICIDE.


Francis was a single father. After an unsatisfactory life prostituting himself he got one of his mistresses knocked up. She dumped the kids on him and left. At first he was going to dump them in an orphanage, but then he looked into his baby boy's faces. He saw himself in their eyes and couldn't bring himself to abandon them. Not to mention the fact he was getting older, and while he was still attractive, only the women with fetishes wanted him.

He turned his life around immediately.

Being single was great for him- he could finally focus on his life. He rented an apartment for a while to get on his feet, and hired a nanny named Elizaveta to watch Alfred and Matthew during the day. He took up a job as a waiter in a nearby Italian restaurant, working his way up until he was head chef. The manager, Mr. Roma Vargas, liked Francis a lot and was very wealthy. There were rumors he worked for the Mafia but nothing was ever proven. Roma knew it was Francis's dream to open his own restaurant, a French one, and decided to help him out.

Let's just say Francis now owns a four-star restaurant called Juste un Peu, which meant "just a little." His boys were his pride and joy. He loved them with every fiber of his being, more than he's ever loved anyone in his entire life.

That's why he almost died that evening when he found his little Matthew bleeding out on his bed, weapon of choice clutched loosely in his right hand. He screamed and ran over to his side at once, checking for just the lightest pulse, anything to reassure him that his boy, his son, was not dead. Matthew was pale, whiter than anything Francis had seen, and his skin was cold, oh God so cold.

Alfred could be heard running down the hallway to see why his father screamed and gasped in horror. He whipped out his phone and dialed 911 while Francis frantically checked for a pulse. He couldn't feel anything and pressed his fingers harder into Matthew's wrist. Growing desperate, he hugged the boy's torso closely to his ear and listened. Thud...Thud.

Francis felt his heart sink ever lower. The timing was off, Matthew's heart was stuttering, trying to keep the boy alive. "Please do not die, Matthew." he whispered brokenly as they waited for the ambulance to arrive. Alfred walked towards the two and hugged both Matthew and Francis. He was not ashamed to admit there were tears cascading down his cheeks. "Why did he do it, Papa?" he sobbed. "Why?"

The Frenchman only shook his head and sniffed sadly. "I do not know. I cannot believe I didn't see any warning signs... do you think, he did it on a whim? Or has he been feeling this way for a long time now?" he said, voice growing smaller with every word spoken. Alfred just kept shaking his head, to much in shock to really know what was happening. They sat like that for a while until the EMTs knocked briskly on the door. Alfred practically shot downstairs to let them in.

Before they could take his precious son away Francis leaned back from Matthew and straightened his glasses. If it hadn't been for the blood everywhere and lack of chest movement, the small Canadian could have been asleep.

But Francis's biggest fear right then was that Matthew wouldn't wake up.


He was cold. Everything was dark and he couldn't feel anything, really, except for the cold. "H-hello?" he called out weakly into the darkness. His voice rang eerily in the silence. He stepped forward, but nothing was there to step on. He shivered violently and clutched his arms to his chest. He didn't like it here. Wasn't being dead supposed to be different? Had he gone to Hell because he committed suicide? But wait, wasn't Hell really hot and stuff? Damn, he should have payed attention in the few times he'd been to church.

There was nothing all around him. Matthew had never felt so alone, but he did feel a tear roll down his cheek. He sat down on whatever was there, holding him, and curled up into a ball. The thoughts he had when he was alive began to return, but these were good thoughts and memories of the time with his family, and when he was happy. He felt awful about his decision- what would Alfred and Francis think? Would they hold a funeral? Would they cry? The thought of string, laughing Al crying made Matthew feel even worse. What kind of a brother was he? And to Francis- God, he was the worst son ever too!

"I wish I hadn't done it," he whispered into the silence. All at once the world around him became grey. A small pinprick of light appeared on the horizon and he stood up quickly. Ignoring the cliche 'don't go towards the light', he ran to it, growing more and more hopeful as it became bigger. When it felt like he was surrounded by the brightness he closed his eyes and floated into it.

There were muffled voices around him and suddenly he felt really heavy. Struggling to find his eyelids, Matthew sighed deeply. The noise continued. It sounded like two people arguing with each other. He blinked a few times and groaned weakly at thee bright light. There was immediate silence and someone slipped their hand into his.

"Matthew?" whispered Alfred.

He let his eyes adjust for a minute before making out the blurry forms of his brother and father standing next to his bed. He tried to reach out for his glasses, but was annoyed to realize his arms and legs were restrained to the bed. Al quickly put his glasses on so Matthew could see properly.

They looked awful, noted Matthew, feeling like shit. Al smiled at him- a relieved, loving, worried smile. "I;m so, so glad you're awake Matt. I- we all thought you were a goner for sure." he said, squeezing his hand. Matthew looked down to see a thick layer of bandages covering his left arm.

One glance at his Papa told him he was going to have to explain a lot of shit.

Maple.