Warning: Drug reference
It took nearly two hours of twisted diplomacy, screeching, and kol'ing, but the family of blondes managed to wriggle their way from the meeting room, avoiding the sad gazes of the other countries who had yet to have a turn with newly miniaturized nation.
They had retreated to Matthew's hotel room as it was the closest and according to Arthur, the nearest to the source of the problem.
"Norway gave his word that he was not a part of this." The Brit mused "Denmark was quick to back up his alibi. Romania wasn't here today, but this type of deviltry isn't in his area of knowledge…" Arthur continued to mumble and pace. He was attempting to be helpful and find a solution to the problem.
Alfred had other plans.
Once everyone was calmed down as much as they properly could…
And Matthew was settled on the floor…
The American took a sick satisfaction in one tiny detail that he had ignored during the initial confusion.
His (slightly older, but not really. Bering went into Alaska, damn it!) brother was now his very little brother.
"No Matt. You cannot have that."
"Ah Ah! Don't touch that, you'll hurt yourself."
"Hey now little brother…Don't you think that's enough candy – I don't care if it is maple flavored, young man."
Needless to say, a certain nation was not too thrilled about the 'Heroic' power trip.
Thus, about thirty minutes in, the shrunken country was left to sulk against his sleeping bear who seemed to care less than he did about the carpet beneath them. Matthew's bright eyes darted back and forth and was a movement caught by his doting brother as he practically waited for the child to do something wrong.
Crossing his arms, the Canadian just huffed which caused a light smiled on Alfred's face.
Big Mattie mad meant fratricide via hockey stick.
Little Mattie mad left one with gushing feelings that could not be contained.
This, of course, caused the superpower to ignore the neon red 'Proceed with Caution' sign that usually came up when he pissed off the northern nation. Now the sign just flickered every now and then, desperately trying to come on.
Alfred went to poke the boy's cheek…and was forced to pull back as teeth snapped at the air. "Dude! Not cool!" He shouted, cradling his hand protectively against his chest.
Matthew kicked out at a nearby shin and flicked his tongue at his brother before doddering off with a self-satisfied grunt. The oversized dress shirt training out behind him.
Al watched the Canadian go with a sour look on his face while he rubbed the offended limb.
"So what now Arthur?" He wobbled over to his former caretaker, snapping him from his speculations. He figured it would be best to leave his brother be for the moment.
There are five unquestionable truths about toddlers.
One: They are tiny and can easily fit into small spaces while being completely silent, making one wonder how they managed to lodge themselves in an air duct fifteen feet up.
Two: Referring to One toddlers make horrible spies, only because they cannot take direction…or anything that requires fully developed common sense.
Three: Their attention span can be as short as a goldfish or longer than Colet's speech.
Four: Small children should never be left alone.
Five: Small children should never ever be left alone.
Now Matthew had had centuries to cultivate an absolutely exquisite level of dignity and mental capacity.
Whatever this voodoo, Dumble-Dora, witchy-ness was, it had taken most of that and fed it to the dogs. Suddenly, his reason was currently sitting in a jar of dirt on a shelf somewhere, begging to be returned to its owner before it was too late.
The hotel room wasn't large by any standard, however, the kitchenette was a temptation of undeniable pleasure. Mostly because it lacked the hovering 'adults' but also because the snippets he picked from his previous conscience was telling him there was something good in there.
With a bit of silent effort, Matthew managed to shuffle over one of the luggage cases and over-turned it near the cabinet, climbing on top of it. A quick glance to the side assured him that he was in the clear. Alfred and Arthur were talking about some sort of miniaturized, terrorists, and crisis.
Not important.
Now, the mission the young Canadian was on, that was of the upmost significance.
Even if he didn't know it.
What am I even looking for again? God, my thoughts are so jumbled. Maybe I should- OH
The blond child's hands slid across the counter before bumping against a small black tin.
And Bingo was his name-O.
Pulling the small case towards him, Matthew over compensated, causing himself to freefall back towards the ground.
The initial thump caused Kuma to rouse instantly.
The clang of metal against the floor caused the other two nations to pause curiously.
A muffled sniff later, the white cub was already padding his way over to his young charge.
There was a small whimper, but nothing more as the boy buried his face into the fur. He had fallen straight back, bruising his bottom and luckily nothing else.
…Pride didn't count, did it?
Francis had been sent on a mission.
Correction.
Francis had denied this privilege to both Arthur and Alfred. Who knew what monstrosities they would have returned with?
Besides, he had been denied this pleasure years ago due to political decisions. To say he wasn't enjoying this to a degree would be a lie.
Two bag hung heavy on each arm. The names plastered across them made the sacks alone valued more than a weeks' worth of minimum wage.
Viva la Capitalism.
Humming that infuriating song that had been playing over the loudspeakers, France was having an internal battle of wills.
On one hand, the chorus was irritating and overly produced.
On the other, the boy-group was British.
Actually…there wasn't an upside. Yet for some reason, he couldn't get the melody out of his head. Even though the entire thing was completely ridiculous.
What is the point of smiling at the ground anyway?
He would have to ask (read; condescendingly make fun of) Arthur about his peoples way of 'romancing'.
However, that would have to wait.
Even outside of the room, he could hear the battle coming from within. His eyes widened and he couldn't get the key card out fast enough when he heard a child's wail.
Flinging the door open with great force, Francis froze. His mouth moved momentarily, but nothing came out.
Matthew was on the ground, arms crossed and face red as he stared at the floor.
Alfred was holding a black tin above his head, his left hand defending and one foot lashing out every few seconds.
Arthur was leaning forward on his toes, face full of American hand, and waving frantically in the air.
"Give me the blasted box – Ouch! Bloody hell - Alfred!"
"Nuh uh!"
France managed to regain himself enough to slip inside. The click of the door managed to catch Canada's attention.
Looking up, the small nation didn't even have to try to muster up the best kicked-puppy look ever. His hands instantly made a grabby motion, the universal child sign for 'pick-me-up-before-I-cry-so-loud-DHS-will-hear-thr ee-states-over'. The European didn't need the threatening encouragement though. In one fell swoop, he had the boy in his arms. The shopping bags still weighing down.
"Now now. What is this?" He questioned the only person he expected a remotely straight answer from.
"Alfie won't let me have cookies 'cause…'cause… he's a meanie." Canada moaned indignantly, having partially come to terms with his new and improved vocabulary.
Francis blinked quickly. He had expected some sort of royal scandal or a lack of tea for the British man to act out like so.
Then again…he had left him practically alone in a room with America.
"It's not nice to call people names, Mathieu." He chided absentmindedly.
"I can if I want." The boy huffed back. He'd said worse during the hockey match last weekend without anyone saying anything.
Much worse.
Romano had taken notes from the recap.
Francis gave him a look that would normally be followed by a reprimand, but he too had to remember that Canada was…had been an adult.
Choosing to ignore that particular battle for later, he refocused on the arguing nations. Somehow, Alfred had managed to get on the subject of sticking Arthur in a retirement home. Ordering Life Alert for the aging nation. Hiring a French cook because they would be able to improve his horrible scones.
Ok. Despite the truth behind those words, there was only one viable option at this point.
America Made England Really Irritated, Crisis Avoidance - Version 1-B activate.
AKA: Mediation.
"Mon Amérique, won't you share with your brother?" It was just a cookie after all, if what Matthew had said was true.
"Matt can't have these!" Alfred said pointedly as he managed to slap the Brit away.
Matthew gave a shocked whine when he saw his southern brother head for the bathroom with the box.
"Alf'wed!" The Canadian wriggled in France's grasp.
The other brother just gave the boy a knowing look before rightly ignoring him.
Both parental figures looked on questioningly. Sure America could be a real piece of work and his manners needed an overhaul, but they had never seen him be cruel.
At least not without reason.
"Alfred! I will count to three. You will stop picking on your brother or so help me…"
America stopped for a moment glaring daggers at the shorter blond before flicking his gaze back to the little boy in Francis arms.
Matthew seemed sincerely concerned about the fate of the wonderful treats. Yet under the scrutiny of his brother's glare, Canada's mind seemed to catch up to the situation. The sudden shock of realization was almost verbal. Almost…
Instead of letting the whole thing drop (like a good brother would), Matthew let the newfound information soak in comfortably and he dropped his expression into a deadpan. It would have been a good impression of Norway if it weren't for the slight tug at the edge of his mouth or the expectant gleam in his eyes. The countdown continued.
And here Alfred was being helpful and keeping his promise.
Well…two could play at that game.
Heel-toe turn and he was nearly flush with his father-brother-something figure just as he started on the first syllable of the last number, shoving the tin into his hands.
The Brit scoffed back and mentioned something about him making it harder than it needed to be. He was about to turn and finally give Matthew what he wanted when Alfred piped up.
"Those are Matt's …special cookies." His voice was innocent and nonchalant as he inspected the off-white walls with great interest. His hands were suddenly shoved into his back pockets to prevent himself from fist pumping. That one word with just the right tone…checkmate.
Arthur froze and stared at the box with horror. One would think the thing had insulted the Queen's propriety from the look he gave it.
Matthew's face broke and he gaped before he puffed his cheeks at the traitor.
Once he returned to normal and could articulate correctly, he was so returning the favor. He would just let it slip out ever so accidently.
Did Arthur know what really happened to his Persian rug in 37'?
The great cookbook bonfire?
Test driving the schooner in 1779?
The boy didn't have long to ponder revenge though. If the look on the British man's face was anything to go on, he guessed he had about ten seconds of quiet.
What peaceful thoughts could he conjure?
Hmmm…His papa smelled of roses as usual, but there was something else. The scent of hot dogs and lax environmental protection laws. So he had gone downtown? What did he buy? Hopefully the clothes weren't too frilly. Some red would-
"Matthew Williams!" Arthur's voice was a chalkboard screech. "You- Of all the- I cannot even describe how disappointed I am!" He slammed the opened tin into the nearby garbage, horrified that the drug infused food existed.
Fifteen seconds before recovery. Nearly as long as when the twins had gone to the world meeting in Southern drag. Maple. This was going to be a long day.
As the blond continued to rant, America plastered a smug look on his face. Matt had practically used an ancient blood-oath on his brother to make sure their 'parents' never found out about his not-for-family-outing cookies. Arthur had learnt about them a few decades ago and the northern nation had told him herbal spiked cookies were just a one-time experiment. That had only reduced the bitching by point-five percent. It was a low blow but...
Bro-code be damned. This was self-preservation.
The boy had to think quickly, no matter how hard it was.
Now, Matthew didn't like his current physical predicament. He was smart however. Within his 'family', he knew most of the goings on. Who did what, who did who, who knew what…or didn't in this case. After all, Arthur had been the one who decided that they keep the one-time incident between them.
When in Rome...
Or some sort of time-age scramble…
Letting his eyes do as they had all morning, he hiccupped once before snuggling into the crook of his Papa's neck, hiding his face from the raging Briton. "Papa…" His voice was no more than a breath.
Maman mode ignited.
"Arrêter!" He turned his shoulder as to protect him charge from the other two. "Of all the- picking on a little boy. Really? Mon fils 'as 'ad a tough time as it is." The Frenchman snapped at them while managing to haughtily look down his nose.
"Listen Frog-"
"Frenchy-"
The two cut each other off, trying to explain. Glaring at each other, they quickly lost their one chance to defend their cause. The Frenchman's temper was only recently waning from the stunt in the meeting room. Thus, he was quick to lash out now. With a sneer, Francis turned on his heel and removed himself and his cargo from the room, whispering soothing words and cooing promises of fresh pastries.
Before the door slammed, the two dumbfounded blonds caught sight of a small face resting on a broad shoulder.
He was beaming.
His eyes were laughing.
And that cute little wave was anything but.
"That little shit…"Alfred spoke in disbelieving awe with how abruptly the situation had flipped on him.( He had NOT just been outsmarted by a preschooler.)
Arthur could only nod in agreement, suddenly recalling many past instances when little Alfred cried about being falsely accused.
The door slammed open as the blond Germanic nation scanned the room. Of course there wasn't anyone in there. That would have meant his brother had actually listened and obeyed. Ludwig had every right to laugh at his own stupidity.
Instead, he had other, less self –depreciating, ways of coping.
Face meet Wall. Now kiss. Again.
After a few moments of indecently acquainting himself with the doorway, Germany took out his phone and let Speed-Dial number One do its job.
"Hola Ludwig~"
"Bruder! Ich sagte dir zu bleiben….Spain?" The blond's eyes furrowed at the airy chuckle on the other line.
"Si! Do you want to talk to – Ah. What does that say Gil? I can't read – OH! Gilbert isn't here right now. I can take a message if you want."
After a few stuttered breaths through his nose, the nation managed to pull himself together, a hand mussing his gelled hair. His only choice was to play along.
"Ja. Tell him that he is to report back to our room immediately. The situation with…Canada" HE paused, the name wasn't forgotten. Instead, it sent a chill down his back. "is figured out, we need to keep a close eye on those who interacted with him lately.
The Mediterranean nation on the other end was listening to instruction from a not-as-sneaky-as-he-thinks-he-is Prussian. Before the nation relayed the message, Germany had already heard every word straight from the source.
"I will tell him, but I think he would say…. meinen Schwanz lutschen" The Spaniard was hesitant about relaying the message. His accent was atrocious and he obviously had no idea what was he was saying.
Germany's eye twitched when he heard a harsh cackled followed by 'No homo' in the background. A dial tone soon followed.
For a brief moment, he considered taking his brother skydiving with Russia.
Oh. I have some explaining to dooo...
So I got a nice case of writers-block right around Finals. Once finals were done and I finally managed to bring myself outta the slump *BAM* good ol' Tornado Alley lives up to it's name. After a few close calls, the E-F5 tornado touched down...5 minutes from my apartment. I spent the last few days clearing rubble and working food lines (It didn't hit my place...barely) ... ANNND I just moved back to my moms for the summer. This chapter is crap and has little to no movement but it's just a little reminder that I'm NOT gone. (See that Southern drag - reference to OMAM- AKA I'm working on that update too.). I promise to get back to regular updates again now that I'm settled and the sky isn't threatening to attack.
Translations:
(Remember: Google Translate- Feel free to correct)
Arrêter|[FR] Stop
Bruder! Ich sagte dir zu bleiben|[GR] Brother! I told you to stay.
meinen Schwanz lutschen|[GR] suck my dick.
Colet's speech: Lluis Colet spoke for five straight days and four nights about Spanish painter Salvador Dali...a long ass time. He has a couple speeches under his belt that break the normal presentation 7 minute limit.
