Author's Notes: I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LATENESS OF THIS UPDATE! I took a nap and overslept…DX

Ok, enough excuses; here's the chapter everyone!

I'm so sorry once again! ;_;

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

I killed Papa…

Papa…

Papa thinks I hate him…

And I killed him…

"…P-Papa…Wake up…Wake up, Papa…"

Blood is spreading, slowly, hypnotically.

He watched, fascinated, and thought that his heart had stopped beating.

Something wet slid down his cheeks.

Was it tears…or blood…?

Papa's…or his…?

Papa suddenly moved.

He blinked.

Was it his imagination…?

He frowned.

He was certain that, by now, Arthur was supposed to appear around the truck, and completely pale upon seeing the distorted body with its torn limbs, before immediately rushing forward and gathering him into a desperate, tight hug, covering his eyes in a pointless attempt at shielding him from the sight.

Papa's shoulder, the one only half-connected to the arm squished under the truck's tires, gave a sudden jerk.

He blinked again.

What—

Papa's eyes suddenly rolled inside his head, and hit him with a piercing, angry stare.

He cried out, voice much younger and higher than in reality.

No—This wasn't—This wasn't part of the—

Papa, pushing himself out from under the tires and ripping his torso apart in the process, glared at him unblinkingly. Blood fell into his eyes, and they turned red.

Organs splattered out onto cement; more bright crimson spread through rainwater.

Papa dropped to the ground once more, motionless and limp with another sickening splatter.

He hadn't realized he'd lifted his hands to cover his lips, holding his breath.

Papa began to move again, and twisted his head so that they could see each other.

Time seemed to stop.

He didn't dare blink, eyes stretched wide and prickling painfully.

He didn't dare utter a sound, hands still pressed flat against his mouth.

Suddenly, with a deafening shriek, the severed body of his Papa flew forward and crashed into his chest.

The motion was so abrupt that he hadn't even had the time to register it had happened until he truly felt the weight of his Papa's bloody head on top of him.

And he screamed.

He screamed…

He fell…

Rainwater seeped through the fabrics of his pants, and blood stained them…

Papa's eyes rolled up, and peered into his own.

A hand flung out and snapped around his neck, and squeezed.

He screamed.

He screamed…

And fell back fully to the ground, head hitting the curb…

Papa was lying over him, a twisted grin tearing the skin of his cheeks.

The hand around his neck clenched even further, almost impossibly tight, and he felt the pressure mount to unbearable.

But something else caught his attention as Papa's features suddenly grew distorted, and began to change.

Ocean blue eyes…

Beautiful ocean blue eyes…

It was hard to breathe.

He wanted to struggle, to fight back.

But he couldn't.

He shook his head, and wanted to squeeze his eyes shut to hide from the horrifying sight.

But he couldn't…

Because…

B-Because—…

I—…

-N-No…

-I love you…

Blood fell down to his face.

I love you…

It was warm, like the hand squeezing tighter around his neck.

I love—

But it felt cold…so cold…

-You…!

Tears fell from his eyes, mingling with the blood and dyed red…

-Francis…

Francis…

Don't hate me…

Please don't hate me…

Don't leave me…

~o0o0o0o0o~

When Francis woke up, he was instantly confused.

It didn't help that only a white ceiling met his eyes and that the world spun in a lazy circle around him.

However, the boring view immediately changed when a face suddenly popped into his sight, quite literally scaring the daylights out of him.

"-Francis!"

Messy blond hair, vibrant blue eyes, and a toothy grin…

"…Alfred…" He groaned, raising an arm that felt as if it was made out of lead to rub his face, "Did you have to come out of nowhere to frighten me as soon as I am awake…?"

"Awwww, I'm just excited t' see ya up!" The American had the nerve to give him a hard pat on the chest that was more of a smack than anything else.

He put his arm down and gave the cheeky man a weak glare.

His head was hurting badly; the bright light and Alfred's loud voice weren't helping it get any better.

Sighing, he tried a few slow blinks.

"…Where are we?"

"We're in a small, nearby town hospital close to Kiku's mansion." Alfred was actually munching on a burger; it looked suspiciously like a Big Mac.

The Big Mac quickly lost Francis' attention as he noticed bandages wrapped around the entirety of one of Alfred's upper arms, and that one of his cheeks was quite bruised.

He didn't know how he could've missed it, but he blamed his overall confusion.

"What happened?" It was extremely difficult to recall, but, after many moments of thinking so hard that it hurt, he realized that the last thing he remembered was trying to not get cut in half by a crazy warrior spirit.

…There was a large, burnt hole on one of his gloves…

He almost startled, but was immediately reassured as he felt cotton around his hands.

Alfred swallowed his mouthful, and picked up his soda.

It was definitely McDonald's…

"You were possessed somehow, but Yao saved your ass." Alfred explained after slurping down his drink; "You fainted, but we got out of the mansion, and were sent here. They got me wrapped up, checked ya over, found some minor injuries and said you have a mild concussion. It isn't too serious, but they said you might feel dizzy for a few days."

Francis assumed "they" were the doctors.

"How did you get a concussion anyways?" The American gave him a curious look.

"I—…" How did he get a concussion?

After another silent while of hard thinking, he winced as a jab of pain shot into his head; "…I fell down the stairs…"

"How did you fall down the stairs?"

"I…" Another sudden, sharp stinging pinch caused him to cringe; Francis really didn't fancy the idea of speaking at the moment. "…Later, Alfred, I will explain everything to you later." He sighed as, thankfully, the pinch quickly faded away to a throb, and closed his eyes to the brightness of the room.

There was a shuffle before the sound of chewing commenced, but the semi-silence did not last long.

"…I'm just glad you're up," Alfred's words were a little mumbled together; he was speaking through a mouthful again. "Matthew's still not up yet."

That instantly got Francis' full attention.

Ocean blue eyes snapped open, and suddenly, everything in front of him became crystal clear against the general buzzing at the back of his head.

"What do you mean? What happened to Matthieu?"

At first he'd just assumed that the Canadian was back at the side house with the rest of the team, possibly resting, hence his absence, but that was obviously not the case.

"I donno, man," Alfred paused in chewing; "The doctors donno either. There's nothing really wrong with him; he doesn't have any injuries except for scrapes and stuff, but he's just not wakin' up."

Francis didn't reply and merely stared at him in dismay.

"I tried to call Arthur, but it's not going through again." Alfred actually put his burger down; "…I just—…I donno what's happenin', man! I was hoping that Arthur'd know something since he's Matthew's cousin and all. 'Cause who knows? Maybe something similar's happened before. But his line is just dead! Again! I was calling from Yao's phone too! So there's really no reason for him to not pick up 'cause it's not like he's ignoring Yao."

It was obvious how stressed out the American was, and Francis didn't blame him; he was starting to feel anxious too.

"I need to see Matthieu." He said, and pushed himself upright despite of how agonizing his headache had become.

"Whoa, whoa! Slow down!" Alfred put his food aside on top of the small, bedside table, and quickly went to the Frenchman's side, easing his struggles by lending a helping hand.

"…Merci, mon ami…" Came a mumble as gloved fingers wrapped around his, and Francis got up, biting down on his lips with a grimace at the wave of nausea and overall great discomfort his body protested against his actions with.

When he tried to push onto his feet into a standing position, he realized too late that his sense of balance was far from intact. With a surprised, hitched gasp, he fell forward, and thanked Alfred again while the other man yelped and pulled him up with all his might with one arm.

"Do you want me to get you a wheelchair or something?"

As sincerely helpful as that question was, Francis couldn't help but feel a little offended, out of stubbornness if anything.

"I…will walk slowly." He mumbled, and tried easing himself onto his feet again.

The second attempt was much better-managed, and he quickly regained more control over his motor skills.

Luckily Matthew's room was the next one over, so he didn't have to walk too much.

He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious for, but he knew it was long enough for his stomach to be so empty that there was absolutely no support whatsoever in his midsection.

Alfred, after turning the knob, kicked the door open unceremoniously, catching the attention of a few nurses down the hall. Waving a hand to signal that everything was fine, he led the Frenchman into the room.

As soon as the still form of his little Matthieu came into view, he pushed himself forward into a half-run, not heeding the surprised protests Alfred gave him, and pretty much stumbled across the room before falling to the Canadian's bedside.

His sense of balance spun around horribly. His hands clutched the bed sheets. He leaned his whole weight onto them so he wouldn't crumble to the ground. He managed to get into a sitting position, and was vaguely aware of nurses arriving into the room and Alfred trying to explain to them that everything was fine.

"…Matthieu?" He reached over a hand. It took him a moment to wrap it around the unconscious man's face. Everything was still shifting slowly in front of his eyes despite of how hard he tried to blink it better.

"…Mon chéri," He leaned closer, voice loving and soft, but wavering; his thumb gently caressed the unnaturally pale skin, hoping to rouse the motionless form into awareness; "Réveilles-toi, s'il te plaît…C'est moi, ton Francis."

Matthew was still, too still. His breaths barely disturbed his body; it was hard to see his chest rise and fall. His eyelashes did not flutter.

He looked like a beautiful corpse.

Francis' only comfort was that he was warm under his touch.

"Oh Matthieu, s'il te plaît…Ouvre tes yeux, mon amour…Souris pour moi." His little Matthieu did not move, and remained as he was.

He leaned in even closer, and gave the pale lips a firm kiss, wishing with every fiber of his being that magic like those in fairy tales existed in the moment and that the Canadian would wake up.

He leaned back, watching attentively, wide eyes unblinking.

There was no response.

A wave of anguish stronger than anything he'd ever experienced stabbed at his heart, and, as much as it pained him, he could not turn his eyes away from the sight of his unconscious lover.

Matthieu had been hesitant about taking the case, but agreed to come because of his persuasion, because he trusted him.

And look at what that trust had led to.

It suddenly became too much to watch his little Matthieu's expressionless face. He turned his head away, resting it against a palm covering his eyes.

He sighed, wanting to tug at his hair just to ease some of that heavy, wrenching feeling inside his chest.

But he did not, because he didn't want to worry Alfred, who carried all burdens, even those not of his own, especially those not of his own, and was not as invincible as he believed himself to be.

…What if Matthieu never wakes up…?

From what information he'd gathered, bits and pieces about the younger blonde, he could take a good guess that his lover had a childhood trauma so horrible that it was enough to stay with him and constantly haunt his life even after so many years.

He'd known, or at least heard of instances where, when a person with such a delicate mentality experiences anything that is deemed in any way similar to that traumatic incident, no matter how minor or far-fetched the association may seem to anyone else, it might render the person to experience a manic episode, or fall into a state of comatose as a defensive reflex of the mind to keep it from completely collapsing.

…What if Matthieu never wakes up…

…No…

Please no…

…No…!

He rubbed his face hidden behind curtains of shimmering, golden hair, eyes open but unseen by others in the room, and tried to calm his increasingly panicking heart with deep breaths, though that hardly helped.

If only he hadn't brushed aside the suspicion that he heard his name being called while at the mansion, and went to look around, he probably would've found his little Matthieu, and this wouldn't have happened.

If only he'd gone back to the mansion sooner instead of wasting his time searching the side house, this wouldn't have happened…

If only—

…If only…

There was a small movement.

He immediately perked his head up.

It was a mere flicker so brief that it was gone in a split of a second later.

But he held his breath, afraid to blink in case he missed it again.

He was still – still as the unconscious man lying on the bed pale as a marble statue.

Matthew took a small, sharp gasp, and his shoulders made a tiny, jerking movement.

"Matthieu?" He called, breaths almost catching in his throat, voice gaining a hopeful note, which caught Alfred and the nurses' attention.

The Canadian's eyes were moving slowly behind closed eyelids, and his head began to shift slightly to the side.

"Matthieu? Are you waking?" He called out again, hoping his voice would guide the almost struggling man to rouse him from his deep sleep.

He had never been so hopeful yet scared at the same time.

Matthew's lips quivered, and moved.

Francis frowned slightly; was he…whispering something…?

"…Matthieu?"

There was a soft mumble.

He was talking!

"Matthieu, what is it?" He reached forward and held onto one of Matthew's hands, squeezing a little in encouragement.

A light groan left the pair of barely moving lips.

"…What is it, mon ange?" Gaining a more urgent tone, he spoke softly, giving the limp hand a kiss.

The hand gave a small jolt, and squeezed back.

"…

"…I love you…"

Francis froze.

"…I love you…"

Matthew's eyebrows furrowed, and something wet gathered underneath his fluttering eyelashes.

"I love you…

Francis…

Don't hate me…"

Tears slid down along the side of his face.

"—Please don't hate me…" He whimpered:

"…Don't leave me…"

The room was dead silent except for the quiet tick-tocks of the clock on the wall.

Alfred would've sworn that time really had stopped if it weren't for that sound, and how Matthew's tears continued to fall.

Francis was motionless, watching his lover's face. On his own, there was an expression of absolute shock mingled with heartbreak.

It was the first time Matthew spoke the words that he'd been craving for ever since the beginning of their relationship. He always knew that the younger man loved him, but the Canadian had never spoken it as if he was afraid.

He never said them, until now.

…And now that he said it…

Francis felt a heavy tremble shiver through his body.

…Why did he not feel the rush of joy and the outburst of warmth overwhelm his body?

…Why was he crying…?

He didn't know who that question was directed towards, because he felt something wet slide down along the curve of his own cheekbones.

"…Matthieu…

"…Matthieu, wake up," He said, awkwardly gathering the smaller man into his arms; "Wake up; it's only a dream…it's only a dream…" He tilted his face and kissed Matthew's tears away, though his own continued fall to adorn the cheeks he kissed like liquid crystal; "It's only a dream…Shhhhhh…"

Alfred turned his eyes away; there was a bitter feeling at the back of his mouth. His nose burnt a little, and he loathed himself for it.

Stupid Arthur with his stupid unresponsive phone in stupid faraway England…

"…Only a dream…Only a dream…It isn't real; it isn't real…" Francis continued to shower his lover's face with butterfly kisses, hating the fact that his own tears were dampening his little Matthieu's beautiful, porcelain skin. He closed his eyes, so he wouldn't have to see.

"…Francis…?"

Then came a small moan, much more alert and distinct than the previous dreamy mumbles.

He immediately tensed to a halt, and leant back just enough to watch with keen, round eyes as the Canadian gave another groan, louder and much more awake.

Matthew stilled for a brief moment, and his eyelashes gave a shiver. They slowly parted, eyelids lifting, and suddenly, sparkling, topaz-blue eyes, clear and as if transparent gemstones, appeared, a little confused and disoriented.

They caught his instantly in a deep, hazy gaze.

"…Francis…" He spoke again, and the Frenchman could've openly wept out of relief and a combination of emotions so complicated and conflicted that he couldn't distinguish one from another no matter how hard he tried to, only knowing that it was heart-wrenching.

"Matthieu, mon cher amour," He gently cradled the pale face with his hands, vision blurring; his heart was trembling, and he almost didn't know how to speak, but it was easy to find what to say:

"…Je t'aime…mon coeur…

"…Je t'aime tellement."

He tilted his face and made to give his love a passionate kiss, but a whisper stopped him in his tracks.

"…I'm sorry…"

He paused, leaning back and frowning in confusion.

"…Matthieu…?"

"…I'm sorry…" Matthew's eyebrows furrowed further, and his lips began to quiver as more tears swelled inside his eyes and fell in torrents; "I'm so sorry!" His body suddenly began to shake as he took in a hitched breath, and he broke out into violent sobs, eyes squeezing shut in shame.

Francis, startled and not understanding the reason behind the sudden change, was still for a moment.

"Why—…What are you talking about, mon chéri?" Trying not to let alarm overwhelm him, he asked, shushing the crying young man's choked back sniffles with a soft and tender voice.

"-I-I…I—" The Canadian's face was no longer pale, but flushed in a deep red; he averted his eyes as if looking at his lover pained him.

Hurt stabbed Francis in the heart without remourse, and he physically felt the sting, but kept it to himself; because right now, what mattered, the only thing that mattered, was how to calm the upset strawberry blonde. "Shhhhh…Look at me; look at me, Matthieu. Please look at me. Tell me what's bothering you."

"…I—I—" Hiccupping, it took Matthew a few good seconds before he could meet Francis' eyes again, "-I'm—I'm so sorry that I—I—…" Taking in a shuddering breath, he fought to keep his voice even enough to speak: "…I promised…I promised I wouldn't—…I-I promised I wouldn't—" He shook his head side to side, large droplets of tears leaving wet stains on the pillow under him; "-I promised I wouldn't fly off the handle and endanger everyone b-but I—but I—…Look what I've done! Look what I've done!" Hands flew up and clenched around soft blond hair; the Canadian pulled at the strands, knuckles turning white, almost yanking them out by the roots.

Francis, alarm blaring inside his head in a second, pried the digits off and grabbed onto the thin wrists to stop the younger man from hurting himself. His face was pale, expression aghast, shaken and shocked by how immense the self-hate was swimming inside soft, blue eyes.

"…You got hurt…Alfred got hurt…Kiku got hurt…Everyone got hurt because of me! Everyone got hurt because of me! Again! Again!" Matthew's cries became significantly louder and louder, thrashing under the Frenchman trying to yank his arms free so he could hide his face behind his hands.

"Mon petit, that is not true! That is not true!" Trying to keep the tremour out of his voice, the older male could barely keep his voice from cracking under the strain.

"N-No! No—! Don't! Don't!" The Canadian swung his head to the side and tried to bury his face into the pillow, lips apart in frenzied, wheezing gasps. His screams were partly muffled, but the terrified man above him thought that he heard:

"Just like Papa! J-Just like Papa—!"

"Matthieu! Matthieu!" He called out, frantic and pleading; "Don't turn away, Matthieu. Look at me; look at me!"

"Always because of me! Always because of me!"

"-Non!"Francis cried out, voice laced with pained passion; "Non! Matthieu! Arrête!" His body shook under the strain of storms of emotions battling inside his chest, but his eyes remained unblinking, never leaving Matthew's.

"Ce n'est pas vrai!"

Suddenly, a violent spasm shocked through the Canadian's body as though he was hit by an electric shock. All muscles in his body were pulled completely taut; his limbs were stiff, and his eyes were stretched wide open.

Francis could hardly breathe.

Seconds slowly ticked by, and, little by little, agonizingly, the strawberry blonde began to grow limp.

Everyone watched, holding their breaths.

The arm Alfred held up to keep the nurses from interfering was beginning to drop as it ached.

Slowly, Matthew's body relaxed, and he was once again motionless on the bed.

Francis let out a shivering breath, and almost collapsed, but he kept himself strong, and his eyes never left his little Matthieu's face.

"…It's all my fault…" A small, wounded whimper cut through the silence, and tears continued to fall from his little Matthieu's eyes.

"…Non, ce n'est pas…" The Frenchman shook his head slightly but firmly; "…It isn't your fault, Matthieu; it was never you fault…" He whispered, expression pained and pleading.

Matthew did not move at first, but slowly, his head began to turn.

He looked up; his gaze was soft, but almost unseeing.

It hurt to see such a sight, and Francis spoke – his voice was barely a breath:

"…Do you not believe me, mon amour…?"

Taken back, surprise began to make its way into Matthew's widening eyes, and, bit by bit, life seemed to be returning to him.

"…Do you not believe me…?" Francis' words were barely a whisper, sorrowful, and imploring.

For long moments, they only looked at each other.

Do you not believe me…?

Matthew couldn't think.

…Francis…

…He looked so sad and hurt…

Trust…

…Trust…

…Did he trust Francis…?

I…do…?

…He…trusted Francis…?

Do I…?

Yes…

Yes…I do…

Matthew was the first to blink.

His expression softened, and he gave a weak smile, corners of his lips tilting ever so slightly upwards:

"…I believe you, Francis."

It was a thankful smile devoid of anything else but gratitude, however, at that moment, all that mattered was that the self-hate was gone, and replaced by something that felt good.

Francis watched as love slowly, but eventually make its way into his little Matthieu's beautiful, blue eyes, and was instantly overwhelmed by too many emotions.

He tilted his head and sealed their distance.

They met in a fervent kiss – eyes squeezed shut – desperately, and passionately.

A few steps away, Alfred watched, nibbling on his lips. Casting a few more glances at the couple, he turned away, and sighed, brushing a hand through his hair.

It was starting to hurt to look.

Excusing himself, he walked out the door, and took out the phone he borrowed from Yao.

Arthur…Where are you…?

~o0o0o0o0o~

Arthur was agitated, anxious, angry, irritated, nervous, and a bunch of other words describing similar emotions.

He paced back and forth in his room in a similar manner to that of a wild tiger locked in a small cage, feeling extremely suffocated and needing to do something but not quite knowing what.

It wasn't as though he could do much anyways, since his phone and all other electronics he owned which could allow him to communicate with others, along with everyone else's similar devices, had been taken to a safe, but hidden place. It was an understandable precaution to take for the purpose of monitoring their activities and making sure no one sells any information out, simply to ensure that all credits would be given to the right person(s) deserving it, and that nothing would fall into greedy hands with desires pertaining to only commercial profit.

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

Not only that, but he was put under room-arrest too.

Well, not quite; he was just assigned a supervisor.

Though, frankly speaking, he preferred room-arrest a lot more than having a supervisor tailing him everywhere he went.

He blamed slimy Andreas Thorne, though he knew it wasn't really his fault since this was what happened to all wizards/witches prior to and during the days in which they performed experimental rituals which could possibly leave a great impact.

It wasn't the first time he had his phone taken away during the conference either, but this time, he had been extremely sensitive about it.

He had the strong feeling that someone was trying to contact him, and it wasn't out of a big ego or that he thought he was important. Ever since the time he dropped his tea cup during the lunch with his colleague, he'd been extremely on edge.

And with the stupid supervisor, he couldn't even go out and find a pay phone.

And, what was even worse was that he had completely forgotten to tell Alfred any of this.

He hoped to whatever gods watching over him that the American wouldn't take this the wrong way and think he disappeared from the face of the planet, or even worse, think that he was insinuating how their relationship was definitely unsalvageable.

Because it wasn't definitely unsalvageable.

Just…A little bit…

…Kind of…

Still salvageable if he tried.

"…Oh for God's sakes, Arthur!" He threw down the book in his hand that he was trying but failing to read.

It wasn't even a proper relationship anyway!

He thought to himself, unaware of the scowl on his face, and wanted to give himself a good smack on the head.

Stupid—Stupid—!

Why didn't you listen to Matthew and call the idiot before you left New York! He was right! You are miserable!

Look at yourself!

He paused in front of the mirror and stared.

Damnit! Stupid eyebrows!

He almost walked over to the bathroom and got the razor offered by the hotel to shave those hideous things off.

Thankfully he caught himself before he could actually do it.

He also regretted not listening to Feliks' advise.

Sighing, the British man rubbed his face with his hands.

There was nothing he could do about the situation now.

Deciding it was better to read over the notes for the ritual he was about to perform again and go over the details, Arthur stopped wasting his time to pacing, and sat back down onto his bed. A stack of papers was taken out from his suitcase.

Silence hung in the room, only disturbed every once in a while by sounds of paper flipping.

In truth, none of the words registered to his preoccupied mind, but he could at least pretend to be doing something, and that made him feel better just by a little bit.

~o0o0o0o0o~

After another night at the hospital, Alfred, Francis, and Matthew were able to return to the side house. Francis (after insisting to be released) was told to lie down as often as possible and to avoid exerting himself, while Matthew wasn't really told anything at all since they didn't really find anything wrong with him, at least not physically. The doctor had suspicions, but did not voice them as the Canadian became extremely reluctant and uncomfortable when asked. He was then requested to take care of his lover, and that was that.

Alfred was almost forced to stay at the hospital for one more night, but, growing impatient and feeling confined, he managed to convince the doctor (by whining and begging) that he was going to be extremely careful with his wounds, and that he had a "nurse" as a friend, who'd take great care of him.

Yao didn't appreciate being called a "nurse", though he kept it to himself to avoid further playful (but annoying) jibes at his masculinity.

The car ride back had been exceptionally bad for Francis, who was still somewhat disoriented and became awfully carsick. By the time they had finally reached a stop in front of the side house gates, the Frenchman was pale as bleached bed sheets. He was having such a horribly throbbing head on top of feeling so overwhelmingly nauseated that he could not move from his spot for a whole ten minutes, still as a statue with eyes staring straight and blank, lips pressed tightly together.

Eventually, with the help of his little Matthieu, he managed to get into the side house and find a comfortable spot to lie down in the dining room, which was temporarily used as a meeting/discussion room as well. His little Matthieu glanced over once in a while, still looking extremely ashamed and guilty. He tried to offer a reassuring smile each time, but, being as dizzy and hazy-minded as he was, hoped he didn't make any strange expressions.

When Yao arrived back into the room with a stack of papers, he was somewhat saved. Not that he didn't like having the Canadian's attention on him or giving smiles, not at all, but it was getting difficult to stay awake.

The trip from the hospital to the side house was tedious and took all strength from his body. If it were under normal circumstances his injuries wouldn't have been too bad, since, after all, he braced his fall from the stairs, and it was only a mild concussion. However, the abrupt possession shocked his system in a way that no medical experts could understand.

The group was complete as Yao took his seat. Beside him was Matthew, who was closest to the resting Frenchman, while Alfred sat on the opposite side, a large heap of food in front of him, which he munched happily on. Kiku, with Mei at his side, sat beside the American.

"While you were at the hospital," Yao spoke; to Francis, his voice sounded very far away for some reasons, "I took all my time to do research, aru."

"Did you find anything?" Alfred spoke next, though his voice was muffled. His wounds were healing quite well for how nasty they were, especially the big, sliced gash on his arm, which had finally stopped oozing blood; his body was already recuperating and demanding even more sustenance than usual to keep up with the recovery.

"Not really, aru," Yao sighed, flipping through his papers, "I spent the entire day yesterday looking and found interesting things, but nothing relevant."

"What did you find then?" It took Francis' foggy mind a brief while to figure out what the American had said, since it was through a mouthful of various Japanese dishes.

"I found that it was very easy to find information for certain time periods, but there is one in particular that seems to just be…missing…"

There was a silence as confusion hung in the air.

"…What do you mean?" Matthew asked.

"There is…a big chunk of records that is completely gone, aru," Yao explained; "No matter how long I spent going over every little detail and using all the resources I could think of, I couldn't find anything."

"Records don't just disappear, man." Alfred piped up, though his statement was hardly helpful.

"…Maybe, do you think it is…how do you say this…it is…ahhh…" Francis frowned; the word was right on the tip of his tongue but he just couldn't remember it, and it frustrated him.

"…Deliberate?" Yao filled the word in.

"Oui…" Francis sighed, rubbing his eyes with his hands, "…Deliberate…"

"Yes, I believe so, aru."

There was a shuffle of clothing as someone got up. It turned out to be his little Matthieu. He felt familiar, soft hands cupping around his cheek and feeling his forehead.

"…Francis, are you okay?" Matthew asked; his voice was laden with worry.

Francis gave a small nod, and a weak smile. His eyes fluttered open, and met another pair equally as blue.

"I'm just tired, Matthieu," He wrapped one of his hands around the Canadian's, and turned his head to kiss the smaller palm; "Perhaps I should take a nap." His smile turned apologetic.

The Canadian nodded back, giving a concerned smile; "I'll help you to our room, eh?"

"Oui…s'il te plaît." He pushed up onto his elbows, closing his eyes against the swirling world around him. He felt the other man wrap an arm around his back, and helped him into an upright, sitting position.

He hated this, being so helpless, but he also knew that the best thing for him to do at the moment was to get better as soon as possible.

There were sounds of another pair of thudding footsteps approaching, and he suddenly felt another hand, rougher in touch, reaching around behind his body, supporting him.

"I'll help ya out," Alfred's voice spoke over his head to Matthew, and the two lifted his arms to wrap around their shoulders.

"Thank you, Alfred." Matthew's voice was warm with gratitude.

"Maybe I should help, aru," Yao said, looking at the American's still bandaged arm with concern.

"Don't worry about it; I'm only using my good arm." Francis could hear the big grin in his voice; "Alright Mattie, on three. One, two, three—"

-And he was pulled up onto his feet, helped to balance by two arms wrapped around his back from both men on either side.

He wanted to argue that, despite of how the floor under him lazily swayed and how much he felt like he was walking on clouds, he could still make it to the bedroom without this much help, but, deciding that he should simply feel grateful that he had such wonderful people to care about his welfare this much, kept his mouth shut.

The trip to his room shared with little Matthieu was short, and he was soon tucked into soft comforters.

"I'll wake you up when we have lunch and bring it over for you, 'kay?" He opened his eyes, and saw Matthew's warm ones and smiling face.

"Merci, mon chéri," He smiled back, eyes a little unfocused but equally as affectionate; "But I should join you in the dining room; it would be rude otherwise, non?" He reached up a hand, and brushed away a few strands of wayward hair from the Canadian's face.

"Of course not," Matthew shook his head, the looped curl on the top bouncing; Francis found himself distracted by it for a second or two. "The doctor said you shouldn't exert yourself, eh? So you should rest."

Giving a little sigh of reluctance but smile not dropping in the least, he nodded.

"Bien!" The strawberry blonde looked pleased and gave him a small grin.

The Frenchman chuckled, giving the blond head a ruffle. "But before you go, mon petit chaton, je veux un baiser." At that he puckered his lips cheekily and closed his eyes.

Matthew gave a cute little laugh; the sound was like soft dings of sweet bells to his ears.

"I think you're going to be just fine, Francis." He stated before leaning down, and gave the puckered lips a firm kiss. "Sweet dreams."

The Frenchman nodded slowly, expression relaxed and content. "…From such a sweet kiss I will definitely have a sweet dream…" He gave his eyebrows a wiggle, smile widening as he heard another small laughter.

Matthew, shaking his head a little but feeling amused and adored, gave the one lying down another peck; "Now, go to sleep like a good Frenchman, eh?"

"Oui, monsieur…" Was the reply, though the voice that spoke it was already lightly muffled and drowsy.

Francis' breaths were starting to even out, expression settling into that of rest.

Taking one last look at his lover, the Canadian slid the door shut, and whispered to Alfred, who was waiting outside in the hall after helping the Frenchman settle into his beddings:

"I think he fell asleep already."

"Already?" The American wore an expression of surprise as the two began to make their way back to the dining room, "Wow, he must be really tired."

At that, Matthew wrung his fingers together, nibbling on his lips with a small frown.

"…Is it…Is it normal…eh…?" He stole a few glances at Alfred, who looked confused at first; "I-I mean…for a mild concussion?"

"Oh," The taller blonde scratched the back of his head absentmindedly, wearing a thoughtful look, "…Well…I'm no medical expert, but if they'd let him out of the hospital without that much of a fight then his concussion's probably not too bad, yeah? I'm more worried about his possession at the mansion."

"What do you mean?" The Canadian asked, voice barely above a whisper but tight-strung.

"It's just weird; I mean…" Alfred wore an equally perplexed expression, "…Usually, say, if I get possessed, that means the spirit wanted to possess me, yeah?" He made a small hand gesture as they rounded a corner; "And if I were to touch you, then chances are it'd transfer over and you'd become possessed. But that's not what happened on that night." He paused as they reached the door to the dining room, and said, before sliding the door open: "Kiku came in contact with the spirit, but he didn't become possessed, so what the hell happened with Francis? It was obviously not intentional since Francis kinda just popped outta nowhere, you know? And when he attacked you afterwards, nothing happened to you either. Well…not nothing, but you know what I mean…"

"Yeah…I know what you mean…" Matthew replied, nodding slowly, deep in thought.

The slightly older male blinked, watching the other man develop a small pout of misery and helplessness. Sighing and putting on an encouraging smile, he patted the strawberry blond head.

"Don't worry, Mattie," He said, giving a firm nod, eyes shinning with confidence and certainty; "We'll figure it out!"

The door slid open, and the three Asians inside watched with curiosity as the two blondes shared a warm smile and settled down into their seats.

~o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o~

Translation: Again, if wrong, please correct! :D

Réveilles-toi, s'il te plaît…C'est moi, ton Francis. – Wake up, please…It's me, your Francis.

Oh Matthieu, s'il te plaît…Ouvre tes yeux, mon amour…Souris pour moi. – Oh Matthieu, please…Open your eyes, my love…Smile for me.

Je t'aime…mon coeur……Je t'aime tellement. – …I love you…my heart……I love you so much.

Non! Matthieu! Arrête! Ce n'est pas vrai! – No! Matthieu! Stop! It's not true!

je veux un baiser – I want a kiss

BIG THANKS to radioactive edelweiss, musicalsarelife, and Capitain Pickle for the French help! I'm learning so many new things! 8D

Ending Notes: I'd say something smart-ass here in spirit of April Fool's day but…I'm really not all that smart-ass so…

Hope you had a happy April Fool's!

Though…I think the majority of this chapter didn't really fit the spirit of this holiday…XD

Anyways…Oh man…the scene at the hospital where Mattie's freaking out took so much to write that it was like a friggin' marathon. I even forgot to eat while writing it! Not a very smart idea…and again, not a smart-ass. –points to self– I highly recommend having some food lying around while you're writing; always good to have some munchies, yeah?

But then again…maybe…I'm just…kinda…proud…of that Mattie freaking out part…I guess…? …A little bit…? –hides in a crate of tomatoes– ;v;

Now, before you barbeque me for (possibly) butchering the medical aspects of a mild concussion with flying colours (inaccuracies), please just pretend that they're not there! _ I can't have Francis too far gone 'cause I need him at least alive enough to be out and about for things to move along, or else the case would REALLY hit a complete hiatus and…well…you guys don't want that right? …Right…? …'Cause if y'all don't mind I can totally—

…Nah I'm just playing with ya~ –is smacked–

The team's gonna rest a bit with the case in Japan and doing a bit more of investigating before more things happen and spiral outta control. That is to leave room for Arthur's big, anticipated ritual! (Which is coming up soon in their time frame but a chapter or two away in our time frame I'm afraid XD) I must admit, I'm really looking forward to it 'cause I really think y'all will like it! (Or at least I hope) My fingers are itching to type, but there must be other things first. :D

Weeeelllll, in true JPIA-long-ass-ending-note fashion, I will give some revelations about the next chapter! –Cues in catchy but mildly annoying music–

The next installment of Jone's Paranormal Investigation Agency will be abooooooout…

–Drum rooooooooolllllll–

…Readyyyyyy?

Dun dun DUN—!

Francis' past!

8DDD

At last we will get an insight to what happened to our darling Frenchman when he was a child! …And some more. Feel free to take a guess! I'm really curious as to what you guys come up with! –dances happily–

I'm really sorry that this chapter isn't as long as its previous counterparts. It's just that I thought this cropping scheme would work better for future chapters, and I hope the contents made the wait worthwhile! If not…I'm so sorry! I really am! ;_;

Anyways, before I go and end this insanely long ending note, I would like to, once again, thank everyone for your wonderful support! All your reviews, favourites, subscriptions, and kindness mean so much to me, and I sincerely appreciate every little thing you've done for me out of the wonderfulness of your sparkly, beautiful hearts!

Y'ALL ARE THE BESTEST—! :D

I'm so sorry I'm so late on answering reviews again! X_X I'm gonna try my best to answer everyone's right away! Please forgive me! –begs for forgiveness with chocolate and sunflowers–

I LOVE YOU—! –many hearts–

Oooonly yoooouuuuuuu~~~~ Can maaake this wooorld seem briiiiiiight~~