He was probably not supposed to be working on his own birthday party. America had told him probably fifteen-thousand times that the hero was going to make the most awesome birthday party ever and that the sidekick was not allowed to do anything about it. It was nice of him to call him up specifically to say that-not so nice when the call came at exactly one minute after midnight after a loud, over-exuberant voice screams happy birthday at you.

Of course, America being America, he didn't get started on it until noon, and when he did there was much apologizing and shoving of Canadians out of the room. He even enlisted the help of Netherlands (who was still not quite used to the Canadian timezone and kept yawning) and Ukraine (who was hit with jetlag even worse than Netherlands and fell asleep at times.) Well, those were who he'd known about, since they had arrived at five in the morning as bright and chipper as they could be, along with Cuba and took him out to a pancake shop for an incredibly early breakfast. Canada got some alone time with Ukraine (which was nice-he didn't see her a lot of the time) and Netherlands and Cuba got into a fight about the merits of a pipe versus that of a cigar.

Cuba had to go back to his house for a bit (his boss demanded that he do some paperwork) and he promised to come back when the party started.

But that happy time had been cut short by America, who immediately kicked Canada out and told him to "come back at 4:29 pm."

He was very confused. "America, why do I have to stay outside the house for four and a half hours-"

America shushed him and then turned back to the inside of the house, shouting "T minus four-hours—twenty-two-minutes-and-thirty-five-seconds until the party starts! Let's get happening, people!"

At that a loud, garbled and most likely Dutch phrase erupted from his kitchen, followed by the sound of glass shattering. Canada forlornly walked away and sent up a silent prayer that his house would still be there when he got back.

"I love you, poutine." He picked up another gravy-slathered chip and bit into it. "You understand me."

He was in a café where he could see the television, turned onto the news for updates of Canada Day. A little girl in the booth opposite him kept craning her head to look at it, and waving her little maple-bedecked flag.

He sighed into his chips. He had about an hour to kill before his "totally awesome" party was ready, and he decided to go back early and help.

Ukraine opened the door, looking harried and with unshed tears glistening in her eyes; at the sight of Canada she buried her face into his neck and started to cry.

"I-I'm so sorry, Matvey-" she sobbed. "I tr-tried to make Mr. America not turn you out of your house bu-but I couldn't get him to listen!"

"Sshh, it's okay, it's okay…" he soothed, patting her platinum-blond hair. His poor girlfriend could easily be pushed to tears, but thankfully he could usually cheer her up.

Manouvering around into the doorway, Canada backed up and guided Ukraine to a couch in the now-unrecognizable lounge room. Festoons of red and white banners littered the space; dashes of roses (and lilies-he could guess how a few pots were broken) and branches of maple trees were planted in his largest, thankfully empty maple syrup pots.

It was chaos.

He darted into the kitchen and grabbed some apple juice for Ukraine before starting to clean up the mess his brother made. It was terrifying how much crap had been strewn all over the place.

"What'd he do, throw everything on the floor?" he muttered, extracting his second-best suit from beneath a carton of half-eaten ice cream.

The distraught girl sniffled. "Y-yes."

He whipped his head around. "What? I was kidding! Urgh, that idiot!"

Well intentioned though his brother may be, it was starting to grate on his nerves that Al had treated his stuff like garbage.

Suddenly Ukraine gave a shriek of fright. He was there in a second and forgot that his hockey stick was in pieces. "W-what is it?" he asked, shocked. It was ordinary for her to cry-it happened every day-but he'd never, in all his life, remembered her scream like that.

"I-I am sorry, Matvey. I h-heard someone downstairs." she hiccupped, brushing away a few fresh tears.

He frowned. There wasn't anything in his basement that could produce such a noise-it was empty of anything, mainly because he hadn't gotten around to actually dumping his stuff in it. He motioned for Ukraine to follow him and quietly opened the door to the basement-biting back a curse, because of course Canada forgot that the light-switch was at the farthest wall from the steps.

"Hold onto my shoulder." he said. She grasped it and he groped around for the banister, sliding down the stairs as quietly as he could.

When he got to the bottom, the light was flicked on.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY CANADA!"

Confetti burst in his eyes and he felt his back being slapped by a too-strong hand (Russia?). America-was that America?-grinned sheepishly and caught him into a bearhug, which was quickly joined by a very drunk England and France.

"My dear boy, 'appy birthday…"

"Geb off 'im you frog!"

Prussia materialized out of nowhere and smacked him on the back (right where Russia had, and it smarted). "Oh man, Kat, that scream was awesome!"

"T-thank you, Prussia. I did my best." Ukraine smiled tearfully. Matt looked over at his girlfriend in shock. She'd faked it?

America let go of Canada and slapped him on the back (what was it with people and his back? There was going to be a huge bruise in the morning.)

"So, whaddaya think, bro?" he asked.

Canada looked around. He was surrounded by his closest friends and family, and they were paying attention to him for once. He turned around to face his brother and smiled.

"Touch my hockey sticks again and I will crush you like a bug."