(Author's note- I had this next chapter ready to go, so here it is. The next one might not be as soon, just a warning. Also as someone who has never been in love before, writing romance is hard. But enough of my complaining. Enjoy!)

(Author's note 2- Once again thank you to the guest who reminded me about copyright. I've removed the song and changed the name. Also I do not own Hetalia or the story of Rapunzel. This is just a work based on the stories. All rights go to Hidekaz Himaruya and Disney)

FACE Family/ PruCan Rapunzel

Matthew (Canada)= Rapunzel (He was the one who got sick as a baby, not any of his dads. He and Alfred were adopted. There is no mpreg to be found here. Also because I can't imagine him as a brunette, cut hair still remains blonde, just powerless)

Gilbert (Prussia)= Eugene

Allistor (Scotland)= Mother Gothel (He was Arthur's older brother who saw the potential Matthew's power could have so he kidnapped his nephew. I just love evil Scotland, but unfortunately I didn't get to write any of him)

Francis (France)= The Queen (But he is still a king, he just takes the queen's role within the story's context. Once again, no mpreg)

Arthur (England)= The King

Antonio (Spain)= Castle guard

Also Alfred (America) is in this as Mattie's older brother because why not

For a moment the tower was filled with silence. The brutal demise of Matthew's caretaker for eighteen years was shocking, even if his true intentions in raising his nephew were nauseating. Matthew was still poised to lunge forward, his instincts saying to lean down and save Allistor, despite the logical side of his mind saying that the fall had to have killed him.

Speaking of killed, a sickeningly wet cough filled the air, chilling Matthew to the bone despite it being still early afternoon. Instantly the prince was in action, putting pressure on Gilbert's wound that seemed to be gushing an infinite amount of blood that stained everything Matthew saw red.

"Gil, oh god Gil! You're gonna be okay, okay! Okay! Ah, Gil! Why did you do that?!" Everytime Matthew looked up and saw that Gil's usually enthusiastic and mischievous face was twisted in pain, his heart flew. Tears welled in his eyes, yet Matthew still clung to the desperate, fruitless attempt to save him.

With a groan that was too weak, to pitiful for the strong brave vigilante that had save his life in so many ways, Gilbert eyes slowly closed and his breaths became more laboured. Matthew's mind went into overdrive. He could barely see through the tears that overwhelmed him. "No! No! Gil, no! Please no!"

Eyes darted around frantically as yet more blood poured from the stab wound and Gilbert's body sagged further. Matthew just needed something, anything. He prayed to whatever master of fate that had brought the wonderful, kind, perfect soul that was dying in front of him into Matthew's life.

It was hopeless, he knew. The hair was cut, he knew what that meant. But it was a time for miracles. The universe could not be so cruel that it shoved the two men together only to rip them apart as violently as possible. So Matthew still tried, and through his tears he sang, a song shaky and full of sobs and the type of desperate hope only true love could bring.

A hand on his face caused Matthew to stop his song mid lyric. It was so strong and familiar, Matthew was sure the song had to have worked. Looking down at Gilbert, he still saw the horrendous wound, but through the scarlet red eyes more shocking than the blood, the lost prince also saw a determination that pushed through the pain. As tears welled in those eyes, Gilbert pooled all his strength to utter the final words that were so important to him. With nothing but love that was going to be lost too soon, the thief wiped away Matthew's tears and groaned out, "You were my new dream."

Matthew felt a fury he had never known before, anger at Allistor for ripping his life away from him, anger at himself for being so utterly useless without his stupid hair, and anger at Gil for giving him the world and more but taking it away. As tenderly as he could, not wanting to break the fragile quiet that the two shared, Matthew sobbed, "And you were mine."

Gilbert gave his lover one last smile, not cocky, but sad and sweet and pained, before all the expression slipped off his face, and the hand on Matthew's cheek fell, leaving a coldness that burned Matthew alive.

There was nothing left for Matthew to do other than clutch onto Gil's body like a lifeline. The thief had been the only thing in his life that Matthew knew was good and pure, the only love that was not tainted by the greed Allistor had convinced him the world was full of. Matthew's entire world had been reconstructed by Gil, and now with his death the albino man had knocked everything down.

The lost prince's tears flowed freely, mixing with the blood covering the couple. The blood might as well have been Matthew's, it pained him so much. His eyes were clenched shut in agony, so it was through his eyelids that he first saw the warm yellow glow. His gasp filled the room when he looked up to see the same light he had once cultivated dancing across the room, all originating from Gilbert's wound. The power somehow warmed the frigid darkness that had overtaken the room. It washed over Matthew and momentarily blinded him from his grief.

When the show ended, Matthew still looked up to see if any light remained. So he was even more surprised when he heard a fond chuckle and a voice that teased in a familiar German accent, "Did I ever tell you I like guys with short hair more?"

Tears, this time of joy, filled the Canadian's eyes. He lunged forward, desperate to feel Gilbert alive again, to feel the warmth that only his lover could fill him with. Pulling away from the hug to look up into Gilbert's scarlet, overjoyed eyes, the need the hold the German man close and never let go overwhelmed him. The men's lips met, clashing together but not fighting, more so dancing passionately.

Matthew had lived in one place his whole life. It was the only place he had ever known. But there in Gilbert's arms, connected in ways only the universe seemed to know, the lost prince was finally home.

The room was filled with an agitated, nervous tension. No one could keep still and frankly no one bothered to try. Prince Alfred was always in a state of restlessness, but this time it was it wasn't out of boredom that his hands vibrated in his lap and constantly grabbed at objects on his father's desk only to put it back seconds later. Likewise King Francis was also in a state of anxiety, pacing back and forth across the study, occasionally mumbling to himself in both his home tongue of French and second language of English. The words were indiscernible, merely an attempt clear his frenzied mind. Even King Arthur, considered out of the whole family to be the most grounded was effected. His emerald eyes darted out the window every few seconds, as though to see if the object of their worries was right outside.

After an eternity of waiting, the study doors creaked open. Instantly all members of the royal family were on their feet. When Antonio entered, Alfred wasted no time in asking, "Is it really…"

There was no need to finish the sentence, the royal guard already knew. His voice contained barely concealed excitement as he answered, "Yes, he is right on the main balcony your Majesties."

All thoughts of maintaining dignity and grace were pushed aside as the family dashed past their servant and through the lavishly decorated hall. The entire world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting with anticipation.

Soon the large wooden door loomed ahead, but just as the kings were about to push it open, Alfred stammered, "Wait."

The royal couple turned towards their son expectantly, leading the prince to ask, "What if it's not him?"

Arthur hesitated, before grabbing his son's hand and squeezing it assuringly. "Let's just see first."

Nodding and joining his dads, the family all turned to the door and pushed it open. There on the balcony a young man that was a shock of pale white skin and hair, along with the brightest red eyes to ever be seen stood. What concerned the monarchs more was the boy in his arms.

Despite the violet eyes that none of them shared and the uneven haircut that attempted to hide his face, it was clear that the child was Alfred's twin. They looked exactly alike, down to the wavy blond hair Francis loved to claim was his family's pride and joy. The resemblance was almost too perfect to be real.

At once Francis and the boy both stepped forward, the latter's movement full of uncertainty and the former's full of hope. A hand slipped forward and cupped the child's cheek, bringing his violet eyes up to meet bright blue ones. The boy leaned ever so slightly into the touch, as if he craved that parental affection. The whole scene was delicate and pure.

The boy basically melted into Francis' arms when he moved forward into a tender embrace. With a voice cracked by eighteen years worth of bottled up emotions, Francis whispered, "Matthieu, mon fils."

Desperate to also embrace his long lost family, Alfred ran forward and basically tacked his brother and father in a hug that left them all laughing through tears. Arthur hesitated to join until he saw Matthew's childlike gaze through the mess of arms, then quickly joined the group hug.

Everything was so strangely perfect but not for a moment fake. It was like a puzzle that had been left unsolved for far too long, its missing piece returned. Every squeeze, laugh, and smile was brighter than the sun that continued to shine above it all. Gilbert felt his heartstrings tug at the warming sight before him. And when Matthew's hand grabbed him and pulled him into the embrace of family love, holding him so tight that their hearts seemed to collide and join as one, Gilbert was entitled to agree with his lost prince. This was home.