A/N: Oh my god, thank you to everyone who reviewed and put this on their Story Alert! I still have no idea where I'm going with this so keep giving as much feedback and constructive criticism as you can… oh, and if anyone's willing to beta this, please let me know and I'll make you a cake of your choosing.

So there were a couple of questions about some of my head canon choices so I'll answer them here. PK was my grandfather's name and it's short for Purushottam Karunakaran. I named Canada's glasses Quebec as a parallel to Alfred's glasses being called Texas and I already had Halifax represented by the hearing loss in her ear. Maddie's scoliosis is meant to represent all those islands that are part of Nunavut's territory and the thing with Alfred and the fez was an excuse for me to use the Weeping Angel line.

Just so there's no confusion, Lukas is Norway, Emil is Iceland, Lena is fem!Denmark, and Zea is New Zealand. And the "sisters" that Maddie refer to are Francis' former Caribbean colonies—Guadeloupe, Martinique, etc. Again, if you have any questions or comments, just review or PM me.

Anyways, on with the show!

Warnings: Language, possible OOCness, possible scary imagery

Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, would Canada be a secondary character? Hell no! And of course, all credit goes to Fallen1 for her idea about Arthur's magical friends migrating to Canada. Seriously, that's some inspired head canon. *high fives fellow Canadian*

"No, no, no." Arthur banged the hand carved spoon against the rim of the cauldron, the metallic clang echoing through the little room. "Turn red, damn it!"

It had been three weeks since the World Meeting and it seemed like Arthur, who had shut himself in a little room two steps above the attic of his house, couldn't do anything right. The bloody potion he was working on refused to cooperate with him and he needed to finish it soon, preferably before his next magic meeting with Norway and Iceland. He had just came back from a meeting at Parliament, his dark grey suit jacket draped over a chair and his tie removed, leaving him in his shirtsleeves and an unbuttoned waistcoat.

He was usually highly skilled at this—he brewed better than he baked—but he had to proceed with caution with this particular potion. If there was even the slightest deviation, the whole thing could come back to bite him in the ass. All magic, black or white, came with a price after all. But the potion was still a sickly acid green when he needed it to be blood red and his fairy friends, who usually lent a helping hand, were nowhere to be found.

He snatched a jar of Epsom salt from the wall of ingredients behind him and poured a liberal amount into the cauldron. The potion bubbled and smoked before giving way to a deep shade of plum.

Ha, result! Now we're getting somewhere…

As he continued to work diligently—a dash of ground heliotrope root, an owl feather, a spoonful of crushed opal—his thoughts turned to America and… ah yes, Canada. Warmth rushed through him, his eyes crinkling with genuine affection. The one with violet eyes and maple leaf-shaped barrettes in her hair. And people kept thinking he didn't know who Canada was.

They were idiots, the lot of them, especially his bastard brothers, he groused as he flipped through an ancient potions text. Forgetting someone's name was completely different from forgetting a person. He was so used to remembering people by the distinct way they looked—Alfred with Nantucket and his bomber jacket, Francis the frog with his long hair and extravagant clothes, and far too many others to recount—that he sometimes didn't bother learning their human names.

And yes, Madeline had such a talent for blending into the woodwork that he often looked past her without realizing she was there. But then Alfred would do something stupid as he was wont to do or PK would make some witty observation and her face would just light up like she was glad something could be so funny—and Arthur would wonder how the hell could he be so goddamn blind to what was in front of him.

"Was that really necessary?" Maddie asked, soft and reproachful. "I could have just flipped Al and be done with it. Now look at you!"

Alfred, who was busy mourning over the state of his fez and muttering something about temperamental overprotective limey bastards, opened his mouth to retort that he was so not that easy to flip, especially by baby sisters half his size and that she wouldn't be able to flip him even if she was a boy. He was abruptly cut off by a glare from Arthur and a simultaneous annoyed look from his twin.

"Git deserved it anyway," Arthur harrumphed, his nostrils flaring. "I was the bloody British Empire, mate. And if he even thinks of forgetting it—goddamn it!" He flinched as pain shot up the leg Alfred had kicked.

"Arthur," Maddie warned, her voice low, the look on her face reading 'do I need to drag you by your tie again'.

The older nation had the sense to look contrite. "Look, I know you can hold your own and—" He hissed as petite fingers gently traced a bruised jawline. "And that you don't need me to look out for you."

And well aware of it he was. This was the same Madeline that burned down that ingrate's White House when she had been barely been able to walk after… he repressed a shudder, not willing to say that he was still haunted by what had happened over a century ago. He reached up and caught a fluttering hand to his cheek, a flicker of something fiercely stubborn in his face as he held her gaze. His hands, rough and calloused from gunpowder burns and centuries of sword fighting and poring over important documents, relished in soft skin.

"But that does not mean that I have to stop worrying about you." And he wasn't about to apologize for trying to defend her either.

Maddie bit her lip as she slid out of his grasp. "You don't have to say things like that." A slow smile began to blossom. "But thanks."

Arthur wanted to argue with her—what the hell would possess her to say that to him?—to make her understand that he meant every word when he glanced over her shoulder at Alfred, who was sporting a giant shit-eating grin. He suddenly felt a little uneasy. True, the American had always been a smug one, but something about Alfred's expression was sly and screamed, dare he say it… I know something you don't.

You're getting paranoid, old chap, he reprimanded himself as the twins began to discuss team assignments for tonight's hockey game. Wanker doesn't know a bloody thing at all…

"For the last time Al, I'm already playing with Lukas, Tino, and Berwald."

"Aw, come on brometheus," Alfred whined, the beginnings of a black eye—courtesy of Arthur of course—blooming as he plopped the now squashed and sad-looking fez back on his head. "I need Madeline 'The Wendigo' Williams on my team. My reputation as a hero is at stake!"

Maddie wisely didn't mention that he wanted to nickname her "The Berserker", but couldn't because Lena had claimed it first.

"And why do you keep calling me bro?"

"'Cause I can't think of any awesome nicknames with sis," he stated matter of factly. "It's impossible. Bro's just easier to riff off of. I can go on all day," Jersey crept into his voice as he went on listing nicknames. "I got bromione, broseidon, bronada, brodaline, brotemis, brosephone…"

Arthur exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration as he tuned out Alfred's inane chatter and butchering of the English language. It would have been better if he had just shot the damn fez off the American's head. He ought to have been paying more attention because when he finally came back to the conversation, Maddie had uttered in horror,

"—you âne! Please don't tell me you bet on my ass again. You should know better after the Gimli fiasco." Her cheeks burned with humiliation. "Lena still won't stop calling me babe after we lost that bet!"

"Hey! It's not my fault Amazon Berserker Lady wants your legs! Hell, even Katyusha was kinda checking you out in those cowboy boots."

"Eh?" The Canadian exclaimed in bemusement, pausing to push her glasses back up. "She was just watching my footwork."

The Brit looked like he just had one of Francis' god awful lemon tarts—and no, he refused to stoop to the frog's level and call them tartes de citron—shoved down his throat. His eyes began to stray down Maddie's stocking clad legs in curiosity, not even realizing what he was doing. He had to admit, they were rather lovely legs. No doubt the result of hockey and lacrosse and many other activities that he could never recall…

Maddie glanced at him mid-outburst in concern. "Everything okay there Arthur?"

His head snapped back up a little too quickly, furious at himself. "Do I even want to know what the hell you two are referring to?" He ground out through gritted teeth. Don't even think about looking again, you tosser.

"Um," she fidgeted uneasily under his gaze. "It's probably safer if you don't."

It took a hell of a lot of negotiating, but Maddie was finally able to get the superpower to play with Ivan, Emil, and Lena—and yes, Al, she'll decapitate if you call her Magdalene, now pay attention. And all it took was a trip to the Calgary Stampede, baked Alaska, and a new Stetson next Fourth of July.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou! Come here, you gorgeous Canuck, you," Alfred snatched her off her feet and whirled her around, making her wonder when the hell she stepped into one of her twin's Hollywood moments. "You're the best sister a hero could ask for!" He crowed before dashing off, leaving a disoriented northern nation spinning into a caught off guard Arthur's arms. "Later bromarie!"

"So, um…" Maddie shuffled in her boots after she disentangled herself, awkward and endearing. "I should probably be going."

Arthur stopped her before she could run off, calling her 'love' without a second thought as he reached out and caught her hand. "I believe it's your turn to kick Alfred's arse."

She chewed her lip—there was still a scar running down the middle of it from the time Alfred had accidentally split it when he hurled a chipped teacup at Arthur's face, but missed much to his horror because heroes never ever hurt their baby sisters—strawberry lip stain almost gone, but she was unable to stop a laugh from escaping.

"Oh, he won't know what hit him," she assured him, the smile gracing her face lopsided and radiant as she squeezed his hand in return. "I'll even flip him over the boards once for you, eh?"

He looked down at their joined hands, noting the aurora borealis painted on short blunt fingernails, marveling at how someone so petite could have such a firm grip. He brushed a kiss against her knuckles, lips already quirked up into the beginnings of a dimpled grin.

"Deal."

Arthur's attention was caught by a new arrival. "And where have you been?"

His brow furrowed as he glanced up from yellowing pages at the apologizing floating creature that didn't have a name other than Flying Mint Bunny, verdant eyes glowing even in the dimness of the room. The only light was muted by the one lone window, a single wall of glass that stretched from floor to ceiling.

"Oh, don't tell me the fairies are in D.C. pranking Alfred again."

The American was still convinced that Arthur had something to do with the Catholic schoolgirl cross-dressing episode—not one of Alfred's better names for incidents that were never to see the light of day again. The Brit never heard the end of it.

Honestly, you would think Alfred would have learned to stop calling Malcolm and the other fairies bloodsucking pixies after the San Antonio pineapple voodoo fiasco, but no, the git had to be thick headed and start a petty blood feud with invisible creatures, didn't he?

"Not this time, no." Flying Mint Bunny said placidly, nose twitching as he peered into the cauldron. "They mentioned wanting to visit Toronto so I imagine that's where they are. They've taken such a liking to Canada's garden."

It shouldn't have been that big of a surprise since many of his land's magical creatures had migrated to Canada centuries ago with his people, in a journey to discover and explore, in search of a new start and a larger home. But visiting Madeline's garden of all places?

Arthur was bemused to say the least, especially since he had only just found out about his fairy friends' Canadian adventures after a little chat with Malcolm—at least, once he had calmed down after the World Meeting. As long as they weren't up to any serious mischief, he supposed there was no harm in his fairy friends visiting… especially since Maddie was probably on a plane to London right about now.

"Have they really?" He deftly scattered a fistful of dried rose petals into the cauldron. "That's quite a feat considering she hasn't planted any roses. You know how the fairies love them."

The rabbit looked confused as he watched the petals swirl and meld with the potion. "I thought you said that you haven't seen her garden yet."

"Of course not," Arthur said sharply, "Why would I lie about that?"

At that moment, the window rattled violently from the force of the wind pounding against it. Arthur cursed as he rushed to the window, but paused when he moved to close the drapes. The little room at the top of the old Kirkland house had the most fantastic view of the London night time, but Arthur had to be careful not to press himself against the wide window for a better look, especially when raw untapped magic reverberated through the room.

Were it not for the protection barriers he put up… oh, he was getting vertigo just thinking about it.

"Then how did you know Maddie doesn't have roses?" Flying Mint Bunny asked, but he was only greeted with silence.

I don't.

A voice murmured in the back of Arthur's mind as he looked out into the murky darkness, suddenly assaulted by a memory from so very long ago. Soft curls and red ribbons, shoulders slumped as she curled into herself like a rosebud still waiting to blossom, a flash of the aurora borealis in violet eyes and a shy brilliant smile as she reached up...

He shook his head. Belt up already, he thought with a frown before yanking the drapes shut. The elements were clearly out of his favour and it was too bloody cliche to be working on a potion tonight. He was not a mad scientist for crying out loud… an alchemist, perhaps, but he couldn't just leave the potion unfinished.

"Right then," he cleared his throat. "Help me look for the eye of newt."

It wasn't until now that the rabbit's earlier words hit him like a hippogriff's hoof to the face.

"What do you mean not this time?"

Maddie called out another apology over her shoulder, hugging Kumajirou close as she continued to pinball her way through the crowd. Since when was London so crowded this early in the morning? She abruptly twisted to dodge another disgruntled Londoner in the middle of re-clipping a maple leaf-shaped barrette, only to knock her shoulder against a lamppost.

"Crisse!" She slung her overstuffed overnight bag over her shoulder. "I'm just all angles this morning." She glanced down at the little polar bear. "Must be the jet lag, eh Kuma?"

"Who?"

"I'm Canada," she mumbled laughingly into his fur. Silly old bear. "And before you ask, we're going to England's house."

The next World Meeting was to take place in London and Arthur had called her up out of the blue a couple of days ago, inviting her to visit him for the week. She had barely managed to convince the older nation that he didn't need to pick her up from the airport—even though he insisted he was perfectly capable of doing so and was she sure that she remembered the way to his house?

But she knew that Arthur hated to be disturbed so early in the morning and she didn't want to give him a reason to break yet another alarm clock. Her flight had touched down at five or so in the morning and the Canadian, still soft and mussed with sleep, had a taxi drive her from Heathrow and drop her off in Arthur's neighbourhood.

The weather in London was a little chilly for early spring, but it was nothing to Maddie, who was dressed in a short sleeved version of her usual red hoodie over a white-and-grey striped shirt and indigo shorts. High cream-coloured socks, a white toque, and a pair of old brown combat boots completed the look. She could already hear Arthur lecturing her—just because you're Canadian does not meant you're invulnerable to illness. Now go put on some warmer clothes, silly chit.

Despite the jet lag, mornings were her favourite time of day. Even after opening up and starting new friendships with the other nations, she still loved to relax in her kitchen with no unexpected guests for breakfast—and by guests, she meant those gluttons Al and Gilbert—just basking in the warmth of first sunlight and the smell of fresh made pancakes as she watched the sunrise from the kitchen window.

Ever since she was little, Maddie would get up before dawn—much to Al's annoyance because he wanted to pull the covers over his head, sleep in and keep dreaming heroic dreams—sit on the front gate and watch the sun come up over the horizon and paint the sky dusty pink and vivid orange. It was a great comfort during her first years as a British colony during a time when the pain of Francis' abandonment, of missing her sisters and tante Catherine was still fresh.

And in England, the sunrise was no less beautiful.

Maddie grew contemplative as she went on her way. Arthur's invitation was in no way unwelcome, but she couldn't help but wonder—no, she thought with a rough shake of her head. If she let herself go down there again, all those ugly little insecurities would come barreling to the surface.

Al was Arthur's favourite, the golden boy, the prodigal son.

It was an indisputable fact, one that the past had recounted time and time again. She was sure that Arthur had never meant to set up a rivalry between them and she could never blame Al for any of it. But her southern neighbour was good looking and brave and everything Arthur could ever want and she knew from an early age that the older nation's love for the twin colonies was not equal.

And it was okay. Maddie had gradually reconciled with it over the centuries… well, she remembered with a giggle as she rested her chin on Kumajirou's head, except for that one time when she and Al were still kids, where she had decided to change her appearance in a desperate attempt to stand apart from her brother.

She had been envious of Alistair's hair and she still was. Copper red as bright as the sun, such a stark contrast to sandy blond Arthur and Aled and dark haired Aidan. So she had bought a bottle of hair dye on a whim so that her hair would match his. That way Maddie would never be mistaken for Al again.

… Her hair turned out as green as Arthur's eyes.

The Canadian briefly remembered relating the event to a woman named Lucy not long afterwards, but it wasn't until much later that she realized the hair dye fiasco had made its way into Anne of Green Gables.

Arthur had tried everything to strip the dye from her hair, stopping short of using magic because he didn't want to make things worse. But nothing could be done about it and he had been forced to cut her hair and reduce it to chin length curls. There was a long solitary curl that kept bobbing in front of her face no matter how many times Arthur stopped what he was doing and smoothed it back. She went cross eyed trying to look at it and got her first pair of glasses soon afterwards.

Maddie had ended up looking even more like Al, who jokingly started introducing her to people as his twin brother Matthew. It earned him a well aimed snowball to the face. It didn't help that she was still fairly androgynous at that age and could pass for a rather feminine looking boy, though unlike Zea, Maddie eventually grew out of it.

Oh, how tante Catherine had cringed when she found out! But she wasn't nearly as bad as Francis who, dramatic as ever, threatened to declare war for what le rosbif had inflicted on his pauvre chere.

But Maddie, the invisible daughter, forever asking for little more than acknowledgement to make her happy, would remember how Arthur pressed his cheek to hers after snipping one last curl, kissed the top of her curly head after brushing her hair each night, his apology smeared into her hair as he weaved words of old magic… Madeline, Madeline, let your hair grow long…

It was then that she started to believe that perhaps the older nation was fond of her as well.

"England?" Maddie was well aware of how pitiful she looked—knocking on the door repetitively, Kumajirou sniffing at her feet asking "who?" and please don't tell me you forgot I was coming. "Are you home? It's Canada, not America!"

Maybe she shouldn't have gotten her hopes up. The last time she came to visit, Arthur wasn't even home because he had gone out drinking the night before and she ended up having to nurse him through a hangover the rest of her visit.

But, she contemplated in afterthought, it was kind of sweet that Arthur had put up the brass owl-shaped door knocker she gave him—which looked surprisingly cared for, all proud and polished—after he had been forced to get a new front door. Al had been responsible for breaking the last one, having knocked so hard that his fist flew straight through the door.

Maybe she should just let herself in. Arthur kept forgetting to give her a key to the house, but he did show her where he hid the spare key just in case—under strict condition that she didn't tell Al or Francis, of course. The Brit was still smarting over the great key forgery debacle last year.

She felt something poke her back, but a quick look showed that there wasn't anyone close by. One of Arthur's magical friends, maybe? Really, it was too early in the morning to deal with them, especially when she was being pushed inch by inch towards the door. The pushing stopped for a second or two when a sudden shove from behind made her stumble forward like a baby giraffe.

"Wha—?" Maddie exclaimed, eyes comically wide, whirling around to find Malcolm hovering behind her. She was vaguely aware of a little freckle-faced boy looking at her in bright-eyed curiosity, thumb in his mouth as he walked by with his oblivious mother. "Malcolm, what did you do that for?"

She heard snatches of babbling wails, snippets of an ancient forgotten tongue, but the Canadian could already tell that something was wrong from Malcolm's frantic attempts to get her inside. She sprang into action, immediately climbing the front step railing to reach the overgrowth of ivy framing the doorway. But patience was not one of the fairy's strong suits and he deliberately yanked one of her pigtails to hurry her along, producing a flinch from the northern nation.

"Just a sec, Malcolm…" She fumbled as she pushed away the curtain of ivy before… "Ha, success!" Maddie grinned as she whipped out an old fashioned key from its hiding place.

But Malcolm kept shoving and urging frantically, even as she jumped off the railing. He was going to push through the door at this rate. The fairy zipped inside as soon as she swung the door open. Kumajirou lumbered inside, dragging in her overnight bag and curled up on the Oriental hallway carpet not long afterwards. And it was a mad dash trying to keep up as Maddie raced after Malcolm, the toll of the antique grandfather clock in the front hallway dull and heavy on her ears.

The Canadian was out of breath, her knees ready to buckle and give way, but she finally skidded to a halt in front of where Malcolm had been leading her—the door to a room two steps above the attic and damn it, it was locked!

She glanced questioningly at the fairy. "Can you get it open?"

Malcolm shook his head woefully. He flitted to the door, only to be thrown back by something crackling and electric. Maddie inched forward, gingerly touching the door when she felt it—powerful and pulsating. Some sort of barrier? Now what?

She tapped a finger against the ornate doorknob, absently signing as she mumbled, "What do I do?" A hand came up to push back a loose hairpin when an idea slowly took form.

Huh, I wonder…

Sweet maple, she had never been so glad that Al strong armed her into learning how to pick locks. But that didn't mean she was going to reconsider her brother's "awesome" idea about the RCMP and the US Department of Treasury teaming up to deal with international heists. Seriously, just because they were on the list of "Organizations You Didn't Know Were Secretly Badass"…

Maddie grinned when she finally heard that telltale click and tabernak, the door was heavy! She put all her weight into it, wishing she had some of Al's super strength for once, the door finally creaking open.

The sight that met her… it looked like a bomb had gone off. The glass wall had completely shattered, broken glass littering the floor. Bottles were overturned and ingredients had spilled everywhere. Curling black smoke was rising from a small metal cauldron on the nearby counter. And lying unconscious in the middle of it all—

"Oh no, what did you do?"

Maddie rushed over, cringing as glass crunched under each step, spying a broken beaker within Arthur's reach that was sticky with remnants of a blood red substance. A potion perhaps? She knelt gingerly, mindful of the glass as she scrambled to see if the older nation was okay. She knew for a fact that nations couldn't even die, but it didn't comfort her a bit. He wasn't even breathing, but oh… there was a pulse, there was definitely a pulse!

The Canadian immediately tried to push the air back into Arthur's lungs, mentally counting each compression, with little success. There was only one option left, but something was making her hesitate.

What are you waiting for; she screamed at herself, still chewing on her lip. A written invitation? It's just Arthur!

Her shoulders slumped with shame. Maybe she was a little afraid that he would wake up and mistake her for Al again. She wrung her hands nervously, her gaze flickering up to Arthur's face. He must have drunk some of the potion because his mouth was smeared with it, the deep crimson on parted lips painting a ghastly contrast against pale skin.

Come on, you can do this.

Maddie closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She crushed her lips against his.

The northern nation sure as hell didn't expect honest-to-goodness golden sparks before she had the chance to breathe much needed air into the older nation's lungs. She pulled back in perplexity, about to call Malcolm for help when a still unconscious Arthur abruptly snatched her left hand.

Maddie would have shrieked if this was one of her twin's bad horror movies. There was a cough and a startled gasp and the older nation snapped awake, mouth parted and his chest heaving. His eyes briefly turned liquid red-tinted gold before fading back to familiar green.

He still hadn't let go of her hand.

She waited until he caught his breath, absentmindedly rubbing the hand that was closed around hers. She bit her lip out of habit, a question on the tip of her tongue. Unfortunately, she slipped and lost control of her balance, knobbly sock-covered knees and her right hand landing right into a patch of glass shards with a bloody crunch. Bright red bloomed against white where the glass bit into her skin.

"Maple!"

She screwed her eyes at the harsh sting, not realizing that Arthur had grabbed her round the waist and pulled her up with him. The sound of harsh breathing filled the room as she clutched his shirt with her good hand, her face buried in his clavicle. Dear Trudeau, she inwardly wailed, this was so embarrassing… she had hockey injuries that were worse that this!

"Alright there, love?" Arthur asked softly as he rubbed her back in soothing circles, a sandpaper rough cheek brushing against hers. Maddie simply nodded, not quite trusting herself not to squeak or whimper. She was content just staying where she was, her nose nuzzling the hollow of his throat as he dropped a kiss on top of her head. Funny, she couldn't remember the last time he was so comforting and affectionate.

Wait a minute…

An eye cracked open as she glanced down.

Why on earth were they floating?

Both eyes flew open as they snapped back up to Arthur. There was a concerned look on his face, but what really caught her attention was the fact that he had wings! They were no doubt a magnificent pair, graceful and arching, feathers pure as snow with the faintest gleam of silver. Maddie was immersed in thinking how surreal this was as the Brit made a smooth landing.

What the hell did that potion do?

She nervously jerked away when he tried to unfurl her bleeding hand, stammering an automatic apology and Hell's Gate and Galoshes, what was wrong with her? She wasn't normally this jumpy. She was so caught up in berating herself what she missed the brief flicker of hurt in the older nation's eyes before his usual frown once again masked his face, massive eyebrows knitted together and mouth pressed into a thin line, made even more severe by the potion staining his lips.

"Stop being so bloody stubborn Madeline," he said impatiently, hands akimbo. "Let me have a look."

She looked away. "It doesn't hurt that bad," she weakly protested, her cheeks suspiciously red.

Sharp green eyes caught a wince. "Arthur was right," he muttered.

He conjured a star-shaped wand seemingly from out of nowhere and with a swish and a flick; everything in the room was back to the way it was. Even the shattered glass leaped to the window frame and instantaneously pieced back together. It was like nothing had happened in the first place.

"Christ, you're a terrible liar."

Maddie froze at his words. Why—? Something clicked in her mind and she went breathless with shock, cursing herself for being so slow. Everything made terrible sense all of a sudden in a creepy Are You Afraid of the Dark twist.

"You're not Arthur."

"Finally, she gets it!" the man crowed. He reached out, lingering as he tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his voice low and husky. "And I thought you were supposed to be the clever one, poppet."

A/N: In case it wasn't clear, Arthur had the potion the night before and Maddie arrived the morning after. And Maddie was also trying to do mouth to mouth before all the weirdness happened.

It's my personal head canon that Canada is very active and has amazing legs, no matter what gender. I'm talking lacrosse in the summer, hockey and figure skating in the winter, horseback riding whenever in Alberta, shooting, camping, skiing, snowboarding, field hockey, ballet and various forms of dancing—because you so know that Francis forced lessons on little!Canada—and anything that involves climbing or hiking or running. Not to mention those fencing lessons—Canada's got a national fencing team after all—with fem!Spain.

So, that was Britannia Angel's introduction. Not the best I could do, but it did give me a chance to work in some Are You Afraid of the Dark? A little nostalgia for all you Canadians who grew up watching this in the '90s. So what personality should pop up next? Kid!Arthur, pirate!Arthur, or something I didn't list in the previous chapter? Review and let me know 'cause I have no idea.

The next update may take a couple of weeks since I'm going to be starting school soon. As always, feedback and constructive criticism are always welcome and flames will be used to roast s'mores. Anyways, to keep you guys happy until then, here's a little omake! This one's from Alfred's POV entitled "In Which Alfred is Smarter than He Lets On".

By the way, the song is Big Bad Voodoo Daddy's "When It Comes to Love"… enjoy!

The superpower looked over his shoulder just in time to see his sister crash into an unmovable wall of sarcastic Englishman, who hastily wrapped her in a protective hug before she could fall. Maddie, in turn, scrabbled for purchase and ended up clinging to Arthur's shoulders.

Unfortunately for Alfred, she was turned away from him so he couldn't see her reaction, but he'd bet all his nukes that she was embarrassed…

Again.

Whoops!

That totally wasn't on purpose, cross his heart and all that shit.

He overheard Artie telling Mads that she just gave him the perfect excuse to go throttle that idiot—hey! He was trying to make another classic movie moment, damn it! Alfred stomped his foot childishly and had half a mind to troll the under appreciative old timer for wasting his heroic efforts when he saw Arthur's cheeks turn a funny shade of pink.

Huh, that was new.

…

Wait a tick, was Iggy actually blushing?

He was! Cue dramatic gasp. Oh, this was good… he inwardly cackled with glee. He so should have brought his camera for blackmail. England never blushes, my ass!

Alfred smirked as he strutted away, proud as a peacock. Seriously, since when did Iggy get so… gah, he had no clue. Cute? Adorable? Such a… what was that word Kiku used to describe Iggy again? Oh yeah, such a tsundere?

The superpower whistled cheerfully, his mind playing a Big Bad Voodoo Daddy song—hey, he wasn't all about Lady Gaga all the time and he did help pioneer the Jazz age after all. Man those were some good times!

It's like a long cold walk on a winter beach

Love is a game you cannot teach

When it comes to love

I'm in love with you

And I need some advice…