Disclaimer of this Chapter : Swearing has kinda lightened up. For this chapter, at least. I can't promise about future chapters though.
Ownership : I own nuffin. Well. I own stuff. Not Hetalia.
Important Note : ALL character actions are based off of CHARACTER traits, and is not making fun of/slandering or putting down any nation in question. This is based off of characterisations and not the countries invovled. Thank you very much.
Chapter Ten Summary : Paperwork... Zombies... Soup. Mmn. Soup. Pissed off Russians. Yep! Sounds like a normal day!
- Chapter 10 - Even Canadians Love Zombies -
Kumajirou paced his Canadian home, moving between the bedroom and bathroom and back again in his own lumbering pace. Anyone unfamiliar with the bear would assume that the pacing meant that he was bored, eager to have something interesting to do because his owner was gone. Such was not the case.
No, Kumajirou was experiencing something rare when it concerned his owner, and that was worry. Normally he would not care so much where that guy was, or who he was with, or even who he was, as long as the man was his owner, fed him, and continued to do what he did every day. The minor details did not matter in the long run as long as he remained receiving the same love and affection had had gotten for a very long time.
Perhaps the worry was different because he felt that something was off, something was wrong with that guy, and he could not place a paw on what it was.
The bear plopped himself down in the kitchen and looked at the clock that hung beside the fridge. "Late," he murmured to himself, watching the second hand idly tick past. "Very late," he reiterated and agreed with himself before heaving back up to do the pacing of his house.
A sound invaded the silence; there was a jingle of a clink and rattle of a key being jammed in the front lock, and the sound of the door being opened with a soft 'clunk'. A creak followed, and boots in the entrance way came right afterward.
"Hmn?" Kumajirou tilted his head. "Oh! That guy is back," he came to the conclusion. "I should tell him off," he decided. "He is very late."
With that, he lumbered off to the entrance in no hurry or sense of haste, but with a very slight edge of eagerness.
He was met by someone who was not 'that guy'. It was that imposter guy that looked just like him. His brother. That weird guy who always wore that stupid jacket with the stupid fluff and had that stupid flippy thing on his head that Kumajirou always wanted to bat at whenever the man came close enough for him to reach.
Kumajirou harrumphed at the man that was working off his boots. "You're not Canada," he said simply, using Matthew's country name because well, let's face it, he did know it some of the time, and he remembered it whenever it was important enough to. Whoever it was referring to...
America blinked, looking down the hall and seeing a very disappointed looking white polar bear. "Oh! Hey little guy!"
Alfred's face spread to a cheesy grin, and once his boots were off he stepped up towards the bear in a quick manner and scooped him up; much to Kumajirou's disappointment.
"How are you doing Koopatroopa?"
America was rewarded with a very haughty and flat look. "Kumajirou."
"Hahaha! Right! Kumajirou!" He put a gloved hand on the bear's head and rubbed between the ears happily. "How are ya doin' little guy? Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat at all?" He stopped. "What do you eat anyway? Kibble...?"
"I am not hungry. I got breakfast myself."
Alfred's eyebrows arched. "You did? What did you get...?"
"Maple syrup. And salmon."
America's nose wrinkled. "Wha? Really? How did you get that stuff? Canned salmon?"
"Yep."
"Woah! You can use a can opener! That's, like, epic on a thousand different levels," America commented in amazement, wondering how Canada's bear could get his paws on a can opener, and be dexterous enough to turn it...
"It's electric."
"... Oh ... Well. It's still epic on at least one-hundred levels. I mean, how often do you get to see a bear use a can opener?" Alfred reasoned. "Electric or not."
Kumajirou, still not appreciating the man's presence, being held, or the conversation in question, still looked at him flatly. He chose to give America a cold tone. "Go away."
"W... Waa? Go away? Why?"
"I'm waiting for that guy. Not you. I want the guy that looks like you, but better. Now go away, lemme go." He started to wriggle in America's grip.
"Sorry little guy! I can't let you go just yet. Mattie's coming, you know. Ol' Frog-butt is helping him inside and he's going to go straight up to bed. So I don't think you should bother him."
Kumajirou's ears perked and he looked towards the still-open doorway. "He's coming back? Where has he been? He's late."
"Yeah... He's sick, Koopatroopa."
"Kumajirou."
"Hahaha. I know. I just like Koopatroopa better."
The polar bear in America's arms sighed and made the human gesture of rubbing at his head before lowering his paw again. This guy was so annoying. It was around this point that two people came through the door, one being supported by the other; France and Canada.
France didn't bother in taking off his shoes; instead he moved to aim for the hallway straightaway, keeping a deft hold on his dear son. He had something far more important to deal with than a little bit of muck and dirt on a carpet. Not that his shows were that dirty.
Canada spoke, "Papa... our shoes, we should take them off..."
"Non, mon petite. We do not 'ave to take them off, non? They are clean enough. Come, let's get you in bed straight away, then we can take off your shoes," France assured him as he lead him up the stairs.
Kumajirou wiggled more, trying to escape the in-human crasp. "Hey. Stupid. Hey! Guy with stupid glasses!"
America instantly retorted with a major pout, "Texas is not stupid."
"Mmfph. Let me go. I want to see that guy."
"Sorry buddy-boy. But you gotta stay with me. Matt has to get bed rest and sleep right now. So whatever you need from him, you can get from me, okay?" Alfred reassured, or rather, attempted to. It was hard to do reassuring when the one that he was trying to reassure was looking at him so flatly.
"I don't need anything."
America sighed. "Well, then I'll just keep holdin' onto ya for a bit then. Sorry Koopa, can't change that part."
"Kumajirou."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, don't get your fur in a twist."
At least when his owner forgot his name - or rather, 'forgot' his name - he had the decency of calling him something that vaguely resembled his name. Like, Kumakichi or Kumamomo or Kumataro or Kumarama or something to that degree. Though recently he noticed how that guy seemed to default to 'Kuma' most of the time. Ah... Oh well. He didn't care. At least it wasn't as stupid as 'Koopatroopa'.
America decided then to ignore the bear that had stopped wriggling and resigned to his fate of having to be carried by Alfred. He puffed out his cheeks in a few seconds of mild unknown annoyance then turned to the living room.
It had been a while since he visited his brother's. Usually when he visited he took Canada out somewhere, or Canada generally visited him. He always wondered why Matthew tended to refuse for America to 'trouble himself' by coming 'all the way here'. He had begun to assume Matthew's place was a pig-sty.
Looking around? Spick and span. The only cleaner house he'd fine would possibly be Germany's.
Eh... His brother was so modest. Where the hell did he get that from?
He saw how the living room was carefully laid out and minimalistic, a simple three-cushioned couch sat against the wall, surrounded on either side by a simple bookshelf. Only a couple pillows adorned the couch to make it more than just plain. Canada had a quaint little entertainment center opposite it, all electronic outdated by at least five or so years, nothing new or brand new. Some looked like they came from thrift-stores or a pawn shop...
There was a wood and glass coffee table that had an in/out box that had a few sheets of paper resting in the 'out' portion, and a stack of paper sitting behind it with a small container with a couple pens and a highlighter.
Ah. So this is what Matthew did when he wanted to kick back and relax at the same time as doing paperwork? It was kind of amusing.
All in all, his humble abode seemed... homey. Alfred smirked. He kinda liked it. It suited him.
With that, and no further attention on his brother's decorating abilities, America thumped back onto the couch with a 'oomph' and kicked his feet up on the glass coffee table.
"We just gotta wait a little bit for England to mosey on in here with some stuff for Matthew, then we can make him some lunch," Alfred grinned, turning the bear around so he faced him.
"I can help?"
"Course you can."
. . .
After removing Canada's shoes, France got Matthew partially lying down. He propped his son up with a few well-placed pillows and he straightened the sheets under Matthew's elbows tenderly.
After all that was said and done, Francis sat down on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Matthew's forehead.
"Ah... alors... You still 'ave a fever, non? Though I suppose I cannot argue," he admitted, withdrawing, "It is not as bad as before! And that is very good!"
Canada smiled softly, slight guilt leaked into his expression. "Papa..."
"Oui mon mignon?"
"Papa," Matthew sighed then, his expression dropping. "I am so sorry for this; all of this. I just can't imagine how something like this had started and... I am so sorry that you all got wrapped up in it. I should have stayed home from work yesterday. Rather than trying to come in. If I had... maybe this would all have been avoided?" He huffed out another breath. "Maybe you all wouldn't be so troubled."
France let his son go off with his unnecessary apology, his hands neatly folded in his lap as he listened. When he was sure that Canada was done, he took his son's face tenderly with his two hands.
"Non mon petite. I am thankful that you 'ad come! If not, then what would 'ave 'appened if you were alone? So I am grateful!" He smiled. "As well! I would 'ave been pained so if I could not see my dear petite at the meeting! I would 'ave..." He started saying dramatically, back of his hand on his forehead for further effect, "... felt a great 'ole in my 'eart if you were not there."
Canada snorted. "Papa..."
"Non!" He took his son's shoulder. "It is true! I can feel it now! A great void... Oh... pourquoi moi! It is terrible!"
A small laugh erupted from his tired and pale son, earning a look of relief from his melodramatic parent. France put a hand on the top of his son's head and ruffed up the hair softly.
"Mon petite. Do not apologize any more for any of this," he instructed paternally. "Apologies are not necessary, Mathieu." He brushed back Canada hair then started to ease him down.
"Papa but I ..."
"Ah ah." He waggled a finger. "No buts. Shh. Rest for a while, yes? You need it; you are still quite sick," France instructed, guiding Matthew to a proper laying position and he tucked him in comfortably, patting the sheets with his hand. "You get some rest, and your Papa," he said with a wide smile, "Will stay here with you."
Canada's face broke out into a wide smile. He turned on his side and tried to nestle in the more-familiar fabrics of his own bed, but facing his parent.
"Okay," he said simply, retaining that smile for a moment or so more before he closed his eyes to let himself sleep.
France watched him for a moment, and when he was sure that his son had dropped off again (he must have been exhausted to fall asleep so quickly), he reached out and brushed at his beautiful French-inspired hair.
"Do not worry. You will get better, non?"
. . .
America was still on the couch, but he no longer held Kumajirou as he convinced him to stay downstairs to leave Canada alone while France got him settled down to sleep. Part of the convincing may have been attributed to the fact that he had bribed the bear of the northern nation with this box of cookies he found in the cupboard.
He had one in his mouth at the moment; it was dangling there as he was really being a bit of a snoop.
He had grown bored as time had passed, and resisting his own urges to run upstairs and check on his brother to be sure that he didn't relapse, he was idly looking around the living room once again. He was coming to the self-decided decision that maybe Matthew wouldn't mind if he played one of his video games. So he was sitting in front of a cupboard of the entertainment center, shuffling through Canada's videogames.
"Huh... He doesn't have that many video games."
He pulled out one of the few cases, and gaped "Woah! This is a really hard-core zombie game. Why does he have this...?" He flipped it over and saw a name was scrawled in thick black marker. "... Ah. It's Prussia's. I guess he lent it to him. Hah. Good luck getting Mattie to play this. I bet Matt's had this in here for months."
He stood, kicking the cupboard closed with his foot, and he pulled out the appropriate console and popped in the game.
"I'll just give him a head start. Mattie won't care..."
The system started and America crunched down on the maple-leaf shaped cookie that tasted heavily of maple. It was really delicious too. Really sweet. Alfred contentedly chewed on it when the save menu came up and he stared in complete shock.
"Holy shit! Matthew beat this game?" He looked at the save file that was, yes, listed under Canada's name. "I... My brain is breaking trying to imagine my brother playing this game and not hiding behind the couch. This is... very... contradictory to his nature..."
He laughed then, putting down the controller and letting the save screen remain on the TV as he plopped himself on the couch to grab another cookie.
"Hahaha! Maybe while Mattie is getting better we can have fun and play this 2-player. Oh! Or online! Hell yeah!"
In his little fit of excitement of playing zombie first-person shooters with his brother, he accidently knocked over the box of maple-cookies and spilt them all over inside Canada's out-box.
"Ah! Shit!"
He stood up, panicking.
"Shit shit shit! Mattie's gunna kill me!" America frantically began to try to sweep the cookies and cookie dust off of the papers in the out-box and back into the container that they originally came from.
"Damnit Alfred," he scolded himself.
Once he had gotten most of the crumbs and cookie out that he could with just sweeping with his hand, he picked up the papers and began to shake them off.
And because the papers were facing him now, and not turned face-down he accidently caught a glimpse of what was on them. Really, countries had no right looking into other country's paperwork. Since it could arise many troubles from a mere glimpse and it was generally a good idea to ignore any such papers when in another's household.
But what Alfred saw was rather... glaring.
He had assumed that the small stacks of papers were just a couple things that Matthew had received the day before but... This was just...
He flipped through them, being careful to just read the top dates.
They were all single sheets. All of them dated either a week or a month from one-another. And they were all the kind of paperwork the government gave to their respective country avatars to sign out of... respect? Rather, it was tradition, and they really didn't have much of a point other than as a sort of recognition of the avatar's hard work and sort of showed some kind of respect. A sort of recognition of the representitive's exsistance?
"What the hell...?" He looked through them again. "... Maybe this is just Mattie's... uh... pile of stuff he does in front of the TV..."
Which was weird. This stuff could just be signed off immediately. So he really didn't need to set up a place to do this kind of paperwork. It just needed to be signed off and it was picked up later when the real paperwork came.
"This is..."
He flipped through them again. "From four months ago."
He looked back at the small set up. It was painfully obvious it was organized that way so Matthew could sit back and do hours of paperwork if need be. But this was all he had?
He was about to go off on a mental tangent about the fact that Matthew still had them which meant tha-
Oh no no. He scolded himself and put the papers back in their tray. No. This wasn't his business. He was coming to stupid conclusions. There was nothing indicating by those papers just being there that something was wrong. No.
He fwumped back on the couch and decided to ignore the papers all together. It was far more rational to leave them alone and not to think of them any further lest he come to stupid ideas concerning Canada that would start to approach conspiracy theories. There was no room or need for that sort of crazy talk; or thoughts, really.
He was sure it could all be simply explained.
Alfred grabbed another cookie from the box, not caring as-so-much where it had been and he picked up the controller to start playing the zombie game.
It would be a good distraction from his thoughts, and keep him from going on wild tangents about his brother due to recent events.
As he started to play, and really, he had only just made himself a save file and started to beat down on the first zombies that had appeared in the game (as an ambush, no less), the front door to Canada's home had opened, and let through an Englishman with a paper bag of groceries in his arms.
England kicked off his shoes, and shoved them off to the side, huffing some breaths; he walked into the hallway from the entrance and looked at Alfred with a flat expression.
"Alfred. What the bloody hell are you doing? Get up. Don't laze around playing video games of all things. Come and help me!"
America rolled his eyes, paused the game and stood. "Yeah yeah..."
England strode past him and to the quaint kitchen and piled the things on the counter. "Now," he started, rolling up his sleeves as he started to rifle through the bags. "I fetched a few things, I had trouble finding some of the things I'm used to, but I did get a few supplies that I'd think would be helpful."
America was standing beside him, arms crossed and his eyebrow raised as he watched his father dig out a rather copious amount of things. "... That's quite a lot of stuff you got there."
"Well... yes. The doctor informed me that he's not going to get instantly better. So we need some supplies to last him. It'd be a shame if someone had to go out everyday..."
"Mattie has stuff in his cupboards and fridge ya-know..."
"Yes, but not 'stuff' that he needs at the moment," Arthur shook his head. "At least, he probably doesn't have enough of it."
He fished out a few containers of what seemed to be broth; chicken, beef and vegetable flavour. He also fetched out some 'extra-potent' multivitamins that were apparently easy to swallow, if the bottle said anything about it.
Alfred regarded one of the containers of broth, reading the ingredients while England dug out more.
"I also bought some tea. I was surprised to find a store with loose-leaf so I saw fit to fetch some for him. I know he drinks from teabags, so this'll inherently be better for him anyway." He put them on the counter.
"Is this necessary?' He asked, holding one of the bags in his hand.
"Of course it's necessary! Tea is the key to healthy living. Why do you think I'm so healthy all of the time?"
Alfred took the time to look at him flatly. "Uh huh. So convincing coming from you."
Arthur huffed and he snatched the bags out of his hand. "Enough from you. You don't have to drink it. I'll be brewing Matthew some green tea when he wakes up." He paused, "He is asleep, isn't he?"
"Yeah. France took him upstairs right after we got here, and they haven't come down, so I can only presume..."
If Francis was also still upstairs, that meant that nothing was terribly wrong with Canada. France was a very good alarm for them. He knew the moment anything seemed wrong with Matthew, he'd shriek and come running down stairs. At least the worry that Canada would be relapsing without their knowledge was gone.
England dug a few more things out of the bag, some fruit, vegetables and a few tinned items. "There..." He folded the paper bag for use later. "... That's all for now."
Deciding then that he should start on getting something prepared for Matthew to eat - seeing as he had thrown up everything he had eaten the day before, and also hadn't eaten anything for dinner or breakfast - he put his hand on one of the broth containers.
Alfred swiftly snatched up. "Hey! I wanna help!" He said quickly, almost desperately. "Can I make this?" He pointed to the broth container. "Because... Mattie is my little bro so I wanna do something for him..."
England regarded him oddly but then relented, waving his hand. "Right right. You do that. I'll make him some tea."
Alfred gave a huge mental-sigh of relief. He had just dodged a major bullet; a major burnt, black and terrible bullet. He didn't want Canada to die or anything. And even if it was just broth that needed to be heated up, he really didn't want to risk it.
Tea however? England could take the worst of any tea bag and somehow make it absolutely delicious. Not... Not that America liked tea or anything... Tea was terrible. But if England wanted to make Canada tea, then by all means, he could definitely make him tea. Better him than anyone else, really.
And with a little bit of insisted help by Kumajirou, the three of them set out to not only make Matthew lunch, but themselves too.
. . .
Francis was sitting on a chair by the side of Canada's bed still. Even though Matthew was asleep, he felt no urge to want to leave the young man's side. Instead, he sat there, legs crossed and hands threaded together, watching the slight rise and fall of Matthew's breaths as he slept.
While he slept, he pondered of all the wonderful things he could do while Matthew was getting better! Of the good father-son times they could share. They could make wonderful family memories and it would be a beautiful and cherished moment! They could spend good quality time together!
It would be beautiful.
As France pondered the possibility of taking Canada to the park at some point, the shifting of sheets drew the doting parent's attention to the occupant in the bed.
Matthew gave a soft sound and his eyes opened. With the back of his hand he rubbed his eyes and he yawned, sucking in a breath as he came back to the world of the wakeful.
"Ah... Did I wake you with my thinking mon petite...?"
A sleepy chuckle. "Unless Papa thinks very loudly..."
France smiled and he reached out and brushed Canada's hair back and re-felt his forehead. Still the same. Still a fever. But at least Matthew seemed well enough.
Canada spoke when he withdrew. "I... Think I heard voices coming from downstairs. I was kinda dozing so I'm not sure."
"Ah, did L'Angleterre and L'Amerique wake mon petite up?" France said in a manner that would normally be reserved for a three-year old.
Matthew did not notice, or he just did not mind. "Oh. No." He gave another heavy yawn and he started to push himself up into a sitting position. "I was just waking up anyway, they just happened to become a bigger incentive, that's all."
Francis smiled softly but spoke. "Oh, mon Mathieu, mon petite moi, why don't you sleep more, no? I think it is best if you get the most rest possible," he advised his ailing son.
Canada laughed. "More? I'd hate to say it Papa, but I've been in and out of sleeping since lunchtime," he paused, then added, "Yesterday."
A flicker of a frown was all that adorned France's features when Matthew said that, but he was back to his melodramatic self soon enough. "Oh! I suppose it is fine for a bit. See, L'Amerique and L'Angleterre are preparing lunch for us all. You should 'ave a 'ot meal, non?" He adjusted one of Canada's pillows. "So stay awake."
Matthew smiled. "Oui Papa."
That only proved to make France's smile widen more. To see Canada back to being more jovial, despite being ill, and also talking to him in adorable French...? Francis' heart wanted to melt and ooze out of his chest right away. It was a terribly adorable thing. Even if his said son was an adult.
A small silence played for a short number of minutes, them just enjoying the company of another nation, until Canada perked. "Oh! I forgot. Papa, can you hand me my phone? It's the one sitting in the dock over there."
Canada pointed to the phone that sat in its charging dock on his dresser.
France looked questioning, but that did not stop him from getting up, picking up the phone, and striding over to Canada to hand it to him.
"Any reason why?" Francis asked when Matthew took the receiver from him.
"I have to phone my government back. It's highly likely they forgot to phone back after that little 'mix up' and I just want to be sure that I get the information I need. Before I go back to sleep or have lunch... You know, it's best to be prepared, eh?" Canada smiled, and he held the phone in front of him and began to press its buttons for the special number.
"Oui..." France was slightly dubious. "Forgot?"
"Haha yes. They are really busy you know; lots of things to deal with, and if that new woman thought that I was an imposter, then dealing with 'the imposter' wouldn't exactly be the highest on their list of things to do. So I should just phone back."
"Ah... Oui." France nodded and gestured that he'd be quiet so that Canada could phone.
The ringer rang and his phone was patched through to the correct line almost immediately. The perks of being a personification, really. He knew, that by this point, his Prime Minister wouldn't be able to speak to him, probably far too busy. But getting the message that his boss wanted to give him would be good enough.
"Hello?" Came the familiar ambiguous standard line.
"Hello, this is Matthew Williams speaking. The representative of Canada. I am phoning back in regards to a phone call that was placed earlier?"
"Ah yes. You phoned before, correct?" The man on the other line of the phone asked. Canada found himself brightening for no real reason that he could fathom other than that he was happy that it was going to be so easy.
"Yes! Exactly. There had been a mix-up you see, so I would like to request to see the instructions that had been left for me-"
"May I stop you there... sir?"
"... Yes. You may."
"- We have no record of a 'Matthew Williams' on file for this line. We do not know how you got access to this line, but is restricted to the use of a Country Representative only."
Canada paled, and he blinked several times. He then forced the expression off his face the best he could for the sake of Francis who was watching him intently.
Shit.
Even in this situation, Canada could not bear to cause his family any more worry than he already caused. So he was sure to brighten his expression and gave a small laugh at nothing. "Oh I definitely understand that," He said vaguely enough for the man on the phone to understand, but hopefully so Francis would not pick up on it.
"Then may I ask how you managed to obtain this number when it is clearly illegal to pose as a country representative..."
Canada felt himself pale more and he held onto his cheery expression tightly. "Oh I know that as well."
"Then you understand if you phone this number again we'll be forced to phone the authorities and the one you are impersonating."
"Actually," Canada said, overly bright, "You do that right now. I think that's an excellent idea. You go right ahead and phone again, alright? I'll be waiting."
"..."
"Alright. Goodbye for now." Canada then deftly hung up the phone.
France stared at him in complete confusion. Just what was Matthew talking about? Phoning him back? And did he imagine Canada having a sudden heart-achingly broken looking expression for a second? Maybe he was reading too much into things.
"Ahha." His laugh was slightly nervous; afraid that he'd get caught in a lie. "They were a little busy," Matthew quickly lied as if it was second nature. "So they said that they'd phone me back once they get the chance. So I'll be getting a phone call soon."
He swallowed. He was suddenly afraid that when they phoned his home, that they would not recognize him and again result in more frustration, so...
"Papa, may you please do me a favour?"
"What do you wish for me to do mon petite?"
If they wouldn't recognize himself, then surely the Government would have their memory jogged when talking to France. He really was a very unforgettable person. He was certain the moment that Francis introduced himself, there'd be no doubt who he was. "If the phone rings, can you answer it? I may be sleeping when they do and I am kind of tired so I don't want to talk on the phone long a-"
Francis put up his hand. "Say not a word more mon petite! I shall do this for you! It is nothing, non?"
"Merci Papa..."
France smiled and put his hand on Canada's head and again softly ruffled his hair. Matthew felt a sinking feeling about the fact he so easily twisted a lie and wrapped his father up in it. But if he wanted anything right then, all he wanted was to no longer cause his family any trouble. That also meant avoiding adding anything else on their already too-full platters.
Besides... They'd phone again soon enough... Realise their mistake... All would be well...
… Right?
Francis' hand had roved from the top of his head to the side of his face, his eyebrows furrowing as he regarded how Canada seemed a shade or two paler, and did he feel a bit warmer? Clammier? Perhaps he was just over worrying again.
There was a soft knock on the door.
"Come in," Francis said, withdrawing his worrying hand and shaking his head.
In came two blonde-haired men holding a tray apiece. Alfred had a soup bowl and a plate of sandwiches balanced on his, as well as a glass of some random blue soda and a mug of piping hot tea. England was holding a tray himself, but both plates had sandwiches on them and two mugs of piping hot tea.
"What is this?" France inquired as he was handed a plate and a mug before England stole up a chair and sat down in it.
"Lunch," he said simply, slightly dismissively. "And don't get any bloody funny ideas from it."
America decided to sit on the edge of the bed since well, Canada only had two chairs in his room and Alfred didn't want to be sitting on the floor. That was a highly undignified position for such a great nation to be in! A hero even! That would be terrible and unbecoming. So he sat next to his little bro.
"Heya Mattie! I got some... uh... Liquid for you. Sorry. We weren't sure if you could handle a sandwich as the last few times you ate your stomach sorta-kinda rejected solid food."
Canada smiled, with some embarrassment. "Vegetable broth?" He inquired, looking at the rust coloured liquid in the bowl.
"Yep!" Alfred unfurled the legs of the tray, revealing that it was in fact one of those trays specially meant for breakfast-in-bed. Well, in this case it was lunch-in-bed.
"It's fine Al," Matthew commented, looking at the tea then the broth. He picked up his spoon. "This is perfect. Thank you." He looked up at England. "And thank you for the tea."
"No problem. If only your brother were the same. He refused to have any. Instead of going for that... that..." He gestured to the blue atrocity in America's cup. "I... I have no bloody clue. But it's the wrong colour to be consumed."
Alfred harrumphed. "Blue makes everything better." He lifted his drink from the tray and brought the drink to his lips.
"Why in the bloody hell do you have a blue fizzy pop in your refrigerator?" England demanded of his younger son.
"Alfred gave it to me." A simple, true, answer.
"Ah. It all makes sense now..."
Canada chuckled softly. Alfred relieved his tray of his sandwiches and Matthew dipped his spoon into the broth and slowly brought it to his lips. But he paused
His whole family, most likely unaware of it, were sitting there and pretty much staring at him in complete anticipation.
Canada faltered "... U...Uh. S'kinda awkward to be watched like that while eating… I... I know how to eat soup..."
Embarrassed, his three family members adverted their eyes to their own food and simultaneously they either took a bite of their sandwiches or apologized for being so blatantly rude.
Another chuckle and Canada took a few spoonfuls of the soup.
England was content at that, feeling more relaxed the more he knew he was now in control of the situation rather than feeling like he was running around like a chicken with its head cut off. He felt that he had a rather good grasp of the circumstances as a whole, and knowing that relieved some of the bubbling anxiety that had remained in the pit of his chest.
Canada was getting something into his stomach, and he was getting proper nutrients. He was in bed and resting. He had proper medication. And he was home and not in an unfamiliar place. Canada was safe. And he was in his care.
Feeling more comfortable than he had in the past twenty-four hours, England fell into a calm silence like everyone else; finishing off his own lunch. He had to admit, Alfred was rather good at making sandwiches. He'd never confess though, that he knew that if he had made them, they'd be less than... 'good'. He'd never acknowledge that though.
They all finished their lunches and France did the favour of gathering up the plates and taking them downstairs to the dishwasher in the kitchen.
Canada started to settle back into his bed. Alfred stood up from the side of it, and before he let his brother get back down into a proper laying position, he took a hold of Matthew's pillow, took both ends of it and furiously began to fluff the thing.
"... Alfred what in the blazes are you...?"
"Fluffing it!" Alfred said happily. "That's just what he needs, right? A good fluffed pillow!" He shoved it back under Matthew and got Canada to lay back down on it. "Is that good bro?"
Canada laughed. "The softest pillow I've felt in a long time, Alfred. Thank you."
"Ahahaha!" America put his hands on his hips in triumph. "Yes. The hero saves the day!"
England rolled his eyes, but was smiling nevertheless. He never could deny there was a certain charm sometimes to the way the brother's acted towards each other. He pulled his chair up to the side of Canada's bed while he mused over the 'boys'. He broke away his attentions from then, and to just Matthew as a whole.
"Alright Matthew..." He reached out and put a hand on Canada's forehead.
As he examined him, he noted with a kind of precision that only a parent had, that Canada seemed a touch paler than before, not to mention his skin felt slightly clammy.
"Matthew?" He queried, pulling his hand away from his forehead that was only a minute degree higher than before. But parental instincts made him notice it with a mere touch of his hand.
"Yes...?"
"Matthew, how are you feeling?" He asked this tentatively afraid that Canada could be declining for some reason.
"Mmn...? Well I'm not perfect." That much was obvious. "... But I feel okay."
"Ah, well. You seem a little more... off... than you did before. Did you do anything strenuous before we came in for lunch?"
Canada shook his head. "I... I just slept. And I phoned my government back and-"
Alfred cut him off. "Matt! You shouldn't have. You know what dickheads they were to you before! Did they talk shit about you again and forget who you were?"
Canada felt a clench hit his heart and he waved that off. "N-no! No they didn't! They recognized me," he quickly lied with ease, "but they were very busy, so they told me they'd phone back with all the details."
"Phone you back...?"
Matthew nodded. "Yes. They understood. Th... They apologized."
If England didn't know any better, Canada was looking paler than even a few moments before. "Matthew... Perhaps you should get some rest, yes? I'm glad that your government has straightened themselves out. If they hadn't, I'd give that trainee a good talking to myself."
"Dad... You really wouldn't have to..."
"Oh and I would." England said tersely. "No doubt about this! I would go right down their and yell in their bloody faces for forgetting their own nation! Of all the nerve! I'd march right down there and give them a piece of my mind. And never mind them being Canadian, I wouldn't censor myself for their sake!" He reamed off suddenly with fire. "Oh they'd regret it. They should be bloody well thankful that they had come to the right conclusion and-"
America then cut England off sharply. England blinked then looked at his son oddly. Who was pointing at Canada who looked even paler than he did before.
Instantly Arthur felt guilty. He shouldn't be yelling in a sensitive situation like this. He understood, in the back of his head, that he was mostly going off like this because... He felt guilty. He had been the one to write off his son most of the time, and didn't even recognise him when he was standing in front of him.
He sighed, and he stood, beginning to tuck the covers in. "Alright. Alright. I apologize Matthew. I suppose nerves are running high."
He adjusted the pillow and he leaned, brushing back the hair on Canada's forehead, and not caring that Matthew was pretty much full-grown, he tenderly kissed his forehead.
"You get a good sleep, and a good rest." He drew back. "We'll take care of everything from here."
"Okay."
"Have a nice sleep Mattie."
"Okay. Thank you."
One more thing was done just before his father and brother left the room. Kumajirou wandered into the room quietly, he clambered onto the bed, and before England could stop him, he nuzzled down under the sheets, wriggled himself under Canada's arm and balled up next to him; in a weird from of adorable protection.
Matthew was smiling brightly and he reached to stroke Kumajirou's fur as sleep slowly overtook him once more.
The door closed, leaving Canada in the dark to rest.
. . .
Hard leather boots collided with the sidewalk as a very large man made strides towards a small and quaint clinic. The sun was out, denying any indication of a storm from the night before. Denying the thundering rain, the pummelling winds and the downright viciousness that had tore through. Now? It was as bright as ever, and the air felt fresh and clean with every breath.
Russia hardly noticed.
Ivan shoved open the clinic door with a certain amount of determination, but with a frank void and darkness about him.
The receptionist there - a different one, he noticed - stood up and she gestured in slight panic. "O-oh! I'm sorry! Please. We're not open right now because the doctor had to deal with an unusual circumstance from the night before so we're not op-" She froze at the dark aura that Russia emitted from every pore.
She gulped. "I... I'll get him for you."
Ivan treated her to a delighted smile at that, though painfully fake, the vaporous aura dissipating. "Good, thank you," he said with extreme politeness. "Hurry up, da?"
It did not make her feel any better, and she skirted around the corner to get the man who was still reorganizing and cleaning up from the night before.
Russia waited, standing by the receptionist's desk for when the man would appear. Every so often, he'd tug on the scarf that was wound around his neck, rubbing his thumb against the woollen and rough texture of a hand-knitted garment.
When the doctor appeared he turned his attention fully to the man.
The doctor was surprised. His receptionist came in so flustered and panicked, that he was sure that a gun-wielding mad man had been there until she described him as being one of the men that had come earlier. Still surprised, he made haste in appearing for the man, feeling it rude to leave him waiting.
"Ah..." Confusing laced his tone, "I didn't expect you. I made the assumption that you had left..."
"I did not."
The man stepped up to him. "What can I do for you; do you want to know where the others went? They left some number of hours ago..."
"No I do not. I know where Matvey and his family went," he gestured absently. "They went back to Matvey's house, yes?"
"Yes. If you mean the man I treated last night, then yes..."
An awkward silence played out and the doctor shifted. He of course, not being physic, had no idea what the Russian man wanted. Even though he was being stared at like the large man was trying to bore some something out of him just by a mere look. He felt beads of sweat start to form at his brow, and he uncomfortably shifted his gaze away before starting back on the man that he couldn't tell hated him or not…
"So what can I...?" He started for Ivan, hopefully coming to the conclusion why this rather intense person was there.
Ivan stepped very close to the doctor, his eyes narrowed in threat, "I do not know why. But for some reason, I do not like you." He seemed annoyed, angry, upset. He also seemed confused and wanting to know answers.
"W... What was that?" The doctor faltered.
It had only just started to bother Ivan. Only a few hours after they all had parted ways. He had come to the undeniable conclusion that he heavily disliked the man. Normally disliking someone was not a bother to him at all, but what did bother him was the complete lack of control towards whom he hated. Why did he dislike this man suddenly? He did not like the idea of these feelings being brought up without a reason.
Everything had a reason.
"I said," He repeated, "I do not like you." He put a hand on the man's shoulder heavily, grip tightening. "And I want to find out why."
Author's Note :
I gave this chapter a weird name 'cause I could. Anyway. Aww. I wanted to give Canada some good tender love and care that he deserved. But urg. Look at that silly plot. Being all... plot-like and ploty. And stuff. Hahahaha. This was strangely fun to write.
Ohhh Russia.
And now for a comforting chapter summary:
Chapter 11 Preview : Well Shit.
Wasn't that comforting?
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