A/N: Just a random plot bunny.
Yeahhhh I'm not a fan of this one person America and Canada are talking about, so if you are: I REGRET NOTHING! Flame me all you want :3
If you're like me, who is not a fan: I REGRET NOTHING! Enjoy :3
Disclaimer: Do not own Hetalia; this story is meant for hilarity purposes only.
It started with a Facebook message…
Canada sighed and logged onto the computer. Since he was holed up for the day due to a blizzard, he needed some entertainment. Making pancakes and talking to Kuma-what's-his-name only got him so far; and to be quite frank, the latter hadn't helped much. ("Who are you?")
He checked his email first. Mainly junk. A few emails that Ukraine – who was nice enough to remember him – had forwarded regarding World Conferences and things that other countries forgot to send him. Condolences to both him and America from Russia (Canada wasn't sure if it was mocking or not) about "General Winter visiting them for a change" and "how wintry the weather is, da?" and "to remember not to wear shorts outside" (the last meant specifically for America).
Canada typed up a quick reply, hit send, and moved on. Nothing from Facebook – oh wait, yes there was. There was a message from America, which was odd. Usually his brother didn't contact him or forgot about him. Frowning, the Canadian opened up the email.
Alfred F. Jones
Take him back.
"Take who back?" Canada wondered aloud to himself.
He pulled up Facebook in another tab, logged in, and replied right away.
Matthew Williams
Take who back?
Within a minute, his brother had responded.
Alfred F. Jones
You know who I'm talking about.
Matthew Williams
No I don't, Al. Who is it?
Alfred F. Jones
{Picture.}
"Oh," Canada whispered in realization. "So that was who he was talking about."
Matthew Williams
No. Besides, didn't you want him before?
Alfred F. Jones
O_O Duuuuddddeeee! Why not?! And yeah, but that was b4 he turned apeshit crazy.
Matthew Williams
He's your responsibility now, America. He lives in your country.
Alfred F. Jones
But he's from your place! Canada, take him baccckkkkkkk.
Matthew Williams
Sorry.
Canada smiled and exited out of Facebook. Let America deal with that guy, he was through with him now.
"Hey, Kuma!" the soft-spoken country called.
His bear padded into the room. "Who are you?" The animal asked.
"I'm Canada, your owner. Want some hot chocolate?"
Then it moved towards the World Conferences…
America.
Was.
Glaring.
Daggers.
And it wasn't at Russia or England this time. It was at Canada. Said nation squirmed a little under the intense gaze and tried to look anywhere other than his brother. Maple, what had he done this time?
Finally, after about five freaking minutes, the rebellious nation stopped his glare and pulled out a piece of paper and began to write on it. The quieter nation sighed in relief, thinking that the other was taking notes.
Oh how wrong he was. So very wrong.
A minute later, a note slid across the table to him. Canada looked up to see that America had resumed staring at him. Shakily, he opened the note only to find one line written:
Take him back.
Canada almost laughed – he was so relieved. Looking up at America, he shook his head and mouthed, "No."
The American narrowed his eyes but didn't reply.
It was another thirty minutes of intense looks before Germany called for a break. Canada left to get something to drink, not noticing a certain someone follow him. Outside, the air was nippy, but he didn't mind. He was used to it after all.
Since the meeting was in America, the Canadian knew that there was a Starbuck's nearby, as per usual. The American could not function without coffee at all. Matthew was honestly was worried about his brother's coffee obsession, but didn't think too much of it. In any case, the coffee was good.
He still didn't notice someone trailing after him.
As soon as he stepped inside the store, the smell of coffee hit him full force. He breathed in deeply. Once. Twice. Three times. Yep, he could totally see why Alfred loved this place. Getting in line, he wondered what he should get. Something cold? Something hot? Yes. Definitely something hot. But what?
His thoughts were interrupted when someone whispered in his ear, "Take. Him. Back."
Canada nearly screamed – he was so shocked. Instead, his eyes grew wide and he jumped, turning around to see who had spoken to him. And lo and behold, it was none other than America. "A-A-Alfred! Don't – don't do that!" Matthew stammered, his heart beating a million times a minute. He put a hand over it to steady himself.
Alfred pouted and crossed his arms. "But Mattie," he whined. "Why don't you take him back?"
"Because he's yours now, Alfred. We've been over this."
"But have you seen what he's done to my reputation in music? Or in general? People actually think that he's from my country and are, like, giving me shit about it."
"Do you see why I don't want him back now?"
"Mattie!"
"Like I said, Al, he's yours not mine."
Canada turned back around to look at the menu again. Behind him, America was glowering.
Pretty soon nowhere was safe…
"Mattie…take…him…back," a voice hissed from behind him.
Matthew jumped and spun around, holding his flashlight up higher so he could see. Damn his house for losing power! The voice sounded like Alfred's, but his brother was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the Canadian wasn't even sure if his brother would want to come down into the basement at night with the power off. Heck, his brother wasn't even visiting him so far as he knew! No, it was probably just his imagination playing tricks.
"Take…that…low-life…back…" The voice whispered from behind him again.
Canada swung around. Nothing.
Something poked him in the back.
"AIEEEE!" The nation shrieked, dropping his flashlight and running up the stairs. He slammed the door to the basement (locking it for good measure) and watched it fearfully. What was that?! Was America trying to spook him out?!
But America isn't even visiting you, a rational voice reasoned in the back of Canada's head. It was probably just a broom that poked you.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. In. Out. In. Out. Canada took deep breaths to steady himself. "I-I-It was n-nothing, Canada." He spoke to himself in order calm down. "It was just a broom and imagination. It was nothing…"
Creak.
Creak.
Creak.
Oh god it sounded like there actually was something down there. And it was trying to come up!
BANG!
Holy shit did that thing have a gun?!
Canada whimpered and raced upstairs and into his room. He closed and locked his door before searching wildly for his phone. "Where did I put it?" He panicked. And then he remembered. "Oh Maple I left it downstairs…! Son of a –"
BANG!
He glanced fearfully at his bedroom door before making his way over to his closet, figuring he'd hide in there. Quickly, he hid in the very back corner, sitting down and making himself as small as possible while shaking with fright. No more horror movies for you, he reprimanded himself.
It was quiet for a while, and against his better judgment, Canada fell asleep. When he awoke again, it was slightly lighter in the closet. Morning must be here already. Blearily, he crawled to the front of the hiding place and opened up the door. Sunlight streamed through the thin curtains, and his room looked oddly undisturbed. It didn't look like he had ransacked it yesterday trying to find his phone. What the heck?
Canada stepped out of the closet and made his way to the bathroom. He felt gross and wanted to wash up; but as soon as he saw what someone had done to his mirror, those clean thoughts were gone. On the mirror were words written in some kind of red substance (the Canadian sincerely hoped it wasn't blood). Take him back, it read.
And it wasn't just on the mirror. Oh no, it wasn't. It was painted everywhere; on the toilet, on the tub, on the shower curtains, on the floor, on the ceiling, on the walls. Practically everywhere.
Growling, Canada stormed out and unlocked his bedroom door. Opening it, he didn't see anyone and ventured out. He was so going to kill his brother when he got a hold of him! …Okay not kill him – that would be rude and mean – but definitely show him the power of the Maple Leaf! Oh yes, he'd show him what it meant to mess with him and –
"Ouch!" The plotting country cried, tripping and falling on the floor.
"Smeh…was happenin'?" someone slurred tiredly.
Freaking America, Canada thought angrily. Whipping around, he found his brother trying to sit up against the wall. "What are you doing here?" Canada nearly shouted. "Why do you have that strange bottle in your hand? You had better not be drinking again!"
America blearily blinked a few times before looking down at the bottle he was holding. "Oh…yeah that's not…that's not a liquor bottle…"
"Then what is it?!"
"Mmm I think it was a mix of ketchup an' syrup…"
"Ketchup and syrup…?"
"Yup. From your pantry."
Canada pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to not lash out at his brother. Closing his eyes, he asked calmly, "And did you take all of my maple syrup?"
"Think so," America yawned, stretching.
"And what did you do with it?"
"Painted."
"Painted?"
"Yeah…Your bathroom needed a makeover, dude."
Realization in three…two…one…
"THAT'S IT!" Canada shouted, going after America.
Said American shrieked and ran away. "But Mattie I cleaned your room! Doesn't that count for anything?" He pleaded.
"NO!"
Eventually the other countries started to notice…
China leaned over to Japan. "I wonder what's going on with Mr. America, aru," he said.
Japan hardly spared his former caretaker a glance. "Please keep your distance from me, China-san."
"Well that wasn't very nice!"
Russia seemed to have overheard and looked quizzically at his friend from across the table. "Something wrong, China?" He inquired, tilting his head to the side.
The Asian huffed and crossed his arms, once again giving his younger brother some space. "Wú," he answered offhandedly. "It's just that something seems wrong with your secret…partner."
"Fredka?"
"Obviously, aru. Who else? He's harassing the air."
Russia looked to where America was seated. The superpower was making wild hand gestures and looked pissed. At first, the Russian didn't know who he was talking to; but on close observation he saw a faint outline of some other country with a giant curl. What was his name again? Canada? Weren't they brothers or something? Or were they rivals? "Oh," he chuckled in realization. "He's just talking to Canada."
"Who?" China asked, furrowing his brow.
Russia shrugged, not really knowing himself.
"What did you say about Birdie?" Prussia demanded suddenly, popping up from under the table.
"О трахнуть меня! Что ты здесь делаешь?" The Russian exclaimed in alarm.
The albino gave him a look. "Language, Russia. And shut up! West doesn't know I'm here. I was going to pull some pranks, if you must unawesomely know. So what did you say about Birdie?"
"Nothing."
Across the table, China was starting to give his friend weird looks. Russia waved him off before turning his attention back to the presentation, completely ignoring the ex-nation below him. And then something no one could prepare for happened:
Justin Bieber started to play loudly within the room with confetti and fireworks and other things going off as well.
"Kesesese~," Prussia snickered. "It worked! Now West will be pissed."
"TAKE HIM BACK!" Someone shouted.
Both Russia and Prussia's eyes widened when they recognized it as America's. Quickly, the Slavic nation scrambled out of his seat to see what was going on while the ex-nation scrambled out from under the table. "Heilige Scheiße," The Prussian swore breathlessly.
On the floor was America, pinning down Canada by the arms. Canada wasn't even trying to wriggle out of his brother's grasp, instead just looking at him head-on defiantly. "Take him back, dude," America snarled. "I've had it up to here with him. A DUI accident; drag racing; talking shit about my former president; acting like he's fucking king of the world; I've had it, Canada! Had. It. He's yours, so take him."
"No. He was mine, now he's yours. Deal with him on your own. I don't want him anymore," Canada growled back.
"What do you mean 'was mine'? He's still legally your citizen!"
"Yeah well he still lives in your country!"
"He's on a motherfucking green card. My people want to see him deported. Hell, they even have a petition for it! He's put a bad name for pop culture in my country and I don't want the kids to have a bad role model – which is exactly what he is. So take him back; I can't stand him anymore."
"You don't think he's caused trouble for my country as well? Well guess what, hoser, he has."
America looked as if he was going to punch something, so Russia quickly ran over there and pried the angered country off of Canada. "Okay, Amerika," he said. "I think you just need to breathe, da?"
"Breathe? Breathe?! Russia, are you nuts?!" The American exclaimed, trying to wriggle out of the Russian's firm grip.
"You try living with tsars and dictators and tyrants," the Russian mumbled before answering, "What did Canada – it is Canada, correct?" Upon the Canadian's nod, he continued, "What did Canada do?"
"He gave me freaking Justin Bieber! That's what!"
A silence fell across the room, even the music somehow stopped. Prussia let out a low whistle and England started to laugh. "Blimey," the Englishman chortled, "that's hilarious! You're getting all hot and bothered over a pop star!"
America glared at his former caretaker.
"That is kind of strange…" Russia agreed thoughtfully.
The American finally managed to break free. "Oh screw you guys!" He shouted stalking over to the door. Hand on the doorknob, he shakily said, "I need a break. See ya'll later." Then he left.
Suddenly everyone's attention turned to Canada, who rolled his eyes. Getting up, he said, "What a drama queen. Honestly."
A few people laughed at that and went to go pack up, the meeting supposedly over. Russia went over to Canada and asked, "So what was that about?"
The Canadian sighed. "It was about a pop star that went rogue is all. It's been going on for a while now, one time Alfred tried to scare me into taking Justin back. And he also used up all of my maple syrup and ketchup to vandalize my bathroom. Not to mention an intense stalking. Or that one Facebook message...yeah, it's been going on for quite some time."
The Russian just nodded in understanding. "Do you want me to talk to him?"
"Not sure if it would help, but you can try. Спасибо."
"Не за что."
Canada waved farewell and went to pack up his stuff, Russia doing to same before gathering America's as well. Something told him it would take a long time to get the American calm again.
Translations:
Wú – No (Chinese)
О трахнуть меня! Что ты здесь делаешь? – Oh fuck me! What are you doing here? (Russian)
Heilige Scheiße – Holy shit (German)
Спасибо – Thank you (Russian)
Не за что – You're welcome (Russian)