Hetalia: Creatures Chap 1

Mythological Creatures!AU. No yaoi. FACE family-centered. Fluff with dash of angst.

Matthew, being younger and smaller than most of the other children, preferred to play by himself. Roughhousing just wasn't his favorite game –especially after one of the other calves bloodied his nose last spring with a well-placed buck of his back hooves. The young boy had other ideas of entertainment –adventure!

The purple-eyed calf clopped over to his mother and grabbed at the end of her shirt (woven herself) to get her attention when he became distracted by the Birds that flew overhead.

"Yes, Matthew?" his mother asked, bowing out of her conversation with the other cows temporarily to address her son.

Matthew's mother was beautiful, and the whole herd knew it except her. She would do her long, curly, blonde hair up and lace it with flowers and delicate vines insisting that she was having a bad hair day. She would mix just the right paint to compliment her lavender eyes, laughing at what a mess she claimed to look. The other women would just joke with her and insist kindly that she was beautiful, when, behind her back, they would stamp their hooves, envious of her effortless beauty.

Matthew was still distracted as he watched the Birds fly overhead against the gray, brooding sky even as his mother spoke, their brightly colored wings flapping to propel their human-like bodies through the air like angels.

His mother hummed happily to herself at her doe-eyed boy.

"He's always loved watching the Bird flocks. Such a curious little thing," she mused, as the other women chuckled but remained glad that their children had some sense not to occupy themselves with such frivolous pastimes.

"Just don't be gone long, dear."

Matthew's mother kissed him on the head and this jolted him back to earth. It was like his mom could read his mind or something! He smiled brightly, gave his mother a hug, and trotted away.

The young Centaur's half-siblings didn't even glance his direction as his passed by. Matthew's herd was made up of females, called cows, led by the one and only adult male in the herd, called the bull. The bull was in charge so, as well as determining herd movements, he got to father all the calves of the females in the herd. Thus Matthew, like all the other children, were half-siblings of each other and sons of the bull. It was an unusual social dynamic, but he was born into it. He was use to the concept.

However, he did dread when he would be kicked out of the herd once he was of age. He would have to challenge a bull of another herd and then take charge of that harem of females if he ever wanted to have kids. Or he could choose to fly it solo and possibly get eaten by the many predators that stalked the area. For the time being, he would just enjoy being a calf exploring the woods.

Matthew found he loved lots of things. He loved the serenity of the woods. He loved listening to the crickets tell tales in the tall grass and stamping hoof prints in the dirt. That's when he heard something he did not love.

It was the sound of something crying. Matthew's long ears perked up as he kept his four hooves very still to listen harder for the sound. He heard it once more.

His herd communicated over distance by sound just like many other species. Even though this didn't sound like a Centaur's noise, it could be important. When the cry sounded thrice, he knew it was a distress call and headed toward it.

His sensitive ears led him straight and true as he found himself staring down at a little, weeping pile of flesh and feathers. It was a tiny Bird chick. His wings were so small, merely a clump of plumages. Did he fall out of his nest?

He got closer and the baby Bird seemed to hear his hoof-steps. He rolled to face the Centaur calf and chirped desperately at him in infant tongue. He flapped his runt wings pathetically and raised his arms up for Matthew to take him. The chick's eyes were watery and wide with fright. His chest rose and fell much too quickly. He was gasping for breath as panic stole it from him.

He reached up toward Matthew with more and more urgency, calling out with louder and louder squawks the longer he was left on the ground. Though the chick could not speak, there was no doubt he would have said, "Help me! Please! I'm scared! Don't leave me! Pick me up and guard me! I don't know who you are, but I need you! Please!"

Matthew's heart broke. With effort, he folded his legs in and lay down so that he could pick up the little chick. (The curse of the Centaur was not being able to pick things up directly off the ground. Their torsos just can't bend far enough and their arms aren't long enough to compensate for the length of their stick-like, equine legs.) With the baby uneasily in his arms, he stood up, glad that the child stopped making that horrible, heart-wrenching noise.

Matthew had never held a baby before. Even when Centaur calves are born, they are never held by their mothers. That's not to say they were neglected or something terrible. Calves are born with legs that strengthen quickly so that they are able to walk on their own even a few hours after birth. Besides, calves are too big and awkward to be held. So, Matthew had truly had no idea how to hold a baby anything before. He wouldn't have even known to pick the baby up in the first place if not for the infant's obvious sign language.

Still, he wasn't sure where to hold him so he was secure and safe. He tried to avoid squishing the wings. He shifted the chick in his arms, testing out various arrangements. His biggest worry was that he would fatigue from holding the chick too long and he would slip, but a little of the chick's weight was relieved by the chick himself as he clung on to the calf's shirt like a lifeline. Little fingers that held almost no dissimilarity from his own gripped tight and sure, surprisingly strong for something so young.

He eventually opted for letting the chick lean on his collarbone and sort of hugging him. The baby seemed to like his position and relaxed into it, fidgeting around only a moment until he felt most comfortable.

The calf could now feel the fluttering heartbeat of the tiny Bird pumping wildly against his chest as he breathed rapidly. Matthew heard every breath the chick released as he exhaled near his ear through his nose, each breath becoming more and more calm as his fear was dissipating. Then the chick felt something tickle his forehead.

The Bird looked up and became temporarily distracted by the curl* of hair that sprouted off Matthew's forehead. He relinquished one hand from its death grip on the calf and batted at the foreign string of hair and fluttered his wings in excitement as it bounced back and forth. Matthew returned the favor and flicked at the little tuff of hair that popped up off a cowlick on his hairline. The baby giggled, latching on to his finger, and the tears finally stopped their spawning.

Matthew smiled, but, as he looked around, he could not find any other Birds. He looked up to see if he could find the nest he had fallen out of, but his view was blocked by dense foliage.

"Hello? Is anyone up there?"

With no response, Matthew was at a loss. Maybe the parents were out hunting? Or what if they forgot about him? Surely they would come back soon. It was going to rain by the looks of the clouds.

He gave one good sweep with his eyes of the tall trees then headed back to his herd. Surely they would know where the other Birds had gone. And, if not, they would know what to do. After all, what could just a calf know about such things?

When he approached the clearing where his herd had been grazing, he found they were not there anymore. Strange. He must have been in the woods longer than he intended. They might have moved on, but they couldn't have been more than a little ways ahead. The bull just must have decided it was time to find shelter from the obviously-approaching rain. They wouldn't just leave him.

Matthew let out a bawl. It was the type of call that Centaurs used to locate their herd. Because he was a calf, his call was the calf-version -much higher and shriller- but they would answer him. Yet, despite his ears propped up as high as they would go, he only heard one reply: the warning call.

The call was deep and desperate. Fear clenched his heart. What did it mean? Did it mean he should stay away? Or did that mean that he should hurry the heck up and catch up to them? Deciding it would be best to stay with the herd, he followed after the sound.

He kept in the direction for a good while before he let out another exhausted bawl. The baby was getting heavy in his arms, and, being smarter than the average calf, he knew the farther he got away from where he found the Bird, the less likely it was that they would be able to find where his parents were. This time, he heard no warning call. No reply at all. Well, no reply from a Centaur.

"Are you lost, poppet?"

Matthew turned toward a tree, where it shaded a blond human. He slowly started to approach, his thick eyebrows cresting unsettling green eyes.

A chill ripped its way through the young calf. He wasn't sure why, but he knew something wasn't right. He gripped the baby Bird to himself tighter as the human continued to approach.

"What's the matter?" He noticed the calf's uneasiness. "My name's Arthur. I don't bite."

Matthew tried to calm himself down. The human seemed harmless. They didn't hunt Centaur, right? Maybe Matthew just wasn't use to seeing humans this far out in the wilderness? But his mother said that the humans tended to stick to the towns and didn't usually travel alone. Everything about this seemed wrong. Never more did he wish he was back with the herd where he could rely on a hundred others' experiences, and he could hide behind his mother's legs.

"When I'm in my Second form, that is."

That's when Matthew saw him shift. He crouched down as light yellow fur rippled over him, adding a tail to the end and fangs to the front. This human was no human at all. He was a Werecat. Unlike humans, Werecats very regularly hunted Centaur. The calf's purple eyes widened as he slowly backed away.

"M-mom!" His voice stuttered as panic began to constrict his heart.

The cat, now showing no resemblance of human features, rolled his back, accenting sharp, powerful shoulder blades, snarled, and leapt toward Matthew. The calf turned, hooves scraping desperately for traction against the ground, and galloped as fast as he could.

"Mom! Help me! MOM!"

He didn't know where he was going, but he was doing anything he could to get away from the Werecat. The Bird chick started to cry as he sensed danger he didn't understand and because Matthew's grip on him was as unforgiving as iron, crushing him slightly.

The fully-grown Werecat was gaining fast on the Centaur calf. Matthew only barely kept out of reach. That was, until he found himself trapped at a wall of rock with nowhere to run.

The calf didn't turn around but collapsed to the ground. He covered the small infant with his own flesh, the only way he knew he could protect the chick, as he braced for the end.

He felt pain, sure. But it wasn't nearly the intensity of what he'd thought it would be. In fact, he wondered if the Werecat even broke skin.

Matthew brought himself out of his hunched-over position to see that the Werecat was now in his human form again and using his dull, human teeth to bite Matthew's side instead of his canines. It was more like a pinch than a bite, really.

If it were not so serious, he would have laughed.

The Werecat opened his eyes, releasing Matthew, and looked at himself, noticing hands instead of paws. Getting red from embarrassment, he stomped off raving at the heavens.

"Blast it! Blast it all! Why does this always happen?!"

He kicked at the sticks on the ground and picked up a few rocks to chuck as far as he could in his anger.

"A-are you alright?" Matthew said, trembling and panting, working hard to keep his heart in the chest cavity where it belonged.

"Don't patronize me! I'm perfectly fine! Just peachy!" He yelled as he ran a frustrated hand through his wild hair.

The Werecat threw himself to the ground and closed his eyes to concentrate.

"Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on! Come! On!"

When nothing happened, he simply gave up and flopped to the ground on his belly. Matthew stared at him.

"Momma, why do they try to kill us?" He gripped her hand like it was the only thing keeping him from evaporating into a poof of fear. "Why are they so evil?"

Matthew's mother held him close as she ushered him down to sit by her on the soft grass. The bull moose was making the rounds to make sure everyone else was alright. They would be safe for now.

Matthew wiped his tears on his sleeve and sniffled some more. She pulled him into an embrace, shushing him comfortingly and urged his heart to calm.

"Matthew, listen to me. No one is evil. Everyone has good in them."

"But they killed Alfred**."

"Baby, you misunderstand. Why do you graze on the foliage? Why do you eat plants?"

"So I can grow up to be big and strong just like you always say."

"Exactly. Those Wolves that attacked our herd probably had little ones too. Some of them might not be much younger than you. Do you think they should have the right to grow up big and strong too?"

"…Yeah."

"Of course. It is sad that not everyone can eat plants like us, but that's the way they were made. It is sad that they killed Alfred. He was a good friend to you, and a wonderful, young calf. We will all mourn for him. But that does not mean that those Wolves were evil."

"They were just…trying to live?"

"And more importantly they are other living creatures with hopes and problems and loves and families –just like you and just like me. Never forget that."

"Are you s-sure you don't need help?" Matthew asked, remembering his mother's kind instructions.

"Leave me alone." Arthur's voice was muffled from his mouth being smooshed into the ground pathetically. Then he turned his head so it still rested on the ground and he could see the Centaur.

"Why the heck do you have a Bird chick with you?"

Matthew looked down at his hooves.

"I-I found him in the woods. I was going to try to find his flock 'cause that's what a big brother would do, eh?"

Arthur's thick eyebrows furrowed.

"I've always wanted a blood brother," Matthew continued, "but, in the herd, all I have are half-siblings. So, I figured, what's the difference with this guy? I can still be his older brother and bring him back to his mommy and daddy. I'm sure they miss him."

Arthur drew himself up and sat with his legs and arms crossed.

"Well, I doubt you'll find the flock, and I doubt even more that its parents are missing it," Arthur snorted.

"What?" Matthew's jaw dropped. "How could you say that?"

"Don't look at me like that, lad. I'm just speaking from what I know. It's probably hard for you to understand. Centaur are very protective of their young. The Birds, however, are not as caring. They're a rather cruel race really."

He rose to his feet and walked closer to Matthew who, still having nowhere to flee, shuffled to press himself farther into the rock side. Yet, the Werecat made no move to harm either of them. Rather, he continued talking as he looked them both over.

"When Bird eggs are hatched, the bigger chick will often push the smaller chick out of the nest in order to get their full parents' attention and food. Or, he could have just tumbled out himself. Either way, the parents treat it like survival of the fittest and don't give a care in the world about a chick that falls from the nest. Frankly, all they're good for is a quick snack."

Matthew's eyes started to water with pity for the poor baby Bird. He couldn't fathom what he would do, would happen to him if his mother just abandoned him.

That's when the clouds decided that that exact moment would be the perfect time to release the rains.

"Of course." Arthur flung his arms out in exasperation. "Just as I thought the day couldn't get any worse!"

The Werecat wrapped his arms around himself and headed off without so much as a goodbye. Matthew gathered the chick up and found Arthur was retreating to a cave in a part of the cliff face farther down. Seeing as he had little other choice, he followed him inside -trying to be brave.

Arthur wasn't too happy to hear the clip-clop of little Centaur hooves on the floor of his den. He cursed himself.

"You've mocked me enough! Why are you here? What do you think you're doing? Get out!"

The calf tried not to let his voice tremble but it was difficult as he explained, "My name's Matthew, and, um, I need to get Alfred out of the rain. And since you seem to have…trouble transforming, I figured you wouldn't be able to prevent us- well, that you would be gracious enough to allow us- to stay…here? Just until the storm passes?" His voice decrescendo-ed into a mere whisper by the end.

"Don't mistake my speech as kindness, boy. I just didn't want you to have any false hope about finding that chick's parents. You're awfully hard to demoralize though –wait." Arthur snapped his head toward him and frowned. "Did you just name it?"

Matthew blushed and couldn't meet his eyes. "Y-yeah."

He couldn't very well call the little Bird "baby" forever.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I can still kill you both in this form."

"But it would be rather hard to eat us, eh?"

"I-I can still make you go back into the storm!"

Then Matthew folded his legs in and lay down on the cold, stone floor of the cave. He smiled challengingly.

The Werecat gritted his teeth and marched over. Kneeling down he tried to shove the calf out, but he only barely budged. He tried again, using his shoulder this time, but only succeeded in making himself look like an idiot the way his feet were sliding on the ground, having no traction on the damp cave floor.

Arthur eventually gave up, surrendering to the fact that his Second form's strength just couldn't move the much bigger and heavier Centaur calf.

"You know what? I can just wait until you're asleep. Surely by then I'll be able to turn back into my First form and eat you." He wiped his hands off on his pants and retreated to the back of the cave matter-of-factly.

Matthew shrugged as Alfred gurgled into his shirt, gnawing on the collar.

"I just won't sleep then."

Arthur looked toward the foolish calf and Matthew thought he saw a prick of emotion, but he turned around in a huff to pace angrily around the cave.

A good fifteen minutes passed. The time was spent by Arthur flip-flopping between trying to transform and wearing a path through the cave floor with his angry pacing.

"I'm off to hunt. Just because you're a calf, I'll let you have this one chance. If you're not out of this cave by the time I get back, I'm eating you there and then," Arthur blurted eventually.

Then the Werecat stalked out, despite the fact it was still raining.

Matthew waved him off, angelic smirk ever-present, as he settled himself into the floor of the funny Werecat's cave. He had absolutely no intention of moving.