Canada.
He is in multiple places at once. They all are.
At this very moment, he is flying above the clouds patrolling the African skies for any illegal aircraft. He is in The Aurora's, (a submarine by fortune he never had to use during the Cold War) awaiting any commands that he wishes not to await, and he is on a warship close to Misrata harbour, ready to spring into action. Yet in his heart, he knows that the action is within, where the citizens are fighting against a corrupt government, where Libya is among his people, chanting for justice. Where Qaddafi has turned his own guns against his people, shooting all who protest. He can feel it. Both he and Britain have many citizens trapped, fearing for their lives. For if they step outside, the mad protesters will rape them, just to grab the attention of the outside world.
At this very minute, he is in Kandahar, fighting a war that would have gone on without his involvement. Fighting against an insurgency, a violent and bloody insurgency, veering away from the path of peacekeeping and into the path of intervention with arms. Only by the insistence of John McCallum, minister of national defence, had they joined in a war America was so eager to create. He can hear the gun shots ringing in his ear, hear the screams of women, children, men, babies. He remembers back in 2006, Netherlands proclaimed that the Dutch government would be honouring its commitment to NATO, soon to join Australia in Orzugan. Remembers how Russia had quickly stopped by, having dealt with Afghanistan during the 1980s, and had whispered the words Russian Defence minister Sergei Ivanov had once said, "There are camps all over the place in Afghanistan, training all sorts of people all the time, it's a hornets' nest down there." Then he patted Canada on the shoulder, and with a sad smile, he wished him well. Remembers when Britain lay down on the infirmary bed, a bullet in his leg, and grimly stated, "We are fighting a war for them. Yet, they dislike us as much as they dislike the Taliban. Our involvement has only caused more pain."
At this very second, he is currently on the streets, with one outstretched hand and a sign in the other, asking for money. He is in the hospitals, smiling at a newly made mother and father, at a funeral, crying over the loss of a loved one.
He is everywhere.
But at this particular moment, the personification of Canada is standing outside of the personification of the United State's house. He takes a drag out of his cigarette, closes his eyes, and rests the back of his head against the door. In his other hand is an iPhone, red numbers flashing across the screen, slowly decreasing by the second. His music is low enough that he can hear the screams of anguish, as America pounds his fists against the walls, (Canada numbly thinks, 'Oh, and I'll be the one who has to fix that) and can hear as Britain screams, "It happens to everyone, you bloody sod! It happened to me!"
Only a few weeks before had Britain come before Canada, kissed him on the mouth, and begged him to keep it a secret from America. But little did Britain know, America was there to witness everything. This tantrum America had was not because he was falling from power, but because since he was falling from power, Britain would be abandoning him. He knew Britain would abandon him. It was only a matter of time.
There is no such thing as true love between nations, and America was naive for believing so.
Canada could frown at that prospect. But he doesn't. It takes 43 muscles to frown, and he doesn't feel like expending that much energy. So instead, he just smiles, and imagines his smile is being turned upside down.
Among the shouts, the wreckage, the crashing, he whispers in a voice that can not be heard.
"And so, another empire falls."
Riddled with a fever and depression, The States has finally calmed down and is sulking within his household. Britain has joined Canada on the porch, and the two have decided that a nice long walk is in order. Canada has long since dropped the shy, and clumsy act. It seemed perhaps now it was the time to act more normal, more - relaxed. And by doing so, he could lure Britain into a false sense of security; make him think that he's winning.
Britain still doesn't know that America understands the situation. It makes it that much more fun.
They walk at a brisk pace, neither saying a word. They stop at a bench that lies just a bit off the path, and Britain casually asks Canada for a light.
"Got a fag?"
Biting back a joke that surely won't be enjoyed by the Brit, he takes out his pack of cigarettes and hands one to him. They sit, and appear to have reached the pinnacle of silence until Britain begins to talk.
"August 12th, 1919. The Prince of Wales arrived in Newfoundland. He then proceeded to move onto Quebec City on August 21st."
"I remember that. He became Edward VIII, right?"
Britain responds with another statement.
"January 19th, 1649. The first executioner of Canada performed his first assignment in Quebec. The victim was a 16 year old girl, charged with theft."
"She was so sweet, so young."
"April 11th, 1713. The Treaty of Utrecht. Ended the War of the Spanish Succession. France was to give up to Britain all forts and territories in Hudson Bay, Newfoundland, and Acadia."
Just as Canada opened his mouth, Britain held up a hand, demanding silence.
"August 4th, Canada entered World War I, when Britain declared warn on Germany and Austria-Hungary. August 19th, Canada declared war on Germany and Austria-Hungary. February 14th, the 1st Canadian Division arrived in France from England, and proceeded to Belgium."
Canada remembered that. Well, more specifically, he remembered how Britain rushed into the arms of USA, who had some how sneaked aboard Canadian ships. (Truth be told, USA had come to parliament with several other American soldiers, ready to fight, ready to be heroes. How could Canada have said no?)
He already understands Britain. He knows what Britain wants, what he is attempting to do. As America falls, it seems apparent that Canada will be the nation to rise. Britain knows this. Canada knows this. They all do. But instead, he will feign ignorance. Ignorance is bliss.
"What are you trying to get at," he asks.
"I am merely implying that contrary to what you believe, I do remember you."
Or you could have bought any history book and recited those facts until your lips were black and blue.
Canada does not say anything. He is the good child; the peace keeper. South resides the war bringer, the intervener. He is the thinker, USA is the strength. But oh how much he had wished he could be the one who acted without thinking for once, and just punch Britain in the face.
"And you say this because?..."
Britain shakes his head. "I just wanted to let you know."
So this is the game Britain wanted to play. Canada will admit, the act was very formidable. Perhaps just this once, Canada will act out of character. He will go beyond the lines of embarrassed and timid and prove himself hard to get. With a sly smile that Britain may take as an act of embarrassment, Canada too, plays the same game.
"I have quite good relations with the Netherlands. Every year, without fail, he has sent me 10,000 tulips. France and I have been quite close, despite his involvement with his little Quebec Mafia. I take it as a cry for attention. Australia and I are also on good terms. It seems that when I had become the first British colony to peacefully gain independence, he had idolized me. Belgium and I are also on good terms; she has several government buildings in my country, I at hers. Cuba and I, much to USA's chagrin, are on good terms. We have been since the 18th century. Even though we've had a little argument over Hans islands, Denmark and I are still close. Estonia and I have had a budding relationship since the 1920s, ever since I re-recognized him. There's also Finland - he's probably the most represented foreign country in Canada, Japan and I have quite an enjoyable relationship, we don't really disagree upon anything, and well, I can go on and talk about how good my relations are with Greece, Germany, Hungary, Iceland, Ireland, Italy, Latvia, Mexico, Mongolia, Morocco, New Zealand, Russia, Norway, China, Philippines, Poland, Romania, Singapore, South Korea, Sweden, Switzerland, Ukraine, and Vietnam, but you probably don't want to hear about them."
Britain still has a blank look on his face, having tuned out halfway through. When he realized that Canada is done talking, he blinks, and raises an eyebrow.
"Was it necessary to tell me all of that?"
Canada shrugs his shoulders. "I just wanted to let you know."
I just wanted to let you know I'm not as easy as you think.
"Britain-"
"Please, call me England. We are much closer than that." Canada can detect a hint of fondness and truth behind England's words, but he is unsure whether it is a ploy or sincerity.
"E-England." Canada sighs, and pretends as if it's exhilarating to be able to call Britain by such an informal name. There is a slight quirk at the corner of England's mouth. "We should get back to America. He's probably in need of some comfort."
England grabs Canada's hand, and there's this look in his eyes.
"He should be fine. Why don't we grab a bite to eat?"
Behind what most would take as an innocent pleading gaze, Canada can see the hunger, can see the greed. There is something more, but Canada isn't too sure. Could it be lust?
Canada disregards all of his ill and anxious feelings, and he agrees.
After all, he did make a promise to America.
He could frown at England's pitiful behaviour, but it takes 43 muscles to frown - well not worth the effort. Instead, he smiles, which earns him a blush from England.
As they wait their meals, the worry has ebbed into the recesses of Canada's brain, and he vocalizes it. But he may admit, he didhave a little motive for doing so. Perhaps it would impress England, if he acted like the concerned brother.
"Do you think America is okay?"
"His economy is failing, he's losing several wars, and is quickly falling from the top, but he'll get over it." England responds, with disinterest. He stirs his water with his straw, then folds both arms neatly across the table. "Let's talk about you. How are things with you?"
He'll get over it just as fast as how you get over him.
"W-well," Canada begins, and he has rehearsed everything he wanted to say already. "I really am worried about America, I hate to see him like that. But er... myeconomy has burst through the roof. We had this plan, where we would pull out all of our factories from the third world countries, and produce, manufacture, buy, and sell only Canadian products. China wasn't too happy about that, neither was Mexico. I always wished of becoming noticed, but I didn't want it to be like this. If America was to be caused pain, I didn't - well, it just shouldn't have been like this! I..."
Canada doesn't have to say it. The news reports, the numbers, the media, it says it all for him. He is sky rocketing, blasting past America.
"I've become stronger. I love it, but I hate it."
"Canada, dear, I've always noticed you," England says, as he folds his hands together. "But I've just been wondering, is your country thinking of any... special relations?"
Canada cocks his head to the side. "You mean one similar to the US and the UK?"
"Perhaps."
The waitress comes by, with a heaping plate of food that was well worth over 20$. They receive their dinner. They eat it. Canada licks the back of his fork with his tongue, dragging it up slowly. His eyes dart to England, who's face has turned a hue redder.
"I would really like a 'special' relation. My government has been asking me what country I believe suitable and..."
He trails off, hoping England takes the bait.
And he does.
"I believe my country would be suitable andwilling to meet your needs."
"Is that so?"
Canada knows what England wants. He tries to prevent his trembling body from jumping forth and hitting England in the face.
England then leans forward, and says, "Even if my country wasn't, I would be willing to meet your needs."
The least Canada could do is frown, but he won't even succumb to that. It takes 43 muscles to frown, Canada wouldn't even expend over 5 for England.
After much polite arguing, Canada pays for the bill. "I can well over afford it," he says to England, and notices the little smirk on the Brit's face. Canada already knew that was the Brit's plan. To go out to dinner and get Canada to pay. Canada was tempted to let England pay, but he found out the man had none (Canada had later tried to pick pocket England for the money back, but found that there was nothing in his wallet) and he felt quite used.
Well, he was being used.
They were now in America's room, watching as the nation simply lay there on the bed, the rise and fall of the covers in time with the deep and heavy breathing. Canada is kneeling beside the bed, a hand stroking through America's hair. England stands opposite of Canada, watching the affectionate brotherly display nonchalantly.
"What do you think happens next?" Canada asked, as he gently removed his brother's glasses from his face.
"Do you want an honest opinion?"
Canada stared at his brother's face; his eyes were closed, he almost looked at peace.
"Yes. I do."
"The worse case scenario could be a repeat of World War II. Racism is already quite common in the States, and all it could take is one person to point out a major race and put the blame on them. In this case, the most plausible race would be the Chinese. For one, people already blame the Chinese for stealing their jobs, homes, and just about everything else. The second is the debt involving China. America owes quite a sum, and I doubt China is willing to let it slide. Eventually, someone will dictate the country and kill off all the Chinese. They arethe most visibly minority. And as his neighbouring country, you'll have to intervene. The Asia's are most likely to get involved as well, and North Korea or Iraq will take it as an opportunity to strike. Countries will take sides."
"Stop." Canada says, in a stern voice, clutching America's hand tight.
"What?"
"I meant stop talking like that. You never know for sure that it will happen."
"Is America asleep?"
Canada glances into America's cerulean eyes, and grips America's hand even tighter, warning him not to act, mouthing the words, "Stop it, you'll blow our cover."
America was never asleep.
"No, he's asleep. I'm sure of it."
"Hmph. I know that is most likely to occur. History repeats itself. You're still too young to have seen it happen, but it doeshappen. It was only a matter of time before America fell. But..."
His voice trailed off. Why would his voice trail off? That was so unnecessary and over dramatic.
"I was thinking perhaps we could create our own special relationship. Try to break the loop in history. Just you and I. It's horrible, and disheartening, but it just couldn't be done with America." His voice drops low and is soft, and Canada wonders how many times it took to say it in front of the mirror to make himself believe it. "I loved America. But he isn't the man he was before. He's become more violent, more harsh. He's a shadow; an echo." He lifts up a part of his shirt, revealing what looks like a deep stab wound on his stomach. He says nothing, but Canada knows what he's implying. But any wound can be created with the right make up.
"He's a liar." America mouths.
As Canada met America's gaze, he understood. America was willing to go through the pain, go through the hurt. As long as Canada hurt England tenfold.
"England, did you know, it takes 43 muscles to frown?"
"Wha-"
Canada stands, and walks around America's bed, right to England. Canada tries to speak in a soft and soothing voice. He presses up against England, placing his left hand on England's stomach, his arm around his torso. He is only an inch taller than the Brit, so he places his head on his shoulder.
"This all must be hard for you - to see someone you had loved so much fall so far."
Canada feels the warmth as England wraps his arms around him.
"Yes. It does."
Canada almost believes England. He could almost believe the choked sob England makes into his left shoulder.
America said he would never lie to Canada.
"When someone hurts you, don't frown. It takes 43 muscles to frown, so you should never frown." He whispers the words into England's ears.
He pulls back and smiles. England's figure is outlined by the soft moon light, but Canada is unable to see his expression. Perhaps he is smiling as well.
How unfortunate.
Canada flexes his right arm, and in one quick motion, he punches England in the face. He watches as the man crumples to the floor, and with haste, Canada grabs his collar. He can now see England's face, can see the dribble of blood at the corner of his mouth.
"It takes 4 muscles to punch someone in the face."
He lets go, and turns his back so that he can inspect his left hand. He does not have to tell England to leave, for he can hear the scuffle of feet, a muffled curse, and a door slamming shut.
"That was awesome." America whistles.
Canada examines his left hand - the one that had pressed up against England's wound. It feels sticky, there's a deep red-scarlet hue, and it smells like iron. He brushes his right hand against his left shoulder. His shirt is damp. He remembers that tear stricken face that he had a brief glimpse of. England does not cry after being punched in the face. Canada has seen England shot, stabbed, maimed, and killed, and England had not cried.
As Canada leaves the room and begins to put on his coat, America leans against the door and casually asks, "Where are you going?"
Canada attempts a meek smile, trying to with hold his anger.
"I'm going to visit England. I can't break his heart if he's mad at me, so I must apologize."
America smiles, and moves toward Canada. If he notices Canada stiffen, he doesn't let on. He gives Canada a brief kiss on the lips.
"Break that lying bastard's heart." he says.
Canada clenched and unclenched his fist.
"Yes," he responds. "I will break a lying bastard's heart."
Canada could frown, but instead he smiles.
He smiles because he will most definitely break a lying bastard's heart.
Now he must go. A much needed apology to England is in order.
This is the sequel to Sluts and Broken hearts