November 1775

Montreal, Canada

"Open the door!" America slammed his hand so hard into the wood of the door that it splintered. He stared at the shards for a moment, ignoring the bits that had poked into his flesh. He knew Canada was somewhere in the house, could sense him as easily if they already stood side by side. "If you don't open the door I'm going to break it down! We need to talk!"

He aimed a kick at the door after giving Canada a minute to reply. He didn't and America's foot went through the door with a deafening crash. He was grateful that the human soldiers were not nearby, he couldn't deal with their curiosity at the moment. He shoved his way through what remained of the door, hanging in pieces from its bent hinges. The brass door knob had flown clean off and lay accusingly at the base of the stair. America listened, but didn't hear anything.

He had been in Canada's house before, but never like this. England had been the one… he frowned, not wanting to think about England right then. He had a proposal for Canada and that was the important thing.

He poked his head in the few rooms on the lower floor. The fire in the parlor had been stoked recently. He was certainly in the house, otherwise the fire would be banked to avoid burning the place down. America set a foot on the stairs, meaning to head into the rooms upstairs when the blast of a pistol shot sent him instinctively diving for the floor. The shot was over his head and had blown a candle sconce completely off the wall, leaving a smoking black hole in its wake. He scrambled up the stairs on all fours and tackled Canada around the knees before he had a chance to reload.

"What do you think you're doing!?"

"Defending myself!" They scuffled on the floor and America ended up with the powder horn in his hand, although Canada still had the pistol. Without any way to reload, the pistol only had use as a club and America was pretty sure he would be able to get a hold of it before Canada could try to hit him in the head.

"I'm not attacking you!"

"What do you call bringing rebel soldiers into my city! Besieging Fort St. John? What have you been doing since August except attacking me!" Canada shoved angrily at his bangs, pushing them out of his eyes. He had spilled powder on his hands and it left a black streak on his pale forehead. America reached forward slowly, trying to take the pistol. Canada yanked his arm back. "Don't!"

"Okay, I won't." America raised his hands up, although he made a point to keep himself between Canada and the things he needed to reload his gun. He would have to go through America if he wanted it. Canada slumped against the wall, the pistol hitting the floor with a thump. America settled himself in a crouch against the opposite wall. Canada looked thin and his clothes were a mess. Even in a seated position he looked unsteady. America sniffed.

"Have you been drinking?"

Canada snorted and looked away. "Might as well. I was declared indefensible again. I've been abandoned to you." He pushed himself up from the wall and stumbled a little as he went towards his room. "Might as well drink to being abandoned." America stood and followed him, cautious. He entered the room and his boot hit an empty bottle with a hollow clink.

He looked up and saw Canada sitting on his bed, making an attempt at yanking off his stockings with one hand while simultaneously keeping a wine bottle upright. America sat down on the end of the bed, watching him. "Canada…"

"He left me you know."

"The British commander?"

"No, France. Left me to England… and now England is ignoring me." He took a long draw from the bottle. "I wrote to him, not that you didn't know."

"I knew."

"He…" Canada looked at him and America could see the tears threatening to boil over. "Sit with me."

"What?"

"Come closer. I don't have any weapons. I promise."

America paused for a moment, then scooted closer, settling next to Canada. Canada offered him the wine bottle and he took a mouthful. "England lets you import French wine?"

"He taxes me like the devil himself over it." He drooped over, his head on America's shoulder. America wrapped an arm around his shoulders, making himself more comfortable. He knew that Canada could really hurt him, but he was sure even if Canada tried to make a stab at him he could stop him in time. Beside that he would probably miss entirely considering how much wine he'd been into.

"You don't have to let him do that."

"Yes, I do." They sat in silence for some time, sharing the bottle. Canada reached for another when they finished it off. After the third bottle was finished Canada had ended up with his head in America's lap. America brushed the hair off Canada's forehead and accidentally making the black powder smudge worse.

"You could join me." he said. Canada's eyes didn't open, but he took a deep breath.

"That's just it… part of me wants to."

America's hand stilled. "Then you should do it. We can make him hear us! If we both stood against him-"

Canada sat up, his face pale and swaying and America put a hand on his back so he wouldn't topple over. "He gives me what I need, America. And you…" he turned, squinting at him. "I… I need you too. Merde." He leaned backwards until he regained his former position. He blinked up at the canopy of the bed, looping his left hand into the white strips of cloth on the front of America's uniform.

"Can I tell you something? You have to promise not to tell England." asked America. Canada looked at him. "I'll tell England you were cursing in French if you don't."

That drew a smile onto Canada's face. "Je promets."

"I don't think I can stop now, even if I wanted to. There's word… that come spring, as soon as they can sail from England really… that the King is sending an invasion force… if I stop now... "

"...you'll end up like me. Conquered."

"That's not what I was trying to say." Uncomfortable silence. America lay his hand over Canada's that was still hooked in the front of his uniform.

"What are you trying to say then? That you're scared?" Canada said. America couldn't make himself answer. "I know."

"Did you tell him?"

"I told him that I was scared."

"Of what?"

Canada's fingers twitched under his own. "Of you." Their eyes met and America frowned.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"But you can." Canada took his hand and put it over his throat. "You can hurt me… although I don't think you could destroy me. I suppose that's something."

"Canada… I think you've had too much to drink." His brother nodded and didn't say anything, his breath evening out into sleep. America climbed out from under him and tucked him under the blankets. He walked down the stairs and made to secure the house. The troops were settling in to the occupation.

Canada drifted around like a ghost and America kept expecting him to slip away to Quebec. He would have let him, but he didn't go. It was weeks while Montgomery's American force waited word about General Arnold's move from the northern Massachusetts territories. Canada had been making something in the kitchens and America wandered down there. He watched him making some kind of French pastry. Canada hadn't really spoken to him since his drunken ramblings when America first arrived.

"You don't have to stay here." America said.

Canada was silent for nearly a minute before saying, "It's my land."

"Right now it's my city."

"I know. When you march to Quebec…" he trailed off. America waited, but began to lose patience when Canada turned away.

"What? When I march to Quebec, what?!"

"I'm coming with you. With my militia."

America's mouth fell open and he was stunned. Canada was coming with him? To expel England's soldiers? His heart leapt and he went around the large preparing table to pull Canada into a hug, ignoring the flour that was all over the other from his baking. Canada's hug was loose, but America didn't care.

He was going to be with him. Brothers against the brother that was betraying them.

December 30, 1775

Outside Quebec

America felt annoyed with England for never letting him set foot in Quebec. Beyond the walls was a mystery and Canada wasn't telling him anything. Most of the Canadians with the force were from Montreal, and their visits to Quebec were not the kind that would have given them details of the city's defenses.

America shrugged deeper into his winter coat. It had once belonged to some British officer, but General Montgomery's forces had acquisitioned them. America could remember being on the Plains of Abraham before when England won that great victory over France. How could he do the same? He had only a fraction of the men England had and he was trying to do it in winter instead of the fall. His boots crunched in the ice as he walked across the camp.

The siege had started not long after they arrived on December fifth, and there had been little company over Christmas. Many of his own conscripts had gone home since their contracts had concluded. Congress was doing a poor job of making sure anyone was paid or supplied. America could only feel heartened by those that stayed, however, they were there because they believed in him more than a warm hearth at the holidays.

Approaching General Arnold's tent he made an effort to brush the snow off his shoulders. Drawing himself up to as much dignity as he could in a body that looked sixteen he strode inside. General Arnold had obviously been waiting for him.

"America, I have a request of you."

"Anything, General Arnold."

"I need you to get your brother to talk. He's here in the camp isn't he?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then he should be able to tell us how to get inside Quebec. Something that could make those inside surrender before the reinforcements arrive. There was a dispatch rider that the British ships downriver are going to make another attempt to flush us out."

America squared his shoulders, "I have asked him. He's not really talking to me at the moment even though he is still here… he's upset about the arrests of Tories in Montreal-"

"I'm not asking you to ask him. I am ordering you to make him talk."

America was taken aback. "General Arnold… I don't understand." He couldn't mean that he wanted him to hurt Canada?

Arnold gave a deep sigh and came around his campaign desk to lay his hands on America's shoulders. He was tall and broad, America felt skinny beside him even if he could look him directly in the eye. He could feel every ounce of General Arnold's pride and bravado weighing down on him. "If you are going to be a great nation you shouldn't back down from your enemies. The Canadians are split in their loyalties. He needs to choose a side. For all Britain's tyranny do you think your big brother would hesitate?"

"Shouldn't Canada choose from his own sense of liberty? I don't want to do what England would do."

"Regardless of his behavior towards us, Britain is a great nation. You need to learn, America. You should consider your actions very carefully. You are dismissed."

America left, his nerves on edge. He avoided the Canadian regiments and went back towards his own fire, surprised when he saw Canada sitting there. Snow was beginning to fall, the clouds thick above their heads. If this didn't end soon they would be fighting in a snowstorm.

Crouching, he added a log to the fire, then stretched out his hands over the flames. Canada didn't seem fazed by the cold at all.

"America…" His voice was so quiet, America nearly didn't hear him over the crackle of the flames. Their eyes met. "Do you remember the last siege of Quebec?"

"Bits and pieces. I remember France coming into camp after you let some of my people go to tell England how to attack the west wall. I helped you escape…"

"I remember. I didn't want to fight you… and I don't really want to now."

America frowned, "Are you going to?"

"You should go back to Montreal."

"Why?"

"Your army may be able to keep me trapped here through the winter. But they won't defeat the garrison inside those walls. If your General Arnold really intends to attack the city tomorrow, he will lose."

"But if you were to help..."

"I can't."

"You really are on England's side." America said, bitterness lacing his voice as he thrust another branch onto the fire. Canada jumped to his feet and America gave him a hard glare. If you attack me first it will make this all easier… he thought.

"No. I'm on my side." He took a few steps into the darkness. "And you should go back to Montreal or to your own lands if you know what is good for you."

January 1, 1776

Quebec

Canada had been right. The battle had commenced in a snowstorm and there were far more soldiers inside Quebec than they had thought. They were outnumbered and had no advantages. Quite a few men had been captured and America felt a strange feeling too akin to the other battles he'd fought with England's soldiers.

He'd looked for Canada in the chaos of the battle, but hadn't found him. He had always been better at hiding. Dejected he had returned to camp, trying to help the wounded men where he could.

"America. You need to go back to Congress. See if they have authorized troops. I expect to see you in the spring." General Arnold had been shot in the leg during the battle, but he was still as commanding as ever, even from a cot. He had forcibly told the surgeon to not come anywhere near him with a knife.

America nodded at the order, taking a satchel full of dispatches to carry with him back to Philadelphia.

He dissolved into the wilderness feeling the lines between himself and Canada blur as he got deep into the woods. He could hear the older nations on the continent in the woods beyond him and he shrugged deeper into his coat. He didn't want to speak to them, and it appeared the feeling was mutual.

He wanted to feel safe again and wondered how much violence he would have to endure to get there again.

Across the Atlantic Ocean...

Canada,

I am sorry that you feel that America is causing problems for you and the people. I am aware of the current strifes that are happening inside of my colonies and I assure you that I am doing my utmost to get everything under control. I am currently handling stuff here in Europe but I promise you that your struggles are of the utmost importance, and I am taking a personal interest in making sure steps are being taken to handle them. Continue to keep me updated on information that my officers are not privy too.

Love,

England

England leaned back in chair rubbed at his jaw with a mix of guilt and annoyance. Blinking slowly in the flickering light of a few gathered candles the blonde haired nation heaved a sigh. Canada spoke the truth when he claimed that England had been ignoring his letters, he had been pushing them to the side in favor for more official letters.

However, for some reason tonight the island country had found himself unable to sleep, mind occupied by the letters sitting at the north corner of his desk. Weighing him down like stones in a cart. He had found himself, candlestick in hand, trudging down the hallways barren with souls due to the hour and then sitting at his desk, letter opener cracking wax seals.

Silently he admitted that it was his own cowardice that keep him from opening dear Canada's letters. Pulling naked parchment towards himself he eyed the quill to his left. Feather a deep brown, tall and soft. He stroked the piece, procrastinating the inevitable. He had nothing and yet so much to say all at once. The situation was a mess to begin with and now it seemed as if America was hell bent to drag Canada into the fit as well. He couldn't help but feel that Canada was hardly telling him everything either.

Plucking up a pen, England decided that this was something that he could no longer avoid. Heaving a sigh he swallowed and now the silence was broken by the scratch of a quill against parchment.

Dear Canada,

I am sorry and highly upset with everything that has been going on with America in the recent months. I will make this quick and sweet. Such things I do not wish to discuss through a letter when such family matters should be discussed in the sitting room or library where the three of us can talk face to face. However, I cannot completely ignore the tantrums that America has been throwing and I plan to tamp it down with haste. Until then, I wish to give you as much of an upper hand in dealing with the situation. I am aware that I have lost military power in Virginia and I refuse to lose power in the rest of the colonies.

As such, I am giving you a new position. You now have the status of a Royal Officer for the country of Great Britain. You shall start receiving the necessary documents, which I deem appropriate, to keep you in the know. I am planning to travel to the colonies in the near future. In the meantime I will send further troops to your lands and elsewhere in British America.

Until then we shall continue this correspondence. Everything needs to be recorded in official reports, copied and sent with the traveling ships so that I may be kept up to date. And I mean everything, from battles, logs and even simple conversations with America. I trust that you will remain loyal to your family and the one that is threatening to tear us apart.

Love,

England