Author's Note: An angsty little fic I decided to polish up and publish. Enjoy. :3

Previously thought of as a worthless icebox, Alaska had little purpose, other than a land gain by the United States. It had been settled between the US and Canada, still under the colonial rule of the British Empire, that the boundary between the territories would be left somewhat unspecified. However, in 1897, plentiful deposits of gold were discovered in the rich land, and both Americans and Canadians migrated to the northern land to gamble fortune on what they could claim. After claims of border conflict, including harassment charges between the differing citizens, a string of unsuccessful attempts to solve the border dispute and layout of ports came about in meetings between the countries. Nothing was truly accomplished until the British intervened and offered their aid as a third party, however, Canadians were horrified to find that the British sided with the Americans on the dispute and left many of the Canadians feeling hurt and betrayed.

He had kept his mouth shut for so long. Bottled up every urge to yell and shout and scream. He had played the role he was supposed to, well in fact, but that still didn't change a damn thing.

And he was sick of it.

This wasn't about the border dispute, this wasn't about his brother being the greedy shit that he was, this wasn't about even loosing all that fucking gold that his people could have claimed. No, this was about who was the one who chose to side with his brother over himself. He, who was no longer in charge of America. He, who claimed that he hated the boy. He, who forced him to fight with him against America twice just to be made heartbroken twice. He, who claimed that he was all he had left now.

England.

What a fucking joke that was.

He sat by himself in his little cozy room, on his warm bed, before the dying fire. Yet with all this comfortable warmth, Canada was a combination of frozen ice and a blazing flame within. His fists were clenched on his lap, his teeth were bared menacingly, his glasses set aside on the bedside table. He was loosing his control.

Canada had an incredible sense of control, oftentimes his Papa had wondered where it came from. If he was upset or displeased, he wouldn't make a fuss of it. He would simply sort it out on his own or let the matter go. That's what he did best, some would say. But, eventually, everyone reaches their breaking point.

He just couldn't believe it, after everything that had happened to the once beautiful little family that he was a part of. Canada was able to let go of his anger for a moment in order to recall the earliest memories of the family he had loved so much. The two brothers, himself and America, and the parents who had raised them, England and France. Sure, it wasn't all that peaceful, considering that his parents were both disdainful of one another for the longest time, and for the most part were warring as he aged, but those two and his brother were his family. He still considered France as his Papa even after he was no longer able to care for him, and was forced to give him up to England. He still considered America his brother after they had to fight during the Seven Years War, and even after America had conjured up a revolution against their father-figure. He still considered England his Father after all the unfairness and efforts that had been wasted towards him.

He just wanted the way England treated him to be affected by no outside sources. His problem was that the Empire had standards that could not be released, and those standards were harsh against him. Canada frankly didn't care that he was still under England's rule, he loved him still as family. But, he could not hope to impress him, or even remotely help him without running into an obstacle that England had set up for someone else.

After the American Revolution, especially, was when he felt this kind of hurt the first time. Before, England had been happy (too happy in France's opinion - as he had never seen that side of the country before they started taking care of the twins). The four of them, though France would oftentimes seem to be merely a visitor, lived together in the house and England gave both boys enough of his attention to satisfy them. Canada had assumed from this that England loved both twins equally, but he couldn't have been more wrong.

When America grew rebellious and defiant, England's happiness grew strained. His energy was devoted to keeping America in his place, instead of taking care of both of them. Canada didn't receive as much attention anymore, and even when he did have his time, England was moody and rude - just about as scornful to him as he was to America. When the actual revolution came, Canada had felt hurt that his brother would betray his family, and that France had taken America's side against England...but more so about realizing how little of importance he truly was.

A couple nights after the final surrender and the treaty was signed and dealt with, England had been shut up in his study once again, probably brooding or crying or dealing with his grief in some way. Canada didn't think that he should be doing anything other than comforting his caretaker. He understood why he grieved, one of his sons had betrayed him. So, Canada put on a pot of England's favorite tea and gathered up some of the scones and biscuits that were leftover from dinner two nights ago, Canada had dined alone that night, and headed down towards England's study. After setting down the tea and pastries, Canada had offered to get him anything else or do anything for him, to which earned him a cold response: "I don't need your pity! Stay away from me! Get out!" It had hurt, but Canada let it all go. He felt that England would take a while to recover from it, so it would be best if he just left him alone, as he had said.

However, England didn't ever treat him with genuine happiness ever again. He ignored Canada's offers to comfort him and help him move on, which led to another war. It had been ugly to watch England throw himself back into shame and misery once again, but there was nothing he could do for the man. England alienated him, kept him at a distance, as if he would never be good enough.

Good enough, that phrase made Canada sink his teeth into his lower lip. It was true. Nothing Canada ever did was good enough for England. His favorite child had let him down, so he was now stuck with the other one. One that looked like him, but could never be him. Canada sometimes wondered if it hurt England to even look at him in the face.

He had called England to meet in his room awhile ago, and the man had the nerve to look confused and ask "why?". It felt as if he was playing blind on purpose to infuriate his colony.

Refused of any details, England merely sighed with a weary, "I'll be there in a little while."

So, Canada was left to wait for a while, so he was a little more than irritated whenever England finally came in the room.

"I have a lot of work to do, you know-" the older country said, as if this was an inconvenience.

Canada wasn't having it, barking, "Can't you spare some time to talk to your son?" Surprised by the sudden flash of temper, England's eyes widened, and whatever he was planning to say back died on his tongue. "You never give me any time anymore," Canada continued, then scowled angrily, "Well, actually, it's been that way ever since that war, right?"

He knew what he was talking about, and that made England snap in defense, "Watch your tone with me, boy! Don't you ever mention that to me again!"

"Oh, why shouldn't I? Because you'll break down and cry again like a child?!"

"What the hell's gotten into you?! I don't have time for this-!"

"Shut up! That's all you've done ever since 1776! You've just ignored me and pushed me aside, unless you were ordering me around! You've done that ever since that damn revolution!"

"I said to not mention that again!"

"Why not?! It's not fair, dammit!"

"What...?"

"I've done every fucking thing I could do, but you can't ever appreciate it! It's not fair! You appreciated everything America ever did before he betrayed your ass and left!"

"Language! And, don't you dare preach to me about your brother, I won't listen to it!"

"Why will I never be good enough for you? I'm still your colony! I've never rebelled against you! Never! I've done everything you've fucking asked me to do, and you still don't care! You loved everything America did, and I don't get it!"

"Shut up! That's a lie and you know it!"

"No it's not! Don't even deny it! It's not fair! I loved you and Papa equally, and yet you can't do the same thing for me and Al!" Canada felt hot tears pricking at his eyes, England's rage was beginning to disappear at hearing the comparisons, "It doesn't matter what I do, you've always loved Al more than me!" With more bitterness, he growled, "Everything America did made you proud, made you love him more! Hell, you still do even after he left your stupid ass in the dust! It didn't matter if he was inventing something useful or acting like a spoiled brat, you still loved him more than me!"

"Now you're acting like a spoiled brat-!"

"I'm not done, Father!" The familiar term made England freeze once again, "It didn't matter if he was pushing for exploring beyond the Appalachian mountains when you said not to, it didn't matter if he was humiliating your tax collectors, it didn't matter if he dressed up like a native and dumped tea into the harbors, and it didn't even fucking matter if he was pointing a fucking gun in your face! You still love him more than me!"

"You're being ridiculous!" He was not going to stand for this. His own son, tell him off.

"You know it's true! Maybe I should act out like he did! Be a brat, burn down buildings, tar and feather your officials, lead my people against you! That's what America did!"

"Stop it! Shut the hell up!"

"You're more loyal to the one who runs off and betrays you and it doesn't make any damn sense! I've been as respectable as I can be and did everything you wanted! It's not enough, and it will never be enough though because I can't live up to my fucking better twin brother! I look too much like him and yet I'm not him! Maybe that's why you don't like me! You always loved him better than me! Dammit, sometimes I wish you had never forced Papa to give me up to you! He actually cared about me!"

"Canada, that's enough!"

"At least he knew what to do when! Maybe that's why America actually beat you! France was a better parent than you could ever be!"

"Enough!" England finally snapped, overpowered by his pride and anger that he struck Canada in the jaw with his fist. It knocked the surprised Canadian to the floor, but he was more surprised by the force behind it rather than the reaction itself. England knelt on one knee before his son and shouted back, "I won't have you belittle me like this! If you had a problem with me, then I expected you to tell me like a civilized adult rather than a frenzied animal!"

Anger and ferocity overtook his features, and he countered, staring straight into those green eyes in a crashing wave of rage, "Well I can't do that with you being a pathetic bastard and shoving me away instead of growing a pair and being a-!" England punched him again, sending his head to the floor.

"Don't you dare look at me like that!" What the Empire saw in Canada's face was a combination he didn't ever want to see again. It was like being beaten twice at the same time, in one deadly swoop. Canada's violet irises both mimicked the nasty expressions that France would make to him in times of war, those eyes boiling in hatred, and as well as America's stubborn hardness whenever he faced off with him during the Revolution and the War of 1812. Two pairs of wicked eyes melded together on one face. Canada looked too much like the both of them, inheriting his papa's hair and eyes and having the uncanny looks of his twin. It was just...too much. With a softer, sadder, but still firm voice, England lowered his eyes and hissed, "Don't you look at me like that too..." He lowered his fist and pounded it into the floor, but didn't move from kneeling before the Canadian on the floor.

With this sudden emotion, Canada wasn't exactly sure what to say yet. He had expected England to simply get mad, say stupid shit and half promise to give him more attention, or just walk away. He sounded hurt, like he was truly regretful.

"I just...I don't know what to do anymore. I was partial of France until that damn Hundred Year War, and I did my best to raise America well until he abandoned me...you, you can't do this to me too Canada. You're all I have left."

Canada thought he almost sounded cold when he spoke, "Then why don't you act like I am? Why do you constantly ignore me and just treat me with indifference?"

England finally looked up at him, not certain whether to be more sad or frustrated, "I...I just..."

"That's what I thought, you don't love me-"

"I do! I really do! Bloody hell, you're not making this easy for me!"

"Then why do you treat me like I don't exist?" Canada demanded. There was no reason for his father-figure to act the way he did. He didn't even treat him like a parent should.

"Because I can't loose you too!" When Canada didn't reply, England sighed, "The falling of my relationship with France wasn't really one that could be avoided, but sometimes I feel as if I did too much, or something like that, when it comes to America."

Canada blinked, opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off by England.

"I just, I feel that if I hadn't forced him into too much...that maybe he might still be here with us."

"England..."

"And I know it's not a valid excuse to neglect you, I had just been hiding under my fear that if I messed with your decisions too much, that you might come to hate me too..."

"No, England," Canada started, "Don't get the impression that I hate you, I was just frustrated. I really do love you, you're my Father. You've always been my Father." He took in a breath and said, "But locking yourself up and never speaking to me, and when you do only yelling and shooing me away, isn't right either."

"I know..." he reached down and wrapped his arms around Canada's shoulders, burying his face in his son's larger shoulder, "I'm sorry, I really mean that. I'm so so sorry, Canada. I love you so much, and I don't want you to ever doubt that."

"I don't, I won't Father," he whispered, hugging him back. His violet eyes drooped, lost in thought. But...would it ever be enough...? Would he ever really be good enough to England as America was, and still is...?

No, that's impossible. He had taken a glimpse on an impossible wish.

But, he supposed that this wouldn't be a very bad substitute. It would still sting...but that was all he would expect. It was all he was worth, anyway.

Thanks for Reading!