JustMakeLeftTurns : He is, but not until quite a bit later. And for your other question, well, let's just say, I'm gonna need a good Old Norse translator. And, also, thank you. Questions make me happy.

Very happy actually. Happy enough to make me update faster? I don't know, but it's always good to try *hinthint, nugdenudge*. ;)

Chapter 3: Whatshisname's A What now?!

All of the nations ran outside, either curious or worried. When they got out, the first thing thing they saw was America... With a hand on his chest... Hyperventilating. Everyone stared as the man tried to catch his breath. The first one to react was England.

"What happened out here? We heard a woman screaming, or," an impish grin formed on his face. "Was that just you?"

England cracked up, many other nations following, most of them happy at having something to laugh at America about.

Said American turned to them, eyes wide with confusion, worry, and a bit of fear. "G-guys! You gotta help me! I don't know what happened! One second we were walking towards the door, and then there was this flash of smoke, and then Mattie was gone, and I looked around and didn't see him. B-but then I looked down, and..."

Another bout of laughter (yes, the creepy French one) caused the frantic man to trail off as the Frenchman tried to speak. "Oh, Amérique! You are speaking more gibberish zan Angleterre during one of 'iz episodes ("HEY!")!" The man paused for another peal of laughter.

"I didn't know zat your voice could even sink about reaching zat octave!"

This time, the man's laughter was cut short when a little voice was heard. "Papa? Is- Is that you?"

More than one person gasped, but no one so loud as France.

"Matthieu? Mon fils? Where are you cher?"

"D-down here, Papa," the voice said.

The Frenchman (ands others) looked down, and were surprised to find a young boy, of about three-years-old, sitting in a pile of clothing, wearing a tan coat an shirt that had fallen to his waist, with a polar bear at his side, violet eyes wide with confusion.

"Matthieu! It'z really you! What happened?!"

As the man reached down to pluck the boy from the pile of clothes, he scooted away blushing slightly.

"N-non, Papa! Ne pas me chercher!"

France stopped and looked at the boy, concerned. "Why, is somesing wrong, mon petit?"

Little Canada blushed even more. "W-well, I-I shrunk quite a bit, s-so... um..." His voice became gradually smaller and smaller, and his face was practically the shade of a tomato (Spain couldn't help but grin at he sight).

"Myclotheswilljustfalloff."

The boy looked down in shame, even though he had no control over the situation. France's worried look became a fond smile as his son's shyness became apparent. He pulled off his cloak and wrapped it around the child, easily listing him up.

Matthew clung to his father's shirt, eyes shut tight. Francis looked at he man turned child. "You are not hurt, are you, Matthieu?"

The boy opened his eyes and loosened his grip, seemingly shaking off a sudden feeling. Of what? They didn't know. He looked up at Francis, smiling reassuringly. "Non, Papa, I'm fine. It's just been a really long time since I've been picked up.

He chuckled, but with his voice at its current octave it sounded almost like a giggle, making some of the girls (and Italy) coo, making himself blush even more.

While all of this was going on, England was looking around, trying to figure out what had happened. He looked in Romania's direction to see if he had any ideas, but his friend was just as confused as he was. He looked over at Norway, and was not overly surprised.

The man was standing, face in hand, and groaning. Well that answered who cast the spell. He had noticed Norway's hangover earlier in the day, so that answered the question of why as well.

When he heard some of the women "aww"ing, he turned and saw Matthew in Francis' arms, blushing, embarrassed. Looking at the boy, his eyes softened considerably. He remembered when he had gotten the boy, after the Seven Years' War, from France. Then he had been physically five, but it was enough to bring back memories. He stepped over to the two.

"Hello, Matthew," the boy looked up surprised.

"Hi, Da-" he cut himself off, looking apologetic. "Sorry, Arthur, I forgot."

Arthur however, was rather touched; the boy had remembered what he preferred to be called for one thing, but that he still considered him his father, as well, made him quite pleased. "No, no," he said. "It's alright, you may call me that."

The child looked shocked. "Really?"

A chuckle. "Yes, really."

"Okay, thanks, Dad!" Matthew grinned, and Arthur couldn't help but follow suit.

"Matthew?" The boy hummed in response. "How much do you remember, exactly?"

"Everything, really. Actually, pretty much everything is the same except that I'm, well, three years old, and a foot and a half tall."

"See?! I told you people, I'm not crazy, but nope! You all decided to laugh at me. And anyway, how could I, the Hero, get to be as loony as Iggy, here?" America seemed to think that this was a very funny comment.

England, apparently, did not. "Look, git, just because you can't see them doesn't mean that they aren't real!"

"Oh, come on, Iggy. Keep talking like that and people will think that you're crazy. Oh, wait, you are!"

"Really, America, I'm crazy? Who's the one denying that magic exists? Do you not see Matthew?"

"I never said that magic doesn't exist, but," he put on a very bad British accent. "Flying Mint Bunny, Uni the Unicorn, and Tinkerbell don't!"

"Are you kidding me? That's your problem?! And if magic exists, then why can't they? Although, in your burger hazed mind, I guess nothing would make sense!"

"How many times do I have to tell you that my cooking in fine?! And my food is bad? What about your food? I wouldn't subject my worst enemy to that crap!"

"You wanker, my food is perfectly fine! Yours is the problem! Everything you Americans eat is pumped with bloody hormones!"

"Oui, Amérique, 'e iz right. Your food iz dégoûtant," France couldn't help but join in.

"Aw, c'mon, France! We both know that you're just siding with him to get into his pants."

"Well of course he is, America. But he's still right, your food is absolutely gross."

"Oh, why don't you go choke on a scone, Iggy."

"Why don't you go choke on one of zose sings zat you dare call 'French fries'".

"Oh, those would be good right about now. Thanks, by the way."

"Zey are not French!"

"Really, America, must you annoy everyone with your obnoxious presence?"

"Really, guys? The Hero doesn't annoy people, I'm too awesome for that! And anyway, Mattie likes me."

"You leave Canada out of zis!"

"Yes, really, your brother has nothing to do with this!"

"Just like Canada wasn't involved in the War of 1812? Talk about stealing Mattie's thunder. Great example you set there."

"Listen, git, I was just helping him to-"

"To what? Be a prick like you? Or how 'bout a thorn in somebody's side? 'Cuz, I mean, we all know that you have expertise in that area."

"You-!" It seemed that words had failed England, as he lunged at America, and the two began to tussle on the hallway floor.

France was cheering for England, encouraging the fight to continue. A few other nations were cheering as well, enjoying the fact that there was a real fight at a meeting for once.

Most of the nations were watching the fight with rapt attention, four or five were looking at those who were cheering, and two people were looking at Canada. These two people were Ukraine and Hungary. The women were curious to see how the boy would react to the noise and fighting in his new, younger form.

They watched as he saw with wide eyes, England jump at America, and they saw him give a shocked look at his father for egging them on. As France and the other nations got louder, they watched as Matthew curled into himself, nervous of what would happen. Then, when the flailing limbs and shouted curses got too close, the toddler was just plain afraid, fists clenched, eyes shut tight, and about to cry. When the first tear made its way down his cheek, the two went into action.

You know what they say about mama bears and their cubs? Yeah. That's exactly what happened.

"Alright, you two, alright! Zat is enough! Don't you see zat you're scaring Canada?!" Hungary stepped over to the two squabbling men and pulled them apart, lifting and holding them by their collars.

By this point, Ukraine had sped over to France and lifted the trembling, cloak-covered child from his unsuspecting arms. She began shushing him softly and rubbing his back to calm him down as a few more frightened tears made their way down his small face.

When the boy had calmed, sniffles subsiding, and Ukraine had wiped the tearstains from his face, he began to notice the nations staring at him and blushed at the attention. As he buried his face in Ukraine's shoulder, they heard a small 'sorry' come from the boy.

When Hungary lightly shook the two men and looked pointedly at Canada, America sighed and spoke up.

"No, Mattie, I should be apologizing. I'm the one who took it too far, and I'm sorry if I scared you."

England spoke not a second later. "I'm sorry too, Matthew. I should have tried to control my temper better."

Matthew quickly turned to his father and brother who both looked sincere. The boy looked down, confused and upset at his own reaction.

"Yeah, but I shouldn't have gotten so scared. I don't even know why that happened, you guys fight all of the time."

England smiled, happy to answer the question. "Don't worry about it, lad. Most likely, your three-year-old instincts, which would be easily threatened, hasn't quite caught up with you adult mind, which knows that it's normal. Just give it some time and it should even itself out."

Matthew looked up, happy to know that his reaction wasn't because of some sort of weakness. "Okay," he said, now much less embarrassed.

England nodded, and he and America visibly relaxed when Hungary went back to stand by Austria and Prussia. Then, he noticed Matthew stifling a yawn. "Matthew?"

The boy looked at him, eyes drooping slightly, trying to stay awake. "If you're tired, love, go to sleep. You're mind is probably exhausted from the spell, and I doubt that you're body is much better off."

The bot nodded, understanding (or pretending he did, no one knew). "O-okay, Dad," he said, yawning again.

He looked up at Ukraine in silent question, and the woman smiled and nodded in response. He thanked her quietly, and was soon asleep in the busty woman's arms.

All of the girls "Aww"ed, albeit quietly, as the sleeping boy lay in peaceful slumber.

"Vell," Prussia began loudly into the following silence. "Ve all know zat ze meeting won't go on after zis, so..." He looked around. "Anyvone up for a beer?"

Hungary smacked him with her frying pan.

Hey guys, what's up? Guess what? I'm gonna DIIIIIIIEEEE! Why is the crazy author going to die, you may ask? Well, I woke up this morning (at 3 AM) and I couldn't fall asleep, so I decided to watch Hetalia, a perfectly good idea, right? Well, apparently Netflix didn't, because I went to my queue, and it was GONE! Oh, woe is me! Don't worry, I can just drown my pain in My Little Pony and Doctor Who. I know. I have no life.

But seriously guys, any feedback regarding how I'm portraying these guys would be helpful. Anyway, I'm sure some of you are just itching to flame me. FLAMES ARE WELCOME! They make me giggle. ;P

Translations

Amérique - America (French)

Angleterre - England (French)

Papa - dad/daddy (French)

Mon fils - my son (French)

Cher - dear (French)

N-non, Papa! Ne pas me chercher! - N-no, Dad! Don't pick me up! (French)

Mon petit - little one (French)

Non, Papa - No, dad (French)

Oui, Amérique - Yes, America (French)

Dégoûtant - disgusting (French)

Wow. That's a lot of French. If any translations are wrong, blame GoogleTranslate, not me, but tell me so I can correct it. And there's more! Next chapter! YAY!

BAI!

Reviewers get to help Hungary beat up Artie and Al for making Mattie cry.

~Mysti