Title: Where Your Love Ends
Cover image taken by: Erica Holgate
Warnings: Please click on my profile for a full list of warnings if you need them.
Other notes: I hadn't really planned this one, it kind of just came to me. So while I was working on editing my larger project, I decided to write this on the side. I've already finished most of it. It's going to be fairly short. Apologies if it seems messy!
"Who is that?"
The adolescent-sized Canada looks down at his younger brother, who's tugging on his pant leg below. He follows the other's gaze to the figure down the hall, a sharp-looking man dressed in a pressed navy blue coat that's rimmed with gold and knee-high pirate boots. "You know what?" Canada says, kneeling slowly so that he and his brother are on the same level in height, "Maybe it was a bad idea bringing you here."
France, once previously known as Quebec, only pouts that adorable pout of his. "You promised," he reminds Canada sternly.
"Okay, okay, okay," Canada whispers. He smooths France's hair down and takes the other's hand. "If you promise to be good."
"Haven't I been?"
It's France's tenth birthday as a nation and Canada had promised. He can't go back on his word now. Even though Quebec — France — is no longer under the rule of Canada (who himself is still under the rule of Great Britain), he still can't do much on his own and needs Canada to show him the ropes.
Honestly, Canada hates it. Every time he sees France all he can think about is Quebec, who's all but lost now. When Quebec decided to split from the rule of England and Canada once and for all, Canada had been heartbroken. And when Quebec finally did split, he lost all his memories in the process and became an entirely different person — this boy right here, who looks barely six in terms of human age.
And the last thing Canada wants to do is act as the new nation's guardian. Dependency had been what had prompted Quebec to split in the first place. Nobody had expected the amnesia to be part of the deal as well — nobody had tried to gain independence from England in the past five hundred years. Every time Canada looks at France he hurts.
"I thought you already knew," Canada says. "That's Britain. Or as he prefers to be called, England. He has control over most of the world. When you became the nation you are today, you became one of the first free countries in existence. You still are, France. You're the free country."
"He's the man I fought for independence from?"
And me, Canada thinks bitterly. You were an inherent part of me, too — a part you denied. "Yes, that's him. It probably wouldn't be a good idea to try to talk to him, though. He kind of…I don't know, France." He kind of hates you. And he's probably going to go back after you sooner or later, just so he can truly control the world, in name as well. So just stay away from him for now, because your inevitable surrender will be painful.
"I just want to go say hello," France protests.
"No, France," Canada says, tugging the younger nation towards him as the other takes a step forwards. "You said you'd be good. I said I'd bring you to the meeting only if you were good."
"You're not the boss of me," France chimes, and that's what makes Canada drop his hand. France is right — Canada's not the boss of him at all. Even if France is barely out of diapers, Canada has no real authority over his actions.
Finding his hand free, France runs down the corridor, all three feet of him heading straight towards the most powerful man on Earth at twenty kilometers an hour. "England," he calls in the most cheerful way a child ever could, and Canada's heart plummets.
"France," Canada calls, stretching out his hand and urging his legs to chase after his brother. "France, to me!"
The One True Leader of the world, Great Britain, or England, slowly swivels his head around to face the smaller boy. France rams straight into him with a whump!, pushing England back a little and making him stumble. England's arms instinctively close around the figure that's got its own arms entwined around his waist as he struggles to find his balance, trying not to topple the both of them over.
"Who the fuck are you?" England snarls, bringing France away from him.
"I'm France," France beams. "I'm the one who broke away from you ten years ago."
Canada stills. The other three nations who'd also been in that hallway freeze as well. Everyone's eyes are on England, waiting, watching for his reaction. Will he declare war on France right then? Will he torment the poor boy, will he try to show him his place? Will he make the threats that everyone knows will very much come through?
England blinks. And then he smirks.
"France," he says in that voice that drips arrogance and superiority. "A darling name to have chosen for yourself."
"I didn't choose it," France responds, ignorant of the horrible danger he's placed himself in. "It's just who I am. It's just something I've known ever since I first woke up."
England lowers himself on one knee so that he and France are eye to eye. His hands are gripping France's upper arms so hard that Canada thinks they're going to leave bruises. And even still, all Canada can do is stand there and watch as England holds his little brother's life in his hands, not dissimilar to the way an irresponsible child might hold a fascinating insect between his palms. "France," England repeats in a whisper-soft voice. He tilts his head slowly to one side. "How nice of you to have finally showed your face after all these years."
France visibly swallows.
"You know," England says, in a pondering way, "If I'd really wanted to bother, I would have crushed your nation long ago."
England was right. Canada remembers how he'd been so preoccupied with conquering other rebelling factions that he hadn't paid Quebec any mind when the province started holding referendums himself. If England had spared Quebec even a minute of his time, he would have absolutely destroyed him.
"The last free nation of the world," England smirks. "If I have you, I have…everything."
France doesn't say a word, just focuses on England's green eyes with his lips slightly parted.
"Go on," England whispers. "Go enjoy your freedom while you still can." And he releases France, straightens himself, and runs his fingers through France's hair. "I'll be coming for you soon, though, my little one."
And then he walks away.
"France," Canada cries, running the last few meters between him and his brother and throwing his arms around the nation. "What the hell were you thinking? He could have killed you. You could've gotten yourself into so much trouble."
France just turns to Canada numbly, after finally tearing his eyes away from the spot England had just been standing in. He looks at Canada with his wide blue eyes, and says in a clear, unwavering voice,
"I think I love him."
And so went France's first meeting with The Conquerer and the Terror, the Evening and the Morning Star, and the One True Leader of the doomed, enslaved world.