(This is a short project Gil and I started a while back. It's probably only going to be four or five chapters (most of which should be longer than this), depending on how we split it up... eh, whatever. We do not own any version of Hetalia, this story is rated T for Gilbert's mouth, etc etc. This particular one isn't romance, but if you like reading about Prussia and Canada give it a shot anyway! Review if you can, danke!)

(AU: Set in Europe, circa 1640. Francis wants Gilbert to look after his little colony, and Gilbert is having none of it.)

The Awesome Prussia initially thought that Francis was joking when he suggested babysitting his 'petite colony'. New France was small and quiet and fragile, and Gilbert... well. The mighty seizer of vital regions had no absolutely intention of spending his glorious afternoons sitting on plush carpet entertaining any child, not even his best friend's.
Not even when Francis asked very nicely.
Nein. Not happening.
"Oh, alright, alright!" Gilbert finally yelled, exasperated. "Fine, I'll look after your damn colony. Mein Gott."
"Ah, merci, Gilber'!" the Frenchman replied, skipping over to the former. The blond man kissed his cheek and Gilbert grimaced; he was not looking forward to this.

He met Francis' charge only a few hours later. Francis came out with a small ruffled child who could only have been New France. Gilbert had to admit, he was pretty—his hair framed his face softly, and his little hands rested on his papa's shoulders, almost poised. Sure, he could be seen as beautiful—in the same way that the traditional European paintings were beautiful. That didn't mean that Gilbert liked the kid or wanted to take care of him. And, Francis had decorated him with the same excessiveness as the paintings, too. The poor kid was practically suffocated in ribbons and frills. Wasn't this supposed to be a boy?

"This is Matthieu," Francis introduced, and confirmed Gilbert's thoughts. Gilbert grunted in response. He watched the Frenchman lean down and speak to the colony quietly in their native language; the Prussian had no idea what was said, but Matthieu nodded. His papa let him down onto the floor and he wobbled. Scheiße, why did he have to do this?
"I'll be back~" Francis sang, waving to both of them. "You be good," he warned, pointing specifically to Gilbert. The Prussian man smirked. "No promises," he said. Francis narrowed his eyes. He gave a last word to Matthieu before leaving.
And with that...the great, awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt was left to take care of a tiny, pansy child.

Damn.

"So, uh... I don't care if you follow your papa's rules or not," he said flatly, "just don't get me into trouble and you can do vhatever se hell you vant." The boy blinked.
Aw, scheiße, vhat if he only speaks French? Fucking Francis, he thought. "Ah... non parle français? Désole." He knew his French sucked (pardon the pun) but he was too busy conquering, battling and beating unawesome asses to try to learn anything besides what he already knew from Francis. Which were mostly things the Frenchman would prefer unrepeated to his young colony. Gilbert smirked at the thought. New France, on the other hand, simply nodded to Gilbert's attempted-French statement. Maybe the kid didn't talk at all.

In the meantime, Gilbert didn't hesitate to make himself at home. He grabbed some of the awesome beer he'd brought (no way he was drinking any of Francis's light-ass champagne) and flopped down on the expensive sofa, having the decency to remove his shoes only because the Frenchman had thrown a hissy fit the last time he hadn't. New France still stared up at him, and to be honest the small boy was starting to freak him out a little. Not that he'd ever admit that he'd been unnerved by an effeminate colony—and a French one, nonetheless. "Vas? Vas do you vant?!"

The colony blinked again—his eyes, Gilbert saw, were strangely purple, how did that even happen?—before lifting his arms above his head and reaching toward the Prussian. His fingers trembled slightly as he stood, waiting. Gilbert made a face. "Vas, you vant to come up here vith me?"
New France nodded.

Vhy? Kids are veird. Nevertheless, he set down his drink and scooped up New France, not very smoothly, and positioned him on the cushion next to him. "Sere," he said aloud, wondering what he'd have to do next. Luckily, Matthieu seemed satisfied for now.

After a moment Gilbert picked up his drink again, unsure of what to do or how to act around the colony. Sure, Ludwig was little but he had other people taking care of him; besides, when it came down to it, he could handle himself, and Gilbert doubted New France could do the same. He snorted. The kid couldn't even get up onto the couch by himself, of course there was no way he was able to defend his territory.

Gilbert sat in silence with his drink, sneaking glances at New France, for a total of four minutes. That was when he decided he couldn't do it anymore.
"Alright, kid, I'm gonna tell you about all of mein awesome, glorious victories. In my language, because sere's no fucking way I'm stumbling through French on this. Stupid Francis. So listen up, even if you can't understand, because sis is gonna be se best damn thing you've ever heard in your life."

Perhaps Matthieu did not understand, but he watched with wide eyes as Gilbert recounted and reenacted, to a certain extent, his battles and victories and occasional defeats. He seemed to listen when Gilbert talked about his brother and the rest of his family, and smiled when the older man's face lit up as he recalled the fun times he'd had with the boy's papa and their friend Antonio. Eventually, though Gilbert didn't remember it happening, the colony drifted off to sleep, and when Francis found the two of them, hours later—well, the Frenchman would always insist that 'his petite Matthieu had snuggled up to ze almighty Prussia et zey were both sound asleep~' and Gilbert would always, always deny this fact.

He simply told Matthieu to keep it a secret, though.

(Update: This story is complete! Read on!)