As Mathieu finally rejoins the group, he murmurs to both adults "Did he mention 'god of war' to you prior Arthur?"

The french male scoffed as he heard Arthur's answer to the question.

"Ohonhonhonhon. Really, mon angleterre?" The french male, wearing tight black jeans and a loose white sheer shirt that showed a majority of his chest. His hair is blond, but he had no bangs. his hair was placed into a ponytail. His name is Francis Bonnefoy, he inched closer the british male, snaking his arm across Arthur's shoulder. "And why haven't you tried to tell him the truth. It could never hurt."

"B-because if I do that you bloody frog then.." Arthur started before decided not to finish the sentence. He already has a distant relationship with his pride and joy. He did not want this relationship to end on a sour note. He and that American Idiot are already arguing as it is and he just.. he just.. That thought is too much to bear..

"Papa.." Mathieu glared as he sensed Arthur's mood, "Don't worsen the situation."

"Oh course, mon cheri" Francis said in an apologetic manner, "Angleterre, my condolences."

Trying to not anger or sadden Arthur, Mathieu quickly changed the subject by being concerned about Al, by asking "Moving to different subject, is he sick?"

"Amerique is sick, Angleterre? Why haven't you tended to him?" The concerned Francis almost squealed.

"He is not bloody sick, frog. He said he is fine and some idiotic rambling about chill and heros?" Answered Arthur.

Throwing Francis's arm off his shoulder, Arthur asked, "What did the bloody god of love or was it lust say about this matter at hand?"

"I rather not say, Arthur. It is not appropriate for young ears." Francis sneered.

Mathieu hands his papa the book that he saw in America's room.

"Ah. This is?" Quaked Francis's voice.

"Oui, exactly what you think it is papa." Answered Canada.

Arthur scowled, "That bloody book. Get that filth out of this house."

"Its not the original." France frowned, as he said this.

"What do you mean that it is not the bloody original!" England almost shouted,.

The frenchman tsked as he told Arthur, "Calm down. The original had that-"

"He is just a boy! Sooner or later-" boomed Arthurs voice.

"Arthur, please calm down." Mathieu begged.

A loud boom crashed from above, sounding louder than a trumpet. Followed with more racket, and moaning winds. Whispers of inaudible words accompanied the heavy downpour and flashes of lighting. The sounds of a door swinging open and a pair of feet thumping down the stairs as the thunder gets louder and louder.

"Uhm.. Guys what's with this freak storm, the weather dudes knew nothing about..." whimpered Alfred as he sat on the livingroom couch, squeezing himself in between Francis and Mathieu. Arthur sat on his own couch that seated only one.

"It will go away soon I hope." gasped England in his small fit of nonviolent rage.

"Are you afraid, Al?" The canadian timidly asked.

Before Alfred could answer, a rumble of thunder made him scream like a girl as he chanted "Heros are not afraid of anything.."

Mathieu answered his own question by whispering, "I take that as a resounding yes then."

"Angleterre.." Francis looked at Arthur as if he wanted to say something really not child friendly.

"Soon." England almost moaned through his gritted teeth.

They all sat on the couch, listening to the storm to die down. The rumbling made Alfred quake every second that it grew louder, and more ominous than prior.

Crash. Boom. Went the thunder, as the lightning engulfed the sky.. The nervous america got up from where he sat, and fell.. He fell right over his two feet. Alfred shakingly got up as the thunder got louder, and the downpour increased, the poor boy tripped. Cursing in french as he started to crawl towards where his guardian sat.

By the next lightning that struck the sky, he speed up his speed, looking up as he saw Arthur's hand. Arthur's hand patted the American's once silky blond hair.

"Come here, love, there is not a thing to be afraid of. It is just a passing storm.." The words choked from British male's mouth, which everyone except Alfred noticed. Arthur hefted the American onto his lap, and latched his arms around Al. Arthur tried to not show his quaking breathes to his dearly loved child.

"There, there love." Arthur said as he tried to steady his shaking voice. Unlatching one of his hands from the other, as he softly raked his fingers through Alfred's once beautiful fields of wheat and grain. These fields are actually his once radiant and golden blond hair. With the other hand that was once around Alfred's waist, snaked it's way to wipe his sons tears away. Then after there were no more tears to fall from the lovely yet scared american's eyes, that said arm went back to support Alfred's waist as the child sat comfortably on Arthur's lap. Humming a lullaby that he once sang to his son as a child, he continues to massage Al's head. The once quaking teenager, Alfred F. Jones, fell asleep to his mother's humming and as he did so, the rain stopped. The thunder slowly ceased to quake the sky, and the lightning resisted it's very nature to strike. The once heavy storm, dissipated into a nice cloudy day with a small breeze. The breeze died down as soon as the delightful melody ended, with a cheerful sigh which swatted clouds away so that the sun could-and would-poke it's head out.