The sun was shining with its rays pouring into the large kitchen. Birds brought the trees to life with their song that also drifted into the house. And one very pissed off Canada stood over the stove in his brother's kitchen as he made his famous pancakes with his gluttonous brother eating the very thing that was the cause of his…
"Hey, Mattey, are they done yet?"
The northern country's eyebrow twitched. "No, Al, they're still not done yet," he answered coolly. America frowned at how cold his brother was acting. "Are you still mad about the toast?" he asked. The taut thread that was holding back Canada's anger snapped, "Of course I'm still mad! You woke me up at 6:00 A.M. with your screams! And what do I find when I come running down the stairs worried out of my mind?! You making toast with that stupid toaster!" Canada knew that his brother would buy the weirdest things, but his new toaster was perhaps the weirdest and most annoying one—well to him anyway; a defibrillator toaster. America had run into the kitchen, after waking up, screaming corny bread puns like 'nurse, we need 12 CCs of cream cheese, stat!' and 'if we don't restart his heart he's toast!' and, when Canada had run in, 'time of deliciousness: 6:07 A.M.' and 'he's in a butter place now.'
America held his hands up defensively remembering how his brother was not the best morning person, "Dude, I said I was sorry. I forgot what time it was when I woke up." Canada sighed. He should know by now that America had tunnel vision when it came to food. "So when did Arthur say he was coming?" he asked after a minute to calm down. "Around 7:00 he said," America answered in-between bites. The southern country swallowed down the rest of his toast and looked at the clock next to the patio door, "So probably in another twenty minutes." He looked back at the stove when he noticed his brother pour more batter into the skillet.
"Are they—?"
No!"
Britain pulled up America's driveway. As he unbuckled he spared a glance at the passenger seat which held a rectangular white and pink box. Although America had told him not to bring anything, Britain didn't think it polite to show up for breakfast without anything. And it wasn't like the gluttonous American would turn this down.
A sigh escaped the Brit's lips as he remembered how America had roped him and Canada into this 'family' breakfast, and how he reminded the energetic blonde that it didn't really count as a 'family' breakfast without the French frog, unfortunately. He quickly made his way to the front door with the box in his hands and knocked.
The door quickly swung open revealing a smiling America. "Morning, Arthur!" he greeted. To this day Britain still couldn't figure out where America got all his energy. "Good morning, Alfred," he offered him the box in his hands, "I know you said not to, but I brought something for…" He trailed off as his former colony stared wide-eyed at the box. "Alfred, are you—?" America ripped the box out of Britain's hands.
"OMGArthuryou'rethebesteverthankyousomuch!"
And with that, America dashed into the house toward the back to the kitchen. Britain pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed at the display of the lack of manners. He walked in and closed the door behind him.
"Good morning, Arthur," Canada greeted their former guardian as he walked into the kitchen. "Good morning, Matthew," Britain smiled, glad that at least one of his former charges still showed top notch manners. The northern country brought a plate filled with warm and fluffy pancakes over to the table. "I just finished making—"
BANG
The two countries jumped and looked to the head of the kitchen table where America, who had just slammed his hands on the table, sat with the box Britain brought. The blue-eyed blonde reached a shaky hand into the box and pulled out a doughnut—but not just any doughnut. "What. Is. This?" he asked. Canada and Britain blinked, not sure what he was talking about. "What is this?!" America asked again but more frantically. Canada and Britain exchanged glances before Britain reluctantly answered him. "That is a doughnut. I never thought you of all people would have to be told that."
"Lies!" America pointed an accusing finger at Britain, "This is not a doughnut! Do you see sugar or glaze on this?! Because I don't! It's not flavored, or crème or jelly filled either! It might as well be a bagel!" Britain's eye twitched. "I assure you that is, in fact, a doughnut," he calmly explained. America threw the pastry back into the box. "You can call it that all you want, but it is NOT a DOUGHNUT!"
"By DEFINITION it IS a doughnut!"
Canada watched this go on for a few more seconds before calmly standing up and walking over to America and the doughnut box. The two yelling countries stopped and watched the Canadian grab the plain doughnut and proceed to stuff it in his mouth. America and Britain stared speechless at him as he chewed and went to his seat when he was finished to take a gulp of his coffee. As he put his cup down, Canada looked up at the two. America and Britain shivered as they were reminded that Canada was NOT a morning person.
After seeing that they understood his point, Canada smiled one of his usual sweet, innocent smiles. "How many pancakes would you like, Arthur?" At the nervous tones America and Britain used, the Canadian was certain of one thing.
'It's such a good morning.'
I think I should explain a little about the theory I have about Canada and mornings. Canada is can be nice a lot, but he can't be all the time! I figured that the mornings would be the times when he isn't his nicest because, I mean seriously, unless you have an unexplainable reservoir of energy like America, or an outlet for anger and/or rage like Britain does, I think mornings would be the time nice people aren't their nicest (At least that is what my family has said about me).
Hope you enjoyed reading!
