Final Message

Toying with a lock of hair, Francis didn't know what to say to the man on the other side of the phone. What could he say? What did one say to a man that just lost a younger brother? Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he was sure Allistor heard it because suddenly he said:

"Alfred didn't find him, okay? He was with busy playin' with Peter an' then Conor-"

Francis didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to know how his ex had been found. He was angry enough as it was, furious that Arthur did it while Alfred and Peter were in the house and to even begin to imagine the idea that his little Matthieu's brother could have found his father like that was just sickening and oh mon dieu why'd Arthur have to do that?

"It's alright," Francis broke in. "Would you like me to come and get them?"

There was a heavy sigh and he was sure that his ex's brother was rubbing a hand on his stubbly cheek. "We got 'em, ya don't have ta worry. Come along t'morrow, the day after if ya an' Mattie need a day. The lads are okay right now."

"The boys, they do know, don't they?"

Allistor's voice wasn't even a whisper as he breathed "Yeah, yeah they do. The lads don't understand, but they know."

"I'll see you tomorrow Allistor," Francis finished before clicking end call.

Dropping his cellphone on the table, Francis threw his head back and stared up at the white ceiling of his kitchen. Arthur. Oh dear, dear, sweet, sad, strange little Arthur...He'd loved him. Even after the divorce, Francis loved him - how couldn't he? Such an ethereal man he'd been, so fetching with his cutting forrest eyes and poet's tongue...

He gave a little laugh that turned into a cry and soon, Francis had the heel of his hand pressed to his lips; muffling his keening sobs. Mon dieu! He'd never wanted Arthur dead!

"Why Arthur!? Why mon lapin! What drove you to it? Did you not love our boys!?"

Curling in on himself, Francis sobbed so long he fell asleep in the kitchen.

A few hours later, the sound of a child's wail stirred the man out of his sleep. Lifting his head from the kitchen table, he crinkled his nose at the feeling of dried drool on his cheek and pushed his protesting bones up as he headed down the hall to Matthieu's room. Why his ange was crying was unknown to him, but he'd be damned if he ignored it.

Walking into his little boy's blue room decorated with crayon drawings of polar bears and hockey team posters, Francis saw the child sitting in the mess of his twisted blankets. But unlike usual, Matthieu's tears were flooding from his eyes and the wails that left his mouth were loud and aching. It was so very strange to see his usually quiet and contained son cry like-like-Arthur did - had.

Loud and heavy, uncaring of who heard him.

"Don't you know no one likes a messy crier?"

"You mean people actually care how you cry?"

Oh Arthur, Francis lamented, how often had people ignored your tears?

Crouching beside his hiccuping ange, Francis put a hand on the child's frail back.

"Matthieu? What's wrong?"

The boy's hands moved from his eyes and the look he gave Francis was so full of devastation and loathing he knew this couldn't be his little boy. Not his Matthieu.

Doing the best to stop his crying, the child said: "I-I didn't want t-to die! I just w-wanted to stop hurting for a li-little w-while! I'm s-sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Francis! T-tell them I'm s-sorry, okay? T-Tell them!"

And with that, his ange's eyes rolled back and he fell backwards onto his bed. Fast asleep. Looking at the red, tear-stained face Francis wondered if he was in a dream. He reached out and touched his son's hot face. It was too solid. Too warm. This was real.

His son had just...had Arthur possessed their Matthieu? Had his ex just used his little boy as a conduit! Mon dieu! Stroking the curly blond locks of his six-year-old, Francis leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the boy's lips for both his son and for his ex.

Re-arranging the blankets around his little boy's body, Francis whispered "Sleep well, mon ange." And got up to go to his own bed. There, he drifted into an easy, exhausted sleep.

Picking Alfred up, he put the seven-year-old on his lap and hugged him close. The boy curled against his chest for a little while before wriggling back so Francis had to look down and meet his bastille blue eyes.

"Why'd Arthur leave us, Francis? Did he not want us no more?"

Hugging his son close, he bit back the urge to curse his ex and instead told the child just what Arthur told him the night before. "Arthur was 'urting, mon chou, and 'e only wanted to stop 'urting for a little while...but Arthur made a mistake and 'e's very sorry that 'e did so, okay? Your father didn't mean to leave you."

Fiddling with his other dad's shirt, Alfred asked "How d'you know, Francis?"

"It's just a feeling, mon chou, Arthur loved you, Matthieu and Peter more than the sun and moon combined."

Sniffling just a little, the child buried his face in Francis's neck and whimpered "'kay, I believe you."

Francis breathed a sigh of relief and hoped wherever his ex was now, he was happy.

It's getting closer to Halloween! I don't quite view this was scary, but I'd say it's rather creepy, wouldn't you? Yes? No?

Thanks for reading and please review!

Characters:

Francis-France

Allistor-Scotland

Arthur-England

Conor-N. Ireland

Matthieu-Canada

Alfred-America

Peter-Sealand

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