[Fanfic] Liberation

[tepidstrain.livejournal.com]

Title: Liberation
Author/Artist: Me (Tepidstrain)
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Mild FrancexCanada, UK, America, Mention of Germany
Rating: T
Warnings: Mention of war, no actual blood but there is mention of it. Also extreme OOC because this is my first Hetalia fic.
Summary: France has been trying not to notice Canada. And vice versa. France doesn't want to think about how he gave Canada away, and Canada wants to forget the lies he was told.

In truth Francis had all but forgotten Canada, and the little boy called Matthew, since handing him over to Arthur years before. He had been so busy with his European escapades. Too busy to worry about the little boy he'd left behind with eyebrows...
Or perhaps too guilty. Matthew clinging to his shirt, wailing.
"Papa, papa, je ne veux pas aller à lui!" As he pushed himself as close to Francis as possible. Francis was beaten at this point, and handing him over to Arthur was all he could do. Francis had pushed the hair out of Matthew's eyes.
"Mon cher Matthieu, s'il vous plaît, je reviendrai pour vous." He had whispered softly, and Matthew had slowly released. All the while Arthur had been standing impatiently. Francis' promise of return all that allowed his dear Canada to be handed over to England. England who disdainfully watched Francis climb aboard his remaining ship, returning to France. He'd heard a soft: "Il pue." From the bundle in Arthur's arms as he boarded his ship. He'd figured that was his sign that Matthew would be fine.
He'd figured.

However upon the start of the second world war Francis had come to realize something: The Matthew he had left behind was not who he met here. At this meeting of the allies. He'd seen the boy a few times, he'd seen him a few times during WWI as well. But he was so... Invisible.
Upon first realizing Canada had become such a back seat in the the world Francis felt guilt. Had him not returning done such a damage to the boy? That the boy would just.. Fade into the background? Well, upon thinking about it, what with Arthur always paying attention to his, now estranged, favourite the "Hero" of the world. Perhaps Canada had simply gotten used to being in the background and fading away from his older twin.

His first actual conversation with Matthew came a few weeks after the start of WWII.
"Matthieu." Francis called, everyone else had left. Matthew was collecting papers and hadn't noticed Francis had not left. Francis was now leaning over his shoulder, uncomfortably close.
"Ah. France." Matthew jumped and spun around, leaning a little to hard against the table to get away from him. Francis' heart sunk a little as Matthew had reverted to calling him by his country, not that it wasn't to be expected. Francis straightened and coughed awkwardly into his hand.
"Canada." He corrected himself quickly, "It's good to be working for the same side, non?" Francis smiled warmly, but Matthew inched away slowly. He seemed both disgusted and relieved with the French punctuating Francis' voice.
"Ah, well, yes. But... We..." Matthew grabbed his folder and started backing away from Francis quickly, "We worked together before, eh?" He swallowed hard and turned to round the table, heading quickly for the door. Francis followed, not at all fazed by Matthew's attempt to escape. Not that he was fazed by much anyways.
"Ah, yes, WWI." Francis cringed a little at the thought, he did not enjoy wars. On paintings, in sculptures perhaps but... Not where the blood was so thick it covered the ground. Matthew stopped at the door for a moment, placing his hand on the frame, looking back at Francis.
"Yah, I thought so." Matthew was a little red in the face, "Well, I'll see you later. I-I... A-adieu!" He replied awkwardly, with this he practically thrust himself into the hallway. Francis was shocked for a moment, Matthew was still speaking French? He raced the remainder to the door, most unfrenchlike. Using his arm as a way to round the corner into the hallway faster.
"Matthieu!" Francis exclaimed, but the younger nation had already disappeared down the hallway. Or, as he had later thought, perhaps he had just faded away again. Perhaps he'd been standing right in front of him.

It was only weeks after this odd encounter that France was invaded, and the French had surrendered. Matthew sat on the bed in his borrowed room in Arthur's house, thinking to himself. Part of him had been really happy Francis had finally spoken to him. He was thankful. He'd been remembered, or at least he thought so. Matthew fixed his glasses as if he was nervous, even though he was alone. The other part of him spoke out. The part that had wished Francis would forget he even existed.
Having not been part of any sort of rescue from the man he knew as Arthur Kirkland.
Being shunted to the back because of a certain identical twin to the south.
He'd meant every word he had spoken the day Francis abandoned him, and he still thought of this with a twist of his stomach. He hadn't wanted to go to Arthur. Arthur had been covered in many things that day the blood of many of his Papa's men, sweat, dirt. The thought that someday, for sure, Francis would return for him and save him. That was the only reason he'd gone to Arthur. Thinking in his naive little mind that he and his Papa had played a trick on the Englishman. Francis would be back to give him kisses and cook for him again.
As his Papa had boarded his ship Matthew had whispered a soft "He stinks" as Arthur had.
But Francis never returned.
Matthew swallowed at this thought and took his glasses off his face to clean them. Not that they were dirty. Unlike Alfred, with his fingerprints all over his glasses, Matthew had a habit of taking his off and cleaning them. Expecially when he thought of unpleasant things.

Matthew had, himself, tried to forget about Francis' lie. Though a part of him had forever believed Francis would return for him. As had a part of his people, the people now residing in Quebec.

Matthew awkwardly placed his glasses on his face again as Alfred burst into his room.
"Canada, Canada!" Alfred exclaimed, looking around the room. Matthew looked up at Alfred hopefully, but was let down as Alfred shrugged, "Not here." He muttered, looking confused as he turned away, leaving the door wide open. He headed back down the hallway. Matthew stood up with a sigh.
"I'm right here." He whispered. He started to close the door, as a sudden and loud "Thud thud thud" told him Alfred was returning. Sure enough Alfred was back at his door in a moment.
"I knew you were in there! Where you hiding?" Alfred asked, flying at Matthew with breakneck speed and wrapping his arms around the younger nation's neck. "I have an idea, I have an idea! Wanna hear?" He asked, looking extremely proud of himself. Matthew wasn't so sure he wanted to hear the idea. When Alfred was extremely proud of himself... Interesting things came out.
"Ah... Um well." Matthew started. Alfred took this as the okay, apparently, because he found himself being pushed back into his room and the door slammed behind Alfred. Matthew sat on his bed and looked up at Alfred, "So, what is the idea?" He asked, fixing his glasses which had almost been knocked off my Alfred's earlier hug attack. Alfred looked around the room for a moment.
"Hmm. I really wish you'd stop disappearing on me Canada." He said, with genuine annoyance. "I came all this way to give you my great idea, as the hero of this story. Well, I know you're in here so..." Alfred paused. He looked right at Matthew, but he was also looking through him. Too caught up in his "genius" to notice his twin sitting right in front of him, "So so, listen to this!" Alfred exclaimed throwing his arms in the air and looking everywhere now, but at Matthew. Matthew sighed, wishing he'd get on with it. "We'll build a giant statue of me, the hero. We'll drop it in Germany, and then they'll all love me! Then they'll kick out that loser Germany. It's perfect!" Alfred had a giant grin on his face, "I'm going to present it at the meeting tomorrow!" Alfred looked at Matthew now, "Oh there you are. What do you think? I won't take any objections." Matthew looked at his twin with exasperation for a minute, though he was sure it was taken for admiration. Why was he asking if he wasn't going to take objections? Matthew forced a weak smile onto his face.
"Well, I think..."
"Anyways! I'm going to bed now, so good night!" Alfred exclaimed, whirling around with such energy it made the curtains across the room move, and left the room as quickly as he'd entered it. Of course he slammed the door behind him.

It was dark, cold. He was pretty sure the cut on his head was healing, at least a little bit. The split in his lip had stitched itself together. His eyes no longer felt like someone had glued them shut. He could hear, far away, the sounds of war. The gun fire, the shouting. He sighed and rolled over on the cement floor. Allowing the cold to sooth his throbbing forehead.
Slowly Francis sat up. Wincing as his arm complained. Don't put weight on that one. He thought bitterly. Oh why had he surrendered?? It felt like so long ago, it probably had been. Locked under his favourite city. In the darkness, in the cold. Every night listening to and feeling the demands for the Allies secrets to be given away. Kiku and Feliciano were kept far away. Ludwig would keep a straight face until morning, and Francis was met with a soft "I'm sorry" before Ludwig left for the day.
Francis laid back down with a groan as if he were an old man. The noise outside was grating on his nerves. Could they stop destroying his beautiful city? Okay, perhaps, he could have been more worried for himself. Perhaps.
He just didn't want to be. Francis never showed it, of course he didn't. He felt so guilty. For all of this. He'd left Arthur, and his little Matthieu. Well. He knew it was incorrect to refer to him as "his". Arthur's little Matthieu. There was a particularly loud bang outside, and Francis frowned.
"Would you stop destroying my Paris?!" He cried, but his cry was hollow and strained. He hated to admit it, it made him feel weak, but during his beatings he had been crying out. Suddenly there was yelling. A lot of it. Francis groaned, "If you're going to destroy Paris... Destroy me with her." Francis muttered, and closed his eyes as tightly as his could.

Matthew stood behind Arthur and Alfred as they looked over Paris. Germany had surrendered and backed out of Paris. Alfred had his arms on his hips and was laughing heartily, though he had a large scratch on his face and a gash that had been bandaged on his leg. Arthur was surveying the ruins of the city, sporting a very black eye from a close encounter... With Alfred. Matthew was shaking a little, his arm was in a sling.
"America shut your trap for a moment." Arthur snapped. Alfred was shocked for once, turning to Arthur, "We have to find that wine bastard." Arthur explained, "There's no time for yelling that we won." Arthur took a step forward, but suddenly a flash of blonde flew past him. Matthew was flying into the abandoned city, "Canada?" Arthur's eyes widened, "Canada my boy get back here!" He exclaimed, and him and Alfred went running after him.
"Canada get back here! The hero orders it!" Alfred called, but Matthew was not listening.
"Papa, papa! Sors de là! Nous sommes là pour vous sauver! France!" Matthew called as he ran through the city. Hours of this went on. His speed only beating Alfred and Arthur because of his practice during hockey. Each time he was done checking a spot, the other two would only just reach him. And then he'd be running off again.
Finally Matthew found what he was looking for, an entrance to some place under ground. Of course Francis would not be above ground. He paused for a moment, and jumped as he heard Alfred's gun click behind him. He turned around.
"Trust that frog to choose the most... Dank looking place in all of Paris to get locked in." Arthur grumbled. He patted Matthew on the shoulder as he started descending the stairs. Alfred motioned with his gun for Matthew to go first. Suddenly he was very serious, taking part of the hero no doubt. Matthew smiled weakly and headed down the stairs as well. Alfred turned to look behind them before descending.

"France, you wine bastard. Get up." Came a gruff voice. He'd heard steps coming, he'd heard a muffled grumble and something about "Hide the keys better". Nothing more. He'd been trying to rest before night fall.
"That's a mighty fine impression of England." Francis chuckled, "I think I'd even eat his cooking if it meant seeing Paris again." He whispered. Feeling a light kick in his side, which felt more like a hard kick due to his bruises, he curled up a little and opened one eye.
"Frog. Sexual deviant. Wine bastard. Land stealing, bread making bastard. Get up." Was the reply. Francis opened his other eye now, the one he'd opened wasn't focusing. The first thing he noticed... Was the eyebrows.
"Ah. England." He said, nodding slowly, "Yes of course." He quietly rolled onto his side, and got to his knees without much trouble. He winced at this point. He couldn't find the strength. He noticed Alfred standing at the door, trying to look cool with his gun, Arthur standing to his side glaring with a hint of worry, if that was possible. Then in front of him stood a person he had been wanting to see for quite a while, not that he hadn't wanted to see the others.
He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again. Arthur grumbled quietly beside him. "Mon ange, mon petit, mon garçon." Francis muttered, surprised as Matthew offered his hand.
"Papa." He smiled kindly and helped Francis to his, wobbly, feet.

AN:
So this is my first post to the Hetalia. Uuu If I did it wrong, please let me know. I'll probably have sequels to this so, you know, I want to do eet right.
Please excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes. I am but a humble Canadian who fails at typing. >.<;;
I don't actually know French. But but... I used Google translate, so if any of you are French, and this is the "WRONG GRAMMAR!" tell me.
Translations:
Papa, papa, je ne veux pas aller à lui! - Papa, papa, I will not go to him!
Mon cher Matthieu, s'il vous plaît, je reviendrai pour vous - Dear Matthew, please, I will come for you
Il pue - It stinks
Papa, papa! Sors de là! Nous sommes là pour vous sauver! France! - Papa, Papa! Come out! We're here to save you! France!
Mon ange, mon petit, mon garçon. - My angel, my small one, my boy.