In general England and France made a point not to spend time with each other. If they had to, they did it with barbed quips and small fistfights and scuffles. On this rare day, however, they were enjoying a rather peaceful time together, France engaged in his book, and England engaged in his needlework. That is, until Canada burst into the room with a loud slam.
To start with, Canada never didanythingloudly, so that would have been startling enough on its own, but in this particular case, that wasn't the thing that made England and France start, England gasping in fear and France leaping to his feat with a cry of "Oh, Merde!".No, the thing that made them both so shocked was the drying wet blood coating Canada's person from head to foot, almost hiding the blinding beam behind it.
"Guess who just won!"
Canada crowed in excitement, and England felt his blood chill in his veins. Won? Wonwhat? Suddenly England remembered a moment after Canada had first gone independent, when he'd spouted some ridiculous words about picking a fight with America to prove himself. There was no way, was there? But theblood-
"You had awar?"England demanded, horrified.
"What?" France sputtered in horror, snapping his head around to stare wide-eyed at England before looking back to Canada with wide and horrified eyes. "Are you okay?"
Canada's beam didn't falter, in fact, he looked like he'd just won the lottery.
"I'm fine, it's not my blood!"
He said those chilling words with such unrestrained pleasure that England's blood felt like insects crawling in his viens, and he took a step back subconsciously.
"What do you mean fine?" France fussed, clearly not having heard a word after 'fine'. "There is so much blood! 'ow could you be fine?"
England, who had actually listened to what Canada said, had a more pressing worry.
"Whose blood is it?" He asked, rather timidly, remembering how Canada had fought in the World Wars. Canada might come off as meek and soft, but England knew well just how dangerous Canada could be if he wanted to be.
Canada opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, America burst through the open door with an identical I-just-won-a-billion-dollars grin.
"Hey England! France!" He greeted in absolute bliss, "You'll never guess what just happened to Russia!"
France, beginning to clue in that Canada wasn't the one who was hurt, faltered, his brows furrowing as he once again considered Canada's healthy but blood-drenched form, but England's mind immediately put two and two together and assumed the worst.
"Did Canada...kill... Russia?"
The combined horror and dread in his voice didn't match the heights of his emotions at all. He was panicking, barely held together with a thread of restraint, picturing Russia a bloody, broken mess, and even worse, the concept of a war that Canada might have just thrown himself into. Canada couldn't have killed Russia, right? He wasn't that dumb or reckless, that was America's M. O. But then... What else could make America so happy and explain all the blood?
Canada looked at England like he'd said something entirely incomprehensible, and America, eager to share his news, happily spilled the beans with a cheery tone.
"Worse!"
America crowed, and England's feeling dive-bombed to the depths of hell. Canada did something even worse thankillingRussia? England couldn't imagine what that was. Did he bomb Russia, or somehow start another nuclear war? England was afraid to find out, but America happily plowed on.
"He lost the game!"
A beat, then two, and England heard France speak hesitantly, barely processing the words through his spinning thoughts.
"What game?" France pressed, now worried himself.
Canada blinked, like he didn't understand the question, and America clarified.
"The hockey game, of course!"
Blood came rushing back to England's head, suddenly remembering something Canada had been talking about non-stop for weeks. Some sort of face off against Russia, a sport thing, he had wanted England and France to watch - wait, had that been today? -something to do with hockey, and Canada tended to get violent when hockey was mentioned, and England knew that.
"Of course," England echoed, understanding, "It was a hockey game."
The feeling of relief that came rushing into him drew the strength from his whole body, and he all but collapsed back against his seat. Canada now looked completely flummoxed.
"What else would it be?
France, only now beginning to understand the situation, pressed a bit further.
"So Russia isn't dead?"
America's beam had faltered a bit during the confusion, but now returned full force.
"He's alive." Canada promised.
"Barely." America grinned, revelling in the misfortune. "You should have seen the game! It was like a bloodbath! The ice was dyed pink with blood!"
This did not seem like something to be so thrilled about, and actually made England feel a bit queasy, and judging by France's pale face, he likely felt the same way.
"But.. I thought you said 'e was playing hockey?" France ventured.
"I was!" Canada chimes at the same time as America said, "He was!"
"Ah, I see," France faltered, "I didn't know it was such a violent sport."
America slapped Canada on the back. "It is when Canada plays it!"
Canada still looked a little bewildered at the situation, but straightened his back a little proudly when America praised him, looking pleased.
"Well, it was a fair game," he offered lamely, in a half-hearted attempt to seem like a good sport, "it's not Russia's fault he couldn't win."
England couldn't even say a word back, horrified. Canada wiped some of the blood dripping on his face with his hand, leaving a bloody smear.
"Well, I'm off to take a shower! Can't wait for the next game!"
America took this as a sign to leave, muttering something about pictures and showing everyone them. And France and England were left alone, stewing in the horror of their newfound knowledge, with France only know understanding.
"Ah, merde!" France lametted, looking sick, "How could this 'appen?"
And since England didn't want to take responsibility for Canada as the one who raised him, he only solemnly agreed.
"I don't believe I shall ever WA t to go to one of Canada's games."
France gave him a distressed look. "Oui, I think that is the safest choice."
There was another awkward beat of tension, sickening fear, and queasy discomfort caused by the irregular unfamiliarity of agreeing with each other. So of course, England chose to change the subject.
"We should probably go help Russia?"
France turned paler still, and dove for England's first aid kit, and England shot to his feet, suddenly concerned for Russia after seeing the Aftermath and the blood. There was no way Russia would be okay after that! So he rushed to the door, after France, grabbing his coat.
Somewhere in the shower upstairs, Canada began to hum, an early jaunty tone that sent chills down England's spine as he ran out the door.
For the first time in his life, England was praying that Russia was okay.