Sup, Canadaslighter here. Not sure about this chapter but hey :/ I hope you guys like it at least :)

I don't own Hetalia :(

"Gilbert please! Please don't let him do this!"

Mattieu clung to Francis's side as the older nation gripped Gilbert's shirt. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he looked up at the men, trying to figure out what was happening. England was standing by the door, arms crossed, staring at the situation in front of him.

It had only been a few minutes ago when Arthur had burst into Mattieu's room, France running after him with Gilbert trailing behind. The English man had grabbed his arm, trying to pull him out of the room but had been stopped by a punch to the face from Francis.

"You keep your filthy paws off my son, you bastard!"

Then the current situation had developed. Francis was sobbing into the white shirt, as Gilbert looked to the floor, eyes closed, almost seeming to be crying himself. His hands were in fists, his lip red as he bit into it.

"I can't do anything Francis. You know that," he choked out, still avoiding eye contact.

"What's going on?" Mattieu spoke for the first time, letting go of France and stepping forward. His voice was quiet, scared as he took in the scene before him. He'd never seen Francis like this, never in over 200 years he'd known him. Something had to be wrong. Maybe he'd done something wrong?

"Papa, did I do something wrong? I'm sorry!"

Gilbert winced at the sound. The kid's voice had broken slightly, those eyes watering. He thought this whole mess was his fault. He didn't even know what was happening.

"Oh, Mattieu non! You never did anything wrong!"

"No, lad, it's alright," the British man spoke for the first time, his voice calm as he continued to watch. He moved from the door, walking closer to the trio as Francis tried to back away, pulling the child behind him.

"Don't come near him, don't come near him, don't come fucking near him!" Francis growled, blue eyes narrowed as he protected his son. Arthur just rolled his eyes, reaching out for Mattieu, who shrunk further behind his father.

"Come on lad," his calloused hand wrapped around Mattieu's waist, yanking him into his arms. Francis cried, trying to hold onto the small child, who fought as hard as his tiny body could manage. It wasn't enough though. Arthur ignored the protests from the pair, carrying on with his plans.

"Papa! Papa!"

England walked out of the room, a sobbing Canada pressed into his shoulder as France sunk to the floor.

Gilbert looked on, wanting to cover his ears to drown out the sound of his closest friends' and the beautiful boy's hearts breaking. He knew this was something he could never fix, even as he stumbled next to the man on the ground. He wrapped his arms around him, pulling his face to his neck.

"Franny, Francis, I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry-"

The French man broke away, punching the albino.

"I will never forgive you for this, Prusse. Get out."

"Fra-"

"Get out."

And so he did, leaving the blond to cry his son's room, holding tightly to the blanket from the bed.

"I want to go home."

"We are going home, lad," Arthur glanced at the small blond boy, taking in the red eyes and sore nose. "What is your name, anyway?"

The child sniffled before speaking, rubbing his eyes.

"Mattieu…"

"Mattieu? Matthew is better, a proper English name," he sighed, opening his arms to the child. "Come here Matthew. I'm sorry it had to be this way."

Matthew looked up into the green eyes of this new man, and carefully moved closer. He received a smile, and gentle murmurs until he was in the warm embrace.

"We're going to England, and you will meet your brother, Alfred. Did Francis tell you about Alfred, Matthew?" Arthur spoke quietly, trying not to scare the child any more than he already had. It had been a long day for them both, Matthew losing Francis and Arthur gaining a colony. The war had finally ended, and now they had to deal with the repercussions.

"No?"

"You'll like him…" he spoke for most of the journey, telling Matthew what he had to expect. The child soon fell asleep, tucked under Arthur's arm. He had whispered before he fell asleep, "I want Papa."

"Bloody hell, he'll never forgive me for this," the Brits voice was hoarse as he stared up at the carriage ceiling.