AN: So in the time it's taken me to post chapter four, I have turned 17, visited Germany and almost finished my end of year exams (the exams of Chapter 3 were in fact, mock exams). This chapter is admittedly, not my best work, but it's so necessary ugh.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia. Any views expressed by characters in my story are not necessarily my own views, nor the views of Hidekaz Himaruya.

Chapter Four

"Since school's out for the summer, Dad asked if Alfred and I would help him unpack some of the junk from the attic. We've lived here for almost five years and there are still cardboards boxes all taped up and forgotten about – I guess things always get lost when you move.

Al wasn't so keen at first, but he bolted up the ladder when Dad found the box labelled "Alfred's Spare Awesome Stuff for Heroes" in red and blue marker. Unfortunately, his enthusiasm didn't last long. As soon as he grabbed the box he was gone – disappeared into his childhood of toy soldiers and race cars. I have to say, I was kind of surprised that Alfred had called his box that. He must have inherited Dad's crazy specific labelling skills.

While dad sorted through "Francis' Miscellaneous Cooking Utensils", I stumbled across an old picture among "Assorted Sentimental Items". It was us, the first day we came to live with Dad and Papa. You can tell it's the first day, because we're wearing those dorky matching 'Just Adopted' T-Shirts (Al's idea – he almost threw a fit when I told him it was stupid). I never wore mine again, but Alfred wore his for two weeks straight before Papa managed to pry it off him.

Alfred's smile is so wild it looks like his face is splitting in half, and I'm holding his hand, shrinking. I look scared of the camera. Papa has an arm around us, and is ruffling Alfred's hair, while Dad stands to my right – not quite touching, with a nervously ecstatic expression. The old house in Canada probably doesn't look like the picture anymore though.

Back then I wasn't sure if we were going to be a proper family. We weren't like the families on TV, and though Al and I had met Papa and Dad before lots of times, I was still worried. They hadn't wanted two kids at first. That terrified me for months, until Papa and Dad promised that they weren't going to send either of us back. The thought had never occurred to them (or Alfred).

I showed Dad the photo and he laughed. It's hanging up in the hallway now.

Papa didn't notice when he came home."

It was 1:35am.

Francis was late. Not just late – very, very late. So late, in fact, that it was no longer the 9th, but the 10th and yes, to Arthur that was a very important detail. Francis had said he'd be back on the 9th – and though the man would forget things like his keys, or his laptop, or his wallet, Francis never forgot dates. Out of the two of them, Francis was the one with a head for numbers and days, anniversaries and birthdays, meetings and deadlines. While Arthur could (and would) ramble on about historical events from 64BCE to 1066 to 1999, he had never been good with dates and times in the present day – while Francis would remember the next door neighbour's cousin's daughter's dog's birthday, provided it was mentioned. Hell, Francis knew Arthur's dad's birthday, and he'd never met the man.

So for Francis to get an incorrect date, was unspeakable. Impossible. Inconceivable. Completely and utterly ludicrous.

Something had to be wrong.

Arthur had kept himself up unintentionally, hypothetical scenarios playing through his head like the world's most clichéd horror movie. He was wont to admit it, but Arthur was quite good at getting worked up – though he prided himself of remaining composed under stress, 'little' things nagged at him from the inside, chewing at his conscience constantly… 'little' things like a phone message that in any other circumstance, would not be as worrying as it was.

He hadn't called Alfred's teacher back, when he probably – no, definitely should have. Although it wasn't entirely unheard of for Alfred or Matthew's teachers to call home, it wasn't exactly a regular occurrence either. The last time it had happened, Matthew had accidentally given a player on an opposing ice hockey team a concussion, and Matthew's coach had called to check whether the guilt-wracked teenager was still willing to play. The time before that had been in tenth grade, when Alfred had misinterpreted an art class assignment and handed in a report on Fall Out Boy, and left the poor first year teacher stumped after marking piles of essays on Michaelangelo and Da Vinci.

Truth be told, Arthur wasn't sure why he and Francis were being contacted. There hadn't really been any indication from either of his sons that they were struggling – though to be fair, he hadn't really spoken as much to Alfred since he'd started twelfth grade, and Matthew's response to the age old question of 'how was your day?' was always a simple 'good'. Report cards weren't to be sent out for a while, and the school year had practically just begun – so what could possibly be wrong?

The glowing red numbers on the alarm mocked his sleepless state, teaming up with the cell phone that just didn't ring.

1:40.

1:50.

2:20.

3:00.

"Bonjour, chéri. There's been some trouble here, and I was unable to book a flight. It seems I won't be making it back until Friday. I know you'll handle things – you always do."

The message here was interrupted by a sigh, and the crackling sound of someone fumbling with a phone.

"I… I don't say it enough, but I'm sorry for all of this. Thank you for anything and everything. I'd never make it through without you."

A laugh.

"I love you. I love you. Always, I love you."

Jeanne stared at her cell phone as she replayed the message once more. The glowing light of the screen washed the room in pale blue, swept away darkness and replaced it with eerie bright.

The words were slurred – imprecise, heavily accented nonsense that tumbled at the speed of sound from what seemed to be rather drunken lips. But to sleep deprived, jet-lagged Jeanne, they were special.

When Jeanne was a child, her mother had warned her to never make decisions when you weren't one hundred percent sure of yourself.

"You will look like a fool, Jeanne."

Her dear, blessed mother had never liked risks – but Jeanne, much to her horror, did.

One more time, the message played...

To say Arthur 'woke up' would be a lie. To wake up requires one to have been asleep in the first place, and when one does not sleep, one cannot wake up.

To be honest, he'd have rather preferred a rude awakening than none at all. He knew that little sleep made him grouchy (grouchier than usual, as his family might say).

Breakfast was, surprisingly, not a nightmare. It was too early for Alfred to be downstairs, but Matthew was awake, and, bless the boy, had made tea. He'd always enjoyed eating with Matthew. It was one of the little, quiet things that they shared.

Life in the Bonnefoy-Kirkland household was often divided. Sometimes it was Alfred and Matthew versus their parents. Other times it was the, admittedly hot-tempered Arthur and Alfred versus icy Francis and Matthew. As he swirled the teaspoon aimlessly, Arthur found himself wondering why it wasn't more often he and Matthew together. Theirs were worlds of quiet and introspection, as opposed to the chattering extroverted land inhabited by Francis and Alfred.

At least, that's how he saw it.

"Hey, dad?"

Matthew's questioning tone broke through Arthur's teacup-gazing. He looked up.

"Mm?"

"Is something wrong? You look a bit…" Matthew furrowed his eyebrows as he searched for a word. "A bit off."

"Nothing. I'm fine." he replied, with an uneasy facsimile of a smile. "Papa's just a bit late. That's all."

"That's… not like him at all."

"Don't worry about it, Matt." quickly, he changed the subject. "How's school?"

Matthew seemed reluctant to drop the issue at first, but their conversation slowly grew easier – at least until Alfred was brought up.

At the mention of his brother's name, Matthew seemed to retreat into himself. Walls went up behind his glasses.

"Alfred's fine. Everything's fine."

That was… certainly not normal. If anything, combined with last night's phone call, Matthew's reaction was a bit concerning.

"Matthew, what's going on wi-"

The ringing of the phone cut him off. Matthew jolted up to get it, but Arthur waved him away.

He picked up the phone.

The phone had rung at the most convenient moment. Matthew silently thanked whatever god was up there as his dad got up to answer.

He was a terrible liar. Dad had always said it was a good thing (but of course he would, he was a parent) but it made covering for Al pretty damn difficult. And at least, right now, he wasn't the only person lying.

There was clearly something wrong with his dad. His eyes had bigger bags than Alfred after two all-nighters in a row, and it was like a frown had been etched permanently into his face sometime in the last 12 hours. Dad had always been a bit of a jigsaw puzzle. Anger made him vocal, and he wouldn't hesitate to shout to be heard – yet worry shut him down completely. Papa on the other hand, was the opposite. If he was concerned, you'd hear sighs and complaints all day, every day, but getting on his wrong side meant days of withering looks and one word answers. Watching the two argue was… interesting, to say the least.

The phone call was short – Dad was only out of the kitchen for a minute or so. Matthew hadn't heard his father say a single word through the open kitchen door, but heard phone clash as he hung up quickly. He re-entered with pursed lips.

"Um… dad?"

"Everything's fine. I have to go."

With that, his dad left, plates and cutlery uncharacteristically dirty on the table, 20 minutes earlier than usual.

Matthew left for school without Alfred. He had tried to wake him up, but after being told seven different times to 'go fuck himself' in increasingly complicated ways, and having a couple of soft toys thrown at him, Matthew had given up. Alfred had never been much of one for mornings.

"It's like trying to communicate with a really rude toddler," he complained to Mei and Leon and lunch. "One with way too advanced a vocabulary."

"So Alfred's cleaning up his act. He never said he'd get up earlier." Leon replied, blowing his fringe off his face. "Mornings are, like, overrated."

"Just because someone has to physically drag you out of bed every morning!" Mei rolled her eyes at her twin. "You're such an old man sometimes."

"Ugh, don't even compare me to Yao and Kiku. They're the old ones."

Matthew watched as Mei and Leon bickered opposite him about their brother and step-brother. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the rest of their friends heading over, and he waved.

The three walked over quickly, chatting. The conversation was centred around the pretty dark-haired girl, who was gesticulating wildly with her hands.

"… but then she said that I was going to fail, but I was like 'no way', but she was adamant and now here we are."

She finished the story with a sigh, before sitting down.

"Hey Angelique. Ms. Walker give you another F?" asked Matthew.

"To be fair, she wrote her entire essay in text language." said the taller of the two boys, pushing his glasses up his thin, straight nose as he sat on Matthew's other side. "Ms. Walker was not pleased."

"Shut up, Eduard. I was making a statement on the evolving language of our society." Angelique stuck her tongue out, causing the boy look back in mock disdain.

"We were, like, meant to be writing on Othello." the second boy took his place next to Leon, half heartedly slinging his scarf back around his neck. Immediately, the twins stopped bickering and exchanged a look. Mei grinned, raising her eyebrows and then exclaimed when Leon elbowed her.

Ignoring them, Eiríkur continued winding his scarf in quiet, while Eduard and Angelique quarrelled across Matthew.

"That was not a good essay and you know it."

"I wrote it at 3 in the morning! What'd you expect Ed-nerd?"

"Why are we friends again?" Eduard said, shaking his head. Angelique laughed.

"Because you would fail French without me?"

"She's got you there, Ed." agreed Mei, diverting her attention away from her brother to give Angelique a high-five across the table. "Besides, you know you love her."

"It's true. Everyone loves me."

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

"Pfft. Spoilsport!" Anyway…" said Angelique, turning to Matthew. "Where's the slightly buffer yet twice as douchetastic brother today?"

"Hm. He wasn't in English, was he?" Eiríkur stopped winding his scarf, and joined the conversation. "Did the police take him?"

Leon snorted, and Mei hit him lightly on the arm.

"Matt was just saying that he stayed at home today."

"At least, that's what I think he did. He didn't look too good yesterday."

"Sick or hungover?" asked Eduard, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm going to guess that Al's hungover!" chirped Angelique. Matthew nodded.

"Nail on the head." he replied, shrugging. "But he said it would be the last time. We had a proper fight yesterday."

"Sounds hot." This time, Leon was the one hitting his sister. Angelique giggled, and made a move to high-five her again.

"So Alfred's going to go on the straight and narrow? Just like that? I don't believe it."

"I agree with Ed-n -

"Don't you call me that too! Damn it, Leon!"

"I mean, Eduard. Like, Alfred's the most stubborn person I know."

"Aside from big bro?"

"…aside from Yao, and it seems like, way too easy? You know?"

"I hope he does change. People change. If Alfred can become a jerk, he can stop being a jerk, right?"

"But Mei, that's because you've always had a giant cru-"

"SHUT UP!" Mei clapped her hand over her brother's mouth and scowled. She turned back to Matthew, switching to a faux-sweet smile. "Matthew?"

"Um… Look, I don't know." Matthew shook his head. Mei's hand dropped from Leon's face as they all focused on him. Matthew's eyebrows were drawn together, in an expression rarely seen on the usually laid-back boy's face. "Al can be a dick, right? But he wasn't always a dick. Some stuff's happened, and he's made some really dumb decisions, but nothing too bad… aside from the car thing but we're going to sort that out. He's not a bad person. He's never been a bad person – if it wasn't for him I wouldn't have you guys. I mean, when we moved here, it was Al that made the first move to be friends, not me. Yeah, so he kind of dumped us all on our asses… but while he's going through kind of a teenage jerk phase right now, I think he'll come out of it. We all have our faults, right? I think he'll change. And if he doesn't… well… we don't need him. Friendships change. People move on. Sometimes people move on to worse people but screw them, right? "

Silence reigned as Matthew stared at the table. It was like that time in seventh grade all over again, when he'd first said something longer than a sentence and the class had looked at him in shock – Alfred's silent brother, silent no more. Only this time, when Matthew looked back up, it wasn't surprise plastered over his peers' faces.

"Well… I guess you're right." said Eduard, breaking the ice with an apologetic shrug. He reached to push his glasses up again, this time more out of nervous habit than necessity.

"No one's perfect." Leon agreed. "I mean, like, look at us."

"We're kind of pretentious." Angelique grinned, patting Matthew on the back. "Mostly you and Ed-nerd though."

"Hey!"

The rest of the school day went well for Matthew. The topic of Alfred was dropped quickly at lunch, and the group quickly moved on to other things. He managed to avoid being asked anymore questions about his brother's absence, for once blessing his role as the invisible brother. Even art had passed by quickly, as without Alfred holding up the class, both Mr. Braginsky and Ms. Arlovskaya were in a good mood. Matthew noticed that the painting the painting of the bear he had seen yesterday was gone though, and while neither of the siblings were openly rude to each other, there was an underlying tension that simmered quietly behind all the words and looks they exchanged.

Mr. Braginsky didn't ask about the letter. Matthew didn't bring it up.

Alfred's bedroom door was locked when he got home. Matthew wasn't sure whether or not that meant he had slept all day, but judging by the increase of dirty dishes piled in the sink, Alfred must have gotten up to eat breakfast (no, lunch) at some point. While Matthew washed up, he thought about what he'd said to his friends.

Did he really believe what'd he'd said today? That Alfred was going to change back into the person he used to be? What was the person he used to be, anyway?

Matthew had to admit, that a little part of him hadn't exactly been surprised when, at the beginning of their senior year, Alfred had turned his back on the people he had been friends with since seventh grade. He should have seen it coming, really.

Alfred had always looked like the type of person that would play a bully in a stereotypical teen romantic comedy. Out of the two of them, Matthew felt like Alfred was the attractive one – while they looked alike, they were certainly not identical twins. Alfred was a 5 foot 8, golden-blonde, blue-eyed All American Superstar, with a jaw line Captain America would kill for and the bone structure of one of those old Roman statues. And while Matthew was by no means unattractive - a fact that dear Papa had drilled into him after he heard Matthew complain once when he was 12 years old and Alfred had grown half a centimetre taller than him, instead of the twins being the same height - Matthew certainly wasn't Alfred. Everything about him was just… softer. Paler, curlier hair. Gentler, more violet tinted eyes. Less visibly muscular. While Alfred was the sun that shone brightly, Matthew was like, the god damn moon or something.

Alfred was athletic, and muscular, and quite frankly, far too nice to be hanging out with the people he hung out with now. Matthew supposed that it was a combination of this, and Alfred's endearing sense of loyalty, that had kept him glued to Matthew's side for so much of their childhood. It had only been a matter of time, really, before Alfred swept himself away from Matthew and their 'regular' gang to join the world of 'popular'.

Was it really so bad if Alfred did some stupid shit? They'd had a pretty good talk last night, and while Matthew didn't think the change would be immediate, Alfred had promised he would at least stop getting Matthew to help him lie to their parents. Maybe the way Alfred was acting was okay for now and hopefully Alfred would really take to heart what -

"Matt! Cover for me! I'm heading to Tyler's for a rad party – bye!" yelled the blur that was Alfred as he ran past the kitchen and out the front door.

That bastard.

I don't know why this group of friends happened but it happened and I regret nothing (except for possibly any confusion caused by that section of this chapter). As always, I'm contactable via Tumblr - Tina