The Lock
"Then what?" Canada said, but America had stopped talking, drifting into a sort of quiet reflection. And normally, his brother's meloncholy detachment would be disconcerting to Canada, enough to illicit a heartfelt talk and a trip to Tim Horton's, but he wanted to hear the rest of the story, dammit. Matthew breathed in the chilly air and prepared to raise his voice above a whisper. Kumajiro ran to the door, distracting him momentarily. He never wanted to go out this late. Then, it clicked. They had a visitor. Maple leaf. America glanced at the door and lifted his glass of apple juice from the table, taking a swig.
"You might as well let him in," America said, giving Canada a knowing look.
"You double booked us. Didn't you?" he asked, and Canada rubbed his neck in an unconscious admittance of guilt.
"Well, you see. I wasn't expecting you to stay. And you never," he said, before being cut off by a very angry brit.
"Open the bloody door!" England yelled, and Canada scrambled to do just that. America had other ideas and put a finger to his lips. Since Canada was guaranteed a disgruntled England either way, he nodded. America put the apple juice down and stood, walking to the door as slowly as he could while the brit continued to bang on the door. He cleared his throat and straightened Nantucket, before gingerly opening the door. England staggered inside, and America easily lifted him off the ground, leading to many muffled curses from said brit.
"Welcome to Canada, eh!" Alfred shouted gleefully before putting Arthur down. Canada rolled his eyes.
"As you can see, Alfred decided to spend the night today. I hope it's not too much of an inconvenience for you, England," Canada apologized, not that Arthur paid him any mind. He took off his coat, realized the inside of the house was near freezing and put the coat back on, simply brushing off some of the icicles that had accumulated on his person. It finally seemed to register, and he turned to Canada, leaving his umbrella propped next to the sofa. America edged away from it and sat on the opposite end of the sofa. This time, Britain rolled his eyes.
"Not at all, I'm not here on business, so an extra person won't make a difference," England said, sitting on the other end of the sofa, away from America, leaving Canada in the middle. Perfect.
"It's just that ,when you're together, you always fight," Canada said, letting that particularly worry enter the room. America, who he thought might either provoke a new fight or vehemently deny that any fighting ever took place, in other words say a big fat lie, simply nodded. England scowled, and he could see his chance to hear the rest of the story slipping away.
"Nonsense, we are perfectly capable of being civil," England said in a manner that rang false. To Canada, it just seemed more of an act between the two because it was expected.
"Do you really think that?" America suddenly cut in, startling Arthur.
"Of . . . of course," he stuttered. America yawned, pouring more apple juice into his cup. Canada took it away, not because he thought America couldn't handle anymore, but simply because he didn't know what America's real alcoholic tolerance was. Canada did not invest this much time and effort to be foiled by Apple juice. At first, it seemed like a poor choice on Canada's part as America did not let go of his drink and eyed him with some skepticism. Finally, he muttered a "Fine," and let Canada take the drink, along with the rest of the apple juice. America turned his attention to the ceiling instead.
"Then I need you to do me a favor," he said, making Canada pause. He could put the alcohol away after this.
"What?" England asked, saying the word softly, tentatively, a sort of maybe.
"Fill in the gaps," he said puzzling England more. Canada almost dropped the bottle he was holding. Was he really going to continue with the antagonist in the room? "Tell me what you did when my mother took me back a second time," America said. He seemed nervous and somewhat suspicious of America's request but sighed, taking the bottle from Canada's hand, so much for that.
"Is that all?" he asked, and America nodded. With that, Canada sat down, closely followed by Kuma, something or other, who climbed onto his lap. England almost poured himself a drink, but both knew him better than that by now. America slid the glass away, and Canada, not so subtly, knocked the bottle out of his hands. In the old days, he would have raged for a good hour about wasting perfectly good alcohol; instead, he gave up and started to narrate.
By now, I was beyond annoyed by the predicament. He'd been taken twice now, and I was more than ready to get the others involved. I started with Finland who before this encounter had been rather helpful.
"Wait, you took him from his mother? That's horrible," Finland said, and Britain's eye twitched. He hadn't expected this particular detail to become an issue. The woman was obviously not his blood kin if appearance was anything to go by. He was about to say so when he took a second look at Finland who shared a lot of little America's features. Perhaps, it was best not to bring that up.
"Not exactly, I didn't know that someone was taking care of him when I first took him," Britain said, and Finland shook his head.
"So, you knew the second time?" he asked, and Britain didn't respond right a way in case he said the wrong thing. Finally, he settled on an argument, but the long pause only increased Finland's skepticism.
"You see, she can't take care of him properly, so it's fine," Britain said, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. Finland crossed his arms.
"Is that why you need me to help take him? Because he has an armed mother?" Finland pressed, and it wasn't really that. The real issue was that the house wasn't built yet, and well, it was fairly easy for the lad to run back whenever he chose.
"I just need your help keeping an eye on him," Britain said, knowing there was a good chance Alfred would come back on his own.
"I will have no part of it, no matter how innocent you make it sound," Finland said, picking up the firewood and walking away.
"Fine, what do you know? I'll just find someone else to help me," Britain yelled, but he was promptly ignored.
Once I realized how villainous my first explanation sounded, (Don't roll your eyes at me America ) I changed my approach when talking to Sweden.
"Hello there, I thought I'd stop by since I was in the neighborhood," Britain said, and Sweden tended the fire without looking up. Arthur was not deterred by the silence and continued.
" I recently lost track of a little boy who I believe is somewhere in the forest. I don't suppose you'd help me bring him back?" he asked, and Sweden tossed a piece of wood into the fire.
"That depends, is this boy one of us?" Sweden asked, and Britain brightened at the potential partnership, nodding eagerly.
I really thought I made some progress.
"Then no, Finland told me what you were up to," he responded, leading Britain to curse under his breath. Had he really been blacklisted for this one digression? Britain sat down next Sweden, releasing a heavy sigh. Arthur could not play this game of cat and mouse forever. He had easily overpowered that woman, and the minute he left, someone else would undoubtedly take the boy. So, why couldn't it be him?
"What would you do? What would you do if you had to leave someone you cared about behind?" Britain shouted which earned him a raised eyebrow from Sweden. He watched the fire, quiet after Britain's outburst.
"I would spend time with boy, let him know I care for him but cannot stay. He will cry. Then, I trust mother to look after him and hope things will work out for better," Sweden said, looking to the north for a moment before returning his gaze to the fire. Britain realized he hit a nerve, and at the same time, came to an unfortunate conclusion. It was too dark to reach his campsite safely.
"Would you mind too terribly if I stayed with the two of you tonight?" Britain asked, and Sweden smiled.
"Sure, today, we are lost and without home," he said, before returning to his tent. He heard Finland mildly protest but ultimately open the tent flap.
"Come on in," Finland said, and Britain did.
After a night of close quarters, it was a relief to walk into the forest. Unfortunately, I wasn't enthused by my next prospect. Stop snickering America . . . Anyway, I was determined to play nice.
"Bonjour Frog," he said, finding France treating himself to some fish at his own campsite.
"Oh, Britain, I heard you were with a bunch of sweaty men last night, but I'm not quite in the mood," France said, obviously baiting him. It made his red faced flustered response all the more aggravating. They hadn't made a big deal about it.
"Shut up," he said, making France laugh.
"What really brings you here, Britain?" he asked, giving Arthur the chance to calm down.
" I lost the kid, okay," he admitted which caused France to immediately change his tune.
"You imbecile, what was the point of the whole thing then?" he shouted, hitting Britain in the forehead. Arthur came close to pulling his hair out at the accusation. He wasn't incompetent, not at all. The damn universe was against him.
"It's not my fault he has a mother," he said, and after the revelation, France lost steam, shaking his head.
"Britain, please tell me you did not try to force the kid to stay with you?" he said, and his calm if reprimanding tone did not allow Arthur to continue his reactionary behavior.
"Well, yes, and it almost worked until that blasted red faced woman showed up again," he said, redirecting his anger at the woman, the blasted witch hiding in the woods. France, on the other hand, seemed to take it upon himself to corral Britain into an embrace. Something Britain was never comfortable doing.
"Oh Britain, you can't force the kid to stay with you. Instead, you must create a mysterious air about yourself to keep the kid coming back," he said, casting his hand forward for emphasis. Arthur thought about it. The boy had reacted better when Britain did not bother to attack his mother, knowing that killing the woman in front of the boy would not get him anywhere. Still, it seemed strange that France was privy to this strategy.
"How would you know?" he asked, and Francis immediately released him, waving his arms around frantically as if that would make him forget his question.
"That- that is not important. The point is I'm right, and all you're doing is scaring the kid by kidnaping him all the time," he said, putting his hand on his hips.
"I assume you won't help me take him, then," he said with a sigh.
"Yes, but it is because it's a stupid plan," Francis yelled, and so, Britain yelled back.
"Sure, the boy is stupid enough to come back after I injured his mother and kidnaped him twice," Britain raged and was extremely satisfied to see France gape at him.
"Britain?" he said, confusing Arthur.
"What?" he shouted, and France pointed behind him. The boy stared at the two blankly.
I can take over from here. No, really England, I'll tell you if I need you to narrate again.
America was confused why both men stopped talking when they noticed him. He could not understand what they were saying and backed away from the two apprehensively. The man who usually took him, picked him up. He didn't struggle, wanting to see if his suspicions were correct. He was not handled roughly, and while Britain held him tightly, it was no different from the way his mother held him. Satisfied that the man didn't mean him any harm, he rested his head on Britain's shoulder.
"I suppose you have a point," Britain said to France who grinned and watched America with piqued interest. America squirmed uncomfortably, remembering what the man said about France cooking children into stew.
"Goodbye France," Britain said to the other man, who told him to be nice to America. Somewhat reassured by this reaction, he waved to the man who had given him sweets before, and the man waved back. As England carried him away, America pondered what he had heard. He understood their intent without really knowing what they were saying. Was it another language he didn't recognize?
"I'm so glad you came back. Where have you been?" Britain asked, distracting America.
"Olm" he said, hoping he pronounced it right.
"Erm . . . Sure there, I definitely know where that is," Britain said, and America tried again.
"Ohm," he said, frowning when Britain didn't seem to understand that either.
"Anyway, please don't run off again. I do worry about you," Arthur said, ruffling his hair. America focused on the word worry. He tried repeating it.
"Hurry?" he asked, wondering if the man really did miss him that much when he went home.
"We're almost there," Britain said, frustrating America. He didn't mean to say that.
"No," he said, and the man pointed to the newly built hut on top of the hill.
"Yes, see, the builders finished the house," Britain said, and America tried repeating the word, afraid his innate translator might be broken.
"Mouse,"he said, which the man seemed to ponder.
"There shouldn't be. I don't think," he said, and America gave up, letting himself lay limply on Arthur's chest.
Yes England, I failed at English, but it was only because I was actually starting to learn it for real, stop snickering. Wait, you were there. Why are you laughing so hard? Et tu, Canada?
Once they were at the top of the hill, Britain put him down. America wobbled, unsteady on his feet after a long period of being carried. Arthur noticed and steadied him. Recovering from his dizziness, Alfred ran forward, curious about this house thing. He'd only seen these sort of shelters from afar since his mother had never let him enter the strangers' dwellings. He marveled at the size of it, and the strange glimmer that emanated from the two smaller holes.
When he touched the outside surface, his face paled. These were trees, and while the tribes did use wood for a variety of things, America could tell the man's people had cut many down from the adjacent area. More importantly, he had cut down his favorite tree. The one at the edge of the forest that he liked to sit under after running around the empty field. The poor thing was a stump now. America sniffled quietly, but eventually started to sob, steadily increasing in volume.
"What's the matter?" Britain asked, crouching down to take a look at him. America rubbed his eyes and tried to breath evenly.
"Meh, my, mine, tree," he said, pointing to the third log in the neatly piled stack that made up the left side of the front entrance. Britain blanched.
"Your tree?" he asked, and America nodded.
"Oh, umm . . . The tree will always be with you?" Arthur offered, and America shook his head, suddenly red in the face as he puffed up his chest.
"Tree killer," he said, running at Britain.
Then, I kicked him in the shins. Oh England, why the sour face? I was three. Let it go.
"You bloody-" Britain started to say before America let himself fall to his knees and turned to the yelling man. The man seemed to deflate as if he wasn't angry anymore. This seemed strange to him as the pain in the man's leg clearly hadn't subsided. Britain ignored the pain and breathed in an exaggerated manner. The sudden calm bothered America. Something about it wasn't natural. He placed a hand on America's shoulder. He stiffened and looked up, another much less convincing smile graced the man's features.
"Would you like to come inside?" he asked, directing America's attention to the open door. He couldn't see much from the opening which only added to the temptation. America stood, creeping toward the open doorway. Britain nudged him along, and he took the hint wearily. There wasn't much to look at, despite it's size. The fire had it's own cave like dwelling and had the strangers miscellaneous tools strewn about in ordered chaos. They'd clearly been used recently.
"Come inside, I've made scones," Britain said, going inside first. He waited expectantly, and America looked behind him. The man had left him an opening to turn back if he wanted to.
I could have left. There were obvious reasons to leave.
Then again, the man didn't mean him any harm.
I didn't.
"That's a good boy," Britain said, shutting the opening and taking out some strange shining object that fit into a hole in the wood. There was a click. America ran to the door and pointed at the strange object the man had tampered with.
"Don't worry. I just locked the door to keep intruders out," Britain explained.
Or to keep prisoners in . . .Britain if you think I'm being over dramatic, you can tell Canada your version of the story some other time, now shush.
"'Ock?" he repeated, dumbfounded.
"No, it's not a rock. It's a scone. You're supposed to eat it," Britain said, handing him a scone. America stared at it intently.
I was pretty sick of scones at this point. So, I threw the scone at him. Then, he dropped the plate, and I just kept throwing them. Don't pretend I was the worst behaved child, England. What about Mr. Hong Kong Firecrakers and Australia Steal a Shoe?
"What are you doing? You ungrateful brat, I was trying to give you a treat," Britain yelled as America zoomed past him. He dragged the chair until it was next to the door, climbed up and tried to jiggle the door open with no success. Britain attempted to pull him away from the door, but America was bent on escape. The man had shown his true colors, and he was not sticking around for things to get worse.
After a few minutes of this and Arthur receiving a few kicks in the face . . . Not another word England. He realized that I wasn't strong enough to break the lock.
"Aye? I? wye? why?" he said over and over again. Britain watched him with some amusement. America glared at him, trying to open the door again
"Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you. I simply can't have you running off the minute you fancy going back," Britain said. America tried to put his weight into his next attempt so he could swing his way out, but it only caused him to fall to the floor head first. America wailed, and Britain immediately left his chair.
"Blast, you really should be more careful," Arthur said, taking him upstairs. Apparently, there was more to it than a large room with a table and a couple of chairs. Arthur rocked him as they went up, but America did not and would not stop crying. Britain brought them into a fairly large room and placed him on an odd yet comfortable surface. He was wrapped in a large and fuzzy blanket as the man muttered something about someone called Wales. America quieted, particularly when Britain placed some sort of sweet substance in his mouth. He sucked on it while Britain took out medical supplies or so he assumed from the large amounts of herbs the man took out.
"Let's get you fixed up," Britain said, mixing substances together. America crinkled his nose.
"This is good for you honest. It's a family recipe," Arthur said, and America blinked and waited because there wasn't much else to do in the blankets.
"I know it's a bit of a shock, but you'll learn to like it here. We'll have you dressed properly and sleeping indoors in no time," Britain said, forcing the medicine down America's throat by plugging up his nose until he opened his mouth to breathe. America still didn't understand why he needed a liquid remedy for a head wound. All he really knew was that he felt tingly all of a sudden and drained.
"I added something to help you sleep while you heal," Britain said although America barely registered it, yawning and nodding. The man stroked his hair, and he flinched. Britain withdrew his hand and whispered to the shivering Alfred.
" I'll keep you safe so long as you stay with me."
I should have hated him at this point, but it's not like he didn't care. It's that he cared too much.