A/N: Hello, all! I'm back, with an addiction to Hetalia this time. And my love for mpreg has returned with it.
So, I decided to started this story - it's based on an RP I've been doing that follows similar events. I'm going to try to update this once a week...either every Monday or every Friday. Hopefully, if I try to keep a deadline I'll actually stick with it. Eheheh...
So..yeah...the main triangle in this is FrancexEnglandxAmerica. However, I'll warn you that it's more likely to turn out as FrUK than USUK.
England rolled over in his bed with a groan. Almost immediately he wished he hadn't moved; his stomach doing multiple flip-flops. He nearly heaved right in the bed, but managed to hold it down until the nausea subsided. Slowly, so carefully, he sat up and glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty five. His body pleaded with him to go back to sleep, but the Brit ignored his body's protests and got out of bed.
"Why does the morning have to come so bloody early?" he muttered to himself. It only felt like a couple hours ago that he finally stopped thinking about getting himself a nice warm mug of hot cocoa and dozed off. Last time he looked at the clock, it had been going on three-thirty, so it was likely…
"Hey, England…" The Brit nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden voice - although he wondered how he heard it in the first place. Must have been the silence of the room. Spinning around, he saw the violet-blue eyed blond staring back at him timidly.
"Oh, just you…" England breathed out. How could he forget that he was staying at Canada's?
"I just came to see if you were awake," Canada said in his whispering tone. The tone that he used about seventy percent of the time. The other thirty percent was mostly hockey and after he had guzzled down a few Molson Canadians. "I can see you are so…breakfast?"
England nodded slowly. "Ye-yes. Just let me dress first."
"Oui," Canada responded without thinking. Before England could chew him out for using French around him, Canada had left the room.
I shouldn't yell at him, anyway, England thought to himself as he began to strip off his night clothes and change into a new set of clothes. After all, who knows what would of happened if he didn't help me? His hand went up to the bandage wrapped around his head. Just four days before, Canada had gone to England's place to find the Brit unconscious in the den. The wound on his head had come from him hitting his head on an end table as he went down. The unconsciousness had been due to a lack of proper nutrition in his state.
His state.
A wave of anger washed over England. He was pregnant. Knocked up, bun in the oven…how ever one would like to put it. And it was all that frog's fault. Not his own, of course; the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland would never seek release from that pervert. The idea of casual sex was all France's idea. Every single time it happened over the years.
After finding out about the pregnancy, Canada resolved to make sure that his father figure would take the rest he need in order to recuperate from the shock(and to get some actual food in him). The Canuck had assured England that he didn't mind it - being an invisible nation got mighty lonely - so England hesitantly complied.
When England reached Canada's kitchen, he was immediately assaulted by the smell of maple sausages cooking. "Wh-why couldn't it of been French toast?" he muttered under his breath, managing to stumble his way to the table and sit down.
"Tea, England?" Canada asked
"Coffee," the British nation muttered in response, making the Canuck start in surprise.
"Coffee?" Canada repeated. He then remembered the night before; when England had been set into a fit of vomiting from the very smell of tea brewing. The maple lover half expected England to just plain quit all hot drinks, but one had to get their caffeine somehow…
Maybe England would even go to Tim Horton's with him, now?
"So…when are you planning to tell France?" Canada asked. He set the coffee cup and a plate of sausages in front of England before getting his own, identical breakfast.
"I don't think there's a need to tell him at all!" England spat, his enormous brows furrowing in anger.
Canada held up his hands. "Easy, easy…I'm just saying…he has a right to know."
"'Has a right to know' my arse!" England took a bite of the sausage - but immediately wished he hadn't. The smoky maple smell assaulted his nose, and the very taste made his stomach churn. He did not want to seem like he was insulting his host's cooking, however; so he kept quiet.
"I-I'm sorry, but…" There was Canada's shyer side; making the bilingual nation stutter. Of course, England knew that Canada's desire to remain a peacekeeper would override his shyness. At least, while one-on-one. "B-but you're being a little irrational. You know that France needs to know…"
"Bloody hell." England sighed and took a sip of the coffee, curling his nose at the bitter taste. Somehow, the smell of it was soothing, however. "I don't want him to know. I don't want him to raise it. He'd probably rape the bloody thing."
"He never did such thing to me," Canada pointed out. "And he raised me for several years."
"Well…well…!" England sputtered furiously. His voice trailed off into a groan as he held his stomach. Immediately Canada sprung to his feet and led the island nation to the bathroom - knowing what was to come.
It wasn't the first time Canada had told hold England's hair back for him - even before he was pregnant. Most nations agreed that England drank like a fish, especially during the entire month of July(and on some years, from half way through June and well into August). There has been several unfortunate occasions where Canada happened to accompany England during those drinking binges.
"I'm sorry…Canada," England choked out as he collapsed against the toilet seat, desperately trying to catch his breath. "I know you don't want to see…" His sides heaved once more, but it was obvious that there was nothing left.
"Maybe something lighter to eat?" Canada suggested soothingly, but was only answered by a groan. Deciding that his previous parental figure needed a moment to rest, Canada gave the Brit a quick pat on the back and stood up to dampen a face cloth. He knelt down again. "Let me wash your face," he said gently. England said nothing in response, but turned his head to face the Canadian.
Poor guy is exhausted, Canada thought with a frown as he wiped the tears and snot from the Englishman's face. He's so skinny; I bet he got tired easily before all this…
"I'm alright, Canada," England said as the shyer nation finished cleaning his face. "It is out of my system now." He begin to pull himself to his feet, cursing himself for the sudden light-headedness.
"It's not pleasant either way." Canada carefully helped the Brit hobble back to the kitchen. He could easily lift him up, but he was sure that England wanted to keep at least some of his dignity. He sat England into his chair and took away the plate of hardly-touched sausages - hoping that would be enough to keep the smell away from him.
"I don't remember the last one being this bad," Canada heard England muttering. "And it was bloody twins."
"I've read every pregnancy is different, England," Canada said, setting the plate down on the counter. His bear, Kumajirou, would have no problem eating them when he woke up.
The lazy bear.
"It shouldn't be this different, though," England started to say. He looked like he was going to say more, but he was interrupted by an 8-bit version of O Canada. He looked around in confusion, until his eyes found Canada's phone - laying on the middle of the table. "Uh, Canada-"
"Got it." Canada sighed and went to pick up the phone. He assumed it would be Ontario - either going on about another one of his schemes to boost their economy(at the expense of the well-being of the Atlantic provinces), or to complain about how Quebec was being a prick again. Or, more likely, Quebec complaining that Ontario was being the prick. Or one of the neighbouring provinces calling to warn about a brawl breaking out between the two eldest provinces.
Those two never got along very well, but Canada wasn't too bothered by it. The French and English provinces constantly bickered - often with threats from Quebec to go off and become its own country. It was oddly soothing; given his childhood was a custody war between the French and the English.
"Chérie! Mathieu?" No matter how much Canada loved his provinces, he breathed a sigh of relief when it was France's voice he heard on the other end.
"Bonjour, France," Canada said in response. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed England blanching. Was it the mention of France's name, or just morning sickness again?
"Mathieu, 'ave you seen mon Angleterre?" France sounded panicked. "'E waz not at 'is 'ouse ce matin!"
"Calm down, calm down!" Canada exclaimed. "He's with me."
"Angleterre est chez vous!" There was a mix of relief and confusion in the Frenchman's voice. "Pourquoi!"
"Um…um…" Canada glanced back at England, thinking back at how against telling France about the pregnancy he had been. "…He hit his head. The doctor suggested someone stay around him for a little bit. He's fine, but…just in case."
"Why did 'e not call moi about this!" France wailed. "I would 'ave come over to help as soon as I could!"
"It's because I took him to the hospital after he hit his head," Canada explained. "It just made more sense for me to care for him."
"….Oui, I suppose that makes sense," France sighed and a defeated tone. "I will talk to you later, Mathieu?"
"Oui. Salut."
"Salut."
Canada hung up the phone and slid it into his pocket. He turned slowly, giving him a knowing smile that only someone of French decent would be able to pull off. "You and France are just into 'casual sex,' eh?"
"Yes, there's nothing else!" England snapped. "Why, what did he say!"
"Nothing, nothing at all," Canada answered. "He just seemed….like a protective boyfriend to me."
"Bollocks," England spat, pushing himself to his feet. "It's too early in the morning for this. I'm going back to sleep." Not giving the maple lover a chance to respond, he stormed off to Canada's guestroom. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.