Hey guys! So this fic is basically about Hetalia's F.A.C.E family or France, America, Canada and England: Francis, Alfred, Matthew, and Arthur (if you didn't know). I've had this fic idea in my head for a while and started writing this a long while ago, too. I don't know why, but I'm sort of obsessed with this outrageous family. I especially adore fics or versions of this family when Alfred (America) is the target for Arthur's (England) pent up anger and frustration and he ends up getting abused. Not sure of the rating completely, but I'll keep it T.

Hope you guys like it!

"Hey, Dad . . ." Alfred walked up towards Arthur and sat down next to him at the dinner table.

"Yes, love?" Arthur folded his English newspaper in half to look at his son who oddly fidgeted in his seat. "Yes?"

"Can I go over to Kiku's place? I heard he has a new game!"

Arthur mentally slapped his forehead. 'Why did I raise such an unproductive son?' he asked himself.

"Did you finish all of your homework?" the father asked.

"Yaha," Alfred answered. "It's funny, too, because French wasn't that hard, neither was Spanish."

"Alfred, of course you'd do well in French class, your father's French for crying out loud!" Arthur exclaimed, vexed. Alfred smiled as he heard the reference to his papa. "Did you play with Matthew?" Alfred nodded. He sighed.

"Over four times already!"

"Okay, you can go."

"Thanks Dad!" Alfred squeezed his father in a hug, which he knew the man for keeping boundaries, and ran out of the house with his car keys.

"God save the Queen, for my seventeen-year-old is crazy," Arthur sighed to himself.

Alfred knocked loudly on his friend's door. The Japanese teen opened the door reluctantly and stared at his American friend.

"You came . . ."

"Of course!" Alfred allowed himself in, taking off his shoes before stepping officially in the house.

"Alfred-san, I still have work to do. We can't play yet," Kiku said quietly. Alfred sighed and wrapped his arm around his friend's neck.

"Then I'll help ya! C'mon," the megane-wearing teen dragged his friend up to Kiku's bedroom, already knowing the way to go, having been here many times. "You'll get it done and then we'll play! 'Kay?" Kiku nodded.

"Mattie?" Arthur popped his head into his son's bedroom. His teenage boy was busy reading a Shakespeare's novel. The boy looked up from his page at his father.

"Yes, Dad?" Mattie asked.

"You think you can set the table for dinner?" Arthur asked. Matthew nodded and placed his bookmark along his page, closing the book and heading out of his room.

Arthur continued his cooking by the stove, following the cookbook instructions because his cooking was horrible. Arthur turned his head slightly to glance at his son setting down four plates and silverware and napkins and cups.

"Hey, Matthew, do you think you can pick up your brother?" Arthur asked.

"Didn't he just leave a while ago?"

"Still, it's suppertime. He knows not to be late, but you know how he is," Arthur said.

Just then, they heard the front door click open until it closed again.

"Bonjour, mes amours," the Frenchman greeted, walking into the kitchen, draping his jacket over one of the chairs at the dining table.

"Bonjour, Papa," Matthew said, giving his father a welcoming hug.

"How was work?" Arthur asked his husband. He started placing the food on the dishes on the table.

He decided to make crumpets with spaghetti since he found that he was in the mood and prepared to make that even though the combination was out of place.

"Dad, what should I pour for drinks?" Matthew asked as he watched his father sit across from his papa.

"I'll 'ave wine, my dear Matthew," his papa said. Matthew nodded, getting the cold red wine from the bottom of the fridge.

"Can you fix me some Earl Grey?" Arthur asked. The teen nodded, happy to help his parents. Matthew decided he'd just drink chocolate milk. He knew his brother would like to have a coke, so he filled up his glass.

Speaking of his brother, loud laughter was heard from outside through the window. Arthur sighed along with Francis.

Alfred stomped into his house, leaving loud farewells to his friends. He trudged up to the kitchen and smiled.

"Hey! What's up, Papa!" Alfred wrapped his arm around his papa's neck and pecked a kiss on his slightly bearded face.

"You as well, Alfred . . . What are you smelling like?" his French father asked. Alfred hiccupped slightly but covered it with a burp. The seventeen-year-old stumbled into his seat next to his brother.

"Ooh! Dad, whatcha cook?" Alfred asked looking at his plate. Arthur glared at his son but answered anyway.

"Crumpets and spaghetti, lad." Alfred giggled.

"Cool."

"Boy . . . You didn't answer your father's question." Alfred looked up from slurping his spaghetti. He looked towards his father to his papa. He glanced quickly at Matthew.

"W-What was the question?"" he asked.

"Alfred, mon fils, were you drinking?" his papa asked. His voice was calm but worried. His dad on the other hand, seemed pissed. Again. Alfred knew he couldn't lie.

"Y-Yes . . ."

"What were you drinking, Alfred?" Arthur asked. The Englishman was fuming slowly, eating his food just as slow.

"Uh . . . Hennessy . . . Bud Light . . . somethin'. I don't know."

"You have the nerve . . . Coming into this house drunk! It's one thing if it's your father, but you are seventeen!" his father yelled. Alfred flinched.

"Dad, you're so loud."

Matthew gulped as he stared around the dinner table. 'Al screwed up again . . .' he thought to himself. He noticed that Alfred's leg was shaking beneath the table. He did that when he was nervous. He also ate quickly when he was nervous. Matthew watched as Arthur narrowed his eyes down at his brother. Arthur nodded his head at Alfred.

"Where'd you get that bruise?" Arthur was referring to the large black and blue bruise on Alfred's neck. It was very visible, but Alfred usually kept it hidden by his large jacket. Alfred gulped.

"Uh . . . I was in a fight . . . with one of my friends . . ." the teen answered quietly, hesitantly.

Arthur finished his meal abruptly before leaving the dinner table.

Everyone else was quiet. No one said anything. Everyone knew that Alfred was lying.

Whenever Arthur got drunk, being the angry man that he is, he always took his anger out on the teenager. He'd have a horrible hangover afterwards and wouldn't remember a thing.

Matthew heard small sniffling coming from his brother. Matthew looked up from his glasses and watched as his brother slowly got up and gathered the dishes.

"I'll, uh, I'll do the dishes tonight," he said quietly. Matthew glanced at his papa who kept his eyes on his brother. His papa stood and kissed his brother goodnight. Papa looked at him, his eyes telling him to take care of his brother, but he already knew that.

"Hey, Al, you need any help?" Matthew asked, standing next to his brother who began to soak the dishes. Alfred shook his head.

"No thanks, Mattie."

"Today's Friday, why don't we stay up and watch scary movies?" Matthew suggested.

"I'm intoxicated, bro. I'll pass out sooner or later," Alfred slurred.

"Then let me know before you do. I'll help ya to bed." Alfred sighed. He turned around, giving his little brother a kiss on his forehead and then continued doing the dishes.

"Thanks, Mattie, but I'm fine. Go read your book or something." Matthew nodded.

"Good idea, big brother." Matthew ran upstairs, grabbed his Shakespeare book, and flew down the stairs. He sat at his seat at the dining table and began reading.

Alfred snorted. He smirked at his brother. "Don't shove my words back at my face, man. That's so not cool." Matthew chuckled. He read while also keeping a close eye on his brother.

A half hour later, Matthew led his brother to his bedroom before the seventeen-year-old fell on his bed, passed out.

"Mon cher, you are too hard on the boy," Francis said, laying close next to his husband.

"He needs to learn better. Drinking? I can't believe this!"

"Mon amour . . . you give Alfred a hard time," Francis continued.

"What do you mean, Frog?" Francis sighed.

"To eh . . . To be honest, Arthur, this wasn't the first time our son came home drunk . . ."

"What did you just say?"

"You hurt him, love. He's told me before. He didn't have a choice but to drink away the pain. You know I do that sometimes, as well, oui?" Francis looked at his lover and waited for his response.

"Stupid git! When have I ever hurt him?!"

"When you're drunk, mon amour. You can't control it . . . though you get worse when you're sober."

The Englishman seethed at his husband. "This makes no sense."

"Our boy has never been in a fight with his friends. Sure, they play roughly, but he was never bruised. Only you did that to him."

"Why would I choke my lad?" Arthur asked his French husband. He ran his hands through his sandy, blond hair.

Francis sighed. "Well, Alfred thinks that you, eh . . . hate him."

"Impossible."

"Why do you think he talks less now? He thinks that if he says the wrong thing, you'll beat on him again."

"I . . . I have to go say something." Arthur got up but was stopped by Francis's grip on his wrist.

"Let him be. He's probably asleep from all that he's drunken." Arthur nodded slowly. He sat back down and lay next to Francis.

"How can I hurt my boy like that?" Arthur asked himself. His heart was hurting from heartache.

"Mon amour, je t'aime." Francis kissed the Brit goodnight.

I hope you guys liked this F.A.C.E. Family fic! I've been having major writer's block on my other stories, but I've been working on this kind of story for a while now. So tell me what you think. Please favorite, follow, and review!