So I've decided to update this. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and expressed interest in continuing to read this dark little fic of mine. -blush- Yeah, I'm kinda letting my darker ideas run free with this. I like sweet and fluffy family dynamics a lot, don't get me wrong. But sometimes, I want something a bit more twisted and dark. While Alfred and Matthew seem to have a sweet, brotherly relationship, I like to think that it wasn't that nice in the beginning. What with Manifest Destiny and Anglophobia and such. Oh, and because there isn't much interaction (that I've read in the strips) between Canada and England (and the latter's tendency to forget someone who lived in his house for a while) I've decided to twist that. So, yeah, this story is confusing, I know and I'm sorry. But, I'll clear up things at the bottom. ^^

Warnings: sexual situations, mentions of violence, OOCness, hints of slash, potentially twisted history

Pairings: hints of Alfred/Matthew, hints of Matthew/Arthur

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership.

"You're so cold to me, Mattie." Alfred pouted, bright blue eyes staring dolefully at the younger blond who sat across from him. Physically, Matthew looked like an adolescent, a child teetering on the edge of manhood. His face was still round and eyes wide. Though when Matthew gave him an unimpressed look and took another sip from the delicate china teacup, Alfred thought his brother looked far old, far more mature than Alfred himself (though Alfred was all sharp angles and lanky limbs and far more awkward than manly, but he should still look older because he was a country now and Matthew was still a colony).

"I remember when you would run up to me and ask to play with you. And I could never hear you because you'd always whisper—and you should really speak up if you want to be heard—but I would always play with you in the end." Alfred sighed, eyes hazy with nostalgia. "We had so much fun together."

"The answer is still no, Alfred." Matthew said quietly, staring at his brother over the brim of the cup. He knew that his brother's visit was just another attempt at coaxing him to rebel against Arthur. But, despite this, he welcomed the other. He was feeling a bit lonely and even though he and Alfred's relationship was still tense, the other was still his brother and it was war and Matthew hated to admit it but he forgave easily.

"I wasn't going to—"

"Yes, you were." Matthew said softly, his eyes shimmering dark violet. "I am content and I don't need you to 'save' me." He smiled indulgently at his elder brother.

Alfred's lips nearly twisted into a scowl, but he held back. Matthew was, obviously, confused but he wouldn't push the issue. If his brother wanted to waste away under the thumb of a selfish, cold tyrant—

"Don't say that." Matthew snapped, voice trembling with anger.

Alfred didn't realize he had been voicing his thoughts aloud. Oh well, maybe it was time Matthew heard him out.

At least this time no capitals had been or would be burnt.

Hopefully.

"It's the truth." Alfred snapped. "He doesn't even remember you. When we all lived together, he'd always ignore you. He'd forget you were in the room."

"No—" Matthew fumbled for his words. Whatever smug look he had worn earlier was long gone. "I mean, maybe sometimes. But he would tell me stories and take me to town—"

"So he did the very least." Alfred snorted. Why was Matthew so stubborn? So blind? "Were you included in negotiations last time? Has he visited you since then?"

Matthew was silent and Alfred stood up and continued to speak as he made his way towards the smaller blond who was frozen in his armchair. "He forced you to speak English. Or have you forgotten the times he punished you for speaking French?"

Alfred knelt down in front of Matthew who stared down at the rug. He grasped the younger boy's face in his hands and forced him to meet his gaze. He could see hurt fill the younger boy's eyes and Alfred pushed ahead. "He abandons you. He expects you to obey him." Violet eyes shone wetly and Alfred pushed down any feelings of guilt. Matthew's tears, his pain, they would all be worth it once the other blond realized the truth. "He doesn't love you."

Matthew's breath hitched and as much as he wanted to push Alfred away, he couldn't help but hear his words. The other blond could be very charismatic when he wanted to be, and his words hit close to Matthew's heart.

Arthur couldn't possibly love him. Even when Alfred spurned him, Arthur hadn't stayed even though Matthew was loyal.

Even though Matthew did want him to stay, despite his anger.

Why couldn't he just…

"Would coming back with me be so bad?" Alfred whispered, pulling his hands away from the other's face. Warm palms slid down a pale neck, down the slope of his shoulders and stiff fabric until they rested on his narrow waist. Matthew's body trembled under his touch. "We'd be together. I would take care of you. You would never have to worry. I love you."

Matthew stared down into Alfred's boyish eyes. The young nation smiled encouragingly up at him.

Alfred's voice was so earnest and eager and Matthew wanted to believe that everything he said would happen. That Alfred would never leave him (like those strangers from long ago, like Francis, like Arthur) and that everything would be okay.

"Mattie." Alfred sounded more impatient now. His hands weren't satisfied at his waist, and instead they were navigating lower and Matthew could feel his face heating up and he wasn't really okay with these new feelings bubbling in the pit of his stomach because they felt wrong and discomforting. But Alfred didn't seem to notice the way Matthew tensed up so maybe he was imaging things.

But Alfred's eyes were darker and more focused and when slender fingers tightened their grasp, Matthew gasped and shoved Alfred away. The elder blond fell backwards and pushed up onto his elbows to glare at the shaking blond.

"What was that for?" He snapped.

"Get out." Matthew said coldly, gathering his wits. "You lying, greedy Yankee."

Alfred looked shocked and a little offended. "I don't know—"

"I'm not yours to claim." Matthew glared at the other, who had the decency to look somewhat ashamed. And Matthew mentally kicked himself for forgetting, for even a moment, about his brother's territorial ambitions.

Alfred may have loved him. Alfred may have wanted to be with him.

But Alfred was a fledgling country with stars in his eyes as well.

With Alfred he'd still be in a gilded cage. But at least with Arthur, he could pretend.

"He's here?" Matthew stared wide-eyed at the servant.

"He wants to see you now." The young woman said, eyes shining with worry. "As you are."

Matthew stared at her. He knew he was a mess. The recent rebellions and battles had been a nightmare. He was feverish and shaky, head aching and he often found himself slipping into French and English until his words were a quivering mass of undecipherable noise.

He found himself torn between people, angry and frightened and proud.

And he really considered burning down his brother's capital again.

But, soon, Matthew found himself in front of Arthur's sturdy oak desk in his study. The room was musty and dust motes fluttered about in the air. The blond, wrapped in a dressing robe, watched them swirl in the weak sunlight, resolutely avoiding the burning emerald eyes across from him.

He really should have known better than to think that Arthur would not visit after the recent conflicts.

"Those responsible have been found guilty of treason. They have been dealt with accordingly." Arthur's voice was flat and Matthew found himself flinching at how frigid it was.

Matthew said nothing. He'd mourn silently for them. Traitors or not, they were his people.

"I'm disappointed in you Matthew." Arthur said, sounding regretful. "I expected better from you."

A soft apology slipped past his lips.

"I did so much for you. I raised you. Is this how you repay your Father?"

Matthew felt the stirrings of rage and clenched his jaw. He hadn't seen Arthur as a father in a long time.

"I'm disappointed."

"You are not the only one." The words slipped out before Matthew could stop them.

Arthur's shoulders tensed. "And what do you mean by that, boy?" He asked sharply.

"Nothing. I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Explain yourself." Arthur scowled.

Matthew remained silent. The words and feelings that he had desperately been pushing away churned in his chest. He wanted to ask Arthur why he never visited, why he pushed him aside like a boring book. He wanted to ask if it was something he did, if it was because he wasn't good enough to persuade Arthur to stay. He wanted to rage against the Empire, accuse him of ignoring him on purpose, of abandoning him. He wanted to throw the unfairness of the situation, of his situation, at that impassive face.

He wanted to say, "It's because I'm not Alfred, isn't it?"

He wasn't Alfred. But he could be so much better. He was already better than Alfred because he stayed.

"Speak."

Matthew looked away.

I'm too weak.

For the first time in decades, Arthur used the birch on his young colony.

After all, rebellious colonies needed to be kept in line.

And Matthew took the punishment silently, bore the rapid, stinging strikes. Vivid, scarlet stripes rose against a pale expanse, leaving the tender skin tattered with welts. When it was done, the colony, violet eyes hooded by translucent lashes, pulled on his shirt with shaking hands while Arthur watched, stone-faced. Then the empire sent him to bed, supperless.

The next day, Matthew avoided Arthur.

And Arthur was disappointed in himself.

But, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to smooth those golden waves and tell the fledgling country, "I'm sorry, Matthew. You're a good lad and I'm sorry I had to do that." Because the last thing he wanted to do was push Matthew too far away (or further) from him.

But he was too British and love had taught him a harsh lesson.

In the end, all he said, as he was returning back to his dreary home, was, "It was for your own good."

Some notes:

1. Alfred cares about Matthew. But America wants to expand and there's a lot of land around...

2. There were some minor rebellions in Canada that were (I'm pretty sure) taken care of by England. Yes, Arthur used a birch on Matthew.

3. Arthur wants Matthew to stay and Matthew wants Arthur to stay. They're both kinda dense and blind. (Matthew and Arthur's relationship is probably not or wasn't as complicated as I'm making it out to be. But, that is the beauty of fiction~~~ -is shot-)

So, I hope you readers enjoyed this installment! Drop a review and let me know what you think of it! And (hopefully) see you next time! -prances off-