(Disclaimer: APH is not mine.

There are French translations and a few notes at the end of the story :))

"Mais qu'est-ce que t'as foutu, Arthur!" Francis exclaimed, gesturing wildly at his—no, now her—ample chest. Arthur seemed unable to say anything, his vision fixated on spot no gentleman would dare admit to looking at, but a slap from the other brought back his senses and he quickly moved his head to stare at a spot to the left of Francis' head, wishing his face were a little less red. "What did you do!"

Arthur coughed, his voice suddenly returning as his anger resurfaced. "Me? I told you time and time again not to just come into my house unannounced, especially when I'm working with magic! It's your own bloody fault, bastard!" He yelled back, his face red from anger now.

"Va te faire foutre! Fix it!" Francis yelled. His—her hands flew to her face, and if Arthur didn't know better, he'd say she was crying. "My big brother stubble…my glorious body…Arthur, change me back!" And Arthur tried.

He tried again and again, day after day, week after week, month after month, and eventually, years passed. After consulting with his magical friends and books, Arthur had tried everything, and the time had come to just declare it impossible to return Francis to his male self. Francis being Francis, however, rolled with it after a period of melodramatics. He—she changed her name to Marianne, and was soon back to her old, perverted self. Life seemed to be getting back to what could be considered normal for the Nations…but that all changed when Marianne came to Arthur and told him she was pregnant with his child. The next thing they knew, they had two gorgeous twin boys and were attempting to live together. By some miracle the Bonnefoy-Kirkland family has yet to kill each other…

Arthur was the first one up that morning, and, in a rare moment of wanting to do something nice for his family 'just because,' he decided that he would make breakfast. Needless to say, when Marianne came dashing in exclaiming "Ma cuisine," he was quite annoyed.

"Look, it was only a small fire," Arthur said in a misguided attempt to comfort the crying Marianne. "Porridge usually doesn't destroy the kitchen."

"Mon cher Arthur," Marianne started quietly, trying to keep her emotions under control. "You were only boiling water. There shouldn't be a fire. Ever. From boiling water."

"But—"

"Leave. Maintenant. Go…wake the boys and I'll try to…salvage…something…for breakfast." And, without letting Arthur get a word in edge-wise, she pushed him out of the kitchen.

"Fine! It's not like I was making breakfast for your benefit or anything," Arthur grumbled as he stomped his way to Alfred's room. Why was she so upset, anyway? It was just a small fire, nothing unusual. The kitchen was still more or less intact, wasn't it? What's the big problem? Shaking his head at his partner's bizarre hysterics, he pushed the bedroom door open. "Alfred, time to wake up." No response. "Alfred!" The bed was still. Annoyed, Arthur stormed over to the bed and punctuated a loud "Alfred!" by yanking back the blanket…which revealed an empty bed. Arthur dropped the blanket and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was going to be one of those days. "That bloody brat had better be with Matthew or else," He told the fairy on his shoulder who twittered in laughter before disappearing.

Arthur crossed the hall to Matthew's room, sighing in relief when he saw two lumps on the boy's bed. Alfred must have gotten scared and run to Matthew's room in the middle of the night or something. That boy was terrified of ghosts and Arthur couldn't figure out why. The only ones that lived in the house were nice and accommodating, unlike other ghosts he had been exposed to. Hopefully it was just a phase but with that boy, who really knew. "Alfred, Matthew, time to wake up," Arthur said to the room, but neither boy stirred. He got an odd feeling of déjà vu as he walked over to the bed to yank back the blanket. "Boys, wake up!"

Alfred and Matthew jumped awake with the loss of warmth and blinked blearily at Arthur. "It's time to wake up," Arthur repeated, and the boys continued staring at him. "It's morning, are you going to be joining us for breakfast anytime soon?"

"What?" Alfred yelled, shocking his father. Matthew looked at his brother in confusion.

"Boy, it's too early in the morning to be yelling! I asked if you were going to join us for breakfast." Arthur repeated, but Alfred kept staring at him blankly. Matthew elbowed his brother and showed him something that looked suspiciously like ear plugs.

"Oh yeah!" Alfred yelled before reaching up and pulling the plugs out of his own ears. "Sorry father. What were you saying?"

Arthur stared at the boys in shock, not having expected them to be wearing ear plugs. "Why—what—Why were you two wearing ear plugs?" The boys turned bright red and turned away, refusing to look Arthur in the eye. "Answer me," He said sternly, "Or else no breakfast."

"We were wearing them because, um," Matthew bravely started, but his face only grew redder and he used his polar bear to hide it. "On second thought, I'll just miss breakfast."

"You and maman are too loud!" Alfred shouted before joining his brother in hiding his face.

Arthur continued staring at them. Too loud? What were they too loud doing—Oh. At night. Oh. Arthur turned away from the boys, his face a matching red. "Oh, well, sorry. We'll try to k-keep it down in the future," He muttered. "Breakfast is—soon," And with that, Arthur was out of the room, still feeling mortified.

"Marianne!" He shouted as he returned to the kitchen, barely noticing that it had been cleaned and an edible breakfast was on the table. "You wouldn't believe what the boys just told me."

"Hm? And what would that be, Arthur?" She snapped, obviously still perturbed over the kitchen incident.

"They said we're too loud." The anger faded from Marianne's face and…did she look amused?

"Too loud? Quand?" She was amused. Why else would she ask when? She knew just when Arthur meant, he was sure of it.

"You know."

"Mais, je ne sais pas. Tell me Arthur. When are we too loud?" Marianne didn't even both trying to hold back a chuckle.

Arthur glared at her (and then at the fairies that were currently laughing behind him) before taking a seat across from her at the table. "At night, ok?" He whispered. "They were wearing ear plugs!"

"Well, I guess someone will have to keep it down then, won't he?"

"Me? Who was all—" He was cut off by a cough coming from the doorway of the kitchen. Matthew and Alfred had arrived for breakfast. "Ah, good morning, boys. Glad to see you've decided to join us for breakfast." The boys took a seat at the table, trying to ignore the laughter coming from their mother. It really was going to be one of those days it seemed.

Breakfast was more or less quiet, broken only when Marianne couldn't hold back an escaped giggle or two. Arthur was doing a superb job of avoiding eye contact with everyone, and the boys were perfectly playing the part of "children should be seen, not heard." In fact, Matthew was playing the role so perfectly, that his plate was taken away while he was still eating, his quiet protest falling on deaf ears.

With Arthur away from the table with the dirty dishes, Marianne got a devilish smile on her face and leaned forward so that she was closer to the boys. "So, mes fils, your father told me something très intéressant. He said—"

"Marianne," Arthur growled, having returned from the kitchen. "Look at the boys," He gestured, and Matthew and Alfred seemed to be doing their best to blend in with the furniture, hoping that they would become invisible and the embarrassing topic would be dropped. "They're scarred enough for now. Do you really want to add to it?"

Marianne pouted before standing gracefully and moving to throw her arms over Arthur's shoulders. "Mais, Arthur, surely the boys are old enough for 'The Talk.' Both of us were even younger than they are now when we learned about—"

Alfred and Matthew couldn't take it anymore. It was bad enough that their parents' nightly habits kept them awake, but did it really have to spread into and after breakfast? "Maman! Please!" Alfred shouted at a spot on the table. "Pas aujourd'hui, pas—" His horribly accented French was cut off when his mother swooped down and gave him a wind-pipe crushing hug.

"You spoke French! French!" She cried, motherly pride swelling. She pulled away, looking him in the eye, and Alfred could see the poorly contained happiness in her eyes. "Have you finally realized how horrible it is to speak English all the time? I'm so proud of you! We'll have to work on your accent, bien sûr, but small steps, oui?" She was back to giving him a bone crushing hug. Over her shoulder, Alfred could see his father rolling his eyes, but Matthew was giving him a thumbs up. He had managed to avert a disastrous and mentally scarring topic, and with any luck, he could keep it up for the remainder the day. Then again, knowing their parents, they would be lucky enough to keep it up until lunch.

After a few minutes of nearly hugging the life out of Alfred, Marianne pulled away and ran a hand through the boy's hair. "I think you need a haircut. You haven't been taking care of your hair like Matthew has been, have you? You're starting to resemble a golden caterpillar. Come." Before anyone could protest, Marianne had grabbed the poor boy's hand and dragged him to her bathroom for an impromptu haircut. Matthew looked at Arthur curiously, before quietly asking, "Why are you blushing, father?" The embarrassed Nation shrugged off the question and childhood memories and quickly left the dining room full of tinkling laughter behind. Why did the fairies find enjoyment in his embarrassment, anyway? Considering he was the only one who could see them and interact with them, surely they would be nicer?

Arthur, in a bad mood thanks to his less-than-spectacular morning, decided that working on his embroidery would be therapeutic…and practical since he always found a way to use what he made. He -was so lost in his embroidery that he didn't notice a-still-long-haired-Alfred standing in front of him until the boy almost shouted "Father!"

Startled, Arthur stilled the needle and glanced at the boy. "What, Alfred? You know I don't like being interrupted while embroidering." Alfred shifted his weight from one leg to the other, looking oddly nervous. Why was he shifting so? Alfred didn't shift…he was always confident and never nervous. What changed? And why was his hair still long? Wasn't Francis—Marianne, different name, remember that—supposed to have cut it? She even missed a really…long…curly…oh. This was Matthew, not Alfred.

As if he had heard his father's thoughts, Matthew said quietly, "It's Matthew, not Alfred. Um, maman wanted me to tell you that, um, she needs help because, ah, Alfred is being…unruly?" Before Arthur could question Matthew as to why he was acting so nervous, the boy had vanished, almost as if he had never been there in the first place. If Arthur didn't know better, he'd swear that child knew more magic than he let on.

With a sigh, Arthur decided to put his embroidery away before heading towards the bathroom. If Alfred were being unruly, a few minutes wouldn't make any difference, and Marianne could deal with it for that long. It's not like it was the end of the world.

Arthur entered the bathroom expecting chaos. Instead, it was quiet and peaceful…until Alfred latched onto his right arm, Matthew his left, and the door shut behind him with an ominous 'click' of the lock. "I'm sorry, father. Maman made us," Arthur thought he heard one of the boys say, but he wasn't sure since his attention was focused on the woman in front of him. She was advancing on him, something hidden behind her back, her hair seemingly floating thanks to an impossible wind (though Arthur could see that the source was his traitorous fairy friends), and a determined gleam in her eye.

"Mon cher Arthur," She said softly, seductively, trying, and failing, to put him at ease. "Sit, s'il te plaît." Arthur wanted to refuse, but a gentle tug on each arm caught him off balance, forcing him to take a seat.

"Marianne, what the bloody hell is going on?" Arthur growled, attempting to remove his arms from the boys' grips and failing. The little buggers were stronger than he thought.

"Something that is long overdue~" She sang softly, bending down to give him a peck on the nose in an oddly chaste move for the French woman.

"What—ow!" Arthur felt a sharp pinch just above his eye. Again. And again. "Ow! Francis—ow!—fucking Marianne—ow!—Bonnefoy! Stop! Ow! Bastard! OW! Leave my eyebrows alone!" The Nation under attack struggled, finally breaking free of his sons' hold and quickly moving away from the tweezers by launching himself at the door.

"You fucking locked it!" He yelled, pulling at the door hopelessly.

"Oui, bien sûr. We could not risk having you escape since your eyebrows are so…horrible!" She paused, giving a devious smile. "Mais, don't worry. One of us has the key for when it's all said and done. Now, stop fighting and give in."

"Never you frog bastard!" Arthur could shout all he wanted, but the fact remained that he was still locked in a bathroom with his crazy and determined enemy-turned-wife and twin sons who were physically stronger than either of their parents. His eyebrows were doomed.

But then, the trapped-like-a-rat Nation heard a familiar tinkling laugh and a key fell into his hands. Maybe the fairies weren't traitors after all. Quick as a flash, Arthur had the door unlocked and was gone.

"I forgot about the fairies," Marianne said forlornly, sighing while she placed the tweezers by the sink. "But I will get those eyebrows one day. This will not be another defeat by the French!" She vowed to the empty bathroom, not noticing that the twins had snuck away, their hair still uncut.

The next couple of hours were spent with Arthur hiding from his family in his not-so-secret magic room, the boys playing together outside after Matthew had cut Alfred's hair to a length the louder twin deemed acceptable, and Marianne cooking up a storm in the kitchen, taking her anger out on the cooking utensils, all the while muttering about stupid Nations who don't care about how embarrassing their grooming habits were. No one was looking to a reunification at lunch, but it was inevitable.

Arthur walked into the dining room still wearing his magical cloak, the hood pulled over his head, conveniently hiding his eyebrows. Alfred and Matthew entered next, the latter with his hair pulled back with one of his mother's more sensible ribbons, the former sporting a choppy haircut. When Marianne joined her family with the food, she raised an eyebrow at the piece of hair on Alfred's head that was determined to defy gravity, but chose to leave the matter alone for the time being since his hair looked more or less groomed. She did, however, send a glare at Arthur when she forcefully put his plate down, causing some of the food to end up in his lap. "Désolée mon petit chou," She said icily before taking her seat, matching Arthur's returned glare.

The tension in the room was palpable, and the twins quietly poked at their food, not wanting to make more noise than possible. Things might have stayed in a tense limbo had Matthew not dropped his fork. The loud clatter of metal acted as the catalyst that broke the uneasy truce and had Arthur and Marianne up and yelling at each other in a more ancient form of English and French. From what little Alfred and Matthew could understand, their parents were cursing the day they had ever met each other and they had no idea why they were still trying when the other was too stubborn for his (the boys thought it odd that they only used masculine pronouns while arguing, but never worked up the courage to ask why) own good. Feeling uncomfortable, the boys attempted to leave the dining room, but their movement reminded their parents that they were still in the room and, red faced and panting, the older Nations retook their seats and attacked their food, acting as if nothing had happened.

"So, Alfred, did you ever find out what happened to le lapin that used to come around?" Marianne asked a moment later, giving the boy a small smile.

Alfred shrugged, nervously shoving a bite in his mouth. "I don't know, never found him," He said around a mouthful of food.

"Alfred. Don't talk with your mouth full," Arthur scolded, slightly amazed that the boy could still be understood what that much food in his mouth. A worthless talent sure, but unique none-the-less.

"Ugh, fine, father," Alfred said around another bite of food, smirking at the angry look on his father's face. His smirk disappeared an instant later when he felt Matthew's elbow dig sharply into his side…again.

"Don't you think he's annoyed enough? Do you really have to antagonize him?" His timid brother whispered, silently hoping his father didn't overhear.

"Of course I do. It's fun~" Alfred not-really-whispered back, grinning. "Besides, better he's angry with me than maman," He added in a much quieter voice. Matthew nodded in reluctant agreement.

Arthur cleared his throat, ready to say something else to Alfred when there was a loud crash coming from the back of the house. Arthur and Marianne jumped at the sound, but Alfred let out a very-manly-for-an-eight-year-old scream and was in Arthur's lap the next instant. "It's a ghost! I told you the house was haunted!"

Arthur awkwardly patted the boy on the head then attempted to dislodge him, but Alfred only held on tighter. "Alfred, I told you, the ghosts in this house are friendly and don't like exerting the energy needed to move things. I'm sure it was just a cat or something." The boy looked unconvinced and Arthur sighed. "Look, let's go see what it was. If it is a ghost, I promise to protect you, ok?" Alfred nodded and moved off his father's lap, but refused to let go of his hand as they followed Marianne and Matthew out of the room. Arthur shook his head in bewilderment at the older twin's reaction. For such a brave child, Alfred was surprisingly easily scared.

The group made their way to the back of the house, Matthew shyly holding Marianne's hand, Alfred hiding-not-so-subtly behind his father. When they reached the back storage room, Alfred peeked out from around Arthur and began shivering in fear when he saw a box move. When Arthur tried to enter the room to investigate, Alfred pulled him back.

"Alfred, let me go."

"B-but, what if it's a ghost and he wants to hurt you?"

"Do you trust me, Alfred?" The boy nodded. "The ghosts in this house are not dangerous, I assure you. I will be fine."

Alfred looked unconvinced. "How do you know?"

"What do you mean how do I know?"

"How do you know they're not dangerous?"

"Because I've talked to them. All they care about is dwelling on the past, not causing harm. Besides, if they were dangerous, the fairies would tell me."

Alfred let out a noise of frustration. "There are no such things as fairies!" He yelled, pulling away from his father. "Stop treating Canada and me like we're five and still believe in all that magical stuff. It doesn't exist!"

Arthur stared at the boy, dumbfounded, muttering incoherently. Marianne rolled her eyes at the Nation's incoherency before gently smacking her older son upside the head. "Do not yell at your father, mon petit. It's disrespectful." Alfred started to say something, but his mother held up a hand, silencing him. "Your father sees fairies. I see them when I'm visiting him in England. Et, remember earlier? The fairies gave ton père the key. Ils existent." The boy still looked unconvinced but, seeing no way out of the conversation, nodded.

Meanwhile, Arthur was giving Alfred both a pitying and an angry look. How horrible would it be to not be able to see the fairies? But then, to claim they didn't exist when they clearly did, even if he couldn't see him…that was just disrespectful. "Apologize."

"Wh-what?" Alfred asked, startled.

"Apologize to the fairies. They are not happy with you." And, indeed, a group of fairies had materialized and were currently pointing at Alfred and whispering to each other. "So, apologize."

"But—"

"Now."

Embarrassed and feeling silly, Alfred dropped her gaze and grumbled, "'m s'ry." The fairies stopped their whispering and leaned in towards Alfred, tiny hands cupping around their ears, each giving a bemused smile. Matthew, having been quiet thus far, started giggling, but was ignored as usual.

"Louder," Arthur prompted.

"I'm sorry!" Alfred yelled before turning and running off. The fairies clapped in response to his apology and gave him small wave's goodbye. Matthew started laughing harder, causing Marianne to look down at him in concern.

"What's so funny, mon fils?"

"R-rien" Matthew squeaked out between peals of laughter before letting go of his mother's hand and running off after Alfred. If Arthur didn't know better, he'd say the boy winked at the fairies as he ran by.

"Nos fils sont très bizarre. Alfred is afraid of ghosts but doesn't believe in fairies. Matthew is invisible, and when he's not, he acts so peculiar. They are definitely your sons."

"How are they definitely mine, frog? They surely get their weird behavior from you!"

"If that helps you sleep at night chéri…"

"Bastard."

"Aw, je t'aime, aussi."

Arthur walked into the room with a huff. Why did everyone seem to be against him today? The box moved again and Arthur walked over to it, smiling when he saw that it was just the fairies. His smile disappeared when Marianne, who had followed him, saw what it was and let out a squeal, kissing him on the cheek. "Where has this been all this time?"

"I—I don't know."

"Better get started on the spell. Being female is fun and all, but I do miss my old body~" And then, before Arthur could say anything, she floated out of the room, calling out to their sons "How do you feel about having two fathers~"

The fairies, for it was them who unearthed the book "How to Fix Spells You Screwed Up" and conveniently opened it to a page on gender spells gone awry, twittered in laughter at the young Nations' groans before settling on a stunned Arthur's shoulders.

"You know, some days I'm not too sure of what side you're really on." This caused the fairies to only laugh harder.

Fin

First, I incorporated two of my headcanons into this fic. America can understand French spoken to him, and can speak a little of it back. It is the third most spoken language in America, after all. Plus, with France living as his mother, I'm sure he'd pick it up. Also, I once read a comic where Canada inherited England's sight. I loved it, and it has been my headcanon ever since.

Second, there might be a sequel to this. Not in the near future, but I had so much fun writing this, I might come back for more.

Third, French translations :) I am not fluent in French. While I did get help for the first two phrases, the rest of it is from memory and I apologize for any mistakes.

Mais qu'est-ce que t'as foutu, Arthur – What the fuck did you do, Arthur

Va te faire foutre – Fuck you

Ma cuisine - My kitchen
Mon cher - My dear
Maintenant - Now
Maman - Mom
Quand? - When?
Mais, je ne sais pas - But, I don't know.

Mes fils = My sons
Très intéressant = Very interesting
Mais = But
Pas aujourd'hui, pas = Not today, not
Bien sûr = Of course
Oui = Yes

S'il te plait – Please

Désolée: Sorry
Mon petit chou: A term of endearment. Literally translates to "My little cabbage"
Le lapin: The rabbit

Et - And
Ils existent - They exist
Rien - Nothing
Nos fils sont très bizarre - Our sons are very weird
Je t'aime, aussi - I love you, too