Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.
Canada slowly drifted awake, and a lazy smile spread across his face. America's arm was tucked around him, snugging him close. Canada was facing away, but the even breathing implied his lover was still out. Should probably go in soon. It's getting late. The idea of a nap on the picnic blanket had been greeted with enthusiasm after they finished eating, so the four of them had curled up and done just that. Judging by the lack of children, they had already awakened and were having fun elsewhere.
Only a few small clouds decorated the sky, all that remained of last night's abrupt squall that had sent them rushing back into their cabin. Sam and Pierre had had a fun time that morning pointing out all the animals and objects they saw represented in those cumulus puffs. America had seen cloud shapes as well, that had required him to whisper in Canada's ear. He was so immature. And Canada had only laughed to be polite. Really.
"Hey you. Wake up." Canada squirmed out from under the possessive arm. "Or just sleep there, whatever. You look cute." Was it narcissistic to admire his twin's beauty? Probably. Oh well. Ever the cliché romantic, Canada brushed an errant lock of hair out of his southern brother's face. America didn't even twitch. When he slept, he slept hard.
Canada located the boys a short distance away, tossing a softball back and forth. America had purchased it. It was patriotic.
"Oh, big brother, you're awake." Pierre waved, though it meant missing the ball that landed instead at his feet. The boys were now dressed in jeans and t-shirt, Pierre in red and Sam in blue. They were adorable no matter what they had on. "Is big brother Al still asleep?"
"Last time I checked." Canada hunkered onto the grass to watch them play, remaining off his butt in case last night's rain hadn't completely dried. "It's dinner time soon. I think." And they would have to be leaving the boys behind in a few more days. His stomach did a little flip every time he remembered that, even knowing they'd be able to take care of themselves.
"Can we play a little longer?"
"Sure! Ten more minutes."
"Hey, Mattie, go deep!"
Canada glanced over his shoulder and laughed. America was up, tossing an ovoid ball from hand to hand. "Where'd that come from?"
"What is that?" Sam wondered.
"A football!" the American said with pride. "Most countries confuse it with a soccer ball. Go figure. C'mon, stand up!"
"I don't want to." Without getting up, Canada shuffled away, like a tall blond crab. He knew what football with America was like.
But then the boys started chiming in. It was hard to refuse three adorable fellows begging him to play with their big puppy eyes. Eyeing the leftover mud, Canada relented and stood up.
"Don't you need a bath, too?" America asked.
"Nowhere near as much as you did. I'll shower later." Canada, perched on the toilet lid, glanced up from his magazine. "Besides, there's no room."
For a cabin, it had a generous sized bath tub. They had plunked the boys in, then America had donned swimming shorts and joined them. What space wasn't taken up by muddy nations was occupied by a vast armada of toy boats. And, for some reason, a plastic mermaid with a pink tail and strategically placed blond hair. They had gone a little crazy at the store the other day.
He shook his head, smiling fondly, then returned to his magazine. The mermaid was being torpedoed by Sam's submarine.
"So still no word about new mini-countries."
Canada looked up sharply. Should they be talking about that in front of said mini-countries? "No."
America fished out a couple small pirate figures. One was brunet, the other blond. Canada thought they looked suspiciously like Spain and England. "Do you think we should tell someone?"
"Not telling was your idea." The northern nation set his magazine aside. He could catch up on which celebrity was dating whom later.
"I know..." America ran a hand through his damp hair. "Just feeling guilty, I guess. They'll be pissed when they find out."
"Al!"
"What?" His face was the very picture of innocence.
"Don't say bad words in front of the kids!"
The boys, who had been thoroughly occupied in their game, now looked up. "What are bad words?" Pierre asked.
America looked to his brother, but Canada gave him an 'after you' expression.
"Uh. Words we don't allow you to say, of course. Until you're adults. Adult words."
"What words don't you allow?"
The wet blond threw Canada another pleading look.
"Well..." Canada smiled. "Gardenburger, for one."
America laughed. "Right! And Mrs. Butterworth's."
The young nations looked utterly confused, but their big brothers were amused, so they smiled and resumed playing.
Canada gave them a few more minutes, then fetched some nice fluffy towels. He ignored the boys' complaints as he rinsed them off with clean water and scooped them up. "I still need to shower, and we still need to have dinner. Go on, get your PJs on."
"You sure you don't want to join me?" America asked once they'd run off, grin plastered on his face.
"Mm. Toys and muddy water. It's tempting, but..."
"When did you get so snarky?"
"When I met you."
"You've always known me!"
"I know." Canada leaned over to kiss the top of his wet head. "You just bring out the worst in me."
"You should be nice. At least I know who you are."
"Barely. I keep waiting for you to shout your own name in bed."
"Seriously, why am I the one England calls a brat?"
The northern blond smirked. It was an expression few besides his brother had seen. "Get out, I need the shower."
"Can I shower with you? Then I'll be twice as clean."
"And pruney. But okay."
A good half hour later, Canada exited the bathroom with a towel around his shoulders and a pleased smile on his face. The younger set of twins were already waiting in the kitchen—Sam was seated at the table, playing with a salt shaker. Pierre was gazing out the window. He had been doing that a lot the last day or two, they had noticed. Especially the kitchen window. There were mountains in that direction, it was a lovely view.
"Okay! What shall we fix?"
America smoothed the comforter over the young twins, then settled down beside them with a thick, ancient book.
"What's that?" Sam asked. "It looks boring."
"They're stories England read to me when I was little," America said with a smile.
"You bring it on vacation?"
Huh. Perceptive child. "Um. Sometimes I like to read them, yes. Don't tell big brother Matt, he'll tease me." He opened to a random page and peered at it. "Not that one. That one gave me nightmares." He flipped a few more pages, and began to read. The words of the familiar old tale made him start to feel sleepy before the boys. But soon Sam out cold, sprawled on his back with a hand curled up near his face. Pierre remained awake a while longer, staring off into the distance. Struggling to keep his eyes open, America continued the story, voice fading from animated excitement to low drone. He set the book down on their nightstand when the other boy finally drifted off. America yawned, and let his own eyes close. He'd just rest them for a moment...
America jerked awake again some time later, rubbing his stiff neck. The boys remained asleep, and there was a blanket draped across America that he didn't remember being there before he'd dozed off. With a shrug, he curled up in the chair and went back to sleep.
Not the most exciting chapter. Sorry. /bows/ Next chapter: the plot thickens!
