I feel so guilty about neglecting Secrets in the Basement... but the right words just won't come. It's like I'm at a major standstill, you know? It's like writing block only on that story. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and don't mind the OCs. ^^
Okay, so, I hit a snag with this story. I feel so stupid about it, but I finally figured out the only way to continue the story as I have. Eduarda and Betty no longer exist, cause otherwise we'd be zipping through the years too fast for their mortality. Sorry about that; I hate it when I don't plan it through quite right. But this is really a more 'nations only' type of story, y'know?
Also, is it just me, or are all the stories listed with the main character Parallel France 23 not about Parallel France 23? I'm just sayin'...
I don't own Hetalia! end /AN/
Australia wasn't a good boy.
He knew this, not because he'd been told, no, England had never outright said that, but he himself had proven it today. On his cheeks rested crumbs, crumbs which bore the heavy shame of having been from stolen fare. He had known perfectly well the scones were not for him, but rather for teatime. England had told him, in no uncertain terms, that he was not to eat them, or even look at them with covetousness.
But his heart had felt sneaky, and told him since he was going to eat some for teatime anyway (only one or two, that was all England ever allowed), it was okay to eat one now. So of course, here he sat now, miserably, stomach roiling with guilt. It was no wonder England didn't love him; he was a rotten thief.
Any minute now, he knew England would find him, and he would be in such a mess. But he couldn't get himself to truly care; he probably deserved it, after all. His nose began to itch, a sure sign liquid was going to escape from his eyes, and he shut his eyes tightly. Why, oh why, did he have to have such a wicked heart? He was always doing things he shouldn't, things England told him weren't civilized!
He hunched over his knees, as though he could make himself smaller and hide from his problems. But no, the problems weren't outside of him; they were all inside. A short, broken off sob that could have passed for a cough broke free from him. Then it was followed by a second, and a third, before they were coming out in succession like badly dressed soldiers on parade.
"Hey, little fellow, are you alright?" The voice, unfamiliar yet somehow exactly alike the strident voice he'd gotten used to over all this time, caught him off guard. His head snapped up, and his heart jumped at the great eyebrows he was met with. But then, he took in the whole face, or rather, the whole head, and was surprised by the differences.
This person had massive eyebrows, but his hair was darker than England's, and was mildly wavy. His eyes were a soft hazel, which were filled with concern at this particular moment. Australia's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "W-who are you?"
"Oh, I'm sorry; I just saw you crying and wanted to do something about it. I'm Wales, England's older brother. Are you okay?" Australia bristled a little. "I-I wasn't crying! I just had something stuck in my throat! I'm... I'm fine!" In the back of his mind, he was recalling that name very vaguely; weren't a bunch of England's royals Prince of Wales or something like that?
Wales just smiled, though why was beyond Australia. Maybe he was happy that Australia seemed okay. "If you say so. What's your name?" Australia was never one to be shy, even if Wales had seen him crying. "I'm Australia! I'm from very far away from here, farther than you've probably ever been!" He spread his hands wide, to demonstrate that it was very far indeed.
"Is that so? Well, I haven't really been almost anywhere, to be honest, so anywhere off the island would be far away for me." He seemed very delighted with Australia, squatting down at his level. And Australia couldn't deny that he was delighted with this new, friendly person. He puffed out his chest importantly. "I went on a boat halfway across the world! You know what? There's a lot of water in the ocean!"
Wales grinned at that, sitting down on the floor. "You don't say? Did you see any other countries while you were on this voyage of yours?" At that, Australia's shoulders sunk a little. Here he had to disappoint this man who seemed to like him so much, with no tales of other shores. "Well... No, I had to stay on the boat the whole time. England locked me into my room. But I saw some really cool fish!"
A shadow seemed to fall over Wales' face, as his expression became decidedly less cheery. "And how's England been treating you?" Australia was a little confused that he didn't want to know more about the fish, but he accepted the change of topic. "Well..." and he paused, looking around to make sure no one else could hear, "He punishes me a lot, cause sometimes I do things I'm not supposed to, but sometimes I didn't do anything wrong and he just thinks Canada's better than me cause I don't have blonde hair!" For that was the conclusion Australia had reached; Canada was the favorite because he had blonde hair, just like their guardian.
"How does he punish you?" Wales' eyes searched Australia's face, as if he were looking for something. It was a little unnerving to Australia, because, to be frank, he was not looked at full in the face for any length of time longer than a few seconds unless he was in trouble. Canada didn't look at him, and England... England wouldn't look at his face if he had no reason to, though of course, he got plenty of eye contact from the times when he was met with those smoldering orbs...
"He makes me sit still on the chair, most of the time. It's in his office, and he makes me balance books on my head while I sit! I hate that chair!" Australia realized that it felt so good to complain to someone who probably wasn't going to punish him. It was as though he were airing out his mind. Wales sighed, patting him on the head. "It's not the chair's fault, you know." He seemed, strangely, a little relieved, as though he had expected something worse.
The point of view, however, had never occurred to Australia. "But... if it weren't there, I wouldn't have to sit on it." That earned a chuckle from Wales. "Don't you think he'd just get a different chair?"
Australia's eyes narrowed in thought, then widened at the realization: it was true. He looked upon Wales with a newfound respect; the man was clearly very wise. Australia shifted on his seat on the ground, letting his legs splay out in front of himself. Another thought occurred to him. "If you're England's brother, why don't you live with him?" Because things would be so much better if there were this friendly person in the house, Australia was sure of it.
Wales gave a bitter laugh. "I would never live with him, not if I could help it. Iggy may be my brother, but there is no love between us. He's a controlling, sour old man, as far as I'm concerned." Australia's eyebrows had lifted rather comically at the explanation. He quickly looked around; if England heard Wales, he would get angry, and that could only mean bad things for Australia.
No sight of the big-browed bully. Australia thank his lucky stars. "England would be so mad if he heard you." Wales pressed his lips together, and gave a great outtake of air that was not quite a sigh. Then he spoke. "I don't really care. He knows how I feel about him, and vice versa. It's not as though we even pretend." His eyes took on a serious light, meeting Australia's and holding them. "Don't ever let him take your culture, or your original language. You hold onto them tighter than you'd hold onto gold, understand?"
Australia nodded vigorously, not really wanting to argue with Wales. He wondered why the country would give him such advice; what exactly was England and Wales' relationship like? But then Wales smiled, ruffling his hair. "Well then, go along, get to whatever it is you do with your time. I've got business, unfortunately." He got onto his knees and lifted up to a standing position. Australia was quick to follow suit. "It was nice meeting you, Mr. Wales!"
A chuckle, and another ruffle of his hair. "We're practically brothers; call me Wales." And with that, he turned to leave. Australia watched him go, feeling rather nice inside. England had mentioned having brothers before; Australia wondered if his other brothers were just as nice, and if so, where did England get his personality from?
He wiped the crumbs from his face, and sighed, eyeing the scones. If he was going to get into trouble for eating one, why not eat some more?
Finally, finally England was so busy, making sure everything was in place and trying to make it look like he was so rich and content he didn't even care about it. Apparently, the gentleman had a visit with his 'less civilised' brother. It was something or other about slate mining, Canada wasn't really sure.
Shoes off, Canada crept along in his stocking feet, trying to make the stairs creak as little as possible. His letter was clutched to his chest, but he was minutely aware of every crease, every wrinkle in the paper, trying to make sure it would still be perfectly legible by the time he got it out to France. In his other hand, he held his shoes.
Down, down, down the steps he went, easing from one foot to the next silently. It would normally be a miracle to make it out of England's house, but in the circumstances, he was sure it would be fairly simple. Voices were coming out of the parlor, which was where England tended to meet with people, and they weren't all that friendly. Wales was probably complaining about the circumstances he was living in, and England was probably scoffing at him. Canada didn't really concentrate on the actual words of the conversation.
Shuffling gently across the floor, Canada knew he would have to pass the open doorway of the parlor to get to a door, either the back or the front. He could see fully into the room now, and, he breathed a noiseless sigh of relief, England's back was turned. He was facing Wales, whose hazel eyes were filled with frustration as his fist clenched and his voice went a couple octaves higher.
"I'm not trying to complain, but maybe you should hear me out for once!" England's arms were crossed; Canada could see it from where he was. And then, oh, that tone Canada hated so much, the one reserved for idiots or those who were 'beneath' the cultured nation; it made Canada feel a twinge of sympathy for Wales. "Don't you think I do what's best for my empire? Or do you really suppose I look at each country or colony I manage and think, How can I possibly run this one into the ground?"
Wales was better at keeping his cool than say, Scotland, but he was certainly no saint. Canada could hear him grind his teeth, very audibly, and reply, "No..." He fumbled for a bit, for an answer, but before he could come up with one he deemed equal to England's retort, the blonde already had another response.
"I suppose you think you know what's better, with your nonsensical little language and lack of proper culture? Oh, that would be just lovely, letting the ignoramuses rule themselves!" England let out a false laugh, as though to make Wales think he thought it was a funny idea. He continued before Wales could get a proper, indignant word in. "But no, you need a guiding hand, a force to keep everything from turning back to the Dark Ages, and the only natural, capable force is me! Imagine, just imagine, what the world would be like if each little individual culture were to rule itself, no matter how preposterous and savage their ways? Why, the world would fall to ruin, and there would never be an end to the fighting! This way, with the superior ruling over the inferior, is and always will be the proper balance of things."
"But... That's not... I'm not inferior!" Wales, as Canada recalled, certainly had no formal education, or natural talent at arguing, and as such could give no more intelligent reply than that. It was then Canada remembered that he was not here to eavesdrop, and he hurriedly tiptoed across the open way, leaving the sight, but not the sound, of the arguing pair behind. He could hear England digging into Wales once again. "Which one of us spends his time writing poetry and watching sheep, hm? I'll kindly ask you to go back to the creatures; your stench is almost more than I can stand."
"The sight of you is more than I can stand!" Came the snap, and Canada heard Wales rather loudly come towards the foyer - where he himself was, about to ease the door open and slip outside. However, England couldn't seem to resist one last jab, as he stepped out of the parlor and into the opening of the foyer. "Please, do go out the back door; I couldn't stand it if people thought you were an acquataince of mine."
Wales brushed past Canada, shot one last molten glare at England, and pointedly slammed the front door on his way out. England gave a tsk, shaking his head. "Hard to believe we're brothers... Hello Canada, what are you doing in the foyer?" Canada bit his lip, not daring to turn around and face England. He knew it was already given away that he was trying to sneak out of the house, due to the shoes in his hand, but he couldn't bear it if England say the letter and took it away. "I'm... I just wanted to go out for a walk."
"You can walk in the garden, if that's all you want to do." England didn't seem angry. Maybe he was still happy with the way he'd just belittled and insulted his brother. Canada nodded quickly, turned around part way, keeping the letter plastered against his body out of England's sight. "I suppose I'll go do that," he said, altogether too fast. As he tried to duck by England, turned at that odd angle, the empire stopped him, with a hand on the shoulder.
"What could it be that you're so eager to hide from me? A stain, perhaps? Or is it worse?" Canada put the letter behind his back as England turned him, causing a loud rustling of the paper. England lifted an eyebrow, his other hand striking like a snake's behind Canada's back and taking the letter. Canada immediately tried to form an explanation of what it was. "I-It's just a list... of things I need to make dinner! I-I was going to make a special dinner, and- NO! Don't open it!"
But with a small cracking noise, England had broken the seal and opened up the letter. Canada's whole body ached with the need to take the precious letter back, and run away with it- but where could he go? And what would he do? England would be so angry with him, he might even cane him. So he stood there, feeling like a small, helpless child as England's brow darkened.
The silence was unbearable, like the calm before a storm. It wasn't long before finally the stern voice of England broke it. "So, I'm a bastard, am I?" Canada looked down at the ground, suddenly regretting that he'd even mentioned England at all in his letter. It should have just focused on France; his Papa hated England, why would he even want to hear about him? What a stupid, stupid idea that had been.
England's fingers grasped Canada's chin like a vise, forcing him to look up. "I asked a question. Am I a bastard, Canada?" Canada's purple eyes were fixed on the spider in the corner of the ceiling. "No sir." His chin was released, and England pretended to read over the letter once more, an mock-thoughtful look on his face. "What a change of heart, in between writing this letter and now. Because, as it clearly states, you think I'm a bastard."
Canada had no reply. But England continued on, smoothing out the letter in his hands, but not reading it. "But what's really the worse matter here: you're trying to write to my enemy. Perhaps you were intending on telling him about my plans, or my secrets?"
"N-never!" Canada gasped, eyes widening at the accusation. "But, we're not at war with France, so I didn't see why I couldn't contact him!" England raised an eyebrow, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Of course... That's right, you couldn't have known..."
"Couldn't have known what?" The answer was something Canada dreaded, but he had to know. England let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. Then he locked eyes with Canada, eyes hard though his face professed sympathy. "We are at war with France. As are several other nations. And the damn frog is taking a big bite out of Netherlands. I expect he'll choke on it; he never did have enough sense in that French head of his."
Canada clenched his teeth. He wanted to yell at England, to tell him that France was smart enough to win battles, even if he'd lost many, even if he'd lost Canada to England less than fifty years ago. "He had sense enough to beat you in the Hundred Years' War."
It was softly murmured, but it had quite the effect. England swiftly paled, and his fingers dug into Canada's cheeks as he violently grabbed his face with his right hand. "He did not really 'win,'" England whispered dangerously, pulling Canada's face closer, "and it was only because of that girl! Nothing more than a fluke, really. Do you understand?"
Canada was unable to nod, but he let out an 'uh huh' rather timidly. His face was promptly released. "Right then. About this letter... It is rather treasonous, to be sending messages to an enemy during wartime... And your behavior, it certainly reinforces the idea that you are thinking of rebellion... Are you, Canada?" Canada shook his head. England gave a false laugh. "Of course you're not, you're not that stupid. It must have all been a mistake, a foolish longing for the past that, well, it never really existed."
Perplexed, Canada looked at England in confusion, but didn't dare say anything. England caught his look, however. "France didn't visit you all that often, did he?" Canada wanted to deny it, but it was true; France had been very busy, and Canada had been practically self-sufficient already. "He... He came as often as he could!"
"I'm sure that's what he told you. I fear, however, that it is not true. He only wanted you for your exports, and that's why he left you alone; that's why he didn't take you to live with him." England's words were having a dizzying effect on Canada. Was it true? But... France had always been his loving Papa, every time he came he had treats and hugs and kisses to give him. Canada was more comfortable among his own people, France knew that; that was why he hadn't taken him.
"It's not true..." Canada said rather weakly, stuck in his own doubting thoughts. England shook his head, letting out a sigh. "It is, unfortunately. It's a blessing you were saved from staying with him forever." Canada's fists clenched. "That's not true... It's not! He loves me, and I want to be with him!"
"Do you think he even wants you back now? After all this time? He's probably forgotten about you. It's easy to do, I forget about you half the time. In fact, I doubt there is even anyone outside this house who cares about your existence." The words were cruel, and England seemed rather concentrated on the letter again as he spoke them to Canada, as if to prove he wasn't worth paying attention to.
"He hasn't forgotten... He couldn't have!" Canada insisted, having not much else to cling to in his lonely circumstances. England snorted, still not even looking at him. "He hasn't once tried to get you back, has he?"
The words hung in the air, filling Canada's mind with horrible thoughts. Had France indeed forgotten him? Or did he remember and not even care? Canada's eyes began to sting, but he refused to cry in front of England, not again. The empire, however, taking his silence as affirmation of France's forgotten memory of him, chuckled. "I suppose you won't really be needing this; contacting France, at this point, would be fairly treasonous. I wouldn't want to see you get into trouble."
The sound of paper tearing caught Canada's attention, and he could feel his heart twisting in pain inside of him. That was for France... But would France even care if he got it or not? Would he barely even glance at it? Canada hung his head in defeat. He was alone, truly alone in this house, not a soul to care for his wellbeing.
England handed him back the pieces of the letter, already heading for his office without a glance back. "Do throw those away, I hate littering."
Canada sniffled as England disappeared up the stairs, and went, heavy-hearted, to throw away what remained of his heartfelt letter to France. Little pieces of paper, little pieces of his heart, what was the difference anymore?
/AN/ Well, I really enjoyed writing England there. Who knew it was so much fun? But anyway, again, I am sorry this took so long. It is mostly non-history in this chapter, though the UK became involved in the French Revolutionary Wars when France declared war on them. I don't believe there was a movement in any part of Canada to become France's colony again or anything, but I don't really know. It can be hard to find info on Canadian history sometimes.
