Brother
Canada shrank back from Russia. He slipped off of his chair and curled up on the floor. If the larger nation sat on him again he was going to go 'hockey maniac'.
Canada's mind was whirling, trying to take in what had just happened. He had an...odd...relationship with his brother. America infuriated, flabbergasted, and babied him, and more than once Canada had found himself standing above his sleeping brother, ready to bash out his brains with a hockey stick. Yet they were twins, and Canada knew better than anyone that America had a good heart.
He also knew that this Confederacy, wherever he had come from, was trouble. Looking at those green eyes, the swift and relaxed way he moved, the gracious smile, Canada sensed that there was nothing but darkness behind the sparkle in his eyes. The shy nation sympathized with him; God knew America had virtually enslaved both of them. But it was clear that the Confederacy was blinded by anger. Alfred could be selfish, possessive and obtuse, but he was at heart a good person.
Wasn't he?
