Look At Me!

{MCR – Interlude}

Saints protect her now

Come angels of the lord...

He couldn't take this.

His footfalls echoed through the crisp white of the land – a resounding crunch, crunch, crunch. Clouds of breath escaped the boys pink lips and his friends furry muzzle as snow fell on their downcast heads. The sky was grey, the ground was blank, the trees were dead, the silence...

He couldn't take this.




Still nothing.


A hiccup was the only response given to the boy as he tasted the bitter tears making their way into his mouth. And after that?

A scream – defining and dying in the silence.


"I really hope they'll be able to see me when I get there."


"Canada!" The polar bear ducked into itself at the harshly voice response and Matthew felt slightly guilty for not restraining himself. "I'm sorry Kamajoro but, how long have we been together, and you still don't know who I am?"

"Kumajirou." Was the counter and the blond nation blushed and shut his own mouth tightly.

They continued walking through the snow in silence after that, something that Matthew was perfectly fine with. He loved his country – Canada – in the winter time. Everything was so bright and pure this time of the year, white like a sheet of innocence over his land with crystal blue skies overhead. Most animals had either migrated, hibernated, or where the type of animal that didn't really make much noise to begin with. Most times all you would be able to hear was the cool breeze or the howling wolf, giving the land an almost mystical feel to it. Matthew loved it here.

Though it would be nice to be visited every once in a while.

Don't get him wrong, his country was great and all the way it was and he liked his alone time too, but he missed his family. Francis – France, Arthur – England, Alfred – America. He missed his Papa and his constant attempts to woo him, his Stepfather and the good conversations they could have, his brother and his silly antics as he tried to be his hero... This, of course, was the few times that they could remember who exactly he was – and that was few, far and in between. His family was more prone to thinking he was a ghost or some unnameable presence, or that he just wasn't there at all.

"Ahhh! Iggy save me! It's a ghost!"

"Canada? Who the bloody hell is that?"

"Qu'est-ce? I do not think I know you. Could you tell me your name again?"


Sigh "Canada."


It hurt. It hurt more that most people could imagine to be forgotten – sometimes even attacked – by the people you loved the most. Knowing that they could hold you close and tell you they loved you one moment only to push you away and demand your name the next. Matthew thought he was getting better at brushing it off but he wasn't , it was getting harder and harder to put on that smile he never really felt and remind them again and again that he was Canada, he was Matthew Williams. It was getting harder and harder to stop those tears as he asked again "Don't you remember me?"

The air warmed and the snow lessened as he walked up to Americas house. He smiled to himself, as already he could hear the racket coming from inside, Englands yelling, Frances cooing, Americas booming laughter. "We're here Kumayuro!"





As expected, the battle of sent was already waging as Canada walked through the door. From the kitchen came an aroma so indescribably horrid that – if it weren't for the blonds many years of 'training' – it could literally be used in chemical warfare and kill you on the spot. From across the hall in the living room was another smell that could easily be described as... The air of dreams. This lovely perfume seemed to also be the subject of argument as Matthew made his way into the cozy lounge.

"That appalling stench is giving me a headache and making it impossible to cook!"

"Excusez-moi? If anything is appalling here, it is that déchets you attempt to call food mon Sourcils."

"Git! Bloody frog! Take that back you wanker!"

"Ow! Mon dieu! I will not listen to a little punk with a fist!"

"What did you call me?"

"Ah hahahahahaha! You guys are hilarious!"

"Shut up!" Came both men's voices as they yelled at America, only causing him to double over and laugh harder.

Matthew just stood in the doorway, both amused and happy to see his family go at it like they always did. He was going through the steps he always did when visiting any of them – when they remembered him enough to call and invite him over that is – Wait, see if they notice you and say hello. If they don't then say hello. If they notice you, explain who you are. If they don't, keep trying until you either accept your fate or are noticed. If you are noticed then, explain who you are... And so on.

Something felt different for Matthew today though and, as none had yet to notice his existence; he held a desperateness to his eyes as he called out to them "H-Hey guys! It's me Canada! I'm here now!"

No one answered him.

"Hey!" He called again, though no one took the slightest notice. "Hey!" He yelled.


The desperateness travelled into his voice as the three men carried on without him "Al!" He yelled out to his brother.

"Hahaha! Hey Iggy! You know you shoul—"

"Alfred!" He shouted.

"—And then we could –"


"You git, not only is that a terrible plan but—"


"—And why would I even—"


"—Because mon ami, you are—"

"Francis! Papa! FRANCE!" Matthew was literally screaming at them now, his heart going into a panic – this wasn't normal – they should have heard him by now.

"Alfred! Please! Look at me!" He tried again, his voice begging.

America's head went up and he looked to the living room door with wide eyes. With a bright, excited smile on his face he rushed towards it "Hey Iggy! Look!"

Canada's heart did a number and he smiled thankfully at his brother "Al, I knew you woul—"

"Your food is on fire!" America walked right into his twin nation, knocking him to the ground without so much as a flinch as he made his way to the kitchen.

"What? What do you mean it's on fire?" The British man ran over to the kitchen as well, catching his foot on Matthews leg and almost tripping over it. He looked to were the blond sat and scowled "Bloody rug." And heading to the kitchen.

France followed behind both the men and chuckling all the way, not so much as even a glance down to where his beloved son was now sitting, shocked expression on his face.

Laughter and curses, coughing and things crashing. These noises couldn't reach the fallen boys ears. He simply stared at the smoky kitchen door, eyes wide as saucers. His heart had stopped beating – he was sure – because in its stillness, he could finally feel it falling apart. Tears started falling down his now colourless cheeks as the realization hit him harder than any nuke ever could.

They don't see him anymore. Matthew was gone.

Standing up, he made a run for the door. Ripping it open so that it splintered off of the wall, he left as quick as his legs could carry him.

The three men in the room jumped. "What the bloody hell was that?"

America walked into the hall to see the door wide open and went to close it, just catching a glimpse of a small white dog like thing running off "The wind... I think."


His sobs echoed through the empty forest of his homeland and he buried his hands deep into the blank white of ice and snow as he leaned forwards and into himself. He couldn't take this, he couldn't live without them saying his name, couldn't make it without being in their arms, without holding their hands, without their smiles that told him they loved him.

He screamed again and again, each one louder than the last, but Matthew never seeming to scream loud enough to break over Canada's silence. By the time that he had lost his voice, Kumajirou had long sense run back to the safety of Americas house; Leaving the boy alone to cry into nothing.

France had been sitting at the kitchen table – though it smelt horrid in the kitchen – for a good hour now as he let his Angleterre and little Amérique go at it, his expression serious as he rubbed his stubble thoughtfully.

"Oi, you frog! What's got you looking so grim over there?" England called, trying to save his sanity by leaving his previous 'conversation'.

Frances did not smile and brush the question off with an insult like he usually would, instead he looked up at the Brit genuinely worried "I feel as if I've forgotten something rather important mon ami. Something I should not have forgotten."

England paused, a frown making its way across his pale lips as he thought on it "You know... I actually have the same feeling myself."

America looked at both men and was just about to say they were acting stupid – though he secretly had the same feeling – when a scratching noise reached his ears. "Was that the door?"

When everyone just looked at each other answerless, another scratching noise came and England moved to the hall to open it "Well don't be rude you gits, obviously someone's the—"

The Brits voice stopped when he opened the door to find no one, the frightened squeak of 'It's a ghost' coming from the hall before he felt something on his foot. He jumped a good four feet back, yelling out "Dear sweet mother of God! It's a bloody frigging polar bear!"

America laughed and Frances eyes lit up in realization as he went to the door "That is mon Mathieu's polar bear! Wasn't he supposed to visit today as well?"

The other two men gave a shocked expression and America nodded "Yeah, that's right. I called him yesterday. I remember now! He was so stoked to come and visit too, I wonder why he isn't hear yet?"

France petted the little bears fur like he used to when his petit Mathieu was just a babe "Mon dieu! You are shaking like a leaf! Where is your owner little one?"


"You know! Mattie! The less awesome version of me!"

The little bear blinked as if he were remembering something then growled at America, his beady black eyes obviously blaming "Hurt."

"America, you git, what did you do this time?"

"N-Nothing! I swear!"

The bears anger turned to England as well "Forgot."

"Mes amis, I think mon petit Mathieu was already here."

"What are you talking about you frog, we would have—" England immediately fell silent as he got – as they all got – what the little bear meant. Green eyes went wide with guilt as hands flew to his mouth "Oh God..."

France stood up stiffly, intent on making this right, and grabbed his coat "Can you show us where he is my little friend?"


Matthew lay with his back in the snow, half covered by the freshly fallen flakes as they left the grey, lifeless clouds in the sky above. His gentle breath came out in short, shaky puffs as hypothermia took over his limp body. Violet-bluegreen eyes were glazed and sleepy looking, glasses lost somewhere in the snow.

He was dying.

Not just because of the cold though, no. The dark truth of his demise lay in his buried hand in the shape of a hunting knife. It had been a birthday present from America, though he had gotten it a month late because Alfred had... Forgot.

A more wakeful part of him wished he could laugh at that irony right about now, but there would be no more laughter for him. No more smiles, warm arms, happy birthdays. He would die here, in this once white snow – now tainted by his blood.

"Are you sure this bloody bear knows where it's going?"

"How long has it been with mon Mathieu."

"How many times has it forgot his name?"

France glared back at both the men as he continued to fallow the little fluff of fur, that was actually rather fast and hard to keep track of in all the white. All of a sudden the bear stopped, causing America to jump into the snow so not to step in it.

England let out a frustrated growl "See! It has no clue where its going! For once, America is right. If the damned thing can't even remember his name, then how in he supposed to know – Are you even listening to me?"

Francis, like the bear, stood stock still, eyes wide in horror as the mind and heart begged it to just be an unfortunate animal. "Ma... Mathieu!" He cried out pitifully as he made a dead run to all that red snow.

Crashing to his knees, the Frenchman brushed all the snow off of the limp body as fast as he could, pulling the boy up into his arms and cradling him as tears started to fall from his eyes "Mon bébé. Que faisiez-vous penser que vous faisiez? Mon petit Matthieu, s'il vous plaît me dire quelque chose!"

The blond stared up at him blankly and if it weren't for the little clouds at his lips, one would assume him dead. Eventually though, something like recognition stirred in those beautiful eyes – like the Aurora Borealis itself – and pale lips moved just ever so slightly "Pa... Pa?"

He let a watery smile come to his lips and nodded as he spoke again, voice brittle and shaky "Oui, oui, c'est moi. C'est votre papa qui vous aime tant. Je suis tellement désolé pour ce que j'ai fait. Mon Mathieu, je t'aime tellement." He cooed as best he could through the sobs that threatened to choke him.

By now America and England were by Frances side, tears streaming down their faces, America holding Matthews coat and sobbing into his shoulder begging and pleading while England held onto the boys hands looking completely numb with shock. Kumajirou was on the other side of his master and best friend mewling his sorrow out as he rubbed into his arm, staining his fur with blood.

Matthew lay there, in his fathers arms, his last few tears fell from his eyes as he realized the mistake he had made. "Vous ... Peut me voir. I. .. Je vous aime ... papa. Pardonnez ... Moi ..."

"M-Mathieu? M-Mon M-Mathieu? Mathieu!" France cried out, shaking the boy in his arms slightly "N-Non... Non! Vous ne pouvez pas aller! Vous ne pouvez pas me quitter! Mon bébé! Mon petit Mathieu! S'il vous plaît séjour!"

"France." England called out tonelessly "He's dead."

"NON!" The man screamed, burying his face into his babies chest "Non... Nonnonnonnonnon..." He sobbed out.

Matthew Williams was what he always wanted to be: Noticed, held, loved – but he was too dead to feel it.

... Come angels of... The lord...


Excusez-moi?: Excuse me?

Déchets: Trash

Mon Sourcils: My Eyebrows

Mon dieu!: My god!

Angleterre: England

Amérique: America

Mon ami: My friend

Petit: Little

Mes amis: My friends

Mon bébé. Que faisiez-vous penser que vous faisiez? Mon petit Matthieu, s'il vous plaît me dire quelque chose!: My baby. What did you think you were doing? My little Matthew, please, tell me something!

Oui, oui, c'est moi. C'est votre papa qui vous aime tant. Je suis tellement désolé pour ce que j'ai fait. Mon Mathieu, je t'aime tellement.: Yes, yes, it's me. It's your daddy who loves you so much. I am so sorry for what I did. My Matthew, I love you so much.

Vous ... Peut me voir. I. .. Je vous aime ... papa. Pardonnez ... Moi ...: You ... See me. I. .. I love you ... Dad. Forgive ... Me ...

N-Non... Non! Vous ne pouvez pas aller! Vous ne pouvez pas me quitter! Mon bébé! Mon petit Mathieu! S'il vous plaît séjour!: N-No... No! You can't go! You can't leave me! My baby! My little Mathieu! Please stay!