His Little Boy

A Hetalia fanfiction

By RishiAndSquee

France loved many things. He loved women, wine, loving, and many things in between.

However, he loved one thing much, much more then any of that.

He loved his little boy.

"Fwanshish!"

France opened his eyes to the sound of his name being called. He put his hand to his forehead and pressed it against his temples, trying to push away the grogginess that always came with being woken up far too early.

Still, the tiny voice called his name, and France realized that there was a heavy weight on his chest. He blinked his eyes, getting rid of the sleepiness, to find a pouting, baby boy.

His boy. Mattieu.

"Fwanshish, time t' wake up!" Mattieu whined, tugging on France's wavy blond locks. "Fwanshish, c'mon! Wake up, wake up!"

France felt a smile creeping on his face. He sat up, the boy tumbling off his chest and into his lap. The older man picked up the baby and, with a small laugh, pulled him under the blanket, ignoring Mattieu's cries of protest. His hands flew all over the blond child, tickling him. Mattieu squealed, kicking his legs, trying hard to complain, but could not stop laughing.

Yes, this was his boy. England had Alfred, and France had his Mattieu.

It had been strange. Soon after Alfred had chosen the Brit over himself—though France could not for the life of him figure out why—France had stumbled upon this baby boy in the wilderness far to the north. He had immediatly snatched the new nation, claiming him for himself. He had watched England's mouth drop in surprise and eventual protest, but Mattieu was his. England could not take him away.

"Fwa—-stop!" Mattieu laughed, pushing France's hands away. Sighing with content, France sat up, pulling the covers away. Mattieu sat up, his violet colored iris pouting. "Fwanshish, c'mon, wake up time. I'm hungry."

France laughed. "Ah, so that is what you woke me up for, mon petite."

"Oui." Mattieu replied, in French—which was what he was currently teaching the child—standing on the bed and jumping, giggling as he landed into the soft mattress.

"What would you like, mon petite Mattieu? Big brother France will make you whatever you wish." France picked up Mattieu before the boy could fall asleep in the comftorable ticket to dreamland. Mattieu let out a whine in protest, but did not struggle as France cradled him in his arms.

"Wan' hotcakes."

"Hotcakes? Ah, Mattieu, you have such fine tastes."

"Mmm. Cos' Big Brother Fwansh makes the best hotcakes ever!" Mattieu grinned, then threw his arms around France's chest, giving him a tight squeeze. France's heart was nearly bursting with love—love for the child, for this new world, for his skill in making the breakfast treat that Mattieu held so dear.

But most of all, for this chance of being the older brother he had never had.

~end~