When he thought about it, it was almost like living underwater.

Canada could see everything. He could interact physically with everyone. But every time someone spoke, all he could hear was a garble of syllables that meant nothing to him. Sometimes a few stood out; "yes" and "no" were easy enough to understand. And the word "timid"* kept popping up when he was out of earshot. That, unfortunately, was something he could more or less glean the meaning of. But besides that, no information got in or out.

It seemed a little unfair to him. After all, he knew from experience that… England? Arthur? He still wasn't sure what to call him. Either way, he obviously knew French, though he had an atrocious accent. He didn't have to put the little colony through this. Didn't have to subject him to this horrible, underwater world just so that he would eventually be forced to learn his vulgar language.

To be honest, Canada didn't really know what "vulgar" meant, but his papa had used it together with "English" so many times that they just seemed to go together.

Even without the language barrier, lately he had begun to feel… not quite there. Like he was just a passive observer, watching as things happened to him one after another that he had no control over. Like a piece of driftwood being washed away on the tide, further and further away from his home until he didn't know which way would take him back, didn't even strictly know which way was up.

But there was one constant. One landmark, one lighthouse that it seemed he could always orient himself to, no matter how dark or cloudy it got. And that was America.

At first, the other colony had seemed loud and intimidating. It seemed as if he filled up more space than he should be allowed to occupy, his presence radiating out and suffocating Canada, making him feel like he should have to bend over to accommodate him, stand in corners, make himself small, anything to give the great America room.

But after that first night, everything changed.

It was awkward, that was for sure. Canada had lain stiff in the bed, nearly falling off the side in a half-conscious effort to make sure he wasn't intruding on America's space. No matter how hard he tried, though, it seemed that America was a restless sleeper, because he kept bumping into Canada just as he was dozing off. Even despite this, he eventually managed to fall asleep.

He soon wished he hadn't.

All too soon, Canada's peaceful dreamscape had turned into a nightmare. He found himself tied up and helpless, watching as his papa walked slowly away, not giving a second glance to his son. He screamed and screamed but nothing came out, and he was forced to watch as his father disappeared into the distance and the world around him faded to black.

But then something strange happened. He felt a presence around his shoulders; a weight. It could have been uncomfortable, but instead it made him feel safe; protected. One by one the ropes began to loosen and fall off, and he was able to relax.

Until he jolted awake, and found himself in America's arms.

He stiffened in surprise, and he felt the boy do the same. He briefly wondered if he should duck away, retreat to his side of the bed, maybe set up a nice, sturdy pillow wall to prevent further incidents. But in the end they just… let it happen.

And after that, the intimidating presence of the rambunctious blonde was no longer a problem. It was still there; he was still loud and undeniable, the kind of person who filled up every room he walked into. But instead of suffocating under it, instead of feeling trapped or cornered, Canada began to view it like a blanket. The warm, heavy kind you like to snuggle up in during the cold months. It made him feel safe.

Now, instead of feeling scared of America, Canada found himself with a whole new problem; he couldn't help but feel guilty. Guilty that he couldn't talk to his new brother in his own language, guilty that he couldn't try to solve America's problems the way he did his best to solve Canada's. Not that he had any problems that Canada could see, but he'd know that if he could ask, wouldn't he?

For the most part, Canada was already good at being silent. The problems started when America tried to engage him. Tried to include him. Tried to learn about him. And when America looked at him with those bright, hopeful eyes and said something that might as well have been Greek to the young colony, it pained Canada to have to reply the same way every time. A sorrowful shake of the head, and the first English words he'd ever learned; "I'm sorry."


Canada and America sat across from one another on the drawing room floor. America was leaning forward on his arms, and Canada had his face buried in soft, white fur. They were waiting for England to finish making lunch. His food was horrible, but America seemed to enjoy it, and even if he'd had the English to express his distaste Canada wouldn't have wanted to rock the boat anyway. But either way, here they were, simply sitting in each other's presence, with the only sound the sizzling of pans from the kitchen.

Suddenly, the silence was broken. Canada looked up, and realized in dismay that he couldn't understand anything his brother was telling him. He shook his head, said "I'm sorry." in his thick French accent, and left it at that.

But it seemed America had other plans. He kept jabbering on, almost like he was throwing words at the Canadian to see if any might stick. Canada sighed, and resigned himself to watching his brother talk and nodding occasionally. If nothing else, the American might enjoy it if he thought he was listening.

Soon enough, though, Canada realized that America wasn't just jabbering on in gibberish. He was repeating two words over and over again. Just two, simple words, and pointing to the bear in his arms. Canada brought himself out of his passive state, and trained his ears on what America was saying.

"Bear, name? Bear, name?"

Bear, name… well, from the way he was pointing at Nanuq, he could more or less figure out what bear meant. And "name" sounded suspiciously like "nom"…

"Nanuq." Canada replied.

America stopped mid-gesture and stared at him for a second. Then a smile began to spread across his face. "... name ….. Nanuq?" He said. Or, at least, that's what he said that Canada was able to understand. The northern colony nodded, and all at once America's smile grew to blinding proportions. He stood up in a flash, grabbing Canada by the hand and saying something else in English as he pulled him up from the floor.

Canada followed, dazed, as he was dragged over to the desk at the side of the room. He watched as America pointed to the thing, and said… "Desk."

Canada blinked. "…Desk?" He said, pointing in the same direction America was.

America nodded, still grinning. "Desk!" He said. "Wooden desk!"

"Woodendesk?"

America slapped his palm to his forehead. "No, no… um…" He pointed at the ground. "Floow." Canada nodded. "Wooden floow." He pointed back at the desk. "Wooden desk."

And suddenly, a lightbulb went off in Canada's head. Or, it would have, if lightbulbs had been invented by then. Either way, he pointed to a chair in the corner, and said, "Wooden…?"

"Chaiw!" America said.

"Wooden… chaiw?"

"Yes!"

After that, it was like the start of an avalanche; everything moved quickly and easily and all at once.

"Ball?"

"Yes, ball! And… blanket!"

"Blanket?"

"Soft blanket!"

All too soon, England called them both to the dining table, and America ran to seat himself, taking Canada with him. But the learning experience didn't stop there.

"Chaiw!" Canada exclaimed as he seated himself. "Table! Ceiling! Floow!" He pointed at everything he could name, grinning as he did so.

He heard a string of astonished English from beside him, and looked to his right to see England, smiling at him and saying what could only be something good as he set down a plate in front of him.

Canada looked down at his plate, and the utensils beside it, and the mostly-edible food on top of it, and felt suddenly curious. He looked up at America and pointed at the plate, and luckily the southern colony seemed to get the gist.

One by one, they went through the items on the table, and England watched with ever-increasing pride.

"Plate." Canada said, pointing to the flatware. "Corn… po… potatoes." He said, pointing to the food on the plate. "Fowk." He said, pointing to the fork.

As soon as he said fork, though, Canada saw England snap to face him out of the corner of his eye. He gulped as he turned toward the Briton. Had he done something wrong?

England began to say something in… well, in English. "Matthew …. 'chair'."

Canada blinked. "…Chaiw?" He was pretty sure he was saying it right...

"No, no; chair." England said again, emphasizing the R at the end.

"Chaiw."

With that, England groaned, and shot a glare at America. America started saying something in English. England said something back. America said something louder. England said something louder still. And Canada was beginning to get scared, when finally America laughed, and England sighed, and they all started eating as if nothing had happened.

Canada smiled to himself as he ate his food, all of which he could now name. He could get used to life around here.

America was fun and enthusiastic, and England, whether or not he could cook, seemed to really care for him. He played with him and made him meals, and really helped him feel like part of the family. It made him feel better about leaving his papa behind.

Two days later, England left.


*I actually looked up words in French that sound similar in English, and apparently the word "timid" is more or less recognizable in both languages. It also seemed like something Canada might overhear a lot. XD