2P!FrancexMother!Reader with Child!2P!America and Child!2P!Canada
You sighed as your seven year old son hurtled into the kitchen, clutching his face. Again.
Alfred's tanned face was streaked with tears and a rather large bruise covered his forehead. His bottom lip was trembling and he glared at the floor, most likely was trying not cry.
"What happened Alfred?"
You knelt to his level, gently pulling his hand away from his face. His left cheek was swollen and a trickled of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.
You stared, feeling your anger rise inside you.
Which dumb ass, son of a bitch had hit your child?
Alfred was breathing heavily, his nostrils flared slightly as he held back tears.
"Open your mouth Al."
He shook his head, trying to pull away. You pursed your lips and his shoulders slummed.
Slowly he opened his mouth slightly, wincing. A few tears slid down his cheek.
The inside of Alfred's mouth was a bloody mess. You noticed immediately that the source of the bleeding was a missing tooth. One of his Adult teeth.
Your anger flared even more.
"Who did this?"
Alfred looked at the ground, tugging on a lock of his messy brown hair. You sighed, stroking his hair reassuringly.
"You're not in trouble Alfred."
He looked up, swiping his eyes roughly with the back of his hand.
Matthew. He was one of the students in Alfred's class. He was aslo always picking fights with Alfred.
"Come on." You picked him up and sat him on the kitchen counter. After cleaning his mouth and cheek, you turned towards the shelf where you kept the phone book.
Flipping through it, you stopped in the B's
Going down the list, you muttered angrily under your breath. Alfred watched, poking at the new hole in his mouth with his tongue.
Finally your finger landed on Bonnefoy. The last name of Matthew's guardian.
Grabbing the phone, you stabbed your fin ger on the correct numbers, your mind spinning with anger.
The phone rang.......and rang......and rang.
You waited, chewing on your lower lip. Alfred watched, rubbing his cheek.
"What?" Someone had finally picked up, rather rudely. Judging by the whiny quality of the voice, It was Matthew, the little Twerp who had socked your child.
"Hello Matthew, Is your father home?" Is he also awake, sober and not "Dealing" with a whore? You added the last part silently.
When you though how his father acted, you actually felt bad for Matthew. It wasn't the kind of environment a child should be raised in.
"Um, Yeah." Matthew sounded bored. You rolled your eyes.
"Can I talk to him?"
Matthew grunted a yes and soon you were talking with his father.
The man grunted and you heard him take a drag of one of the awful cigarettes he was always smoking.
"You son punched Alfred."
Silence. You felt your anger rise. Next to you Alfred was rubbing his bruised cheek.
"Alfred lost a tooth, an ADULT tooth."
Francis sighed, "What do you want me to do? Buy 'im a new one?"
"NO! I want you to teach your son that fighting is wrong!!"
"It's not wrong, it's just somzing zat men do." His hoarse accented voice sent chills down your spine.
"MEN, not seven year old Boys!!" You nearly shrieked the last word.
Francis sighed, sounding pissed off. You refrained from growling into the phone.
"Listen Miss _____. I 'ave to go."
"WHAT? No You-" You let out a frustrated growl as you heard a click of the phone being slammed down.
"What Alfie?" You patted his head absentmindedly.
You looked down and raised an eyebrow at him.
"I punched Matthew first."
Your other eyebrow shot up. You turned and gave your full attention to the boy. Alfred looked panicked.
"He said something really fucking dirty about you!!"
Your eyebrows shot down into a frown. "What do you mean?"
"He repeated something his Dad had said!"
"Which was?" You felt your left eye twitch.
Alfred's face turned red and he looked at the ground. "I don't wanna repeat it."
Ho-boy. If Alfred, the kid who had the dirtiest mouth on the planet, didn't want to repeat it. That meant it was bad, really, really bad.
"I am going over there to find out."
Alfred's eyes widened, then a little grin crossed his face. "Are you going to kill him Mommy?"
You grabbed his hand and started for the door. "Maybe Alfred, maybe."
When you pulled into the driveway of Francis's house you scowled. Matthew was sitting on the front steps, head in his hands, watching his feet.
You got out, stomping up to the front door. Alfred followed slowly, looking nervously at Matthew.
"Hi Matthew." The child looked up at you, and scowled. You ignored that, your heart tightening at the sight of his appearance. His hair was messy and tangled and there were large bags under his eyes.
"Is your father home?"
"Will he be home soon?"
You sighed and Alfred looked up at you questioningly. Matthew's stomach growled and he blushed.
"You wanna come home with me and get something to eat?"
Matthew looked up an nodded, his stomach whining slightly. You took his hand, leaning him to the car.
You watched as Matthew ate his fourth sandwich. Alfred chewed slowly, still on his first sandwich, wincing when a piece touched his tender gum.
You leaned back, sighing slightly. Matthew looked up, wiped his mouth on his sleeve and burped.
You nodded, clearing his plate away. Matthew watched Alfred as he ate. Alfred stuck out his tongue.
"Where is your Father Matthew?"
The boy snorted, looking far more serious than a seven year old should.
"Who knows? Could be passed out at a bar or he could be leaving a Brothel."
You raised an eyebrow. Poor kid was growing up too fast.
Alfred coughed, slapping his chest. You slapped his back a few times and he stopped. Matthew rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Well you can stay until he comes and gets you."
Matthew nodded and muttered a thanks.
Both Alfred ad Matthew were asleep on the couch. You draped a blanket over them, smiling slightly.
Your smile dropped as a someone rapped loudly on the front door.
Opening it, you scowled at the man in front of you. He scowled back, his pale blonde hair brushing against his jaw.
"You 'ave Mazew?"
"Yes." You glared up at him. He sneered and shoved past you. Before he could reach the living room, you grabbed his arm.
"They're sleeping." You hissed. He rolled his eyes, yanking his arm away from you. You grabbed his arm again and tugged him into the Dining room, closing the door behind you.
He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.
"What kind of Father are you?!" You whisper yelled, scowling at him. His eyebrow arched even higher.
"I zink ze way I choose to raise my child is none of your business." Francis snorted.
You crossed your arms and stood at your full height. (You were still shorter then him.)
"It's my business when I find him sitting outside, stomach growling with hunger."
Francis scowled, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a cigarette. You snatched it away before he could place between his lips.
"No smoking!! Smoke damages the tissue of lungs!! Especially in small children."
He rolled his eyes again, grumbling in french. Stowing the cigarette cartoon back in his pocket, he glared at you. You glared back, trying to remember the reason you wanted to yell at him.
"You're ze girl Oliver knocked up, aren't you?"
You flinched at the name of your ex and nodded. Francis gave you a pitying look, rubbing his lips with a finger tip.
" 'E just left?"
"How is that any of your business?" You snapped. Francis shrugged, still staring at you. You looked away, chewing on a thumbnail. He reached out an gently pulled your hand away from your mouth.
"Zank you for feeding Mazew." He patted your shoulder awkwardly. You nodded, blushing slightly.
Huh, he was the first man who had ever made you blush besides Oliver.
You followed him into the living room. Francis picked up Matthew, nodded at you and left.
You stared after him, chewing on your thumbnail again.
Alfred blinked sleepily up at you, a little line of drool smeared across his cheek.
"Are you okay Mommy?"
"I'm fine." You muttered, still chewing your thumbnail. Alfred frowned slightly.
"But your chewing your thumb nail. You only do that when your worried."
"I'm not honey." You ruffled his hair, he smiled, showing the gap in his smile.
A lie. Because you were worried. Worried that you might fall in love with the irritable Frenchman.