Canada slammed the hotel door shut behind him with wall-shaking force. He stood still in the entryway, hands balled into fists, still angry at England and France for their paranoid speculation.
Kumajiro was stretched out on the bed, idly poking at the television remote and watching as the set changed channels at random. The large room service tray with Kumajiro's dinner Canada had arranged when he first arrived had been licked cleaned, with only a single stalk of parsley remaining on the large white plate.
"Today did not go well?" an amused voice suddenly asked.
Startled, Canada's head jerked up and around.
Prussia was lounging in the small sitting chair next to the window with his laptop wearing one of the room's complimentary robes (he'd chosen the leopard print instead of the zebra print). A soft chirp echoed through the room, and Gilbird suddenly swooped down from the bust of Thomas Jefferson that stared down from the tall neoclassical armoire sitting opposite the bed and landed next to Kumajiro. The plump yellow bird chirped again, offering a happy greeting.
"I'm not even going to ask how you got in," Canada finally stated in exasperation after staring at the other personification for several moments. Stomping away from the door in irritation, he agitatedly peeled off his sweaty jacket and roughly loosened his tie. The garments flew through the air, landing on the animals on the bed.
Gilbird let out an alarmed squeak as the jacket flattened him. Kumajiro, on the other hand, was wholly unfazed by the tie that landed roughly on his head then started to slide off, catching on one round fuzzy ear.
Canada stooped over the suitcase perched haphazardly on a luggage rack and started pawing through the mess of clothes and personal belongings heaped into the modestly sized carry-on. After several moments of digging, he tugged free a pair of soft flannel pajama pants and a well loved Toronto Maple Leafs shirt.
Prussia shook his head as Canada disappeared wordlessly into the bathroom, the shower starting up moments later. Shoving the footstool forward, the ex-Nation hurried over to the bed to rescue the trapped bird, who let out a miserable, tiny squawk once he was free of the sweaty jacket.
Then, unconcerned by Canada's shy nature, Prussia brazenly stormed the luxurious bathroom.
"Prussia!" Canada cringed, instinctively moving to cover himself when the Germanic personification appeared.
"Ja, ja, whatever. Deal with it, Birdie." Prussia waved his hand in a brief dismissive gesture. "You stalked in here like Romano angry at Spain. What's wrong?" He paused slightly, jumping up on the black quartz counter and drawing his borrowed robe close around himself. "Were you in a fight? Must I avenge your honor? I will do so with my awesome skills!"
With a soft sigh, Canada turned around slightly so he could pretend to have a bit of privacy. It seemed pretty clear that Prussia wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. "You don't need to beat anyone up," he stressed, "it's fine, really, things just got a little tense is all."
"Slamming the door is not fine," Prussia replied in a flat voice. Folding his arms, he aimed an arch look through the glass enclosure. "You never slam the door."
Canada swallowed. Technically, he wasn't sure if Prussia had been hanging around him enough to be able to tell that. But he to admit: it was true. "It's just . . . " he sighed again, fiddling with the shampoo bottle. "It's England and France. They're, well, they don't like America."
Prussia snorted and leaned back against the wall next to the round ornate mirror. "This is no surprise," he commented. "England's had a stick up his ass about the U.S. since the revolution. And France hates that he isn't close to being as awesome as America, but more than that, he hates how close you are to America, how close he is to you. The only way they can cope is to make him the bad guy."
"I know about all- wait, France doesn't like my relationship with America? How do you even know that?" Canada shook his head briefly then shot an exasperated look at the other man. "You know what, that doesn't even matter. The problem is that they're creating paranoid conspiracies about America that are completely baseless. England all but said he thinks everything in Austin was a setup and that America was in on it. France seemed to agree." A look of misery crossed his face. "I don't even want to know what else they're thinking."
Prussia gave a low whistle, something Canada barely heard over the sound of the water pouring out of the shower head. "It's worse than I thought. They must be very jealous of your brother." He nodded, feeling fairly certain he understood the situation now. "You know England was treated like shit when he was smaller, right? Everyone picked on him. It was centuries before he had the strength to fight back.
"France's life was only a little less shitty than England's," Prussia continued. "He's been digging up dirt on other nations for centuries in order to make them fight for him. But if he lost," Prussia shuddered briefly, "scheisse, that guy does not rest until he gets revenge."
Canada absently nodded along with Prussia's narrative. He had gotten an earful about England's childhood multiple times. It tended to come up over the holidays whenever the man was drunk around his brothers. And for as much as France tried to convince everyone he cared only for passion and amour, Canada had been there after World War I had ended. He'd seen how much France enjoyed extracting every bit of vengeance he could from Germany and the other members of the Central powers.
He dunked his head under the water spray, quickly rinsing the shampoo out of his hair.
"Basically," Prussia continued once Canada could hear him again, "those two not-awesome losers hate America for not going through the shit they did. They can accept that he got very lucky or they can call it a conspiracy with your brother cast in the role of Evil Guy Number One."
"That makes sense, I guess." Frowning, Canada reached out and turned off the water. The ridiculously large bathroom had both the shower and bathtub in the same overly large enclosure. Stepping across the black tile floor, he skirted the clawfoot tub and pulled his towel off the small bar tucked in the corner furthest from the shower head. He quickly dried himself off before wrapping the towel around his waist.
Prussia grinned as the younger personification stepped out of the shower, unashamedly letting his eyes rake over his damp body.
Scowling, Canada scooped his clothes up off the bathroom counter and buffeted Prussia with them. "Out," he ordered, somewhat amused but very firm about his desire for privacy.
"Are you sure?" Prussia leaned in closer. "You might need help. You don't want to accidently slip and fall? That could be disastrous."
Canada leaned in towards Prussia, their faces centimeters apart. "I'll risk it," he breathed.
Prussia could feel Canada's breath tickle his cheek. "Only if you're sure," he replied, staring deep into violet eyes.
"I'm sure."
There was a momentary pause. Canada turned his head slightly, giving Prussia a pointed look. "That means you should go," he added.
Prussia blinked, suppressing a disappointed sigh while withdrawing to the other room. North Americans were weird about being naked around other people.
Several minutes later, both personifications were settling down in the hotel room. Prussia had retaken his seat next to the window while Canada lounged on the bed leaning back against the massive padded headboard and cuddling Kumajiro. The bear snuggled happily against his companion's chest and, with a big yawn, started to drift off to sleep.
"What do I do about England and France?" Canada asked, absently stroking Kumajiro's head. He had a few ideas himself but as they primarily involved the forceful application of his favorite hockey stick. . . well, he was open to discussing new ideas.
Prussia slid his laptop under the chair and sat back, steepling his fingers together while he took a moment to consider.
"First we must ensure that they know what America has said about his past is true," he began thoughtfully. "Then we can destroy the conspiracy theories." He gave Canada a serious, considering look. "Do you remember him? Is there any evidence you can provide to support his claims?"
The hand gently petting white fur stopped.
Canada bit his lip, his mind flashing back to that first in-person meeting in Austin:
'America . . . America . . . AMERICA! Holy crap, he was in an ambulance with America! And America looked like him . . . or he looked like America. What the hell did that mean? Why did he look like America? Or . . .' No, he wasn't going to keep doing the back and forth. They looked alike and it was freaky and it had to mean something-
"-thew. Hey, Matthew, dude, are you okay?"
"Huh?"
"You have to relax, Matthew."
"How do you know that?"
"Know what?"
"That I have to relax?"
"I . . . "
America gasped suddenly, his eyes going wide and distant for a moment.
"Holy shit," he breathed. "You're my brother." Cornflower blue eyes locked with brilliant purple and time stood still.
A small gasp escaped from Matthew. He remembered . . .
The truth hung there between them suspended, arresting time and stretching the moment into eternity-
Canada shook his head slightly, pushing away from that stunning, world-changing moment.
"I remember a little bit," he started, staring down at the off-white quilted comforter. He gave Kumajiro an absent minded squeeze. "There are a few moments, here and there, that stand out but mostly, it's all rather vague." He bit his lip and glanced up at Prussia. "Honestly, as I got older, I thought I'd made him up. That he was just an imaginary friend I used to play with because I was lonely.
"We went everywhere together, I think," Canada started, his mind reaching back to vague, barely there memories. "I'm not entirely certain how long it was just us and-" he paused, frowning. "Us and someone else . . ."
Several moments went by as Canada struggled to remember. There had been someone else, someone who took care of them, made sure they had clean clothes and good food to eat. A flicker of frustration ran through him. Who had it been?
"Well, anyways," he finally continued, "even if we were apart for a while we found each other again. Usually to share something we'd found." A small smile appeared as a new memory unfolded in his mind.
Canada came to a sudden halt in front of his brother, the long, sweet smelling grass brushing against his waist.
"America, I found a flower this big!" Beaming with delight, Canada held his hands out in front of himself. The flower has been as big as his head!
His brother giggled and flung his arms out into the air, the sleeves of his tunic falling over his outstretched hands.
"That's amazing, but I found a buffalo THIIISSSS BIG!"
Giggles bubbled up in Canada's throat. He turned slightly and gestured excitedly for America to follow him. Baby Kumajiro bounded up next to him, panting from the long run.
"There's this huge flower field in my house! It has plenty of pretty flowers, let's go there together!"
Buffalo abruptly forgotten, America gasped, his eyes going wide.
"Wow, that sounds fun! Let's hurry and go there!" America clapped his hands together, bouncing up and down in excitement.
Canada reached back and grabbed America's hand, tugging him forward. The other boy immediately broke into a run and they quickly disappeared, heading north as fast as their tiny feet could carry them.
Prussia snorted, breaking Canada out of his sappy reminiscences. "Adorable," the ex-Nation commented. He smirked at the other personification. "I can feel my awesomeness being leached away by all the sap. So what happened?"
"What happened?" Canada blinked in confusion.
"How did you and America get separated? How did you end up with England and him all by himself?"
"Oh, well, I think it was when France started the first big colonization surge. Something drew me further north than usual, tugged at me to come find out what it was." Canada thought back, remembering weeks and months of walking on and on, huddling for warmth with Kumajiro wherever they could find shelter, knowing he was getting farther and farther away from his family but unable to stop walking north.
"I ended up running into the French settlers. I'd never seen people like them before, so I hid a lot, but I'm not sure that was really necessary. They didn't seem to be able to see me at all." Canada's mouth twisted slightly at the bitter memory.
"I remember England and France fighting. After England won, France went away. England didn't really seem to know what to do then, so I went up and told him where he could gather food and supplies. After that, he took me in, built me a house." Canada shrugged. "He said we were family now. And it'd been so long since I'd seen my own family, I was just happy to have someone who was actually looking at me again. Ever since I'd gone north, no one saw me, they just saw my land. But he didn't. And after a while, well, I just . . . started to forget. I was so young, so small. . ."
"Damn." Prussia looked impressed.
Canada stared at him, thoroughly confused.
"Honestly, Birdie? That is more than most of us remember. Then again," he gave Canada a thoughtful look. "You are part of this new generation that grew up much too fast. You, Australia, mein bruder Germany. You all shot up like weeds. America likely did too. Maybe even faster."
"That would make sense," Canada agreed. "I lived with England for almost a century before America declared independence. I had the most awful growing pains during the decades leading up to it, too." He scowled, remembering the agony as he suddenly grew, the endless hunger, and even waking up to discover he'd sleepwalked straight out of the house and into some field or forest nearby, his body frantically driven to just move.
"Have you told England that you remember America?" Prussia asked. He dragged his legs off the footstool and leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs as he looked intently at Canada. "Does he know?"
"Oh. Well, no," Canada replied. He groaned as a flash of realization struck him, releasing Kumajiro so he could press hands against his eyes. "He thinks America's brainwashed me, doesn't he? Convinced me that he really is my brother without a single thing backing it up."
"Exactly," Prussia replied, amusement filling his red eyes. "Because you didn't prattle on and on about missing him growing up, as far as England knows, this whole 'brother' thing is just one big lie America used to brainwash you."
"And even if I had talked about America at all while growing up, it wouldn't have been to England, not with how much he was traveling back then." A thread of guilt slowly started to build up in Canada. If he had just explained, neither England nor France would be so paranoid about America. And to think he'd been considering violence!
With a soft whimper, Canada let himself fall sideways on the bed, hands still covering his face. "This is all my fault," he whimpered, voice muffled slightly by the fluffy pillows he'd fallen onto.
"No way," Prussia snickered. He jumped up and pushed Canada over onto his other side before settling down in the now open spot. "England's an expert at working himself up. If you had told him, he'd just be upset about something else."
"Not helping," Canada groaned. He sighed softly, taking some small comfort in the warmth emanating from the ex-Nation who sat behind him.
Kumajiro suddenly poked him in the stomach, annoyed at having been abruptly woken up and tipped over.
Canada swept out an absent arm, drawing the bear back to his chest and cuddling him close once more. "Alright, assuming England accepts that America really is my brother, how do we take on the conspiracies?"
Prussia chuckled, the soft sound filled with quiet menace. "Oh, I have a few ideas."