Matthew couldn't help but notice it: Alfred was acting extremely different. He had some sort of an arrogant aura around him, and he kept glaring daggers at Arthur as they walked down the hallway to the conference room. Of course, Arthur didn't notice (well, at least, Matthew assumed he didn't) as he was in deep conversation with Kiku.

Francis, on the other hand, acted a lot like Alfred. Acting so optimistic and occasionally throwing curses, it seemed like Francis was in some weird way a relative. It scared Matthew a little bit, but he shrugged the thought away as they entered the conference room.

The first thing to enter Matthew's ears was the sound of a Spanish accent speaking. "Yes, yes, it was a little bit of a tedious task getting back here, but I'm perfectly alright."

Matthew looked around the room, noticing some officers in deep conversation whilst trying to locate the source of the Spanish voice. It was a bit out of place, in Matthew's opinion, as Spain wasn't actually all that involved the war.

"Then explain to me what all those scratches and bruises are, Antonio!" a different voice snapped, with an accent Matthew couldn't quite place. It was definitely a woman speaking, but from where?

"Antonio!" Francis called out, throwing his arms into the air and striding towards the source of the voices. Matthew glanced his way and saw the owner of the voices.

Antonio, Matthew guessed, was a man with scruffy brown hair and bright green eyes. He had a bit of a darker skin tone, but Matthew supposed it didn't matter at the time. The anonymous woman had slightly curly blonde hair, and green eyes shaped like almonds. She had a messenger bag draped over her shoulder, and she did indeed wear a uniform, but Matthew couldn't name the country from which it came from.

"Francis! I haven't seen you for quite a while!" Antonio said, grinning widely. "It's a pleasure, good captain."

Francis laughed. "Please, no formalities, Antonio." He then turned his attention to the woman. "Emma, I see you're still being the fussing old hen you always are."

Emma frowned, attempting to hit Francis in the head with a cane she had in her hand. It soon dawned upon Matthew that Emma was perhaps a medic around here.

"How about you shut up?" she suggested bitterly, and Arthur piped in, "I've told him that several times. He never listens."

"Arthur, please," Francis said, laughing while rubbing his head. Something about his laugh seemed empty, and when Matthew looked at Antonio, he saw the Spanish man biting his lip.

"Oh, right... Uh, Francis," he started, scratching his head. "We heard about... Joan."

Francis' smile disappeared from his face. Matthew and Alfred (surprisingly) remained quiet, noticing that this seemed to be a little bit of a sensitive topic. "Ah, yes, Joan..." Francis sighed.

"We're sorry," Emma apologized quickly. "We'll make the Germans pay for her death."

In the corner of his eye, Matthew saw Alfred's fist ball up. He couldn't help but feel exactly what his brother was at the moment. Alfred had always wanted to be the hero after all, saving people.

"Oh, the Krauts will pay alright," Alfred spoke up bitterly. Matthew should've known it was coming. His brother, sometimes, couldn't tell the difference between justice and vengeance, blinded by the anger and regret that he wasn't able to do anything to save the people in France.

Kiku was right after all; he should've treasured all of Alfred's optimistic moments before they were gone.

The two boys had soon learned that Emma was indeed the medic around here. She had been studying medicine in France at the time the war started, and was relocated here due to the heavy fire France was taking.

Antonio, on the other hand, was a Spanish man who was their only way of communicating with the Italians. It seemed that Italy would soon break its "alliance" with Germany and the others, and join the other side. He had "shared the big news" with Alfred and Matthew, earning a whack on the head from Emma who demanded to know what he had told them.

After a bit, Arthur had explained to them who Joan was. She was named after Joan of Arc, and her death was the sole reason Francis joined. Once again, Matthew noted, he was like a relative, acting an awful lot like Alfred. Her death had been a sorrowfully painful one for the Frenchman, as it turned out that she had been shot the very second Francis had found her so they could flee.

Matthew couldn't help but admit that Francis had a reason to regret and want vengeance. Alfred just couldn't see that huge difference.

"Matthew, is it?" Arthur asked him, as Francis and Antonio had pulled his brother away to see how well he would shoot.

The Canadian nodded. "Yes it is. Can I help you?"

"I was hoping to ask about your brother, Alfred," he started. "I noticed he keeps glaring at me, and he just seems like an arrogant little twit. What's his problem with me?"

Matthew shrugged. "I really don't know. He doesn't act like this at all," he answered, earning a nod from the Englishman.

"I was also hoping to ask you if you two are really twins," Arthur continued as they walked down the hallway. "Because I couldn't help but notice the curl in your hair that Alfred doesn't seem to have, and the difference in your eye colour."

Matthew didn't want to repeat the whole painful story all over again, but Arthur somehow felt like a superior to him. So he explained the gist of it: they were stepbrothers, both born in July - Alfred a whole year earlier - and having inherited several traits from their mother. "Our eyes, and I guess our hair came from our dads," he finished as they stepped outside.

"That would explain the different surnames," Arthur affirmed. "It seemed peculiar, that you two looked alike but aren't actually the same age."

"Oh no, Al's a whole year older," Matthew added, waving his hand dismissively. "And his birthday is just three days after mine."

"When are your birthdays?"

"July 1 and 4."

"The independence days for Canada and America respectively," Arthur noted. "What a coincidence."

"Oddly enough."

Talking to Arthur was so easy, it felt like Matthew had known him for years. Even longer than Alfred, whom he had known since birth. It was a weird feeling. The Englishman felt like a relative, similar to Francis but the feeling didn't seem to weird the Canadian like it did with Francis. Arthur felt like an old friend to whom Matthew could confide anything to, and he had only met the man an hour ago.

He made it a note in his head: he was definitely going to bring his mother to England when the war was over. This place just felt... comforting.

A little more comforting than home. Which scared Matthew more than anything.

"Hey, Matt!" Alfred called him, bringing the boy out of his thoughts. He blinked a few times, seeing Alfred standing and waving him over with a huge grin on his face. "Wanna show them your amazing shooting skills?"

"Amazing shooting skills?" Arthur repeated, chuckling. "He thinks highly of you."

"And he's older than me," Matthew whispered to himself, watching as Arthur walked towards his friends.

As comforting as England and everyone else, everything scared the Canadian. This place felt like a second home, but he was here for one sole reason: the war.

And if he died, then he'd never get the chance to see it again.

Night fell quick, and a majority of the superiors had been called to a meeting. Arthur, Emma and Antonio had also been called, and Kiku insisted that Matthew and Alfred listened in as well. They were, according to the Japanese, representatives of Canada and America, soon-to-be allies. Of course, none of the superiors objected to it.

Which would explain Matthew trying to listen and Alfred's disinterest in the topic and boredom at the moment.

"... They are planning to cut off their ties with Germany and the rest of their alliance very soon," Antonio concluded.

"This came straight from the head of the Resistenza?" one of the superiors asked.

Antonio nodded. "Romano Vargas told me himself."

There were a few hushed voices until the commander cleared his throat. "Captain Bonnefoy." Francis perked up, turning his attention to the conversation. It appeared he was uninterested like Alfred. "I am assigning you and your troop to the trenches."

"The trenches?" Francis asked. "It's getting worse in there, isn't it?"

"Which is why I've decided to assign you there," the commander repeated himself. He glanced at Alfred and Matthew. "You will be taking along our young allies here." He then turned to Emma who stood attentively. "Miss Emma. You will be accompanying Captain Bonnefoy's troop in the trenches. God knows what those Germans will be doing."

"If I may speak up," Kiku spoke, raising his hand. The commander nodded, and the Japanese continued. "Are you sure our young allies are ready for the trenches? If it is as bad as Francis assumes, then would it be a wise decision?"

The commander pursed his lips in thought, as Francis commented, "He makes a valid point."

"Very well. Admiral, you shall accompany the captain's troops in the trenches," he finally concluded. "Captain Bonnefoy, any remarks?"

Francis remained silent for a little bit. But he finally spoke, "We leave at dawn."

Matthew felt the fear get stuck in his throat. This was it. They were going to the real battlefield tomorrow.