DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers – Hidekaz Himaruya
B.C.E.
BEFORE COMMANDING EMPIRES
EPILOGUE
19th CENTURY
England poked his head into the nursery. The boys were sleeping soundly; he could hear their soft, rhythmic breaths. Quietly he slipped inside and sat down on the edge of the bed beside America. The boy was lying on his back, skinny limbs spread like a starfish; small shoulders rising and falling as he snored kitten-soft snores. England leaned down and brushed the feathery wheat-blonde hair off his forehead; America squinted in sleep, then relaxed. England smiled and reached across him to where Canada slept. He was lying on his side, curled-up into a ball, and hugging his pillow; he had always liked to hug things in his sleep. His pale-blonde curls splayed across the bed-sheets, looking soft and peaceful as he breathed; eyelids flickering dreamily. Gently England touched his forefinger to Canada's rosy cheek.
"They're sweet when they're asleep," said France quietly, leaning in the doorframe. England glanced back at him in surprise. France chuckled. He walked into the room and knelt by the bedside, beside Canada. "I cherish these moments, when they're asleep— quiet and well-behaved; they look like such angels," he smiled, playing with Canada's curls. "But then they wake up and they're exhausting; they have so much energy— they would've made great warriors if they had been born into antiquity. Instead they fight with other children because we haven't socialized them properly; they're shy of strangers." He sighed. "I love them so much, but sometimes I think I'm too old to be raising such young colonies." His sapphire-blue eyes looked guiltily at England. "Does that make me a bad parent?"
Hesitantly, England licked his lips. "Nobody said raising colonies was easy. And, honestly, we didn't have the best role-models: Rome"—too indulgent, too corrupt—"Germania"—too harsh; he was gone more often than not—the Vikings"—thieves and bullies—"and Scotland"—for all of his talk of blood-bonds, he tried to beat me into submission, England thought. "I never wanted to be like them, but I'm afraid that I've become a little like all of them combined," he admitted. "I grew-up in isolation, and I'm fucked up. You grew-up surrounded by nations, and you're fucked up." He shrugged. "I know it's my fault the boys are antisocial; I know they're my responsibility, but sometimes I don't know what to do with them. Sometimes I think keeping them here is better than the alternative— at least they're safe. I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of, but there are very few things I actually regret. If I hadn't taken North America when given the chance, I wouldn't have either of them," he said in example. "I won't let anyone take them from me now; just like Rome, I'd rather die than part with my colonies. I love them, but a part of me is afraid of becoming what I was as a child, of growing smaller; of being swallowed up by those more powerful. As long as I have my Empire, that won't happen. My Empire protects me as much as I protect them."
France nodded. He didn't speak; he didn't need to. England knew that he understood. They had shared that secret fear since childhood; of being conquered and forced to belong to someone else. "Are we hypocrites then?" he asked thoughtfully. "We both refuse to live as someone else's territories, yet we fight to hold onto the boys; we're very possessive of them," he nodded to America and Canada. "I swore, once, that if I ever had colonies I would take care of them. I would never hurt them. I just... I hope I've kept my word. When they look at me, scowling, like they did earlier when I put them to bed, I feel insecure. Above all, I don't want them to hate me."
"They're young, but you can't always coddle them," England advised—though, what do I know? I certainly wasn't ever coddled. He tried again: "They're unruly; they'll only become more so as they age, but they don't hate you. Colonies"—as children—"need to be disciplined and spoiled in equal terms, I think. Every time you scold them, just as every time you treat them, you're teaching them. It's not neglect, it's a kindness..." He shook his head. "I can't explain it. It just feels like the right thing to do. It's our responsibility as their guardians to take care of them; they won't always like it, but I think it's for the best. I can't imagine they would ever hate you," he reassured France. "They love you very much, you—" He pursed his lips; swallowed —"you're a good father, France."
"How very sentimental of you, Angleterre," France teased, but he was smiling. "You know," he added, as they tucked the blankets around the boys, "despite your being, well... you, you're not a horrible father either."
England cocked an eyebrow. "Careful, frog-eater. That almost sounded like a compliment."
Together, they left the nursery.
It was after midnight when France, lying beside England in bed—appropriately clothed, thank-you very much!—heard the doorknob turn. The soft patter of lightweight socked feet met his ears, and then tiny fingers tugged his shirtsleeve. Drowsily he opened his eyes, and smiled. "Mes chéris," he whispered, rewarded with a shy smile and those big, violet eyes he so loved. America stood just behind Canada, holding his brother's hand; brow creased in worry. France sighed in waking and pushed himself onto his elbows, waking England. England's head fell from resting on France's shoulder and hit the pillow, producing a grunt of surprise. He blinked, squinting in the darkness, then relaxed when he saw the boys. Softly, Canada said:
"Je suis désolé, pères. America is sorry too. Can we—"
"Can we sleep with you?" America burst, lip curling under; threatening tears.
France swallowed a coo of affection and, instead, lifted America into his arms. "Of course."
"C'mon, love. Don't give me those big crocodile tears," said England, tucking America in beside him; smiling at Canada as he was lifted into the bed as well. They placed the boys in the space between them, then closed the gap, each holding the distraught little colonies. Feeling safe and loved, America and Canada fell instantly back to sleep.
Above their silky heads, rich wheat-blonde and kitten-soft curls, France smiled at England. "I guess we're not so very bad after all."
FIN
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