For Mattie

Chapter One

A/N- This story is for mature audiences. Contains child abuse/neglection, domestic violence, self harming, eating disorders, suicidal actions/thoughts, strong language, rape, underage usage of drugs and alcohol.

Chapter One
Only Human

Thunder cackled loudly outside as rain poured heavily, beating against windows. The sky pitch black, waning moon blocked by the dark angry storm clouds. The storm came out of no where, and the citizens of the towm hoped the clouds would vanish overnight and the bright happy sun would appear. Yet they didn't umderstand. They didn't understand that this storm expressed the feelings of a young boy. He wasn't angry. He didn't feel hate. He was sad, depressed and forgotten. And as the wind picked up speed, it indicated the rising fear from the boy. His body shook as the thunder became louder and louder. No one heard the thunder besides the boy's household. The thunder was his parents.

"Why you bloody frog! I do everything to keep this house and you just go out and drink away your bad day at work! I can't even look at you right now!" The boy's father yelled, his voice cracking at the end as his British accent became thicker. He was angry. Another voice began to yell, French accent lazy and slurred. Papa was drunk. Never a good sign, the boy thought bitterly.

"Oh Angelterre! You think your life is all difficult! Try stepping in my shoes, you connard!" The boy's papa yelled. Wincing, the boy stood up on wobbly legs and walked over to the two men fighting. He tugged on his papa's pant leg, only to be kicked away. He then walked ober to his father's pant leg, only to be slapped and pushed to the ground. Whimpering, two arms picked him up and carried him upstairs. The comforting scent of pine trees and burgers made the boy rest his head against the chest of his older brother.

"A-alfie?" The boy whispered. His brother, Alfred, hummed a small 'yes Mattie?'. Matthew looked behimd Alfred, clenching his fists shut as the argument grew louder.

"W-why do papa and daddy fight?" Matthew questioned. Alfred seemed to freeze still but he continued walking to his room, kicking open the door that was previously ajar and shut it closed, making sure to lock it.

"I...I don't know Mattie. Let's just listen to music and fall asleep, okay?" Alfred knew all to well what his parents fought about. It could be stupid little reasons to big reasons like threats of an divorce or restraining orders. It hurt Alfred, but he knew it hurt Matthew more. The boy was only 6, innocent and needing care and love. Alfred was 7, and he was the role model for his little brother. He tried feeding the boy, bathing him, reading to him and sharing a room with him even if Matthew had his own room to himself. But with the drinking problems that his parents had, he was scared another incident would occur.

'Alfred, 6, arrived home from a friend's house. Their parents dropped him off so he didn't have to walk home at night. Opening and closing the door, he was surprised at how quiet it was. But he remebered not seeing his papa's, Francis, car outside. So hopefully his daddy was asleep. That's when a thud made him jump, looking up the stairs. It sounded from...MATTIE'S ROOM!

"Don't worry, Mattie! The hero is coming!" Alfred exclaimed, running up the stairs. He heard shuffling around his brothers room and the quiet cries. Those cries fuelled the anger in Alfred's blood, causing him to knock harshly on the door.

"Mattie! Mattie, open the door!" Alfred yelled, worried as he heard that familiar slapping sound. Was daddy hitting Mattie? Scared and angry, Alfred raced downstairs and dialled Franics' number, knowing his parent's phone numbers by heart. It took three rings, getting the six year old even more impatient and scared, before he heard his papa's smooth voice.

"Bonjour?" The man muttered. He wasn't prepared for the high pitch voice from the other line.

"Papa! It's Alfred! I think daddy is hurting Mattie! I can't get in because the doors locked!" Alfred cried out. Francis perked up from his seat on the bar stool and quickly fumbled to get his wallet. He left a $50 bill and ran out the bar, making sure his keys were in his pocket. He calmed Alfred down over the phone while speeding to the house. Once he arrives, he burst through the door and made his way upstairs, only to stop when his husband, Arthur, stepped out of Matthew's room. Eyes red and puffy, a dangerous glint making Francis still. He had a scartch mark on his left cheek and was currently holding his belt in his right hand, which was clenched in a tight fist, skin turning a unusual shade of white. Arthur stared at Francis before walking over to their shared room, slamming the door shut. Running into his youngest son's room, Francis let out a gasp as tears threathened to fall. The stinging became unbearable though, so tears fell freely as he cupped the boy's bruised and red hand printed cheeks.

"Oh mon petit, papa is so sorry. Je t'aime Matthieu, je t'aime!" Francis wailed. Alfred watched from the doorway. Guilt bubbled in his stomach and he felt sick. That day, he wished he didn't accept the invitation to go to his friend's house.'

"Alfie? Alfie, are you okay?" Matthew's small quiet voice broke Alfred out of the heartwretching memory. He hugged the smaller boy tighter in his arms and kissed his forehead gently.

"The hero is going to protect you, alright Mattie" it wasn't a question nor reassurance. It was a promise. A promise Matthew believed and looked up to.

A promise Alfred broke.

10 years later

Matthew remembered each day like it was constantly written in front of him. He tried forgetting and forgiving, but when he did, the neglection and abuse came worst. Like they didn't want him to forget. He was invisible it seems, but they saw him when they needed a punching bag. When they needed someone besides their enemy to yell at. Matthew was their punching bag, thier release.

The promises, the lies, the nights he cried himself to sleep. It wasn't until three years ago when he gave up on Alfred, his older brother. The boy he trusted with his safety and heart. Yet Alfred took it, smashed it, and left him to the hungry wolves. School wasn't better, but he was glad three older boys took notice in him and had him be their friend. Smiling sadly, Matthew enjoyed how those three protected him and made him happy. Got him to laugh, to cry, to yell (even if it was like a normal person speaking). He admired them. They were his role models.

"Time for school!" Arthur yelled feom downstairs. Matthew woke up over an hour ago, couldn't sleep as usual, and decided to just sit on the edge of his bed until time came to start his journey to the next hell. The hell filled with bullying and perverted gestures towards him. At first, he was oblivious to it all, until his best friend, Gilbert, explained it to him. Now thinking clealry about it, Matthew realized how overprotective his friends were. There was Gilbert Beilschmidt, who was German with pale hair and ruby red eyes that held a mischievous glint to them. Next was Ivan Braginski, an Russian with snowy white hair and dangerous yet childlike violet eyes that screamed 'you cant run from me!'. Then there was Abel "Lars" Van den Berg. He has spiky pale brown hair and hazel green eyes. They all cared deeply for the young Canadian. And Matthew cared deeply for them.

Grabbing his school bag, Matthew left his room, knowing all to well that there was no breakfast cooked for him. Leaving the house, Matthew smiled as he spotted the black convertible car parked across the street.

"Hurry up Birdie!"

"Coming!"

A/N- Hope you enjoyed!