Disclaimer: See Chapter One. It still applies.
Three Years Later…
Red. What an odd colour to see, first thing in the morning.
"Oh, Canada," crooned a teasing, heavily accented voice. "Wake up, please."
Mattie groaned, rolling away from the eyes and the voice, pulling a pillow over his head. "Ngh… too early…"
"It's six o'clock!" the voice cried. "And I'm really hungry!"
"There's bread on the counter, Pru," Mattie grumbled.
Pru? Who was 'Pru?'And why was he in Mathew's house?
"But I want pancakes, Birdie!" he whined. "No one makes them as well as you can!"
And… 'Birdie?'
"Alright, alright," Mattie sighed.
A second later, the warm, soft bed-sheets were ripped instantly from his body with a loud, 'KESESESE!' The freezing air mercilessly attacked Mattie's skin, freezing him down to his bones.
"M-maple!" he spluttered, while the other Nation roared with laughter. "You… you… What was that for, eh?"
Prussia grinned, the dawn light glinting off his teeth, accentuating the curve of his nose and lips. "You wouldn't have woken up so fast, otherwise."
Mattie sat there, in his shorts and woollen jersey, and for a moment, all he could do was stare. The glint in Prussia's eyes grew softer, warmer, and Mattie felt something wriggle in the pit of his stomach, felt his cheeks burn.
Then, the white-haired man had leaned down, so that they were almost nose-to-nose, and…
A phone rang.
Mathew Williams ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair, unsticking his cheek from the kitchen table. When had he fallen asleep? How had he? After all, his head felt like it was being mercilessly attacked with a pick-axe, and his skin – all of it, everywhere – blazed as if he were being burned at the stake.
"Damn you, Alfred Jones," he groaned, resting his head on his arms. His best friend, and uncanny doppelganger, had been off school for a number of days now. He had probably passed the same disgusting virus on to Mattie when they'd gone ice-skating last Sunday…
"Oh yeah," said Prussia, over a large plate of pancakes. "America rang this morning. Said something about a meeting…"
Mathew sat upright, reaching for his glasses. "What about the meeting?"
"West wants to shift it backward. Not that it's any of my business."
Prussia's usual cocky smirk slipped from his face for a lingering moment. He looked away, and Mattie felt the usual rush of sympathy for the dissolved Nation. Prussia wouldn't let his façade slip for just anyone; Mattie was, in a way, special…
The smirk was back, the moment lost. "Come on, Canada. Make me some of your famous pancakes," said Prussia, pointing imperiously in the general direction of the kitchen downstairs.
Mattie sighed, hauling himself out of bed and slipping a shirt over a pair of worn tracksuit pants. "I'm not your slave, Pru."
"Kesesese… Sure, Birdie. You just keep on believing that."
Why 'Birdie?' Why 'Canada?' His name was Mattie. And more to the point, he was positive that Prussia wasn't a person, rather, an empire that had once fall- "Mattie? Wake up, sweetie."
Mattie's breath caught in his throat, and his heart lurched. His violet eyes flew open, and he half expected to see… no… it wasn't him…
"Mum!" he gasped. A dark haired woman stared down at him, a smile playing around her mouth.
"What's wrong, Mattie? You look sick."
Mattie nodded, his heart rate gradually slowing. He groaned as he discovered that now, in addition to the headache, his stomach was also churning violently.
Maple… The word snuck, unbidden into his head. He wondered what it meant. Hadn't he said it before? In the dream?
Gabrielle Williams smoothed her son's hair back from his forehead, checking his temperature. "Hmm…" She frowned in puzzlement. "You don't feel hot."
Mattie brushed her hand away, sitting up slowly. "I-"
Bile rose up in his throat, and he coughed hoarsely. What the hell was wrong with him?
Gabrielle clicked her tongue. "Come over to the couch, and lie down, sweetie. Do you feel nauseous? Sweaty?"
Mattie nodded again, not trusting himself to speak. His mother tugged his shoes off, grimacing at the horrible smell.
"Go back to sleep. I'll bring you dinner later." With a quick kiss on the forehead, Gabrielle left, probably for the study.
Mattie sighed and leaned back into his pillow. Prussia… Who was Prussia?
His phone beeped softly, squished in his back pocket. Mattie tugged it out – another text message.
Mattie
Need 2 talk 2 u, urgently
Meet me at VPaP in 5
A.
Mattie started to type, 'HELL NO, I'M SICK,' but paused as he reread the message. Nothing was ever 'urgent' with Alfred. He was just an outgoing, easy-going kind of guy, who took life one giant leap at a time.
If Mattie knew nothing else, he knew that when Alfred got upset, the shit got real.
Fine, he replied. I'll be there in ten.
The Italian food joint was packed, as usual. Old Mr Vargas' food was renowned as being the best in town, and he had a constant stream of customers who were all too willing to leave a tip. It was five 'o clock rush hour; every teenager for miles around seemed to be out for dinner with their friends.
Mattie parked his bike, tied it to a rack, and headed inside, wincing as the cacophony of voices hit his ears. As the world swayed and the nauseous pit in his stomach grew, he realised that leaving his room had been a very bad idea.
His target was instantly in sight: sitting in the far corner of the restaurant, at the table virtually reserved for sophomores. He looked stressed, and was running a hand through his corn silk hair every few seconds, pushing his glasses (very similar to Mattie's) up his sweaty nose.
"Alfred!" Mattie called, attempting to weave his way over to him, blocked by a particularly raucous group of female seniors.
Alfred did not look up: lost too deeply in his thoughts to register his friend's voice.
As a result, he jumped as Mattie collapsed into the seat across from him.
"Hey!" Alfred exclaimed, a flicker of relief dancing across his friendly face.
Mattie groaned, resting his elbows on the table. "Hey, Alfred. Whatever you need to tell me better be pretty important. I had to climb out my bedroom window, and my Mum's gonna panic when she finds me gone…"
The expression of relief was instantly replaced with uncharacteristic worry, and Alfred looked away, biting his lip. The action was so familiar that Mattie's heart leapt, and he started.
"What?" Alfred said, blue eyes flicking back to his friend.
Mattie shook his head in confusion, brow furrowing. "Nothing… You just… reminded me of someone."
Alfred's eyes lit up. "Who? Who did I remind you of, C- Mattie?"
Mattie's eyes narrowed. He was a little too perceptive sometimes: the product of being a near constant wallflower, quieter than all of his schoolmates. Except for maybe that one Japanese kid.
"Cmattie?" Mattie queried, raising an eyebrow.
But Alfred was saved from answering as someone bounced up to their table, note-pad in hand.
"Ciao, Alfred! Uh… Mattie?" Feliciano Vargas was glowing, as usual, unruly auburn curl bobbing up and down as if caught in a wind. "How are you?"
Both boys knew Feli from school; he was in their grade, and in Mattie's Physical Education class. His family was obviously loaded with cash, but Feliciano and his brother were made to work part time at their grandfather's restaurant. "Building Character," was Nonno Vargas' excuse – though Mattie suspected the job was more for his older brother Lovino's benefit than anything else.
Alfred beamed back at him. "I'm fine, Ita… Feliciano…"
"Speak for yourself," moaned Mattie, hand pressed against his forehead as another wave of dizziness swept through him.
"Can I get you anything?" asked Feliciano, gazing concernedly down at the top of Mathew's head. "Nonno made some really nice pasta today, Alfred. Will you try some?"
"Sure!" said Alfred. "I think that Mattie'll pass, though…"
"Ve~ I'll be back in a little while," said Feliciano, vacant smile still in place. He bounced off, presumably back to the kitchens to fill their order.
"So," started Mathew, wincing as pain scraped at his arm, "what's wrong, Alfred?"
Alfred's enthusiastic expression, which had lingered since Feliciano's presence, vanished in an instant. "Mattie…" he mumbled. "Don't you remember?"
"Remember what?" Mattie hissed, growing irritated.
Alfred's voice dropped to a harsh whisper. Mattie had never heard it venture below a shout in all fifteen years of knowing him. "You know… America? Canada? Hell, Prussia? Tch… I knew you'd remember him."
Mathew reeled back, shock coursing through his veins, along with another emotion which he couldn't quite place…
"I- I- How-"
"Did you have a dream or something?" Alfred pressed, interrupting him. "When did you first start to feel sick?"
"I… This afternoon..." Mattie's head spun faster than ever, he couldn't think straight, he was battling ferociously with his stomach, trying to keep his food where it belonged.
"Right," said Alfred, heaving a sigh. "You should be feeling better by tomorrow afternoon. I'll come over then, okay?"
"How do you know that I'll be feeling better by then, eh?"
"Just… trust me, okay?" said Alfred, fiddling with the red, green and white paper napkin resting on the wooden table.
"The last time I trusted you, I ended up with a concussion and a broken wrist."
Alfred looked slightly sheepish. "Sorry 'bout that. But this is different, okay?"
"Alright," Mathew sighed, knowing better then to argue. "Can I go home now, Master? I feel really fucking sick."
"No need to swear," Alfred chided, clicking his tongue mockingly. "See you later, dude."
Mattie rolled his eyes, pushed his glasses up his nose, and headed quickly for home, Feliciano waving cheerfully after him.
