I hope you enjoy this chapter!
I don't own Hetalia! end/AN/
It hadn't been the first time, but it astonished Australia just as much, if not more, than before.
England's flag lay on the ground, from where it usually hung above the mantel. And Australia would have done something about it, except, England was standing right there, eyes speaking murder towards New Zealand.
"You little bugger! What the hell is wrong with you? Do you like being punished?" England looked as though were imagining the paddle in his hand, from the way his fist clenched.
New Zealand's chest was puffing in and out rapidly, as he tried to look brave. "You can't just tell me what to do all the time, sir, I'm practically a nation in my own right-"
"I don't really care! Pick it up right now!" England's face looked like it was going to burst, turning red the way it was.
"No! I won't!" New Zealand was angry too, but there was that quiver of fear in his posture.
Australia wanted to speak up. It was his job to protect New Zealand while Canada was gone; at this rate, New Zealand was going to get his hide tanned so hard he wouldn't be able to sit for weeks. But could he stand up to England? Every other time had ended in disaster…
England's lips were pressed tightly together, as though he were trying to keep from screaming at the boy. "New Zealand, I will whip your hide if you don't get that flag off of the floor!"
"Well, you're going to have to!" New Zealand was pale as a sheet, and Australia was sure his lower lip was trembling; yet here he was, the David to England's Goliath.
He was stupid.
Australia gingerly picked up Hong Kong, who was watching this all raptly, fingers shoved in his mouth. Sometimes, Australia suspected he'd only been barely weaned off the teat, and that was why he sucked his fingers and sleeves so much.
England looked as though he was going to seize New Zealand by the scruff of his neck, taking a huge step forward and reaching out. But no, instead he picked up his flag and tacked it back up above the mantel. "Get out of here before I beat you senseless, boy."
The words were dangerous, and New Zealand seemed to recognize this, skittering out without a word.
Australia could only wonder why England was putting up with this flag business so relatively well. Ever since Canada had left, he hadn't raised a hand against any of them. True, he hadn't exactly been as stern as he used to be to begin with; but something was strange about him.
He was cursing under his breath now, and Australia decided now would be a good time to leave. Just because he didn't take it out on New Zealand didn't mean he wouldn't take it out on him.
Hong Kong was a sweetheart, Australia had decided that long ago. He didn't quite toddle, at his age, though he did often walk about with his infant belly protruding. England said that was just how some children around his age were.
At this point, he was huddled under the kitchen table with Australia's mixing spoon in his mouth. And despite the fact that he needed the spoon, Australia wasn't getting angry. Those brown eyes staring back at him seemed oblivious to any wrong doing anyway.
"Hello there…" he murmured, crouching down next to the table.
Hong Kong nodded, batter coating his lips and making him the picture of childish disobedience.
"So… What are you doing with that spoon?" Australia felt it was best to take it slow with Hong Kong, rather than just snapping at him. He was younger than New Zealand, too little to know any better. Besides, he was also an Oriental; according to England, they didn't learn all the important things he had. They were heathens.
Hong Kong said, around the spoon, "Eating good food."
And Australia had to admit, biscuit dough was 'good food'; at least, it tasted good. He wasn't sure how good it was for a person. He held out his hand, saying, "Please give me that spoon; I need it for the cookies."
It seemed Hong Kong found this unreasonable, because he shook his head, turned away and clutched the spoon with both hands. "Nnh-uh. It's mine."
"Give it here, or I'll pull it out." All right, so he was only so cute; besides, it wasn't like Australia said he was going to smack him. He was just taking back the spoon. His hand reached further, almost far enough to grab the spoon.
Hong Kong let out a whine, and tried to scramble away.
But Australia was too quick for that, and caught the end of the spoon. A tug of war ensued, in which Hong Kong's teeth were tightly clenched on the spoon and Australia dug his feet in and pulled.
"Give it here! Hong Kong!"
"Nnnnn!" Hong Kong seemed upset, holding onto the table leg to keep from being pulled away.
But then Australia said the fatal words. "You won't get any biscuits if you don't give me this spoon!"
Almost instantly, the spoon was released, and Australia almost fell on his bum. He smoothed back his hair, trying to make it look like he hadn't been fighting with a small child, and stuck the spoon back into the dough. "Good boy. You'll get a treat after I finish making them, all right?"
The reply was cut off by a cry of, "What the hell is this?"
England. And he was in the parlor, by the sound of it. Australia murmured, "Stay here," to Hong Kong, and headed for England. It had to be something New Zealand had done… in all seriousness, he couldn't have thrown the flag down for the third time, could he?
Apparently he could. There was the British flag in all its glory, draped on the floor.
"I tacked it up with nails! How is he doing this?" England was furious, gesturing towards the flag and looking at Australia. There were indeed little tears where the nails had once held the piece of cloth up; New Zealand must have stood on the mantel and pulled it down.
Australia wasn't sure what to say. "He's too young to know better." Which he didn't feel was true, but he had to say something to save New Zealand's hide. If not for New Zealand himself, then he would at least do it for Canada.
"He most certainly is not! Damn it, where is the little rotter?" England turned to crash off up the stairs, and surely to drag New Zealand out by the hair.
He was saved from this trip by New Zealand himself showing up, eyes all innocent and hands clutching a toy soldier. There was no chance to explain himself.
"You! Over here, now!" England barked, pointing to a spot next to his heel.
New Zealand came over, but not quickly. He was clearly defiant, not afraid.
It made Australia afraid for him. "Sir, he really doesn't understand how important the flag is-"
"Yes I do." New Zealand looked up at England with an untrembling gaze, as though he somehow knew this would turn out all right. One could only wish to have that much confidence in fate. "I understand it. But you have been pushing me around, and you've sent away Canada, and you treat Australia like he's bad, and I'm sick of it."
England drew back a hand sharply, but he didn't strike. It was as though he were testing New Zealand to see if he'd flinch. He did not.
"You must stop doing this, do you understand? It's a disgrace! If you do this again, I swear, I won't hold back; I will beat your hide black and blue!" England glared, but it was like he was being held back by some intangible force. Once again, he was not punishing New Zealand.
It was curious; he would have never hesitated with Australia at New Zealand's age. The monster of envy inside of Australia started to rear its ugly head, but he choked it back down. This was not the time. "He understands, sir."
New Zealand didn't nod. Instead, he just dashed out of the room.
England looked over at Australia, and his next words were a surprise. "You're to watch New Zealand until I tell you otherwise. Make sure he doesn't do this again."
Was this good or bad? Australia couldn't say. He just nodded. "Yessir." Then he left the room.
As he returned to the kitchen, he saw Hong Kong had his spoon again. Wonderful.
"Canada! Canada! You'll never believe it!" America seemed to practically dance into Canada's house, excitement lighting up his blue eyes.
Canada momentarily regretted not latching his door. "What won't I believe?"
America grinned big enough to fit a teapot. "Texas is going to join me! It'll be him and me, one country, bigger and stronger than ever! Isn't that wonderful?"
If Canada didn't know better, he would think that was a practically dreamy look on America's face; the country's head was in the clouds once again, imagining being something more than he already was. "Yes, that's wonderful, America."
"Mexico's going to be pissed though. Oh well! It's worth it, because Texas is so much like me. It'll be just the same as if you and I… Well…" Here America's voice trailed off a bit, as he seemed to realize this was a more touchy topic.
Canada decided he wouldn't let it bother him; bygones were bygones. "If you and I had been one country?"
"Well, yes. It would have been amazing, you know." America awkwardly shrugged, shoulders uneven as he brought up one hand to scratch the back of his neck.
Maybe he knew how angry Canada had been. Maybe he didn't; but he certainly wasn't oblivious enough to think that things were perfect between them. Canada gave a sigh. He didn't necessarily want to go into this. "Maybe. You don't know how it would have turned out."
But America shook his head, insisting, though more gently than usual, "It would have been amazing, it being you and me. England would have had to let you go too, and then we'd both be free."
Being free. Alone, standing against the world with America. He'd actually considered it at the time of the offer, despite how he liked to pretend afterwards he hadn't. It had hurt too much, when America had attacked him. "America, please don't do this. You know why I didn't join you."
America gave a groan, saying, "Canada, I wouldn't have made you stop being Catholic… I mean, that's what England would do, wouldn't he?"
And it was a lie. Canada knew America at that time and every time since; he would have wanted Canada to change to match him better, to not be the strange Quebecois among the states. He would have discriminated against Canada at every turn. Canada set his mouth in a thin line, growing weary of the conversation. "You and England are different people; best not to even compare."
"Are you defending him? You know, he's the one who came between us. I was so angry at you…" America's head ducked down a bit at the admission, as he continued, "He was treating you so much better, just because you wouldn't defy him. It was as though you were his new favorite."
Oh, there had never been an appropriate replacement for America. Didn't he realize that? Did he have any idea how Canada had felt towards him? Canada sighed, saying, "There's never been anyone more important to him than you; he was just trying to teach you a lesson."
America shifted in his seat, murmuring, "He thought I was still a child. Do you know what it's like, to be penned in on all sides even though you should be able to touch the sky? I mean, he tried to spank me with his paddle after I destroyed Gaspée."
"You were acting like a child," Canada insisted, even though he knew that paddling at America's age was a bit much. He didn't like to think that America had just cause, because that made him at a strangely gray neutral for not joining him.
America snorted, but his eyes didn't look like they were dismissing the idea; no, they looked almost vulnerable. "You say so. Everyone says so. But I did it, didn't I? I'm not under his control anymore."
It was curious; Canada could see that thoughts were weighing on America. But for once, they didn't come tumbling out his mouth. So Canada sighed, saying, "Do you want pancakes?"
And America didn't jump at the mention of food. Instead, he smiled wryly. "If you got Australia to go with you, maybe-"
"I don't think so." Canada didn't need to hear about plans to escape; it had been some time since England was the empire of America's Revolutionary War. He got out the flour, saying, "Get some eggs, will you?"
"I don't need food, you know." America probably wanted it anyway, but his serious mood was coming down heavily on Canada. He was going to talk more about how nobody should have to be with England, especially not in his hemisphere.
Canada wasn't about to go on about that topic. "It'll be to celebrate your joining with Texas. You are excited about that, aren't you?"
And this time, America grinned for real. "Yes. Yes, I am. Make me a big stack, then!"
Canada laughed, glad they were back a on a more silly topic. "Fine, but you're washing dishes, understand? You've got to contribute somehow!"
They spent the rest of the visit chatting about how Texas was a tall fellow, and how nothing was better on pancakes than maple syrup. No more dwelling on the past, or the present, was done.
Australia had been watching both the flag and New Zealand; something was bubbling beneath the surface in the boy. He wasn't sure why; maybe it had to do with Canada leaving. Maybe it was simply that he had cracked under the pressure of living here. If he was indeed insane, then Australia would petition England to put him in a mental institution. It would be much safer there.
In any case, here he was, sitting on the couch in the parlor and enjoying a book on animals. It was actually a book describing some of his animals, and while it was a little outlandish at times, he was drinking it in like a dehydrated man.
The arrival of New Zealand nearly went unnoticed; the boy didn't say hello, or even look at Australia. No, he was making a beeline for the flag.
"Whoa, get away from there! New Zealand!" And Australia sprang into New Zealand's path, blocking him. He was not about to let England down.
New Zealand pushed at him, giving a grunt and saying, "Get out of my path! I need to take it down, he can't just push me around!"
Australia grabbed New Zealand's hands, trying to stop him from fighting further. "Look, you can't just throw a tantrum because you don't like what England's doing! He's the empire, we're the colonies; unless you're ready to break away-"
"I'm not scared, not like you! He doesn't frighten me, and I'm not afraid for him to leave!" New Zealand's eyes were blazing, holding a surprising amount of vigorous anger as he shoved at Australia and then tried to pull away. If it hadn't been a stupid thing, Australia would have been impressed.
"Don't be a fool! England will come down on you, hard! You've been pushing him, and I don't think he'll take much more of it!" Australia found himself practically pleading with the runt. To think, none too long ago he would have been encouraging this behavior…
But New Zealand tore free with a great stagger backwards, and before Australia could stop him, had his hands on an ornate gas lamp. "Stay away from me!"
"No-!" Australia was promptly struck in the face, not bringing up his hands in time for the unexpected blow. New Zealand was throwing things at him? When did he become the target, for lord's sake? "New Zealand!"
"Let me tear down the flag!" Another one of England's prized parlor objects came flying at Australia.
He narrowly dodged it, and winced when he heard a cracking noise. "New Zealand, stop this!" The boy was insane! What was with all the defiance all of a sudden? Well, it had been a little gradual, but-
"It's just a flag! He's being a bully and I'm not a coward!" New Zealand's big blue eyes were blazing, and this time, he headbutted Australia in the stomach.
His head was surprisingly solid, and Australia tumbled back, feeling the air rush out of his lungs like it was being sucked out by a typhoon.
As he gasped for air, he was kicked in the head for good measure, and then New Zealand left him alone.
Australia scrambled to his feet, but it was too late; down fluttered the flag, landing in a red, blue and white wrinkly mess on the floor.
New Zealand looked at him pointedly, and promptly slipped off the mantle.
Too far away to catch him, if he'd thought of it, Australia could only stare dumbly for a moment, before realizing that despite hitting his head, New Zealand wasn't writhing in pain. And his eyes weren't open. In fact, he was lying there rather like a dead fish- "New Zealand! Good lord, you had better not be dead!"
A vigorous shaking produced no results. Australia felt for a pulse with his thumb, and found one, much to his relief. He smoothed down New Zealand's curls, though they boinged back into place immediately. Not that Canada could blame him for this, but he couldn't help but feel relieved. He felt his own face, and winced when he got to his aching nose. Yep, he was going to be ugly for the next week or so.
He heaved up New Zealand, who began to mumble, though Australia dismissed it as dream talking. He was just glad the boy wasn't bleeding.
He tucked him in upstairs, then as an afterthought put a wet cloth on his forehead. That helped with concussions, or being knocked out, or whatever had happened to New Zealand. Now, all he had to do was get back down there and clean up before-
"What the bloody hell has gone on here?"
Well, so much for that… Australia went down to keep New Zealand from being killed, and of course, to save his own skin too.
The pounding on his door brought Canada out of his melancholic thoughts. He'd been dwelling on the young ones he'd left at England's house; he could only hope Australia had stepped up to his role as the eldest one.
He swung open the door, and was greeted with the sight of America, and someone who he'd never seen before.
"Canada! This is Texas. Texas, this is Canada." America beamed at both of them, as though his introduction was an instant guarantee of friendship.
Texas was tall, and his blue eyes were warm and relaxed. As he took off his hat, a fluff of walnut brown hair showed itself. "Howdy."
"Hello." Canada wasn't sure how to react. Here was the one America was so excited about; however, the only person who seemed even a little excited was America. Texas just stared stoically at Canada.
America beamed, saying, "Canada, I hate to ask,"
No, you don't, thought Canada.
"but can you make us something to eat? I'll help, but Texas doesn't know his way around your house." America was already walking past him, towards the kitchen.
"I suppose so." What was he going to do, turn them away? He felt uncomfortable with Texas, broad-shouldered and just watching him.
"I'll help," Texas said firmly, as he slipped off his gun belt and set it on the table.
"We'll be using an oven, Texas! You'll have no idea what you're doing, sit down." It wasn't in an authoritative tone; more like America was trying to be nice but not doing so well.
"I know how to use an oven, America." It was just plainly stated, without accusations or anger. Texas seemed easygoing enough, and it was going to save his and America's partnership.
Canada smiled at Texas, saying as hospitably as possible, "Well, I've got stew already cooking. So you can both sit down." He'd have to break out a loaf of bread, to stretch the meal, but fortunately he had made more than enough for himself and Kumabo.
America sat down easily, grinning and beginning to chatter like a squirrel once again. "Canada, Texas has great stories about breaking away from Mexico. Texas, tell him a story!"
If Canada had suspected he was the type, Texas seemed almost shy as he murmured, "I don't have any good stories. Talk about something else."
"It's fine," Canada assured him, lifting the lid off of the pot and stirring it. He did not need it sticking and burning and generally being nasty to clean. Of course America would be making Texas uncomfortable; he seemed to have a knack for it at times.
"No, no, tell him about the cannon! You can't avoid telling him about the cannon, that's my favorite part," America insisted, face lit up on remembrance of that little fact.
Texas sighed, but drawled out, "Mexico wanted to take away my cannon, on account of wanting to keep me under control. I said no, and I buried it. Then I fought him off. That was the start of the whole ordeal."
Canada raised his eyebrows. He knew Texas was related closely to America, but he certainly showed his roots on being threatened.
"Ha, that sure put a bee in the dirty greaser's bonnet!" America was absolutely delighted, and he looked over at Texas, almost as if he expected approval of his words.
Canada vaguely recalled him having an eye on the territory even before Texas became his fully self-sufficient self. He sort of winced at the slur, though. He didn't know Mexico very well, but he knew he was a fellow Catholic. That made him have this sense, back when America was his enemy, that they could get along if only they knew each other better.
Texas gave a small, slightly grim smile, as if remembering back to his days at war. "I suspect it did."
The stew was done, so Canada served it up. "I hope you like it; I wasn't expecting company."
Conversation during dinner mostly consisted of America pushing Texas for more stories, and Texas complying in that steady drawl of his. Canada mhm'd and ah'd at the appropriate moments.
"I told him, I wasn't going to be a damn Catholic. I told him he couldn't move my home around willy-nilly; it weren't his business what I did."
Another delightful thing about Texas; he seemed to be as anti-Catholic as America. And Canada may not have been as Catholic as he used to be, but it still bothered him. It was a part of his identity; a precious piece of his Quebecois culture.
America chewed with his mouth open, grinning every so often as Texas told stories.
"The damn greaser deserves his problems; he's a conniving bastard, I reckon." Texas had once again insulted Mexico, and finally, Canada had had enough.
"He's probably just as scared of you as you are of him." Canada regretted it right after saying it. He wanted to take back the words and stuff them down his throat.
"Scared of me?" Texas let out a laugh, shaking his head. "I learned him to be scared of me. He knows now he can't push smaller nations around."
Canada shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Well, you and America have been poking and prodding him all these years; it isn't right."
Texas' eyes darkened, and he said, "What weren't right was him stabbing me when I was down; he's a devil, and I ain't going to stand for a protected colony like you lookin' down on me." He stood abruptly, and put on his hat.
America hurriedly chewed his bite and swallowed, saying, "Texas, wait! Canada doesn't know what he's talking about!"
"That's exactly the issue." And Texas slipped outside.
Canada felt a mixture of feelings; he knew Texas felt insulted, but hadn't America and him pushed Mexico? It was the state of things as far as Canada was aware.
America got up and ran after Texas, after telling Canada, "Well, look at what you've gone and done now!"
They didn't come back in.
New Zealand had been in bed for some time.
This had been, of course, after fighting England tooth and nail to not be switched; England had let him go, and he'd hidden in a tree for about a full day, despite the rain.
Then he'd finally come inside, feverish and in no state to be switched.
Australia was rather gently putting a cloth on his forehead, praying for the fever to break. England had said it wasn't extremely serious, but Australia had a bad feeling about all of it. "Zea, you had better get well, do you understand?"
Feverish mumblings in reply.
He was never going to admit it to New Zealand, but he was scared. He didn't want to lose the younger colony, despite how annoying and strange he could be. And despite the fact he'd hit him. That had taken a bit of getting over.
Hong came padding in then, climbing up on the bed and kneeing New Zealand in the stomach. Then he put a wet rag on him, pushing aside Australia's.
Australia let out a sigh. "Get off of New Zealand, Hong Kong. He doesn't like it." He eased the child off of New Zealand, hoping it wasn't contagious.
"He will get better?" Hong Kong didn't talk much, but apparently he'd deigned to speak this time.
"Of course." Australia didn't know for sure, but it was better not to tell children that, he was sure of it. They were too young to live in fear of someone disappearing forever.
The fight to civilize New Zealand was on from the moment he was out of bed. England attempted to switch him once more, but the boy came screaming into the house before he got so much as one hit in.
"Australia! Australia!"
Australia was nearly knocked down, but he didn't catch New Zealand. He grabbed his shoulders grimly and turned him around. "You've been bad; you have to be punished."
New Zealand began to hack loudly; he was obviously still sick.
It gave Australia pause. But no, he had to make sure that New Zealand didn't turn out a brat, didn't he? He had to help him find the right path.
England appeared before them, and New Zealand immediately huddled against Australia, sniffling miserably.
"Australia-"
"Come on, let him go." England's eyebrows were stern today. He held the switch in one hand and had seized the skinny arm of New Zealand with the other. "He needs a good whipping, or else he shall remain a savage."
And he would, wouldn't he? Australia made no attempt to hold onto him. "Yessir."
"You're mean!" New Zealand wailed, as he was dragged to his punishment. His shoes left skid marks on the floor.
It couldn't be helped. But what would Canada do?
Australia glared at the wall. He wasn't Canada; he couldn't be expected to earn himself a switching on top of New Zealand's! But he should protect him…
He wanted to slam his head into a wall. It was too much… He ran to the door of the kitchen, and was just in time to see England land the first hit on New Zealand's pale little back, raising a red welt.
"Sir! Sir, perhaps this is a bit too much; he's only just recovered from being ill!" Australia implored England, wringing his hands and wanting to wrench the switch from his hand.
New Zealand wept quietly, further earning Australia's sympathies.
"This is a matter for me to handle, Australia. I am the only one who understands your savagery from the vantage point of civilization; I am the only one who can set you straight," England said dismissively, pulling his arm back for another blow.
"No, please!" Australia seized his arm, staying the blow.
But before any confrontation could develop between Australia and England, England let out a gasping wheeze, hand dropping the switch and his free hand darting downwards to cover his crotch. "You little runt!" he managed.
New Zealand ran for his life, into the distance of the estate. He was surprisingly fast for being sick.
"New Zealand! Stop!" Australia released England's arm, and made to run after New Zealand. He was stopped by a grip on his forearm.
"Let the little rotter starve in the wilderness, for all I care! Do you hear me, New Zealand? You'll have to come back eventually!" England glared spitefully at New Zealand's retreating back. He seemed to be done with attempting to punish for now.
Australia wanted to retrieve the child. How well would he do in relative wilderness? He wasn't even fully healthy. But something told him that maybe he should let him be and let him come back under his own power. A clawing, biting child was the last thing he wanted to fight with right now.
New Zealand disappeared into the woods, completely gone from view. Australia only hoped he knew what he was doing.
After a while, it became impossible to wait for New Zealand any longer. He had slept outside, presumably, and he had hopefully found food; but the thought that it could rain and give him pneumonia had sent Australia outside.
Apparently, England had similar concerns, because he followed. He was not heartless, Australia was sure. That, or he was sick of waiting to punish New Zealand.
They didn't speak at all while searching, other than to call for the boy.
When they finally stumbled upon him, Australia was a little surprised to see his worries had been a little unfounded.
A great dirt hump stood on the ground, partly hollowed out and providing a cozy nesting place. A fire had been put out none too far away, and what appeared to be the remains of a squirrel sat picked clean by it.
They found New Zealand urinating none too far away. He was startled to be found, and hurriedly covered himself. Bags were under his eyes. "Go away! I'm not coming back!"
"You are coming back, and I will whip your sorry hide!" Well, England certainly wasn't in a forgiving mood. He seized New Zealand's arms and tried to drag him towards the house, far in the distance.
But New Zealand wriggled, and attempted to bite. "No! NO! Lemme go!"
Australia was, once again, at a crossroads. He liked New Zealand, but he mostly obeyed England; what was he supposed to do? "Please, just come back, you're sick!"
A hacking cough interrupted the fight, but New Zealand promptly caught England's wrist with his teeth, and civility ended.
England smacked his face, once, twice, three times, until he let go. "What am I supposed to do with you?" he demanded, infuriated.
The red marks on New Zealand's face gave him a savage visage. "Let me go! Just let me do whatever the hell I please! And stop moving things! You can't tell me what to do, you can't-"
And England smacked him again, not out of necessity this time, but out of anger. "Shut your damn mouth! You will do what I tell you to, and you will stop this deviant behavior!"
New Zealand went for his crotch again, but this time England blocked. He didn't block, however, the stomp on his foot.
England looked rather peculiar hopping around holding one foot. Australia stepped forward, hollering, "That's enough! Stop it!"
But New Zealand, holding the side of his face with the red, swelling handprint, turned tail and ran.
They wouldn't see him again until he wanted to be seen.
"Texas didn't want to come because of what you said last time," America said by way of greeting, as he slipped into Canada's cabin.
Canada just rolled his eyes. "I barely know him; I don't care."
It looked as though America had brought a sack of potatoes today. He grinned at Canada, stating, "We're going to make mashed potatoes, so that we can make potato skins. Doesn't that sound delicious?"
"Potato skins?" Canada walked over to America, looking the potatoes over. They were golden potatoes, America's favorite. "Why not just mash up the skins with the potatoes?"
"Because you can't melt butter in them if they're not separate!"
Of course America wanted to waste his butter. But, Canada reasoned, he was doing all right financially; he could indulge his brother.
And so they set to work, stabbing potatoes and putting them into his oven.
"How are things with you and Texas?" Canada started the conversation, and let America take over.
"They're great! I've got a room set up for him, and he wants to take down one of the huge trees in my yard for firewood. I said it was fine. Oh, and he's not really pissed at you or anything; just a little. Really, he's a great man if you get to know him. He's also going to help me fix my wagon; I could do it myself, but I haven't had the time lately! And do you know how good he is with horses?"
And so on and so on. America was happy to blather on, and Canada was happy to let him.
It was when America finally admitted something that Canada paid attention again. "I don't know, though. I'm nervous."
"About?" Canada asked, as they sat and waited for the potatoes to be cooked.
"About this whole living with someone thing. I mean, it didn't work out so well the first time," America said, crossing his arms over his body.
"That was different," Canada reassured, a little troubled by the insecurity in America's face.
"You're right. Yes, it was. This time, we'll be equals, won't we?" It seemed America's confidence had been restored. "And if things don't work, I mean, he can leave, can't he?"
"Exactly." Canada smiled at America, glad to see he was working things out nonviolently.
America grinned back, and for once, didn't bring up Canada joining him.
They passed the rest of the afternoon enjoying buttered potato skins, which turned out to be worth the amount of butter wasted. Then America went home with his share of mashed potatoes.
When New Zealand finally emerged from the woods, Australia didn't even notice at first. He just walked quietly into the kitchen, and sat down at the table. "Australia."
"New Zealand, when did you get in here?" He walked across the room quickly, taking the boy's face in his hands, and examining his head for ticks. When he found none, he hugged him. "I'm glad you're back; what are you going to do about England?"
"I'm going to apologize," he snuffled, hugging back. Then he looked at Australia fiercely. "I'm still a proud nation of my own, though."
The hidden tough side of New Zealand never ceased to surprise Australia. He nodded, though. "Yes. Yes you are."
He took him and helped him with a bath; brief conversation was exchanged between the two as layers of dirt and grime were scrubbed off. Apparently, it wasn't so hard to survive in England's woods if one knew how. Australia could only wonder where he'd learned it.
When he had to let New Zealand go face England, which he insisted on doing alone, Australia wanted to hold on to him and hide him in his room. But, as New Zealand said, he wasn't a helpless child. However young he might be, he was a nation of his own.
He went to stay in Hong Kong's room, where he found the child sucking on his toes. He was surprisingly flexible, and Australia had to wonder if he'd been that flexible at that age.
Silence. Whatever England and New Zealand were saying, they weren't saying it loud. It was a good sign, he supposed.
Hong Kong tried to ease off his shoes and teach him how to suck his toes, but he politely refused.
He wasn't a dwelling kind of person, or so he told himself, but this was eating at him. Peace could never be had in their family if one member was rebelling; he was sure that if New Zealand couldn't work it out with England, things would be worse for all of them.
But quite suddenly, the blonde appeared in the doorway, murmuring, 'It's done' and dropping his hands to his sides.
And Australia couldn't help but feel something hadn't really been resolved.
Canada hadn't been prepared for the frenzied knocking on his door that night. And he certainly hadn't been prepared for a sobbing America, bursting in and throwing himself at Canada in a hug.
It took several moments to even get a coherent word out of him, and that word was 'Texas.'
"What did Texas do to you? What happened?" Canada demanded, suddenly feeling protective. This was his brother, and he'd be damned if he was just going to let this Texas do whatever the hell he wanted!
"No, it's Texas! It's Texas, Canada!" America bawled. Canada suspected he'd been holding it together until the moment he knocked on the door. America tended to lose it most when he had someone to comfort him.
"What? America, what happened?" He had his arms around him, feeling his body shake with sobs.
"He's gone!"
"Gone? Gone where?" If he'd walked out of this deal… though, America hardly seemed the type to react so badly to something like this falling through.
"No, gone! We inked the constitution, and he just faded away! Into thin air, like a ghost! Canada, he's gone!" America seemed to collapse against him, energy spent. He still wept quietly.
He hadn't expected this; Canada was stunned. He stroked America's hair, murmuring variations, of 'shh' and 'it's all right' as he tried to figure this one out.
Maybe Texas' land had been so completely absorbed into America's that he'd ceased to exist as a nation. Maybe it was because most of Texas' people were Americans to begin with.
To be honest, this was what Canada had feared all those years ago; it wasn't unheard of for a nation to disappear. It more often happened when it was divided up into new nations, however.
America sniffled into his shirt, and he was like a kid, probably leaving stains.
"You'll be all right," Canada promised, and he had to wonder if he would.
/AN/ Well, this is a darker take on Hetalia, so I see nations as replacing each other or absorbing each other. I actually had that view when I started the story, but it turns out that might not be canon. In any case, that's canon for this story.
Anyway, history in this chapter: Texas was made a state of the USA. It took a bit of debating and time, because some Americans were unsure about starting a problem with Mexico, but anti-Mexican sentiment was fairly strong, so they decided it was worth it.
The Flagstaff wars took place during 1845, and ended in the very beginning of 1846. Basically, the problem was that the British moved the capital from the North of New Zealand to the South. Repeated cutting down of the flagstaff led to war, between the British/loyal Maori and the rebel Maori. It ended as really a win for neither, or sort of a win for both. It depends on how you look at it.
I wanted to apologize for it taking so long to update; this chapter was just a monster. I hated it after a while, and actually I've been in the middle of a shift to original fiction. Just maybe, you'll end up reading my YA stories! Anyway, I will work to keep this story going, but I'm back to college now, so it may be slow in coming.
