Hey, it's me again. Wow, people actually read this! That's wow! I never actually thought anyone would like this. Well here is chapter 2. I think there is going to be around 20 so chapters? If you stick around for all of them, wow. I'll try to update at least weekly but 6th Form is hella busy. Well I hope you enjoy :33

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. /3

France was tired again. It was always like this these days; Francis would come back to his home, covered in blood and scratches, to a waiting Mattieu. The small boy would often be sitting in one of the plush sofas, tired eyes fluttering as he tried to stay awake, to make sure his Papa would come home.

But today Mattieu wasn't there. He wasn't on the red love seat, nor the sofa, only his bear curled up there. His heart skipped a beat, mind racing as he shook off the fatigue and ran, his hoarse voice shouting through their home.

"Mattieu!"

Mattieu was trying to find his way through the dense forest, the underbrush tangling in his feet. He had a mission to complete, and no matter how many times he fell over, how dark and scary it was, he had to finish it. He had to make sure Papa was safe. Papa hadn't come home, even after he had spent hours standing by the door. Mattieu had steadied his nerves and walked out the door, into the night.

He would find his Papa, even if he had to enter the battlefield himself.

Which he really hoped he didn't have to. It sounded scary.

Gilbert was pissed. Sweden had fucking invaded him, him the awesome Prussia! What gave him the right to even walk close enough to touch him? Who told him he could be within spitting distance of the Awesome Prussia?

He knew he was probably being narcissistic but he had a good reason. He hurt, his sides ached from the far too familiar feel of invasion but at least he'd held his ground, not like that prissy Austria. No matter how badly he got his assed kicked he would never be as lame as that. Not that he got his assed kicked. Far from it. He'd kick Sweden's ass.

He never wanted to have to do that again.

He popped his neck, pulling the buttons on his coat together and watched his breath in the air. It was cold, far too cold. He hated winter, but at least there was no risk of burns. Just the ever present risk of losing your goddamn toes.

He'd left his camp, bored, and decided to take a walk. It was a stupid choice, he knew, but what else could you do when you were at war? It was just a mess of death and war etiquette.

There was rustle next to him. He tensed, hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to defend himself from any Swedish, or French, stragglers.

Then he heard the scream of a child.

He ran.

Mattieu was terrified. The large wolf stared at him, growling. He felt his back against the back of the large tree behind him as he pushed into it, not moving his eyes. His wolves were not as scary as this! They were kind, they liked him! Kuma had always been with him before but now he was alone, and he was going to get eaten by a wolf before finding Papa and before having more of Papa's crepes!

He couldn't help the scream that tore out of his throat. The wolf started, but then lowered its body, preparing to pounce.

And that was when Gilbert came sprinting in front of him.

"Fucking hell Mattieu?!"

Mattieu wanted to cry in relief as the older nation turned to the wolf, brandishing his blade. It left with a growl, disappearing into the bushes. Its howl echoed through the forest as its footsteps faded into the night.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Gilbert knelt in front of the shaking boy, sword now sheathed, and grabbed his shoulders. He shook him roughly, ignoring the tears that fell from those beautiful eyes. Mattieu whimpered, his breathing shallow. Fuck he was having a panic attack.

The albino pulled the child into his arms, cradling his body close to his own, whispering soft words into his ear. He stroked hair that was too soft to seem real and left the blond cry into his shoulder. After a few minutes the sobbing subsided, leaving Gilbert with a suddenly rather angry child.

"Prussia!" Mattieu pushed him away, furiously rubbing his eyes with one hand and pointing at his saviour with the other.

"Yes? That's my name…shit did you hit your head?! Oh fuck Franny's gonna kill me if you got hurt on my watch! Fucking shit! How many fingers am I holding up?" He held up two fingers, biting his lip in worry as he stared into the red rimmed eyes of the small nation.

"I am fine! But, but you! You and, and Spain are attacking Papa! Why would you do that? I thought you were his friend?" He yelled, brow furrowing in anger. But then his voice grew quieter, almost to the same tone he had asked about Gilbert all those years ago. "I thought you were my friend."

He was so young. Oh god. This boy, this child, thought he didn't care. Oh god.

He didn't understand how their world worked.

"Mattieu-Birdie, listen to me. It doesn't matter what the situation is, I'm Francis's friend. I'm your friend. I'm not France's friend right now, and he is not Prussia's. But I will do everything in my power to make sure Gilbert and Francis, and Gilbert and Mattieu remain friends. Do you understand?"

"Then why are you fighting?"

"Because- Oh god I don't know! We have to! We can't have peace in this shithole. This is Europe, Birdie. We're always at each other's throats. It's how we survive."

Birdie opened his mouth, but closed it again, looking down at the leafy ground. He shook his head quickly, long curls flying everywhere.

"It's stupid! Europe's stupid!"

Gilbert laughed, lifting the boy onto his shoulders. He looked up. It was still night, the clouds covering the moon. It was far too late for a colony to be out unaccompanied. That just posed questions.

"Ja, we're all stupid," he muttered, feeling icy fingers bury themselves into his scalp. Shit this kid was freezing. "Where's your coat, Birdie?"

"…At home."

The hesitation made Gil's stomach drop.

"And why are you out here? Alone. Where's France?"

That was the wrong thing to ask.

Mattieu dug his fingers into Gilbert's head, gasping. He had forgotten to find Papa! He had to find Papa!

"I need to find Papa! Gil, I need to find Papa! Where's Papa?"

"Owowowowow calm down! Fucking hell Birdie, calm down!" The man yelled, shaking his head to stop the sharp nails from causing an injury. This kid was stronger than he looked. "France left hours ago! He went ho- You snuck out."

It wasn't a question, Gilbert knew the answer already, and his conclusion was only supported by the little intake of breath he heard from above him.

"Oh fuck me, you're gonna be the death of Francis. And me."

France was slumped in his chair, the soft plush doing nothing to soothe him. His son was gone, his petit Mattieu was gone. He could be hurt. He could be cold. He could have been taken.

"Who?"

The small bear cub nudged his feet, dark eyes staring up at him. It made him want to cry. He rarely saw the bear without Mattieu and the sight just made his heart hurt even more. What if he had had enough of being France's? What if he left of his own free will?

He put his head in his hands, feeling the tears rise in his eyes. He shouldn't have gotten this attached, Mattieu- the boy, was just a simple colony. They could be replaced, he could easily get another one. But then why did the idea of another child running through his home without those lilac eyes hurt so much.

The bell on the door rang. He ignored it.

Where had he gone wrong? What had he done? Was it the war? He knew Mattieu hated seeing him hurt, but had he hated it so much he left? That didn't sound like him…

The bell rang again. And again. And again.

"Not now!" His voice was hoarse. His legs ached. He had run around the whole of the house, and the woods outside, calling out for his son. There was no boy hiding behind the curtains, the trees nor under the bed. There was no boy anywhere, just a desperate man trying to hold onto his emotions.

"Fucking hell Franny open this goddamn door before I kick it down! Birdie is freezing his arse off here!"

What?

He swung the door open, taking in the image of Gilbert in his thick uniform and his son, on his shoulders, wrapped in a blanket.

"Papa!"

This child was going to be the death of him.