A/N: I'm kind of sad that people didn't like the previous chapter as much as the others… But oh well, here's the last one. Sorry it's crappy, and not really worth the wait. XP I was sickly and spent my week sleeping, working, and coughing my lungs up.
Be amazed, I actually finished something, for once. :P And I am blubbering so bad, because you know when you find a song that perfectly fits everything you've ever thought about a character? Yeah, totally freaking out right now.
Warnings: Excessive use of headcanon facts, warped current events, pointless crack, and snarky/semi-violent/bi-polar Canada. Do not read if you are easily offended (why are you even in this fandom?), because I tend to bash everyone in the name of humour. Rated T for a couple bad words.
Summary: In which America does some reading, and Canada desperately wishes he would just mind his own business. Implied/Pre-Slash. One-sided USCan.
Of Current Events and Stupid Sibling-Things
America covers his head with a pained groan. Why the fuck are the curtains open?
Bright, cheerful sunlight splashes through the glass and across the double bed. Birds chirp outside… cars honk at each other. Alfred cracks a reluctant eye open, as warm, creeping lethargy grips his frame. His limbs feel boneless, cocooned against Mattie's solid warmth.
Oh, he could get used to this. Mattie mumbles something in his sleep, and Alfred can feel the Canuck nuzzle against the top of his head, and tighten his hands on Alfred's back in a kneading motion. America shivers under the little touches, and curls tighter against Matthew's chest. God yes, he could definitely get used to this.
At some point in the night, his northern twin saw fit to use the American as a second blanket—or maybe just a Kumajiro substitute, because Alfred doesn't remember going to sleep on Matthew (whose arms and legs are currently wrapped snugly around Alfred's neck, and torso).
He can hear the slow, steady pulse in Canada's chest, and Alfred seriously feels like never moving again. Which is weird, because he must've slept at least a solid eight hours—that's more than he usually gets in a whole week.
America yawns and gives a full body stretch, grinning at the way Canada mutters and tightens his thighs in response. He knows Mattie will be out for at least another few hours, and there's no way America's going to lie around for that long—it's almost 8:30 for fuck's sake.
Alfred pushes himself to his hands and knees, ready to get up and start the day. He squeaks, and flails as Mattie instinctively tugs him back down.
His face is squished uncomfortably against Mattie's collarbone, and shit, he's not going anywhere, because Canada sleeps like a fucking log (he's seen the man sleep through an earthquake—twice), and because, despite the meek little 'Oh look at me~ I'm so innocent and harmless, and cute and shit' act that Mattie plays up for the rest of the world, he's not much of a weakling when he forgets to control himself.
"Matttiieee…" the American's whine is muffled in his twin's T-shirt, "Le'go…" Obviously, the sleeping blond does not obey. America twists slowly, experimentally. He huffs. Yeah, he can do this.
The next 10 minutes are an annoyed and flustered America, trying to Houdini himself out of his twin's death grip (without waking him up). The shirt had to be sacrificed, and his pajama pants are freaking halfway down his knees, by the time he wiggles his hips free, but finally! Freedom at last! The American shuffles back with a triumphant grin—right off the side of the bed. Thunk.
"… Ow." Ass. Meet floor.
America pouts when Matthew just sighs and rolls to face the wall. He crawls his way to the bedroom door (after pulling up his pants), since it's too much effort to walk after that little adventure. He decides it's time to stand once he gets to the stairs.
England is already at the dining table when Alfred gets to the kitchen. He's got more pansy-ass tea, and doesn't look like he had nearly as good a sleep as America did. But that's okay too, because at least Arthur's mattress didn't try to eat him this morning either.
"Yo," America hails the island nation on his way to the coffee machine. England blinks up at the half-clothed American, prominent eyebrows rising at Alfred's ruffled appearance.
The two are quiet as America brews himself a pot of coffee. America can't be bothered to make conversation this early, and England is trying not to think about where America probably spent the night (since he wasn't on the couch, and Arthur took the only guest room).
America slumps in the chair across from England, and takes a gulp of his drink with a satisfied sigh. He can feel England's eyes studying him, but can't bring himself to care.
That is, until the staring continues for five straight minutes.
"If you got something to say, just say it." America speaks, not quite confrontational, but firm enough to let England know he might have a face full of scalding coffee sometime in the next 10 minutes if he doesn't stop it.
The smaller nation starts, as though just realizing he's watching the American so blatantly. The Englishman glances away with an annoyed huff. He downs his tea and pushes himself to his feet and heads for the stairs.
"I'll go wake Matthew, and—"
"NO," America jumps up, and clutches at England frantically.
"Bloody fuck," the island nation goes down under the super power's weight, "what the ruddy hell is wrong with you," America doesn't listen to the rest of it, all that matters is that he's saved them both from a horrible, and bloody demise.
"Shh, shh," America clamps a hand over England's mouth, giving him a grim look that would be more appropriate when dealing with timed explosives.
England just stares incredulously up at him.
"We do not. Wake. The Beast. Got it?" Not without an offering, at least. England obviously doesn't get it. America shakes his head; honestly, he's dealing with amateurs here.
He pushes himself up off of England, goes for the cupboard, and pulls down the largest coffee mug he can find. It's a good thing Mattie has take home Timmie's for him to brew (and that he had thought to make it, instead of Nabob), because he really doesn't feel like walking down the block to Tim Horton's to pick some up.
America ignores England's mystified expression, as he makes his way up the stairs, with a newly filled mug clutched before him like a shield. Alfred slips silently into the master bedroom, and eyes the lump of blankets on the bed thoughtfully.
"Hey Matt," Alfred murmurs, slowly approaching the bed. This could go one of two ways. Either Mattie will try to drown him in the cup (maybe smash the mug, and then attempt to dismember him with the broken pieces), or molest him in gratitude. Both are equally terrifying prospects when Canada first wakes up.
"Maaattiiieee…" The blanket cocoon grunts and shifts restlessly as Alfred gives it a light prod, ready to flee at the first sign of aggression. After a bit more insistence, Canada pushes himself to a sitting position. His strawberry blond hair is a mess (after-sex hair, giggles a small part of America's brain, before he forcibly stomps on it), and his dark, misty eyes look bewildered under all the sleep.
America waves the coffee mug gently before his twin's vacant face. 'Focus on the coffee, remember, you love coffee, Tim Horton's coffee, please don't kill me,' Alfred's body language seems to say.
Matthew's long-fingered hands fold around the bright yellow mug; he seems content to simply bask in the earthy scent for now. Which Alfred is too impatient for, so he tips the edge of the cup towards Canada's lips. The Northern nation almost seems to growl at the interference, but he drinks it anyway.
America allows his zombified neighbour a few sips, before slowly backing away, coaxing the still half-asleep nation out of bed. America pauses at the door when it's obvious that his twin has no intention of following. Mattie just sits there, looking kind of pathetic, and shoots mournful and longing looks at the coffee cup.
America tries to talk his neighbour into moving, knowing it's useless to expect any verbal response from his twin this early. It doesn't work, of course. If Mattie has it his way, he won't be up before noon. Alfred shrugs, and moves to leave.
"Fine, I guess I'll just have to drink it mysel—" America lets out a girlish scream, as someone suddenly latches onto him. He holds the coffee up in the air, in an attempt to keep Canada from spilling it all over them. What he isn't expecting, is Mattie to start climbing him to get it.
"Arthur, save me! The Beaver's gonna eat meee!" America scrambles down the stairs as fast as he can with Canada clinging to him like some crazed koala.
Canada manages to snatch the cup from him just as they reach ground level.
England darts into the living room, wondering what the devil is going on.
He's confronted with the image of America, with his hands in the air like he's being held at gunpoint. And Canada, holding an ugly yellow mug possessively. He has one leg carelessly draped across the back of America's broad shoulders, toes curling near the alarmed super power's chest. The other leg is twisted around the front of the Yankee's torso, foot hooked at Alfred's hip. It… doesn't look physically possible, actually.
"Get him off," America pleads, knowing it's no use reasoning with Canada, before he's had his first coffee of the day. Meanwhile the Canadian is silently cooing over his hard earned breakfast beverage, and seems completely unaware of his current perch.
"Matt! The whole hat thing was a joke, you're not supposed to take it literally!" Alfred growls, trying to dislodge his sleepy neighbour. Matthew instinctively resists for a moment (almost choking his twin in the process), but eventually allows the American to disentangle them; he's more interested in the deliciousness that is coffee anyway.
Alfred deposits his psychotic twin in a dining chair, before retreating a few feet to where England is standing. Arthur looks like he isn't sure if he wants to laugh at the scene, or just leave the room.
"This is pretty normal," Alfred observes to the bemused islander, as Canada curls up in the dining chair and nurses his coffee, completely ignoring the other two nations in the room, "he broke my nose with a pillow last time." England looks incredulous.
Whatever, England doesn't have to believe him. He'll learn, if he ever ends up spending the night with Mattie (and then Alfred will have to castrate him).
America slowly approaches, after his neighbour finishes the coffee, and starts to look a little more alive. Mattie yawns, and stands with a stretch.
"So who wants breakfast?" Canada asks, expression downright chirpy now. It's a little unnerving, but at least they averted disaster.
America is at the dining table in seconds. Fuck yeah, pancakes. Canada spends the next half-hour throwing together what amounts to a breakfast feast. It's like he couldn't decide what he wanted that day, so he made enough of everything to feed ten people.
America can't resist the urge to start loading his plate as the food piles in large bowls and plates in the center of the table. Arthur looks more disbelieving with each new addition to the growing smorgasbord*.
Alfred counts bacon (so much bacon), sausage (two types), scrambled eggs, fruit salad, toast, and a few mangled omlettes. French toast, pancakes, fried potatoes, and… Alfred stops counting when he gets to the baked goodies.
"Is this… really necessary…?" England is staring at the mountains of food in horrified fascination, while Canada finishes up. Mattie plunks down across from America, and starts by stealing half of the thirteen, dinner-plate-sized pancakes, loading them with fruit salad and maple syrup.
"Yes." Canada and America reply in unison.
Canada hums cheerfully under his breath, as he decimates the pancakes single handedly (he makes sure that Alfred and Arthur get at least one each), before moving onto the eggs, bacon and French toast.
Alfred is mowing through his own breakfast at an alarming rate. But that's okay. It's why Canada made so much in the first place. At least he knows someone will always enjoy his cooking.
Meanwhile, Arthur has barely touched his food; too distracted by watching the two younger nations eat everything in sight. Canada tries not to feel self-conscious under the incredulous stare. He's allowed to enjoy his food damnit, and Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.
Conversation is sparse as the three eat. America pokes fun every once in a while, but is mostly intent on battling Canada for the last pieces of sausage.
"You know…" Canada glances up at America questioningly. America is chewing thoughtfully on some bacon. "I haven't forgotten about Vegas." Canada's expression flattens as America sends him a wicked grin.
"We talked about this."
"Naw uh,"
"I'm not going to Vegas. Why can't you be like a normal person, and go camping, or something to relax?" Alfred laughs obnoxiously, and Canada is tempted to flick a grape from his fruit salad at Alfred's face. But that would be a waste of good food.
"Oh my god, you're such a hippy." But Alfred has this calculating look in his eye, and it makes Matthew nervous.
"What?" Canada asks suspiciously. America's expression dissolves into pure innocence.
"Hm?"
"Don't give me that look," I know what you're planning. Canada has no clue, actually, but Alfred doesn't know that.
"Am I missing something?" Nobody pays attention to the increasingly sour Brit.
"Why don't we go camping?" America suggests with one of his mega-watt smiles.
"No."
"Why not?" Totally not whining.
"Because you hate camping."
"Do not!"
"Renting a cabin practically in the suburbs, is not camping!" Canada points furiously at his southern neighbour with his fork. He looks visibly offended by the thought. "That's what amateurs do."
"What if—"
"I swear to god. If you suggest an RV, I will cut you."
America falls silent.
"Do you still have a tent?" Alfred asks instead.
"What kind of dumb question is that?" Matthew blurts before he can stop himself. Because of course he has a freaking tent. Canada keeps forgetting that Arthur is in the room with them, who is becoming increasingly alarmed by the "Americanized" reactions Canada keeps displaying. Whatever, that's what happens when the only country that wants to be around him, happens to be the world idiot.
They quickly finish off the last few bites of food.
And now Canada has no idea what to do. He was planning to show Arthur around a bit (the man hasn't visited him properly since… 1980-something), but he can't just ditch Alfred to do so.
"I think we should go here." Alfred interrupts Matthew's thoughts. He's fiddling with his Blackberry (where on earth he pulled it from, is a mystery to Canada). Matthew peers at the tiny screen as America holds it out to him, and frowns as he tries to think of where that is.
"Is this me?" Canada asks. America nods. It's a lake, basically, but Canada's not sure which one. Rolling mountains, highland grass… probably in the northwest Rockies. Bowron Lake Park? It looks like it could be Izaac Lake.
"Um… you know, it's four days by canoe to get there."
America's expression deadpans.
"Bullshit."
Arthur curiously leans over to look at the picture.
"Well, first we'd have to fly to Vancouver, and then drive for… nine hours. Or we could take the I-94 and Trans Highway… then it takes three days. But yeah, Izaac Lake is halfway through a ten day canoe route." And Matthew knows he's rambling. Shut up, maybe he's a little excited about the idea, okay?
"… Why do you have pictures of Matthew on your phone?" Arthur asks dryly, startling the young blonds. Canada blinks for a second, before turning accusing eyes on his suddenly blushing twin.
"I-it's not on my phone," Alfred snaps defensively, "Jeeze, haven't you ever heard of The Internet?" Arthur is obviously enjoying this, whereas Mattie just looks disturbed and annoyed.
"It's not my fault. Have you ever googled your name, Matt? Landscape pics everywhere! It's like a fucking porn mag. Blame your boss. I try to look up some innocent—" England snorts at that, the little fuckface that he is, "—touristy crap and bam, you might as well just throw yourself at people."
America feels a little better now, because Canada is turning a pretty shade of red, and seems at a complete loss of words. Which is nice, because it's actually really hard to shut him up, once Mattie gets into one of his moods.
"Al, you've go to admit, it's a little creepy." America snorts. He used to follow Mattie around, and ambush him with (somewhat deranged) marriage proposals in the 1800's, and Canada finds this creepy? The man needs to sort out his perceptions.
Canada's eyes narrow at America's dismissive scoff.
"Well, how would you like it if I googled you just 'cause I'm bored?" It's supposed to be a demand, but Mattie looks too wide-eyed and flustered to pull 'angry' off.
America is unfazed. He gives Canada a sly grin, and wiggles his eyebrows in an exaggerated Come Hither response. He laughs as Mattie just stutters.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Mattie, but I've done that," he ignores Canada's muttered 'Narcissist…' He was bored, and curious, the same two factors that led him to look up Canada as well.
"I've done that already, and there's not much to look at—"
"You're not much to look at…" Alfred overlooks the quiet snark again.
"All you get are flag pictures—which, don't get me wrong, my flag is sexy as all fuck. But it's not anything you'd be interested in." Huh, a text from the VP? "For some reason, your girly leaf flag pops up a few times too…"
Canada sneers at him (or tries to, at least. He's still blushing too much to manage it, and America is too busy looking at his phone to notice anyway).
"Maybe the World needs a reminder that they're not entirely doomed." Canada quips, a little nastily, if you ask Alfred, but he's put up with worse.
"Or it's a sign you should shut your trap and join the Union." America retorts without missing a beat. Fuuucckkk, why the fuck do they need him for Congress babysitting again? America scrolls through the text slowly, kind of hoping he's been horribly confused all year, and it's actually April first.
You know what's a good plan? Don't use Congress. For fucks sake, even Alfred knows they're not gonna do anything. Does he really need to be there to listen to them bitch at each other some more? Yeah, you kind of need Congress to pass bills and shit, but what's the point in having it, if they're not going to do that anyway? Idiots.
"No, I'm good," Mattie murmurs. Alfred almost doesn't catch Canada's response; "I'll just adopt you when you're poor and bankrupt…" America glances up sharply. "Well," Canada smirks, "more so than now."
Okay, maybe he kind of asked for that, but fuck he wants to slap that smirk off Canada's face.
Mattie rolls his eyes as America glares at him for the jab, but Alfred is distracted by his phone chirping at him again (Actually, it's Homer Simpson shouting "Doh!" every time a text comes in, but it's the same thing really), before he thinks of a retort.
It's just some other government guys wondering where he disappeared. Can they seriously not manage longer than 24 hours without him there? Canada sometimes spends months out of country, and nobody gets on his case about it. Granted, it's usually work related stuff he's away for, but what the hell?
"Lets do it next week," Alfred states, thinking he should probably get plans set up before taking off.
"Hm?" Canada is at the sink, quickly making his way through the breakfast dishes.
"Camping. Lets go next week."
"I can't, I'm visiting Kiku, and Yao, and Steven, and… some other countries. Harper hasn't given me the full itinerary yet."
"Then next-next week—"
"I'll be in South America."
"Wh—"
Matthew seems to anticipate America's next question, "Europe. I'm pretty sure we're dropping in on Libya too, but don't tell anyone, he's still fairly unstable."
"… Dude." Alfred blinks at his twin in disbelief. What the hell kind of schedule does Mattie's boss have him on? That's four continents in 3 weeks! Even Arthur looks a little concerned. Canada shrugs uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
"We need the trade," is Canada's quiet admission. "The only way to stop a recession is to keep investment lines open, and with you idiots digging a deeper hole for yourselves with protectionist legislation…" Canada shrugs again, "I'm not going to get it from existing ties." The last plate clatters into the dish rack, as Canada shoves it in a little harder than necessary.
"I won't be dragged down with you." Canada finishes, his expression firm. "Not this time."
This is probably the first time America has seen Mattie genuinely upset with them in decades (or maybe "disappointed" would be a better word for it). He knows they've pissed him off a lot before, but Mattie's never actually said anything to them (or, if he did, they weren't paying attention)…
"So. Any ideas on what you want to do today?" And Canada is back to playing the cheery little host.
America holds up his phone with an annoyed grimace.
"I gotta head back soon." Alfred says. Canada's expression turns mildly sympathetic – though America suspects the man is secretly laughing at him.
"How tragic," England drawls.
"You'll miss me Artie, don't deny it."
The Brit sneers at him, probably trying to be intimidating (he just looks constipated, in Alfred's opinion). Alfred rolls his eyes, and heads back to Matt's room, just now realizing that he is still shirtless.
He decides to steal some of Matt's clothes, because he doesn't want to wear the ones from yesterday, and because he's just spotted the short-sleeved, blue plaid, button up shirt that he's been meaning to filch from Mattie's closet, since forever. It's okay, because Matt's made off with a few pairs of his Levi's before (which he'll be taking back a pair of right now, thank-you-very-much).
Alfred stuffs his wallet and his phone in his jean pocket and slings his jacket over his shoulder as he reaches the bottom of the stairs.
Canada walks with him to the front door. But before he leaves…
"So… Camping?" Canada glares. "Come on! I swear I'll leave you alone for…" Alfred pauses for dramatic effect, "…the rest of the day." He says it as though it's the most glorious thing in the world. Which, of course, to Canada it would be. America tries to keep his expression utterly pathetic—you know, playing the sympathy card. Though a grin threatens to wrap around to the back of his head, as the Arctic Nation's expression takes on a more contemplative look.
Oh yes, Matt. Look into the eyes. Come on, you can do it… see the sincerity here… Hah! And now, there is no way Mattie will be able to resist this face. Even England can't, so…
"One week."
Wait, what?
His expression must have voiced his confusion, because Canada decides to clarify his meaning.
"You are not to set foot anywhere near my apartment, or office, or house, or Parliament… for seven complete days, Alfred F. Jones." Matthew informs him.
"B-but—?" Alfred hopes his surprised face doesn't look as stupid as it feels, but judging from his twin's amused expression… yeah, it totally does.
"Whyyy?" He whines. This is impossible! Nobody can resist his 'kicked puppy' expression—It's practically written in the laws of nature! Although Mattie kills baby seals every winter,** so maybe he's one of those people that kick puppies for fun instead… He always knew Mattie was evil.
"… How 'bout three?" Alfred negotiates.
"Done."
Damn. He should've said two.
"Hugs and kisses and shit?" The American chirps, holding out his arms as he pulls the front door open. Matthew shakes his head in bemusement, deciding to indulge him for the time being.
"Yeah, yeah…" Mattie mutters. Alfred hums to himself as he tightens his arms around Mattie's waist. It reminds him of this morning, and kind of makes him want to stay, but he still has to go, and pretend that he works for a living, and… yeah…
Fuck, work is lame.
Mattie moves to draw away (too soon), and leaves a quick kiss at the corner of Alfred's mouth, and… Wait. What?
Alfred feels his brain short circuit for all of ten seconds. When he tunes back in, Mattie looks absolutely mortified, like he wants nothing more than to crawl under a rock and die. And Alfred is caught somewhere between wanting to laugh, or have his way with Mattie against the wall. He tries to remind himself why the second option is a Very Bad Idea. Because neither of them are very good at saying 'no' to the other, and Mattie still has insecurity issues, and… yeah. There's a reason that they established some personal boundaries back in the 30's…
Shit, how is he supposed to fix the awkward?
America lets out a brash laugh, and tugs Matthew into a rough bear hug. Mattie squeaks, flailing a bit under the assault.
"Aww, I knew you still loved me," America snickers, giving Mattie what would amount to a whisker burn, if Alfred actually had a beard.
"A-Alfred!" Canada squeals, trying to twist away. Alfred's not too worried though, because Mattie's laughing as well, and honestly, this is what works for them.
Sure, eventually they're both going to have to come to terms with the shifting dynamic between them, but it's fine for now.
"See ya later," Alfred chirps, receiving a soft smile in response.
"If I must." Canada's response is light, and airy.
Alfred bounces out the door with a grin. He feels somehow lighter than when he first arrived. Which is just weird, because he was expecting to be splitting some heads when he decided to come over.
Mattie thinks he's bullshitting whenever he mentions it, but Alfred is positive that Canada exudes some sort of calming pheromones. Like, his zen-ness rubs off on people if they just hang around enough. Maybe he should consider keeping him as a desk ornament…
Fuck, he could use some Zen in D.C. right about now. Maybe he can convince Mattie to switch places with him for a few days.
A/N: The End! :D Sorry, lame ending is lame. You know that feeling when some parts of a fic feel fantastic to write (and actually turn out the way you expect them to), and then the rest of it might as well be brainless keyboard mashing? Yep, describes the creation of this fic perfectly.
I might write their camping trip later. It'll have some other fun current event for them to bitch about together, of course.
Fun Fact: When Tim Horton's opened their store in Kandahar, all the non-Canadian allies thought it was a religious cult for the first few weeks, because of the Canadian Forces' reactions to having it there.
*smorgasbord: (apparently not everyone knows this word? I dunno, it's pretty commonplace around here. Sorry Berwald, we Canadians be stealing your words, and brutally murdering them for our own amusement… =w= ). Short definition – it's another word for buffet.
**Seal Hunts: There's actually a lot of misconception about the seal hunts (in Canada, as well as around the world), which is kind of what the joke is about.
The fact is, we would have to cull seals, whether the Inuit used the parts in commercial sales or not. Why? Because they breed like rats, eat all the fish, and then slowly starve to death over the course of months (or even years).
A quick death (where the meat/fat/bones actually get used for something) is far more humane, in my opinion. There's a bunch of other reasons, but I don't want to turn this into an essay. :P
