This is the other one-shot I mentioned that I have been hanging on to for a long while for no reason. So, here it is.
FYI: I always pictured India as a female country and wrote this before it was revealed he was male in the canon. So, I guess this contains fem!India.
I also wrote my headcanon for Australia. I always pictured him a loud, really funny, and quite fun to hold a conversation with. I laughed out loud writing for him.
Just like my previous, semi-historical one-shot: I do not know all about the history of everything and the internet can lie. Most of the info I got was pulled from wikipedia. I am not ashamed.
I do not own Hetalia. Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidakaz.
A pair of twins stood outside a rather grand estate on the outskirts of London. The enormous manor fit every aspect characteristic of the powerful British Empire in the spotless yard and even the ornate carvings on the door inset with gold and other precious metals. However, the old building was not on display in the bustling streets of London
but hiding in the distant fields where it couldn't be admired like it deserved by any save for the few that felt like walking the distance.
Where gaudiness met wilderness was where the country and the man inside the personification confronted and compromised. He always did like being by himself even though he always had the urge to conquer every new land his ships sailed to pressing on his mind constantly. As a man, Arthur Kirkland had always been an odd hermit of sorts.
It must have been a family trait because both his brothers had picked up on it too.
The longing for peace and quiet was something the personification of the United States of America was starting to identify with. Being by yourself meant no one could bother you. He wished many times recently that his house was farther away from his capital city like his former master's. Although America's personal house was just as striking and over-the-top, it was situated in the center of the bustle. When asked why he didn't just move, he would smile and shrug before saying he couldn't stand being away from where all the exciting stuff happened.
The second twin, the representation of one of the British Empire's many colonies, the United Providence of Canada, lived in a house similar to their older brother's -not at all similar in size but in the second aspect, in distance away from his capital. He was surrounded by nature to calm him and mentally far away from the headaches of his extremely different two major halves, Upper Canada and Lower Canada, that were in only united on paper twenty years ago. Incidentally, his humbler house was close to the border with his twin's country which made it his brother's destination whenever he needed to get away.
It was during one of those visits that Canada got the courage to invite his twin to celebrate Christmas with him. He remembered practically begging his brother. He knew from the number of visits and America's physical appearance that he was in a little slump. The northern brother almost expected his southern brother's appearance at his house during election time, but it seemed this last election was especially messy. He stayed almost a full two weeks camping out in Canada's living room in November.
It wasn't that Canada didn't like these stopovers. He actually relished them. In truth, he missed his twin terribly. However, whenever America visited, it was because he was upset or stressed out. He wanted to see his brother happy and help him in any way he could like any good sibling would. He was convinced that inviting him to celebrate with his family like old times would lift his spirits even just a little. So, Canada insisted that he celebrate Christmas with him. It would be like when they were younger, and it would be a great distraction from whatever he was going through.
It took many more sessions of pleading, but he had plenty of time. Eventually, he was somehow able to convince his brother to come for Christmas. When December arrived, the Canadian personification travelled with the American the whole way across the Atlantic Ocean. He felt like picking his twin up and carrying him once they reached Europe because of how he seemed determined to take his sweet, precious time in walking.
The only thing that ensured they arrived in time for the Christmas Eve party was the cold wind on their faces and snow piling on their heads. Canada didn't mind at all, but America hissed and flattened his ears like a cat as he cursed the snow and bee-lined for the mansion with only the promise of warmth goading him.
So there they were, staring at the large doors that guarded the entrance to the residence of the most powerful personification in the world, the British Empire. America really didn't want to be there. The rub was, he had a hard time coming up with a place he'd rather be. Things just plain sucked at home right now, but he felt utterly foreign on this hemisphere. He was in a place he wasn't sure he was welcomed or would ever be welcomed. He could hardly feel any of his own citizens close by. It was extremely unnerving.
Canada seemed oblivious as he rapped the doorknocker a few times. A slave –no, servant- opened the door and the matching pair walked in.
"Announcing the personification of the Providence of Canada and the British American Colonies and the personification of the United States of America."
"Wow. You're name's so long," the independent twin joked, as the "dependent" twin stuck his tongue out at him.
However, America's personification stopped smiling as he noticed that there were far more people here than just the grumpy, old master of the house. He thought they were just more sl-servants when he noticed each of them radiated a nation-presence. They were all the rest of the colonies to the British crown.
"Canada, why are all these countries here?" America whispered.
America had built up enough courage and patience to deal with two people and two people only this holiday, Canada and Britain. He didn't think he could summon up enough courteousness to deal with all these other countries. He was stressed out enough.
"Eh? What do you mean? You asked if the British Empire was going to be here, and I said yes."
"I just meant the personification not every flipping colony he owns!"
"Well…." Canada started, but stopped himself for fear of angering America and him leaving.
"Did I really just hear who I thought I heard?"
America flinched as the all-too-familiar voice signaled the appearance of the all-too-familiar person attached to it.
"Speak of the devil," America whispered through his teeth that were clenched into a smile before the rapidly approaching figure finally made it over to them.
America, the ghouls of war echoing at him still, drew his attention to the sort of stiffness that the English nation held himself with. It wasn't a normal stiffness. It was an I'm-in-pain-and-I-can't-move-all-that-much stiffness.
"I can't believe you actually came!"
The man hadn't changed at all, but that was expected of a personification who never aged passed the twenties. His hair was still a mop of untamed blonde, and his eyes were still that piercing, condescending green. The eyebrows were as ferocious as ever, but America wasn't sure he'd recognize the guy without them. At least he could still tease him about that. But the aura of pure power that resonated off the man made America want to either spit in his face or cower in fear, maybe both?
"I can't believe it either." A thought to bolt out the door and ride back home on a dolphin or something crossed his mind with great temptation, but Canada stopped him, reading the panic.
"Yeah! Isn't it great? He wanted to celebrate Christmas with his family just like old times!" This was more of a forceful reminder for both of them to do their best to keep their tempers in check so the party could be a positive experience as it should be on Christmas.
"Well, then, come in, lads. Help yourselves to food or wine in the kitchen. Except for you, Canada. I don't want you to have any alcohol. You're too young."
"But Canada's one of your oldest colonies," America said, with narrowed eyes.
"Oh. It doesn't matter. I didn't want…"
"Well, when he looks hardly sixteen!"
"Come on, America! Let's go look at the food!" Canada said over-animatedly, trying desperately to defuse the situation that was even ending up in his own embarrassment.
"Did Artie make the food?"
"Everyone pitched in some of their own dishes, but I, of course, have a few of my own signature recipes for my guests to try," the empire smiled, as if this was an example of his greatness.
"Oh good. At least we all won't die of stomach cancer now."
Canada was practically attempting to rip his American brother's arm from its socket as he tried to drag him by any means necessary away from the Empire. He did not want this to turn into another War of 1812, call it the War of 1860.
America wasn't sure if the guests were staring because Canada was half-dragging his twin through the rooms or because they didn't expect the personification of the United States of America to come here in a million years.
"Hello, Mr. South Africa! …Mr. Bahamas, Mr. Barbados, and Mr. Jamaica! It's nice to see you again, eh!"
America's twin strained to calm the atmosphere as he had been trying since the moment they arrived and probably would continue to do for the rest of the night.
When they reached the kitchen, America couldn't suppress his snicker as he saw that Britain's obvious contributions had been carefully avoided while the rest of the entrees had been well nigh picked clean seeing as they arrived rather late.
As he piled food onto his plate, he couldn't help but whisper to Canada that he wouldn't tattle if he got a glass of wine.
"No thank you, brother. I don't feel like cloudy-ing my mind with wine right now. Hopefully this will be a memory I want to remember and cherish later."
That was another hint/order to America to restrain himself.
America rolled his eyes as he couldn't decide whether or not Britain's order had any weight in Canada's decision or if the guy really did just want to retain this holiday in his mind.
"Hey! It's my Pacific mates!" A boisterous brunette walked over and captured America and Canada both in a monstrous hug.
"Hello, Mr. Australia. I didn't know you thought of us as your Pacific brothers. After all, we also border the Atlantic, and I also border the Arctic Sea too, eh?" Canada said, as he tried to catch his breath again after the hug.
"Well, I also border the Indian and the Antarctic Seas, but who's getting technical? I'm glad you came! It was starting to get boring with all these stiff nations moping about."
"Glad we could help." America smiled. He liked talking to Australia. They had very similar starts as dumping grounds for unwanted British trash. It made him feel like they had a kinship.
"By the way, America. How'd you get in? I'd figured they would have thrown you out on sight!"
"Well, America is still a part of the family even if he's not in the Empire anymore. This is Christmas Eve after all, eh?" Canada, peace-keeper extraordinaire, intervenes again!
"Ha! It's already Christmas Day at my home! Comes with living on the other side of the world from the blokes that rule you. Haha!" He slapped the two nations on the back and scarfed down some more food.
"By the way," America said, with a mouth full of cuisine, "what's up with Britain? Is he hurt? He's kinda walking funny."
"Oh, you noticed, hu? That would be the fine work of good, old India!"
"India? I thought I heard Britain calling her the "Jewel" in the crown of the Empire?"
"Don't get the idea that she's some sort of goody-two-shoes. That would be Canada here. ("N-no, I'm not…") Oh, well, after stabbing him in the back the way she did, I'm starting to wonder if Arthur will give that position to someone else. I would throw my hat in for being the replacement jewel, but, I know it's hard to believe, India is much prettier than me. Much more suited to being on a crown." America opened his mouth to ask something, but the Aussie personification cut him off unintentionally, continuing, "I'd probably be the Empire's shoes or something. Rugged, irreplaceable, and…down under! Hahaha!" Australia howled at his own joke, slapping his thighs.
America smiled and made a mental note to visit Australia more. He was hilarious simply in the fact he thought he was hilarious.
"So, wait. How did she stab him in the back?"
The southern hemisphere colony swallowed a mouthful of some exotic-looking food, "With a knife?"
"Oh. You meant literally."
"It was because of the, um, the Sepoy Mutiny two years ago. I guess the good/bad news is that she's not ruled by the East India Trading Company any more. She's ruled by the crown and the British government just like the rest of us now."
"Sepoy Mutiny? Why Mutiny? Why not Revolution?"
"Well, they, um, didn't win, eh." Canada said softly, worried that India could be listening to them from behind a wall or something.
"Yeah. They never stood a chance, but I can't blame them. It would suck to be ruled by a tea company, wouldn't it?"
"I could have given her a great idea of what to do with all the tea." America smiled, before remembering all the pain and anguish that ensued because of the battles and war that domino-ed from acts of defiance like the Boston Tea Party.
As the night progressed, America tried to stay away from the host as much as possible. For Canada's sake as well as his own, he knew that if he avoided the matches there would never be a fire. However, Britain's gentlemanly etiquette demanded he have at least a small chat with all the guests he'd invited. It was inevitable that a conversation would arise so the independent personification prepared himself with what he was going to talk about so as to expedite the conversation without stepping on any aggravating subjects.
He was cornered at last in the parlor where the blue-eyed man had been having a staring contest with his former master's cat. And America would have totally won too if not for the bushy-browed nation interrupting them.
"Alfred."
"Arthur."
Silence.
It was a truly riveting conversation indeed.
America took this opportunity to break out the banter he had planned so he could just get this over with.
"So how goes the British Empire these days? I assume France doesn't compare?"
All America had to do now was sit back and nod occasionally. He just presented Britain with the two things he was most passionate about: his love for himself and his hatred for France. He would have to put up with a few rants against the country across the Channel and however long Britain felt like engaging in self-worship then he was home free.
Preparing to zone out, he was taken aback when, instead, the Empire simply said, "Why would you even mention the frog in this house, and of course I'm doing great. How about you?"
"…W-what?"
Britain laughed, "I asked how you were doing, dimwit. You've crossed the entire ocean. I'm not going to talk the whole night about myself."
America couldn't help but wonder why the Empire was speaking so casually to him. After all, fourty-five short years ago they were in a war with each other again. Could things have really healed this fast in the country –no- empire's mind? He didn't know how to respond.
"Well, they, uh, elected my new boss last month."
"Good, good. How do they feel about this one? He's your thirteenth boss, is it?"
"Sixteenth, actually."
"Sorry, I just always think of the number 'thirteen' when I think of you."
America coughed dryly, unamused. He wasn't offended at the statement. It was just a simple fact he had thirteen colonies originally (technically fourteen, but Nova Scotia was always more Canada's than his), but he didn't feel obligated to react necessarily positively in any way toward him at the moment.
There was another tick of silence before Britain continued, "Anyway, I'm still very grateful that you have been trading with me. The cotton in invaluable to my humble little island-country."
America wondered when he would start to notice that he wasn't very funny.
"I'm glad I can…help?"
Britain felt like slamming his head against a wall. What would it take for them to have a normal conversation? He was really putting himself out there trying to make his former-brother laugh and feel comfortable. His Empire-side also wanted his former colony to see what he was missing out on.
"Have you freed your slaves yet?"
He meant it as a non-provoking tease, although he really did wish America had freed his slaves. It wasn't right. But America immediately stiffened, as his eyes grew wide.
"Please don't talk about that," he blurted, attempting to ignore the rising, angry voices of his people chanting at him in his head.
Britain was very confused. Why was that subject so touchy for him? Then he realized what must have been the hot topic in his former charge's politics right now.
"So you they're debating it! Finally! I was worried that America, the 'progressive' country, would be living in a backwards, slave-driven society forever!"
"Please!" the blue-eyed personification pleaded with every ounce of dead seriousness he could muster.
"Hm~" the elder country mused, "I remember going through the same thing before my Empire abolished slavery, what was it?, thirty years ago?"
He could sense the young country writhing internally.
"But that was just when I abolished slavery altogether. I ended the slave trade sixty years ago."
"Britain, this isn't funny. Shut up."
America could feel the voices growing in his mind. They were mostly either for one of two sides: the first wanted slaves freed, and the other feared for the economical collapse of the country if that happened.
"I'm sorry, lad. It just seems like such an easy decision in hindsight, but I know it's painful. It will be over soon. If it is causing you this much discomfort, you are close to the end."
"No, you don't understand. My people have already made it clear that they will kill each other over this." America pleaded, his blue eyes wide with panic as he recalled the horrific events of Bleeding Kansas.
"America, I mean no offense by this, but you have always been a violent country. Your people think that the only way to make a point is by making the opposing side bleed for it. Talk with your new boss about this. I'm sure he'll help you come up with the right answer. What are you so scared for? Civil war?"
"I hope not. I sure hope not."
"Are you really worried for that? Come now, America! I didn't have a Civil War until I was sixteen hundred and fourty-two years old! France didn't have his first until he was fifteen hundred and sixty-two! And how old are you? Eighty-four if your "birthday" is 1776 and I did the math correctly. You're overreacting."
"Canada's two halves fought each other a couple decades ago. He doesn't even have a birthday."
"Well, that was different and bound to happen eventually. He had to decide whether he wanted to hold on to his French roots or embrace his new British influences. Thankfully, he made the smart choice and stayed with me."
America wasn't too sure Canada felt the same way about it as Britain did from what his twin told him. He hadn't seen his Northern bro in that much pain since the War of 1812. Not to mention that when Canada said the uprisings had finally ended, neither side really "won" or "lost". However, Britain did get the message that maybe he should pay Canada a little more care. They tried unifying English-speaking Upper Canada and French-speaking Lower Canada into the Providence of Canada that became the personification's new name, and gave Canada control of his own government. Still, one of Canada's cities, Montreal, was burnt because of residual conflicts that still lived in the hearts of his people.
America wondered to himself how long he would have to wait before he could tease Canada about being a pyromaniac, but he wisely figured that a couple decades was still too soon.
He sighed, still deep in thought.
"Something else happened. What was it?"
America pursed his lips. Britain could tell he was debating telling him.
The green-eyed man walked over to sit next to his former charge.
"America, there's something you're going to have to get used to. Wars end. Time moves on. I'm not your enemy now, and, as a person, I will always think of you as my little brother. If there's anything you need to talk about, I'm all ears."
The young blonde's blue eyes creased with withheld sadness, but America could never keep a secret not to mention something that was eating him alive.
"South Carolina seceded four days ago."
"What?" Britain's eyes went wide.
"You remember South Carolina, right? It was one of the original Thirteen."
"Yes, I remember. It split itself from North Carolina and was the first to declare independence from me."
"Well, it's declared independence from me too. Didn't like my new boss's views on slavery so it just…left. Just like that!" His sadness turned to anger, an anger the Empire knew all too well.
He wanted to tell America that his state would return like a disobedient child, but that didn't happen in his experience.
"How do you feel?"
"Nothing! I don't feel South Carolina at all anymore! It's numb! It's terrible."
"I meant how do your people feel."
America curled up into his knees before whispering, "Hate." His voice trembled to a violent vibrato. "Hate for the cruelty of slavery. Hate for the dependence on them. Hate toward the British Empire for starting the trade. Hate for the British Empire ending it. Hate for other countries. Hate for the government. Hate for themselves. Hate for the haters. Hate for hating."
America didn't know when he finally started crying, but he found himself burying his head in his brother's shoulder. The Empire was shocked at first, but immediately went into older-brother mode, rubbing comforting circles in his young brother's back.
"Bro, I'm scared. So scared. I've never been this scared. I, I don't know what to do, and I feel so alone."
"I'm right here, lad. I'm right here."
"No, you're not. You're on this island here, and I'm an ocean away. You have a whole army of colonies that take care of you. Me? I have no colonies. It's just me. And I don't even know if that will be true for very long."
"What do you mean? You think you'll disappear?"
"I can feel the South stirring. I have a horrible feeling that some more states will join South Carolina. What…what will happen if I split like that? Will I keep going and a new personification will rise up to represent them? Or will I…die?"
England put his hands on America's shoulders and looked him straight in the eye, "Now you listen here, young man. You will not die simply because you get smaller. If you gain territory, you get stronger, but you don't get any bigger physically, right? You've been expanding into the areas in the west. You know this. If, heaven forbid, you lose a few territories, you will not die. You will just get weaker. If any of your people still call themselves citizens of the United States of America, you will survive." America nodded slightly. "When you left me, did I die? No. So there will be no more talk of you dying, understand me?"
America nodded, wiping tears off his face.
"Good. Now, keep a stiff upper lip. This will blow over eventually. I'll ask Canada to keep an eye on you."
"Don't make Canada take sides! That will make it worse!"
"I meant you as a person. Canada's still rather protective of his twin. He's probably the best brother you could ever have. Especially since you share such a long border with him. …He has the patience of a saint," he added that last bit under his breath.
"You mean it?" A small voice said, as a curl of blonde bobbed from the entryway, beaming like the sun's rays.
"With the light feet of a church mouse and the nosiness of a weasel." England continued, teasing.
"Canada's already been helping me. He's the one that dragged me here."
"Kicking and screaming, but I still got you here, eh? Told you you wouldn't regret coming. Merry Christmas, big brothers."
Hope you enjoyed that. Yay for brotherly fluff!
Shameless self-promotion: I have another Hetalia one-shot for Dec 7, 1941 (bombing of Pearl Harbor and others), a Revolutionary War one-shot, as well as a recently-completed vampire!AU chapter fic. If you liked this one, you'd love those too.
Review or fav as you so desire.
Looking forward to it!