AN: Well, first off I want to say wow to you guys. I got five whole reviews after the last chapter. I felt so popular! (sorry, I'm a loser, I know) It must have been the promise of a badass Canada. I did my best, but I can't help but feel I might have failed. orz.
Anyway, onto the war of 1812! The funny thing about this is that it was a war between America and Britain that Britain didn't really take part in. Probably because they were off participating in their favorite hobby: beating up Frenchmen. Basically, it was all about Canada (although technically it was part of the UK until after WWI, there were still vast cultural and economic differences and blah, blah, blah, nation versus country, blah, blah, blah)
Tally forth to a hell of a lot of fighting!
Also, I did in fact steal the name of England's ship from Mith and Puell's fic "The International Awesome Pirate Weekend," but I really, really like it.
Enjoy my paltry offerings~
Warnings: Same as always: Violence, mild swearing, and OC!states
(Soon we'll have serious racism and yaoi, just you wait)
~O~O~O~
April 21, 1812: Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, Between Massachusetts and Spain
"Alright you bastards!" A burly man yelled from the deck of the other ship, the Faerie Queene (which was a really sissy thing to name a boat, but it wasEngland's boat so that made sense), "We're comin' aboard. Don't do nuthin' or we'll blow this vessel to the bottom o' the sea!"
Ply sighed to himself as the gangplank was laid between the two ships. He just wanted to go home already. He'd been visiting Spain for months just trying to stay friends with the guy, and maybe improve some trade to make up for some of the cash they weren't getting from England. It shouldn't have been hard They'd been allies in the Revolution and had only gotten closer with that Pinkney guy's help (he was a surprisingly good diplomat, for being one of Carol's), but Spain was also so fickle and carefree that staying friends with him was hard work. And he missed home; he wanted to feel American soil under his feet, taste American air, and see American landscapes. Everything was different on the other side of the Atlantic.
Besides, Romano was annoying him. He was too much like Carol had been as a kid.
But then here was England, being an ass and pulling him over. Ply scowled. He knew that the bastard was just doing this to piss him off. He must have seen him or sensed him or something. There were plenty of merchant ships in the sea, but England just had to choose this one to target.
Ply would get him for this later. Maybe he'd tip the plank when England tried to come over. Man, that would be funny. Ply knew this for a fact, too. There was this one time when he came to visit during a rainstorm and tried to lecture Ply about tracking mud all over the house. England was hilarious, trying to be terrifying while dripping wet and wearing a flamboyant hat droopy with water.
However, England didn't come right away. Instead, the big guy hopped onto the plank. When he reached the other side, he waved his gun around and forced the American crew into line. He continued to threaten them with torture and death. Most of them were afraid, not of the possibility of being shot as much as the possibility of having to choose between getting shot and being forced into a lifetime of suckage on a British ship. Ply couldn't blame them. No one liked working for England, the guy was a royal asshole.
Oh hey, that was funny. Heh. Royal asshole. Ply cracked himself up. Damn, there was another one! Man, he was on fire.
However, it was then that the large man addressed the entire crew, instead of just forcing individuals to smell his scurvy breath. "Now you sons o' bitches had better listen and listen good. Our captain's comin' aboard, and you'll not say a word unless he tells you to and do whatever he says, got it?"
Wisely, no one said anything.
"Good," He said, "You yanks ain't as stupid as you look." He turned back to his ship, "Captain Kirkland, I've got them under control."
"Thank you, Bill." England said.
With practiced ease, he jumped onto the gangplank and strolled onto Ply's ship as easily as if he were walking into his own home. He surveyed the men lined up with a smirk on his face until his eyes fell upon his former charge. Then he just kinda glared.
"Well, fuck," Ply thought.
He didn't think that England would take him, but that didn't mean that the Brit wasn't going to make his life difficult.
"Well, well," the empire said, "What have we here?"
"You know what you have here," England was obviously already set on being a bitch, so it wasn't like a little bit of cheek would get him in any more trouble, right?
"Oy!" The burly man, Bill apparently, shouted, "I said be quiet!"
"It's alright," England said, "I asked him a question. Besides, there'd be no point in wasting your breath. He wouldn't know respect if it came riding in with a parade and ten foot banners." He smiled, amused by his own joke. What kind of loser did that? "Anyway, boy, care to explain as you're so intent on talking?"
"Sure thing, Artie," Ply said, knowing that he hated to be called that "You stormed an American merchant vessel and are harassing and threatening innocent men."
"Jones, you weren't innocent when you were in your mother's womb."
"You would know, wouldn't you?" He smiled innocently.
England flushed bright red but tried to cover it by turning away from him and looking down the line, "Most of these men are deserters of the Royal Navy, and it is my duty to discover which ones are and bring them to justice one way or another." He stepped up to the man at the far end of the line, "Let's start with you."
The first man was twenty five years old, a carpenter, and absolutely full of muscle. Even under normal circumstances, England would have taken him. However, as it turned out England took absolutely everyone he came up to, most likely just to piss Ply off. As he was picking people, other members of his actual crew came over. They were probably there to discourage the Americans from trying anything.
Eventually, he came to Ply.
"You gonna take me too, Artie?"
"As if I would let an idiot like you on my ship. You'd run the Queene aground the next time we docked anywhere. No, I'm leaving you here. I wonder if you'll survive until you drift into land somewhere."
"Bastard."
"Always, Jones. But since you've been so difficult, I'll also relieve you of your cargo. Go down below, men. Take anything of value."
It only made sense that they did what England had said, but it still bothered Ply. Yeah, no one wanted to get shot, but it was still torture to see his crew coming up again and again with crates and barrels full of Spanish goods.
England had stayed on deck with Ply. The Brit didn't say thing, didn't even look at him. He just stood there with his back to his former charge, staring out over the horizon.
Ply considered making a move. If he could take England out he had a good chance of ambushing the pirates and freeing the rest of his crew. It would be so cool and heroic, just like something out of a novel.
"Well," He thought, "Here goes..."
But before Ply could even move a muscle, England drew his sword, "Don't try anything." He said, "I'm doing this only because I need men to fight France. It would be against your interests to get involved."
"You're taking my guys. I'm pretty much already involved."
"Obviously you know nothing of international politics."
"Obviously you know nothing of your face."
England rolled his eyes but said nothing. Good, Ply was getting to him. However, before he could take advantage of his argumentative triumph, the crews appeared above deck again. Only some of them carried chests, so that must have meant they'd taken it all.
"We searched every container in th' hole ship," Bill said, "There's nothin' but food n' other provisions left."
"Good," England turned to appraise the American portion of the crew, "It's nice to know that even though you've been living in America you're still British enough to work diligently." The Brit stepped back onto the gangplank, "Now come. We're taking you back to England so you can be properly assigned vessels. Oh, and Jones," He looked over his shoulder, "Most likely you've hidden cabin boys somewhere on the ship. Show me how independent you really are and teach them to sail this back to whatever so-called state it came from. Once you're there, be sure to write me. I'd like to know how even a hero such as you pulled it off." And then he was back on the other boat and out of Ply's life.
As much as it bugged him on principle, the state ended up meeting England's every demand. However, the letter he wrote wasn't about how he had returned to Boston. It was about he was going to kick England's ass and take Canada back home with him
~O~O~O~
April 26, 1813: York, Upper Canada
Canada awoke to the sound of pebbles being thrown at his window. He groaned. It probably wasn't even for him. Most likely, one of the love-struck admirers that Ana had gotten after her last growth spurt was coming to serenade her now that it was warm enough to be outside in the middle of the night. It seemed as though the stones had failed to wake their intended target. The thirteen-year-old girl was still curled against Canada's side, breathing slowly. Her brother gently lifted a hand and shook her, knowing that she would never hear him if he just called her name.
"Mmm… what is it?" She asked, opening one chocolaty eye.
"Sorry, but one of the boys from town is throwing rocks at us."
"How do you know it's one of them?"
"Who else would it be, eh? No one remembers who I am except for you. Even Mr. Kumumiro forgets me all the time."
"Kumajiro."
"Bless you."
"I meant-" Ana sighed, "oh, never mind. You're probably right anyway."
"Thanks. Now please go look. I want to go back to sleep."
"Okay, okay." The girl got out of bed and pulled a dressing gown over her dress, "Who decided to come for people at night anyway? It's not like anyone's that pretty right out of bed…" She pulled aside the curtain, "Erm… Canada?"
"Yes?"
"It's not a boy from town."
"Huh?" Canada grabbed his glasses from the bedside table.
"It's New York and Massachusetts. And they have guns."
"Shit!" Canada swore (in French so that Ana wouldn't understand).
He jumped out of bed, grabbed his own dressing gown and ran to the window. Ana kept obligingly out of his way. Canada glared down at his brothers.
Ply smiled back and waved before saying something to New York. The taller state nodded and walked around to the front of Canada's house. Then Ply looked back at Canada expectantly.
The older nation opened the window and yelled down, "What do you want?"
"I came to get Ana back."
"And this couldn't wait until the morning, eh?"
"Well, I decided that you should come back with us too, and New York said that we'd need to kick your ass first, and it'd be easier if you're still tired."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"To buy time. New York should have your lock picked by now."
Sure enough, a moment later, Canada heard a loud click and the door swinging open. He had a chain to hold the door shut, but how long would that last with his freakishly strong brothers?
"Dammit!" Canada called, not caring if Ana heard him or not at this point.
He ran over to the wall, pulled down his hunting rifle and began to fumble with the powder and bullets that he kept with it. He wished that he had had the foresight to purchase a dueling pistol. It would have been much more useful right now. Once the gun was loaded, he grabbed his bayonet and slid it over the muzzle. He didn't want to have to take the two of them in hand-to-hand combat. He didn't know if he could win that way.
"Just think of it!" Ply continued, "You'll be on the side of justice and freedom and awesomeness! You don't even have to speak French anymore, so you won't sound drunk half the time. And- Oh hey! Your Teddy Bear is so cute! Ooh. He shouldn't have tried to bite New York, though..."
"MISTER KAMAKURO!" Canada yelled.
"Oh hey, New York needs me, gotta go four-eyes!"
Canada stared out the window for a moment, trying to keep himself under control.
"What can I do?" Ana asked.
"Hide," Canada said, "And jump out the window if they manage to take me. You're strong enough to handle it. Find Mr. Kukajira and take him with you. I don't know if he'll be okay, but if nothing else he deserves a decent burial."
"But the treaty said that I belong to them."
"I don't care what the stupid treaty says," Canada spat, "Ply took England from me. He took New York from me. He even ended up taking France from me. He might have just taken Mr. Kumajiku from me too. He's not taking you from me."
With that, he walked out of his room and over to the landing at the top of the stairs. Ply and New York were banging on the door, probably hoping that either it or the chain would give out. Canada waited for them, gripping his gun. After a few more moments, the chain popped out of the doorframe and the other two stumbled into the room.
"Get out of my house," Canada said, cocking his gun.
"Mmm, nope," Ply said, "I only came for what's mine anyway."
"You'll never own anything this side of Niagara Falls."
"Listen," said New York, "Don't make us fight you. I don't want to have to shoot my own brother."
"Neither would I, but I've done it before and if you make me I swear to god I'll do it again."
Ply laughed his idiotic laugh, "Yeah, but that was before you had so many of our guys living here." He started walking towards the stairs, "So somewhere deep down, you know that you totally support us and-"
The state probably wouldn't have shut up , but Canada had shot him right between the eyes.
"Still got it," Canada thought as his younger brother's eyes widened in shock and he collapsed onto the floor.
However, now he had used his one shot and New York was still standing. Man, he really wished that he had a revolver. If only they weren't so damn expensive!
The taller blond was aiming his gun right for Canada. The British colony waited for the last moment, rummaging around in his pockets to make New York believe that he had more bullets. And then, when he knew New York was about to shoot, Canada dove sideways off of the landing. He landed as gracefully as a cat and ran towards the other nation, using his musket as a spear. The taller blond used his own, now empty, gun to knock Canada's away, but the colony still didn't stop. He just kneed New York in the stomach. The state just took a couple of steps back, his breath knocked out of him. His rifle clattered to the ground. Canada tried to stab him with the bayonet, but New York managed to just knock it away again with his left arm while providing a killer hook with his right.
Canada leapt onto him putting as much of his weight on the front of the taller man's shoulders as he could. Quite unbalanced, New York fell onto his back. Canada ended up straddling his stomach and punching him repeatedly in the face.
"Get. Your. Fat. Asses. Out. Of. My. House!" Every word was punctuated with another blow.
A pair of strong hands came up and grabbed his shoulders. New York looked horrifying. His nose was smashed in and face was covered in blood, but his ice blue eyes were still clear. And angry.
"Make me," He said
With that, he pulled himself up and bashed his bloody forehead against Canada's clean one. The long-haired nation fell backwards, feeling dizzy. New York took the opportunity to flip him onto his front and pin him.
Canada tried to struggle free, but it was impossible when one of New York's large hands had a death grip on his hair, the other one held both of Canada's wrists behind his back, and all of his weight was on the small of his back.
"Listen," The American said, "I won't take you and Ana unless I don't see any other way."
"What? But wasn't that the reason that you came here?"
"Yes. Don't get me wrong, I want you two to join us as much as Ply does, but I need to take that idiot back to camp and remove the bullet before it makes him even more brain damaged than he already is. I can't carry all three of you in one trip, so don't give me any trouble and I won't do anything."
"You promise?"
"I can't give you anything if you won't take my word."
"…Okay."
"Thank you."
The weight on Canada's back vanished and he backed up onto his knees. He watched as New York calmly picked up Ply and slung him over his shoulder. Canada could hear moans and whimpers coming out of the unconscious man's mouth. Wow, he was alive again already. New York walked to the door but paused as he reached the threshold.
"We will be back," He said, looking over the shoulder that didn't have a half-dead nation on it, "And we will take York."
Canada smirked, "You'd be better off burning it. We Canadians will never give up."
As it turned out, that was exactly what happened.
~O~O~O~
August 24, 1814: Washington DC
"This is too easy," Canada thought, "Far too easy."
Were they really going to just get away with sacking America's capitol? At least they had put up a fight in April. Here, thus far, there had been nothing, except for a couple of men shooting at them from the second floor of a house. They'd burned down both parts of the Americans' congress, and there was still no musket-fire.
Plenty of building-fire, though. Heh.
Dear God, he was becoming his brother. Dammit, England had trouble telling them apart as it was.
Before he could berate himself further, though, he finally did meet his first challenge: Virginia.
"Sir," The long-haired state said, "We request that you leave immediately."
"Oh," Canada said, "So you can see me. I thought that you were afraid that your capitol was just randomly blowing up or something."
"Is that a no?"
"Of course it's a no!" Geez, even he wasn't this polite, "Now please move. I'm going to go burn down your boss's house."
"I can't let you do that, I'm afraid," Virginia said.
"How will you stop me? You're unarmed."
"I am," Virginia said, "But she's not."
"Huh?"
"Eat lead, limey bastard!"
A shot rang out and one of Canada's men fell over. The nation turned to look. Maryland was standing on the second floor of a nearby tavern. She had obviously come to fight, dressed in men's clothes and armed to the teeth. Three pistols and a saber hung from her belt and rifle was attached to her back in addition to the one still smoking in her hands. There was a rustling of cloth and then two more bangs. Oh, Virginia kept his guns and a nasty-looking dagger under his coat.
This day kept getting better and better.
Maryland emptied her second rifle and then leapt down to use her other weapons. After a few more shots, Virginia charged forward with his knife. However, between Canada and his remaining men, he managed to get the two of them eventually. Although, the colony grimaced, it had cost him an awful lot.
Oh well, how many men did it take to burn down a building?
And so, he marched forwards. People ran from the Whitehouse. One soldier asked if he should shoot them, but Canada said no. They were here to humiliate the Americans, not slaughter them. Once they got to the mansion, Canada turned to his men.
"Well then, get to it."
Part of him didn't want to go too deeply into detail. This still left a bad taste in his mouth. It wasn't like in York, where he had been enraged and was only defending himself. This was an out and out attack on his family. If England hadn't told him to do it, he never would have dreamed of sacking the city like this.
Even as he watched the Whitehouse go up in flames, he didn't feel the joy of victory, of beating his brother just this one time. No, he felt like he had kicked a three-legged puppy. In the nuts.
The men left eventually to go and raid some other buildings, but Canada elected to stay. He sat down on the lawn of the Whitehouse and watched the fire devour it.
"What did I even come here for?" He asked no one in particular.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm here for a rematch."
Canada jumped to his feet, "Ply!"
"Yep, that's me." He smiled that idiotic grin of his, "Like I said; I want to get in a fair fight, one where you don't just snipe me. I've been getting nothing but crap from Penn and New York for the past year and a half about that."
"How can you just smile like that? Your capitol's on fire!"
"Well, first off, this'll get you out of here, won't it? Besides," He widened it, "It creeps you out, don't it?"
"You-" The elder brother couldn't even come up with something horrible enough to label the state as, so he just went with, "Take me seriously!"
Ply had a moment to blink before Canada rammed into him. The state took a few steps back.
"That's better!" He said, "It's about time we got into a good-old fistfight!"
"Shut up!" Canada said, punching him in the face. Ply flew back further, and Canada backed up so that he'd have more time to respond when his brother counterattacked.
"Damn," Ply said, touching his face before pulling away to inspect the blood on his fingers, "You're strong."
"What do you expect? I've been fighting you my entire life."
Ply laughed, a single chuckle for once, "Apparently your entire life isn't long enough to get it through your head that I always kick your ass."
"Funny, that's not what you said when New York was carrying you out of my house." This felt too easy too. He shouldn't have been able to banter like this with someone he was at war with.
"That wasn't a real fight," his brother replied, pouting.
"Of course it was."
"Well then," Ply said, running forward, "Prove it!"
"Fine," Canada said.
Ply was running with a punch ready. Canada would go down if he took that to his head or stomach, so he moved to dodge. However, the American was expecting that. He opened the fisted hand and grabbed Canada's arm. He kneed him in the stomach.
Canada backed up, shook his head, and charged. However, he feinted too, bringing back his right arm to allow his left room to come up under Ply's chin. Still, the younger blond managed to retaliate with a smack to Canada's head. That didn't hurt too badly, so Canada threw forward his previously recalled right arm and hit his brother in the jaw.
"Goddammit," Ply said, rubbing his jaw.
"Ready to give up, eh?"
The younger brother smiled, a somewhat playful glint in his eyes, "Not on your life."
They went backwards and forwards like that for quite a while, but it was never as organized as the beginning. It seemed like after a while it was just the two of them standing two feet apart and punching each other as hard and often as possible.
Then, suddenly, Ply backed up. The two blonds stared at each other, breathing deeply. They both must have looked awful, bruises all over and covered in dust and blood. Canada couldn't dream that he looked any better than his brother, anyway. It was at that point that the state fell to his knees.
Canada just stood there blinking for a moment. "I won?" He asked. With no response from Ply, he threw his hands over his head, "I won! I wo-ah!" It seemed that his arms had made him too unstable for his jelly-like legs to support and he fell backwards onto his rump.
Ply laughed and crawled over to him, "Seems more like a draw to me."
"You're right… For once."
"Hey!"
The both of them laughed before lapsing into a comfortable silence. Ply turned around and sat down next to his brother, both of them watching the burning building as though it were one of the small campfires that the two had made as children. For once, Canada spoke first.
"We're supposed to hate each other right now, eh?"
"Yeah, technically, but I don't think I couldn't ever hate you, man. Not really."
"I agree. No matter now much you piss me off, Ply, I'll always like you, I think."
"That's because we're bros."
"Well, Ply, just because we're brothers doesn't mean we'll like each other. Just look at England's family."
"Yeah, thank God he didn't bring that over here with him. But being bros is different from being brothers, you know?"
"No, I don't. Bro is short for Brother, isn't it?"
The American sighed, "yeah but-" He shrugged, "Meh, you'll understand someday."
"Well, I think I kind of get what you mean, so it's alright, eh?"
"Yeah, in spite of this all, I think it is."
Canada smiled and looked at his brother, "I call a truce."
"I thought that we already had."
"No, I mean a real truce. I don't think we should be fighting anymore, eh."
Ply smiled, one of the real ones that filled his eyes, "Me neither. It's good to have you back bro."
"It's good to be back, America," Canada whispered.
"What did you say?"
"N-nothing."
"No, really, I couldn't hear you."
"I didn't say anything."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Well, okay," His brother obviously didn't believe him.
But you know what, that was okay. He hadn't heard Canada slip.
Although really, that name fit him more every day that passed.
~O~O~O~
History Notes:
The Pirates and Impressments: Impressing was one of the main reasons for the war of 1812. Basically, life in the Royal Navy sucked so bad that no one wanted to join it, so naval ships would pull over American merchant vessels and take members of the crew, claiming that they were deserters from the Navy (as England does here). Technically, since he's a privateer and not on an official naval ship, IRL he probably wouldn't have bothered impressing sailors. Although, if you're going to get picky about accuracy, the golden age of piracy ended in the 1720's so he probably wouldn't have been a privateer nearly 100 years later. But it's my bloody fic and I do what I want. If you really need a crappy explanation, let's just say that he's officially part of the Navy, but the King let him keep his cool hat and tight trousers (the poor guy loves them and won't get them again until the 1970's). Also, is gangplank the correct term for what you would cross to meet with people on another vessel? I know that that's what you use to embark or disembark at port, but I don't know what they would have put across boats and I couldn't find out (I tried).
Pinkney's Treaty: The first real successful treaty that America made as a sovereign nation. It was with Spain, basically saying that they were friends and that Americans could go through Spanish Louisiana (they had the mouth of the Mississippi at the time). Spain was pretty much America's only friend that is actually in Hetalia (We also probably traded with Portugal, but (s)he isn't in Hetalia as far as I know) at the time of the war of 1812, too, because we decided to stop trading with both France and Britain to try to stay out of the Napoleonic wars. For a year, we tried to not trade with anyone, but it… erm… didn't work (major understatement. It absolutely tanked our economy. Even just not trading with those two severely damaged us since England was the largest purchaser of cotton in the world and all). Yes, Pinkney was South Carolinian.
Use of Human Names: To be honest, I really don't like using them. However, as I figure it, there are three kinds of people who know of the Nations: their superiors (both in the sense of their bosses and commanding officers if they have them), a precious individual or two (such as Jeanne D'Arc for France and Mozart for Austria), and some special subordinates sworn to secrecy (such as Workbitch Bartholomew). Everyone else knows them by their aliases. England probably clears out his crew every few years or "retires" and lies low for a while so that they don't realize he's been a privateer since the sixteen hundreds.
York: This was the colonial capitol of Upper Canada (It's called upper because it's closer to the source of the Saint Laurence river than, say, Quebec). It was in the same spot as Toronto is nowadays. A lot of people remember the burning of Washington DC during the war of 1812 (partially because there's a catchy song about it that most people attribute to the Arrogant Worms, famous for such songs as "Canada's Really Big", who never touched it. It was written by Three Dead Trolls in a Baggie, thank you very much), but we burned down their capitol first (We started the day after the date mentioned, April 27th) and were a lot nastier. The burning of DC was just federal buildings whereas in York we looted everything that we could. Canadians are polite about revenge, just like everything else I guess. Of course, that was probably good, because there was pretty much no resistance to the attack on DC. Nice goin', guys.
Ana living with Canada: At this time, the majority of what we now know as the Midwest was unpopulated. No one was there except for Native Americans and the occasional fur trapper. However, one of America's reasons for going to war with Britain was because there were a bunch of soldiers living in the Ohio River valley, which is part of Ana's territory. So, because of that, I figured Canada would more or less be in charge of her. Also, people in the Great Lakes region tend to be stereotyped together with Canadians as far as accents, sports obsessions, lack of civilization, and basically being ignored the rest of the time. Our nation-tan had to get it from somewhere…
Canada's gun: In my mind, Canada would have never really kept firearms in his house by his own volition. The gun he has he only keeps because England keeps asking him to fight all the time. Also, it's useful for hunting when he's running low on money (He's damn good at it to. Most of the time the moose don't see him until it's too late…) He mentions wanting a revolver. These were actually very first invented in England in 1597, but they weren't mass-produced until 1822 (I thought that was kind of cool since I always associate them with the mid 1800's to the mid 1900's). Therefore, in 1813, they would have most likely been a rare commodity. England himself probably has one, as do most of the Americans because a lot of them like shiny new weapons.
"So many of our guys living here": After the Revolution, a lot of loyalists went to Canada. Because of this, many of the American generals believed that Canada would sympathize with them and fall under their control easily. Apparently, they missed how many of these people were afraid of being persecuted by Americans and that they liked being British subjects. Even though that's why they left for Canada in the first place. Oops.
"I won?": To this day, no one can agree on who won the war of 1812, really. All we know for sure is that by 1814, both sides were sick of fighting and basically signed a treaty that kept all the boundaries the way that they were before. Some people claim that it was the British, some claim it was the Americans, some claim both, some claim neither. However, strangely enough, the war managed to usher in an era of peace, and American and Britain have never been enemies since (well, it got a little bit hairy there during the Civil War, but more on that later). So over all, I'd say that the real significance was that it showed everyone that America wasn't just a bunch of spoiled brats, but a country strong enough to command at least a little bit of respect. Maybe we did win in the long run after all.
A/N: This chapter was really fun for me. It had everything, as far as I'm concerned: bad puns, several fistfights, TightPants!England, Badass!Canada, ChicksWithGunsAndSwords, and Fluffy!NorthAmericanSuperTeam. And I'm glad I did it that way, because no matter whether or not you guys like it and review, I still got everything I wanted, so whaddya want (Damn you, Francis if you ever get around to reading this!).
And next chapter gets better: my 19th century OTP shows up. That's all I'm saying for now (you can be free to guess who it is, but you'll probably be wrong.)
However, update will probably be even later. At the very earliest, it'll be Thursday the 10th. I'm going to do a research project in Florida, and I won't have much time. But there WILL be an update, I swear it on my massive manga collection and special dark chocolate pocky.