And, ta da, here is the next chapter! Enjoy, m'dears!

I would say New Zealand is about 9.

I don't own Hetalia!end/AN/

It felt different, somehow, now being the Province of Canada instead of more than one colony. Canada wondered if this was how America felt when he became a country; he had been even more divided than Canada.

In any case, all he had to do was ask America; the incessant visiting hadn't stopped. Once America had figured out where his new home was, he had started visiting that instead, all while complaining that he'd had to break down the door at Canada's old home just to make sure he wasn't a stiff corpse instead of a live nation.

"How do you make such good maple syrup? I can never find the time anymore. And maple candies! I haven't made those in years, but I bet you have. You always seem to have time to do things," America forced out from amidst the pancake pieces in his mouth. It seemed he had quite the attachment to Canada's cooking.

Canada didn't know why he kept feeding the lout; if you feed a stray dog, it will keep coming back. "I don't actually have that much time on my hands; stop talking like you're the only one with affairs of state."

America swallowed loudly, and took another bite surely too big for his throat. "Well… You're not a country; you know you don't have as much to do! But don't think it's a bad thing. I have to deal with the whole world; you only have to deal with those that England lets you deal with." He took the pitcher of maple syrup, and drowned the surviving pieces of pancake.

Just sighing, Canada gave up. It wasn't worth an elongated argument; America would believe whatever he wanted, no matter what Canada said. "So… I know you and England are supposed to be on better terms now. Have you met Australia?"

America shook his head. "No, not really. I think I might have seen him once or twice; the boy likes to hide or something. Why?"

Canada shrugged. "Well, he's a good lad. I think you'd like him. He loves to be outdoors, and I know you always loved that when you were a child."

Seeming to scrutinize, America nodded carefully. It was as though he were trying to pick apart Canada's statement and find the secrets within it. "I suppose I'll have to look out for him next time. But Canada, I don't go often; it's a trip across the ocean! I'm all for adventure, but England's house is so stuffy, and everything's already been discovered there. It's why it's called the old world."

Canada laughed at that. America always felt like he was the new, the great culmination of culture's progress. So naturally, he only thought so highly of Europe. "Well, I'm going to be headed over there soon. So, don't break into my house, all right?"

Nodded, America scarfed down the rest of his pancakes. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on your house! You never know what kind of sneaks might be abroad."

"Yes, thank you very much." Canada let it go once again; America would always be a bad listener. It was just in his nature, he supposed. In any case, at least he was vocal and obvious about his affections. Hiding behind polished words could strain a relationship.

America grinned, showing off traces of his meal as he licked at his teeth. "Thanks for the pancakes! I'm going to get going now. Be careful not to break any of your special English chinaware!" America also found this whole 'being more English' situation quite humorous.

"Oh, just go already," Canada said, with a look towards heaven for patience. They might be near the same age, but he was sure America would never possess an ounce of maturity.

America disappeared through the doorway, with a bottle of maple syrup conspicuously stowed away in his pocket.

Canada cleaned up. As he did so, he wondered what would happen if America and Australia met; would it be a clash of worlds, or would they get along well? He frowned as he imagined them getting on better than he and Australia did. No, that was silly; he shouldn't be so jealous.

In any case, he would see him soon enough. He just had to finish cleaning up business around the home, and then he would leave.

To say Australia was startled to see a figure accompany England through the door was completely accurate. He stared, trying to figure out who the small blonde figure was.

"Australia, this is New Zealand; he's going to live with us for a while. Help him with his school and chores, until he catches on. Also, don't forget to make up a room for him." And with that, England clomped up the stairs to his office.

The boy looked sickly, skin a papery pale, and eyes wide and mildly watery. His hair also curled in an abnormal manner, which confused Australia to no end. Most importantly, however, was that he looked to Australia expectantly.

Australia let out a sigh. "So, New Zealand, do you need to use the privy?" It wasn't the best question to introduce himself with, he reflected, but it was better than just staring.

New Zealand's voice was small, and it made him think of a chick, peeping out its words to the world. "I… don't think so…?" He uncomfortable shuffled from foot to foot, before finally giving up on trying to pretend he knew what he was talking about. "I'm sorry, what's a privy?"

"It's where you, uh, relieve yourself." How could he not know? Where had he relieved himself before? Australia decided not to ask those questions; it might make the boy uncomfortable.

"Relieve myself from what?" New Zealand was looking more and more like a distressed chick; any minute now, it looked like he would rush to England's side, desperate for safety from Australia's questioning.

"It's where you shite, alright? Understand?" Australia certainly hoped England didn't hear that one; he'd picked it up from Scotland.

But New Zealand seemed to brighten, understanding that. "No, then."

Then was the inevitable awkward silence, filling the space around them like smog. Australia shoved his hands in his pockets, clearing his throat. "Well, then I suppose we'd better go make up your room. Come with me."

Silently, New Zealand followed him to the linen closet, where he held out his arms when asked and helped him carry the bed things to his new room. It was only in the bedroom, as Australia made the bed, that he spoke again.

"So, so, you've been here a long time, right? England isn't always, well, cold, is he?"

Australia snorted at that. England, not cold? It was very unlikely, at least without drink; then, you'd get red-hot angry or a deep, moaning blue haze. Neither of which meant he was the slightest bit friendly, of course. "He's just like he is; don't try and figure him out. He shows love through being strict."

The droop was quite visible in New Zealand's posture. He asked, almost desperately, "But you're nice, aren't you?"

Was he nice? Australia wasn't sure. He hadn't really dealt with anyone, well, beneath him before… It gave a surge of power quite suddenly. New Zealand was small, he was new, he had no idea what was going on. Australia could say whatever the hell he wanted, couldn't he? "If you don't upset me."

New Zealand visibly started at this. His eyes flicked down towards the floor, as he murmured, "You're mean."

Australia frowned, and felt a little guilty. He could see some of himself in New Zealand, the tiny boy with shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. He reached out, hesitantly, and patted him on the shoulder. "It'll be all right, you'll see. You might even put on some weight while you're here."

It didn't comfort New Zealand, apparently, even though the boy really was too skinny. "I'll go wash up for dinner; don't want to be a dusty mess."

Australia watched him disappear, and cursed himself for being too cold. If he got the chance again, he'd be nicer, he was sure. Maybe New Zealand would be like a pet; he could try giving him treats and things. Yes, that was how children were, pacified with affection. He would do better next time.

New Zealand proved to have a personality in the days after their first meeting, and it was devious.

Australia discovered mud in his shoes, and it was only after he had put them on. The squish pushing its way between his toes was disconcerting, since he hadn't expected it, and he'd yelped and kicked off his shoes. The resulting mess had to be hastily done away with, and much grumbled cursing of New Zealand took place.

It didn't take long to find New Zealand; the boy had hiked out to the edge of the pasture nearby, where a flock of sheep typically grazed.

He was entranced, holding out a fistful of clovers and trying to get a lamb to come over his way.

Australia was quick to break that concentration. "New Zealand! You put mud in my shoes! I'm going to twist your damn ears off!"

New Zealand screamed, dropping the clovers and running for his life. He took Australia quite seriously, apparently.

Bounding after him, Australia yelled some more, some nonsense about making him eat his own teeth and kicking him in the bum. He was sure he would catch him; he had longer legs, after all. Like a dog chasing a rabbit, he had the advantage!

He nearly tripped over New Zealand, who had apparently tripped himself over lord knew what. Revenge was his! He seized a fistful of that blonde hair, and gave a sharp yank, moving to pin New Zealand.

New Zealand's fingers clawed at Australia's hand, screaming and squeaking and generally making a lot of indignant, pained noise. "Stoppit! Ow ow ow stop! Australia!"

It was easy to pin him, despite the ear-splitting noise. It was strange to think such a quiet person could be so noisy when the situation called for it. Australia growled down at him, "You little brat, you bugger! What the hell is wrong with you? Speak up!"

Teary-eyed, New Zealand blinked mournfully, chest rising and falling rapidly. "You're mean! Get offa me! England!"

Australia seized his head, pushing it down into the dirt. "England can't hear you out here! So you'd better get talking!"

New Zealand blubbered instead, words indistinguishable between the tears.

Growling, Australia released his head. Just great; now he was really going to get into trouble, wasn't he? Still sitting on him, he wiped at New Zealand's face with his dirty thumbs, streaking it worse than the crying already was. "Stop crying; I'm not really going to twist your ears off!"

It did little to soothe the smaller colony, though the crying was quieting down a bit. His eyes still stared at Australia like he was a fearsome devil, here to punish him for his sins.

Well, Australia couldn't just let him go; he'd run off and tell England. So naturally, he continued to sit on him, stroking his head and trying to get him to stop crying completely. "That's it, I'm not going to hurt you… That's it, stop crying…" It was like trying to calm a fearful rabbit.

Fortunately, it seemed New Zealand had cried himself out; he looked up Australia warily instead, sniffling heavily.

"Now… Look. If we go into the house with you all messed up like that, there's going to be trouble. And we don't want England to be mad, right? So we've got to sneak in." Australia tried to see if New Zealand was falling for it. "And you can't make a sound or tell England, all right?"

"Why not? I want to tell on you." New Zealand's eyes were puffy, but his voice was soft again, the not-quite-timid tone Australia had yet to get used to.

Australia shook his head, pointing out, "You put mud in my shoes. You'll get in trouble too, and probably worse than me." Okay, that was an exaggeration, but there was no reason New Zealand needed to know that.

New Zealand reconsidered things then, agreeing with Australia. "How do we sneak in?"

Australia got off of New Zealand, offering him a hand up. "Well, we'll just have to be quiet and hope he's in his office. It shouldn't be a problem; he's always busy."

And the pair snuck off, barely making it in under England's nose.

Canada knocked at the door, bag in one hand and the other brushing his hair out of his face. It had been a little while, but he hoped that Australia had gotten his letters. He'd really tried this time, though he had been disappointed by the lack of return letters.

Perhaps Australia had merely been busy, or hadn't been allowed to send them. It certainly cost a pretty penny to send a letter over the Atlantic.

The door swung open quite suddenly, and an unfamiliar face stared at Canada. The boy seemed to take him in, and, apparently deciding he wasn't a good person, slammed the door in his face, calling, "Australia! It's not England!"

Well. Canada stared at the door for a moment, and raised his hand to knock again. Fancy England acquiring another colony and not even telling him… The door opened, more calmly than before, before he had the chance to knock.

"Canada?" Australia's face broke into a grin, as he swung the door open wider. "Come in, come in! Sorry about New Zealand, he's just a brat."

"I am not!" It echoed from somewhere further back in the house, the speaker hidden from view.

Canada chuckled, and walked in, setting his bag down. "So, England's out, then?" Not that England hadn't known he was coming; on the contrary, he'd asked to come, and England granted the favor. But still, an England-less house was a more welcoming one, where they could speak freely.

"Yes. He said he had business with Wales." Australia looked a bit downcast as he spoke, but he brightened up again quickly. "But, I suppose you want to know about New Zealand, right?"

"That would be nice." Canada shut the door behind himself, as Australia turned to go get New Zealand. What was it with England and blondes? Was it just a common trait of colonies he happened to take in, or did he purposely choose them that way?

"New Zealand! Get your arse in here!" Australia exploded down the hallway, apparently much freer with his language now that England wasn't here.

It was all Canada could do to keep from laughing.

"I'm coming!" The boy skittered down the rug, showing up before them while picking at his eye. "What do you want?"

Australia snatched his hand down from his face, and turned to Canada. "This's New Zealand, as I'm sure you noticed. He's to the east and south of me, you see… He's sort of brand new to this whole colony thing. Not really good at it yet, I'm afraid."

"I am so…" New Zealand glared at Australia with all the petulant power of a child.

"I see," Canada said neutrally, wanting to laugh but not daring to. At least it seemed New Zealand was a healthy, boisterous child; Australia could use a companion to bring out his childishness once again. And lord knew this house needed to be lightened up.

"We were just about to start with dinner," Australia said, patting his apron with both hands. His head tilted a bit, as though he wasn't sure what he was about to say was appropriate. "Do you suppose… you could come and help us?"

It certainly wasn't orthodox to ask a guest to help out with chores; but then, there was nothing orthodox about their living situation, it seemed. Canada nodded, asking, as they walked back to the kitchen, "Is my apron still hanging by the pantry?"

"Yes," Australia replied, toying with the long string of his apron, "It's right where you left it."

They both knew that was a lie; the last he had worn the apron, it had been practically ripped off of him by England shortly before his departure home. But Canada let it slide. It was far more comforting to think of having left peacefully back then. "Good. Is it dusty?"

He spotted it before Australia could answer, and it was indeed dusty. He lifted it off the hook, smiling at Australia. "I suppose I'll go shake it off outside. I'll be back in a moment."

"Who is he? Why is he here?" The quiet question was just heard by Canada as he slipped out the back; he didn't hear Australia's reply.

When he had appropriately cleaned off his apron, he returned inside, pushing the door open with his shoulder as he tied the bow in the back.

Australia was chopping what appeared to be a kidney, while New Zealand hovered beside him and wrinkled up his face. Australia rolled his eyes, stating, "If you don't like to look at sheep's kidneys, then don't look!"

"That's from a sheep? Someone killed a sheep?" New Zealand looked ready to both vomit and cry.

Before Australia could say anything (and probably make it worse), Canada cut in. "The sheep was already dead; we're just using its kidneys. Okay?" And he put his hands on New Zealand's shoulders, steering him away from the organs.

"I like sheep… Why are we eating sheep?" New Zealand asked quietly, determined not to be pacified, it seemed.

Australia groaned. It seemed he wasn't used to New Zealand yet; he must not have been around long. "We're eating sheep because I'm making steak and kidney pie, and you will eat it, you understand?"

"But I don't want to…"

"Well, you will!"

Canada cut in before Australia and New Zealand could continue fighting. "It would be a waste not to eat it now; you don't want to waste the sheep, do you?"

New Zealand seemed to deflate, shaking his head and wiping at his eye. "I just didn't want it to die, that's all…"

"Are you crying?" Australia demanded, making a particularly vicious chop of the kidney. It seemed he had no qualms with eating animals, despite his love of them. He probably saw his existence as more important or something, Canada supposed.

"I'm not crying…" New Zealand hastily wiped with both hands, turning away from Australia.

Canada stroked his hair, which absolutely refused to come uncurled. "It's all right… No one really wants to see something dead, not when they're young…"

New Zealand sniffled loudly, saying miserably, "I love sheep, and Australia is mean. He won't let me go pet sheep ever…" Then, rather timidly, he leaned on Canada, as though quietly demanding a hug.

And honestly? Canada didn't want to deny it to him. So he wrapped his arms around him, sighing softly. It was hard being a child and a colony; New Zealand had to be having a hard time adjusting, he figured.

The skinny arms wrapped around him, and New Zealand buried his face in Canada's chest.

Australia harrumphed loudly. "I need someone to make the crust." And by someone, I mean you, Canada, hung in the air unsaid.

Canada sighed, and pried off one of New Zealand's hands. "Come on, let's go make the crust. Let go, and let's go make the crust. Come on…"

In the end, he had to shuffle over to the kitchen table and get to work with the clingy child attached to his waist. He'd let it go; England would be sure to get him so he wouldn't trust so easily soon enough. Let him live in the happy world where newcomers were instant friends a while longer.

He didn't notice the burning green gaze from Australia at all.

That brat! That absolute brat!

Australia grumbled to himself, angry over Canada's affection towards New Zealand. Of course the little bugger would try and take Canada's affection away from him.

But no, he shouldn't be mad… He knew Canada could love more than one person… right? The thought nagged at him, eating at his mind as he mechanically chewed his steak and kidney pie. What if Canada only had so much love to go around?

Maybe it was silly to think that way. But what if it was true? What if a person could only love so many people? Who knew how many would be the limit!

He glared at New Zealand, who obliviously enjoyed his own piece of pie. What gave him the right to steal the only person who had ever loved him?

He would get him back; he would learn that he shouldn't try to take what wasn't his.

/AN/Well, I had some difficulty writing New Zealand… but, taking into account that New Zealanders are more soft-spoken than say, Americans, I tried to temper his personality. I see him as more even-tempered than a child Australia was, but also affectionate. And of course, loving sheep. Sorry, couldn't resist that.

Anyway, I also feel I should explain why he's a child, even though the Maori have been around a long time. The way I see it, he's representative of both cultures, in the way that France is representative of all of France, but then there's Picardy; or there's Germany, but there's still Prussia. So, yes, there's a Maori in the background; I need to do way more research before I can accurately represent him. Savvy?

I hope you've enjoyed my take on him. I can't wait to delve into his personality!

Oh, and the Rebecca Riots are going on in Wales at this point. Basically, the Welsh were upset because of tolls (English tolls on their roads) and rural deprivation. Most of their riots tended to consist of destroying the toll booths.

Btw, I'm thinking of writing a story about Hungary and Romania during and after WWI. What do you think? Good idea, bad idea? I just thought that it would be cool for people to know more about Romania, and one of the main reasons that relations between the two countries were tense all those years.

And oy vey, this makes 100,000 words... Who'd've thought I'd make a story this long?