His birthday was America's favorite day of the year. There were fireworks and pie and ice cream and all his citizens celebrating being Americans. Celebrating HIM. It was all just pure love and America loved every second of the holiday. Independence Day was tomorrow, and nothing could have made America happier; except his brother being there with him of course.
Every year America and Canada spent their birthday week together. America would drive out to Canada's house in Toronto on the twenty-ninth of June to begin celebrating his birthday and on July second they would make their way to the United States to catch the celebrations on the fourth (even though celebrations could be started any time during the start of July). But Canada wasn't there.
A surprise world meeting had been called by France on the second to discuss what appeared to be at first a serious matter, but then just turned into some kind of stupid French-stuff that America hadn't paid any attention to. He had been too busy looking for England. The Brit hadn't been anywhere in sight. America was pretty sure he had gotten so slobbering drunk somewhere he couldn't buy brandy. It would be typical for him, especially for the time of the year.
America sat up on his rooftop and overlooked the suburban neighborhood. He could almost see the entire place from up there, but he couldn't even catch a glimpse of anything that looked like Canada's car. He growled in frustration. His brother should have been back by now. He really should have come home with his big brother, but seeing as he hadn't, he was awfully late. If he didn't get to Manhattan soon he'd miss all the festivities!
The American jumped up and began pacing back and forth on top of the flat red roof of his house. Where was his brother? Probably still in Europe, judging by the fact that he hadn't stopped by. Of course, what if he was just overlooking him? America stopped dead in his tracks. Everyone did that all the time. Canada was constantly being ignored, being overlooked because he was practically invisible!
"Yo, dude? Bro? Where are you?" America asked, looking around him as if Canada was just going to magically appear. Nothing. Unless America was blind or Canada had acquired a cloak of invisibility, the younger nation was not present. With a sigh, America dropped back down on his rooftop. The summer Sun blazed down on him. It was mid-day and horribly hot, especially since the young American refused to take off the leather bomber jacket he lived in.
With a sigh he pulled a still-wrapped double cheeseburger from his pocket. Freeing it from its wrappings, he took a gigantic bite. The burger was practically bit in half by the American's huge bite.
While still in the middle of chewing his burger, his phone rang. Mr. Cellophane played from the little device in his jeans pocket, and America instantly knew it was his brother.
Swallowing quickly (and almost chocking), he answered his cell, "Hey dude! Where are you?"
"P-Paris..." Stuttered Canada's weak voice from the other end of the line. So he was still in Europe.
"Oh, did your flight get cancelled or something?" He asked, laying down on the shingles.
"No... I... I... I..." Canada choked on his words, unable to get them out. For once, America picked up on his little brother's emotions immediately.
"Woah, Woah, Mattie, what's going on dude?" He asked, eyes wide as he shot back up into a sitting position. Canada sounded like he was in some major distress.
"Well, after the meeting, I... I went home with France... and..." The younger of the siblings began to sob uncontrollably on the other end of the line.
"What did he do?" America growled. Had he left Canada alone in the streets? Had he dragged his little brother somewhere unsavory? Had he...? No, America wouldn't even consider it. If that were the case the only thing left to do was to fly out to Paris and teach that good-for-nothing Frenchie a lesson!
"He took me back to his place... and we... we... It was a mistake America! A one-time thing that will never happen again!" America could picture the tears running down his younger brother's face as the words were sobbed on the other end of the line.
"Shh, Mattie, shhh... Calm down. Did you guys... You know, do it?" He asked, already knowing the answer. Of course they'd slept together. It was France they were talking about. But, America had always thought Canada would be happier when they finally broke down and had sex. Hadn't Canada been in love with France for years now? Man how he wished he could have been the lucky one. Not with France though, England, definitely England.
"Yeah." Canada squeaked, "It was a mistake..." He whispered again.
"Do you want to come home? We're gonna have pie, and ice cream." America said, trying to stay upbeat.
"I'd like that..."
"Get a direct flight to JFK. I'll pick you up there."
"Okay... Thanks... Bye."
"Bye dude." America said as the line beeped to show that the call had been ended. It'd be hours before Canada got to the U.S. He had time to kill, but even so, he immediately ran back inside and started searching the internet. A flight left for the United States from France in about five hours. It would take six to seven hours for the flight to get in, so he had about eleven hours to wait on his brother.
After he finished his burger, America decided to nap.
.
Twelve hours later America sat in JFK international airport, waiting to pick up Canada (The flight had been delayed due to turbulence). After waiting for twenty minutes, the younger sibling came out, sniffling and seeming to melt in with the crowd. Even though America jumped to his feet and began racing towards his brother, he lost him several times before finally getting to him.
"Mattie!" He cried as he embraced his younger brother. The young Canadian looked like he had been crying the entire way back from France. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and his nose a bright red. He looked absolutely dreadful and America instantly felt horrible for his brother.
"Hello Alfred." Canada sniffled. He buried his head in America's shoulder. America rubbed Canada's back gently, trying to comfort the distraught nation.
"Let's get home." He whispered into Canada's long blonde locks. The smaller brother nodded and allowed himself to be led out of the airport. There was no need to go to the baggage claim, America reasoned, judging by the fact that Canada was wearing the same clothes he had been at the world meeting. They were just a lot dirtier and tear-stained.
.
Once they were back at America's place he shepherded his brother into the living room and sat him down on the couch. The younger nation did nothing to protest his brother leading him around.
"Do you want anything Mattie?" America asked softly, placing a hand tenderly on Canada's shoulder.
"Pancakes?" Canada's soft voice was made even softer by the gloom that smothered it. America made a mental note to kick France's ass the next time he saw him. But he nodded and walked off to the kitchen.
Luckily America had memorized Canada's favorite pancake recipe, so making the batter was a snap. Cooking the pancakes on the other hand... Well, he got pancake batter everywhere trying to flip them up in the air the way Canada did when he made them. After five pancakes wound up on the ground from America's atrocious flipping skills, he decided instead to get a spatula and flip them over that way.
So after fifteen minutes of failing at making pancakes, America came back into the living room with a short stack of four pancakes-which were all slightly burnt-and a bottle of maple syrup. Canada gave America a sad smile as he accepted the plate and bottle. The stack was quickly drowning in maple syrup and being shoved furiously into Canada's mouth. America wouldn't have pegged his brother as an emotional eater, but he sure was proving him wrong.
"Feel better?" America asked, sitting down next to his brother on the sofa. Canada nodded.
"A little." He whispered, setting down his empty plate. The younger nation sighed and laid his head on his brother's shoulder. America smiled down softly at his brother. Canada looked up at him with sad eyes.
"Come on, let's go watch fireworks." America urged, pulling his brother's arm. It was a little after midnight, and the night owls were starting their celebrating early. Even from the living room he could hear the fireworks going off.
Canada allowed himself to be led up two flights of stairs up to the roof. This is where they always watched fireworks from. Although, Canada was usually smiling and not on the verge of tears. That put a damper on things. America wished that his brother would smile again. Another mental note was quickly made to chop off France's balls for making his brother stop smiling.
The fireworks were spectacular. As they emerged from America's attic onto the roof, America's eyes were instantly filled with the multicolor rockets. He led Canada to his favorite sitting spot and sat cross-legged on the shingles. Canada laid down next to him, laying his head in his brother's lap.
"They're pretty." The younger nation commented, nuzzling his brother's outer thigh softly.
"Mhm. Always are." America agreed. He had unconsciously began to lightly stroke Canada's silky hair. His eyes were filled with the beautiful lights that were produced by the explosives his citizens let off in celebration of their freedom. Of their liberty, their independence. His birthday. Canada on the other hand was not mesmerized by the fireworks. He looked up at his brother, who responded by looking down at Canada.
The elder brother gave the younger one a smile. America knew he was often a jerk to his younger sibling, but he was caring just as often. So he comforted Canada while his heart was broke. The younger nation gave his brother a small, sad smile.
The fireworks lasted an hour, but Canada only lasted roughly twenty minutes into the displays. America smiled as his brother slept on his lap. Hopefully unconsciousness would give his mind a chance to rest and not think about France. Maybe he would have pleasant dreams. No dreams would probably be preferable. Even pleasant dreams could hurt. Heaven knew that America knew that.
Even once the fireworks were over, America sat on the roof and looked up at the stars, or watched his brother sleep. He was so cute when he slept. America sighed. Sometimes he wished that they were kids again. Everything was easier then. Plus Canada would sleep on him and depended on him more when they were little. He missed being someone's hero.
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft song coming from Canada's jeans pocket. Wondering what it meant, America reached over and removed Canada's cell phone from his pocket. He'd gotten a text. From France.
Against his better judgement (opening the text was just protecting his brother from whatever "the frog", as England would say, had to say), America opened the text. It read:
"Please, mon amour. Please answer me."
America was disgusted at how bold France was. He exited out of the text to find several unopened message notifications on the screen. Then it occurred to him that he didn't even know what France had done to break his brother's heart.
Again, America decided to snoop and opened up all the texts from France.
Most of them read things such as:
"Mon cher, why are you not answering my calls? Please talk to me."
and:
"Je t'aime, Matthew, please answer mon amour."
But one of them read:
"Mon amour? Where did you go? You did not leave, did you? Without saying good-bye?"
America gave the screen a confused look. France hadn't known that Canada had left right away? Hm, he'd assumed that Canada had walked out while the Frenchman was still with him.
He continued through the texts:
"I cannot find you. Are you hiding from me?"
Then Canada mumbled something in his sleep. It sounded something like, "No...Make him leave...I don't want to go...Francis..." Anger flashed through the American's bright blue eyes as they grew darker. How dare France have the audacity to make his brother leave for another man. Was Canada not good enough for him with his fancy accent and clothes? Did he not stand out enough to walk next to the great France?
He knew exactly why England hated France so much.
"Come out Canada, let me touch you... I know you want another kiss... Let me make love to you again...-"
America couldn't continue to read the text. His face had already gone as red as the first line of the message. Quickly he looked away. He had to look up at the starry night sky because he couldn't look at his brother after reading that. With a deep breath and a boatload of courage, America looked bak at the screen and flipped to the next message. There was the one he was looking for:
"He has left, mon amour-" How dare he call Canada "mon amour" after being with another guy! "Come back out, I'm sorry I made you hide. I got flustered when I saw England outside my door and you were in here with me-" Wait! What was England doing at France's? Outrage and dread were bubbling up in his stomach. "but he has gone now. He was drunk (as usual) and has been sent away. I don't know why he's always brought here when he's drunk out of his mind. Shouldn't they bring him to your brother? (they are dating, right?)-" France thought he was dating England! Oh happy day! America shook his head, back to the task at hand. "So you can come back out here and we can continue... If you're still up for it that is!"
So, France hadn't slept with someone else right after Canada? Wait! Did Canada think that France was choosing England over him? Not without America putting in his two cents. England was HIS. Maybe not officially, but he was still America's. But, that meant that France was probably freaking out right about now, wondering what he had done wrong to make Canada leave him. America choked back a laugh. France with love troubles, what a hoot!
But best of all that meant he had good news to tell Canada when he woke up. America looked at all the missed calls from France. There were twenty. France was sounding very desperate. That thought almost sent America into hysterics. The country of love, desperate? Priceless.
After he caught his breath from the force of holding back his laughs as not to disturb Canada's sleep, America looked down at his little brother. The younger nation was pretty lucky. The country of love was desperate for him. France could probably have just about anyone he wanted, and he was going crazy over Canada. America smiled. If France was that in love with Canada, maybe he could live with letting his little brother date him. Assuming Canada was still head-over-heels for France that was. America couldn't fathom why his brother loved France the way he always had, but if France was returning the feelings... Yay! That was the only way he knew how to say it.
"Good luck dude." He whispered to his sleeping brother. Once Canada woke up, America would tell him about the texts, but for now he'd let him sleep. The younger nation would need it for the day he would have tomorrow. America smiled down at his little brother and leaned down to kiss the side of his face.
"I love you Mattie." Laying down on the roof, he slowly fell asleep.
What an excellent way to end the worst start of a birthday ever.
A/N: This story is based off of a conversation I had with my friend on the Fourth. Instead of wishing me a happy birthday (because we text each other in character already) he decided that I had woken him up and that he was in France. So of course I played along!
So this story is for him! ^^ Yay Mattie!
( -^ . ^- )