A/N- Ah, Red Dwarf reference! Points to those who spot that; I couldn't resist. Anyhow, hello everyone! Welcome to oneshot no. 3! I wanted to write a story featuring France and Canada prominently, and this is how it turned out. It's... different... to how I planned it. But I'm pleased with it anyway- I much prefer it to the last one.

Thank you to my reviewers! You people are the most awesome in the world! I've taken everything you said on-board (I hope), and you inspired me to write more of this! Thank you!

For once I have included a few notes at the end of the fic. Please take time to read them and, if you'd like to, click the little 'review' button too. Please? Pasta~!

Enjoy!

ooo

Canada's Birthday

England's Journal

Dear Diary,

Yesterday was Canada's birthday. It took me a little while to realise why I had circled July 1st on my calendar that morning, but as soon as I remembered at half-one I immediately phoned up to give him my best wishes. I was a little surprised to hear that France was already over there, but I was more surprised when the pair of them invited me out drinking. I gather it was France's idea, Canada didn't have much say in the matter, and I also gather that America forgot until he was called. Apparently it then took them thirty minutes to remind him who Canada was, at which point he replied, 'Oh man, what a bummer- tell Canadia I'm sorry but I'm busy pimping my hot rod.' What that means is beyond me; I only hope that 'pimping my hot rod' is not a euphemism for anything. Unless he tries it with France- that might at least keep the bugger from trying to invade my vital regions for a couple of hours.

So the three of us- France, Canada and I- went to a good old-fashioned pub (I put my foot down when the suggestion of visiting a wine bar was made, or the strip club). I ordered myself a pint of bitter; another beer for Canada and France bought himself champagne. The conversation began rather pleasantly; we discussed Canada's birthday presents and any other plans he had, then France ordered us all another round. That went rather well too, but by the time we had gotten to my round of drinks, things had started to get… err… a little 'interesting'…

ooo

"I was heartbroken once…" a dishevelled Englishman groaned into his sleeve, head on the bar. "It was horrible… I felt like a litter tray inside…"

"Full of shit?" France queried, trying to translate from Drunk England into Sober England to follow what the man was saying.

"Yeah…"

"Are you sure it was heartbreak and not your cooking?"

"Bugger off…"

Canada sighed and sipped his beer as he watched the two rivals bicker. True to form they had promptly forgotten about him and he had seemed to cease to exist, even though it was his birthday. When at last he had reached the bottom of his glass, he set it down and asked for another.

"Huh, sorry? Who are you again?" the barkeeper asked as he filled the man's glass.

"I'm Canada…"

"Huh?"

"Never mind…"

The sound of British cursing filled the air as England sloppily tried to pay back France for whatever comment he'd just made.

"Deos imprecor! Interficte! Die bastard, die!"

France looked at the man wryly. "Did you just try to curse me in Latin?"

"Avada kedavra!"

ooo

Needless to say, this only turned out to be the beginning of my problems for the night.

I do not know all of the details of the events that followed. I have only vague recollections of staggering out of the pub, followed closely by an alcohol-uninhibited France and a vague shimmer in the air I assume was Canada. The next few minutes are a blur, but I must have led us to some sort of store because the next thing I remember was a rather embarrassing scene with the birthday boy…

ooo

"Y'know what I bet…?" a rather tipsy Brit slurred, a small trickle of drool slithering down his chin and forming a damp patch of his beer-stained shirt. His tie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck and the top three buttons of his shirt had been ripped off, leaving his collarbone and a good quarter of his chest visible.

"What do you bet?" France asked with a chuckle, eyeing up the drunken man and judging what he could get away with. His fingers tightened around the wine bottle he was carrying as he tried to suppress a snigger.

"I bet… I c'n chug a whole bottle of maple syrup… for Canada!"

Canada looked surprised at this outburst. "You don't have to do that for me! No! You should go home and rest, England. You're clearly intoxicated…"

"You can't stop me, Canada! I'm doing this f'r you! I can chug a whole buttle of marple syrup! J'st you witch me!"

"Uh, France, do you think we should stop him?"

The Frenchman rubbed his chin as he studied England and contemplated. "Best to leave him alone I think. He'll never listen to us like this so we can't stop him. Besides-" He grinned. "-you never know, something fun might happen!"

Canada looked unconvinced, but nodded anyway. The pair of them watched as England staggered into a nearby shop, mumbling about feeding unicorns. A few minutes later he exited, catching his foot on the edge of the mat and splatting into a puddle.

"D'n't w'rry- I g't t' map' s'r'p!"

"What did he say?" Canada asked the other (relatively) sober member of the group.

"Uh, I think he said, 'Don't worry- I got the maple syrup'."

"Now I j'st gotta chug t' bottle!" the drunkard stated with a proud grin, holding the bottle aloft like a trophy as he wobbled to his feet and zigzagged over, wiping a streak of mud and god-knows-what-else off his cheek.

"What do you know?" France commented as he watched the man attempt to open the lid. "England's northern half shows when he is drunk."

Canada raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, not understanding what France meant. He was about to ask when England succeeded in prizing off the lid and held the bottle to his lips.

"Here I go!" he declared, a manic grin on his face and a crazy glint in his eye. Clamping his mouth around the bottle neck, he tipped his head back in one swift, snapping movement, and proceeded to chug the contents, his throat bobbing as he swallowed repeatedly. As the amount of syrup in the container steadily decreased, Canada felt the bile in his throat rising. Tugging his eyes away from the sight for a brief moment, he caught a glance of France's wicked grin as the Frenchman pulled a small camera out of his pocket and proceeded to snap a photo.

The big problem came thirty seconds later, as England finished the bottle. Pulling it away from his mouth, he absentmindedly dropped it to the ground as his eyes struggled to focus. France and Canada watched, seconds dragging out, as he swayed from side to side, trying to gauge his reaction.

"S'not bad… See… I told you… I could do it…"

And with that he lurched forwards, torso heaving, as he grasped onto Canada's shoulders and threw up over the man's front.

"AHHH!" the Canadian cried out as he tried to pull away. France succeeded in grabbing England from behind and dragging him away as he finished puking.

"Much… better…" the bedraggled blond murmured from his hated neighbour's grasp. Canada looked down at himself, dripping with vomit, holding his arms out at the sides.

"Maple…" he whimpered, eyes filling with tears.

"Now now, Canada," France began as he saw the man begin to cry. "Don't be upset. Your birthday is not ruined yet. All we have to do is get you out of those stinky clothes and all will be well."

"But… what if he does it again?" Canada sniffed as a chunk of carrot plopped onto the ground.

France gave him a half smile, a mixture of reassurance and devilish scheming in his eyes. "I don't think he will; his stomach is empty. But if you are really worried, then I will do my best to make sure he won't."

"Thank you," Canada replied, smiling.

"No problem. Now, come on. I know where we can sort out your clothes."

ooo

Again, my haphazard memory of last night cuts out at this point. I do not remember where France took us, or how he prevented my barfing. I can, however, make a few assumptions, based on what I discovered the following morning…

ooo

A low groan echoed around the room as England awoke. The first thing he did before he opened his eyes was to rub his head. It was pounding and felt like a dozen workmen with drills were beating at his skull. The second thing he did was snuggle into the sheets. As his hand had left the safety of the covers to nurse his temples it had been exposed to the bitter cold of the room. The third thing he did was realise that this was quite strange, given the fact that it was July. Finally he opened his eyes as a light breeze ruffled his hair. Blinking drowsily, he caught sight of a fan on the bedside table, next to a bottle of- he couldn't make out the words, not yet anyway. As he pushed himself up with one arm, he realised that his whole body was aching all over, particularly his lower half. Groaning again, he twisted round until he was sat up properly in the bed.

"Urgh… What happened to me last night?"

That was when his foot nudged something. Reaching under the covers, he felt for what it was. Startled as his fingertips brushed against it, he grabbed hold of it and pulled up hard.

"What the hell am I doing with a traffic cone? !"

A murmur and a soft creaking came from nearby as a figure rolled over and crawled up.

"Not so loud, England… My head hurts…"

"Canada? !"

"Oh hon hon hon…" came the overjoyed chuckle of France as he propped himself up in between them. "Good morning, mes chéris…"

England did a double take. Followed by a triple take. Then he gulped. Eyes widening as several very likely possibilities for the events of the previous night entered his mind, he slowly looked down.

He was naked.

Very slowly, he turned his head back towards the bedside table and the small bottle he'd been unable to read earlier. Yep. That confirmed his suspicions.

"I hope you enjoyed your birthday, Canada." France was chattering to the other man as if everything was normal.

England turned his head back round. "France?"

The man in question looked over, a tiny smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. "Yes, England?"

"Prepare to die."

THE END.

ooo

A/N- Hello again! Just a few notes on things mentioned in the story, if you didn't understand them.

France refers to the North of England. Couldn't resist that, it's the part I'm from. Yorkshire born and bred. (Soooooo happy when my county got mentioned in Kuroshitsuji!) It is a stereotype that people from the north of England say t' instead of the. I don't, but a few do. Mostly those with a strong accent. (My own is watered down somewhat due to my proximity to the major city of Leeds.)

The Latin that England says means: "I invoke the gods! Kill!" I took Latin for GCSE and got an A. Still didn't prevent me having to spend an hour double-checking my grammar and vocabulary, having burnt all my Latin notes in a glorious fire once my exams were over. Similarly, the French which France uses means "My darlings". Once again, A* in French- twenty minutes on an online translator... (I'm such a failure...)

Once again, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. I personally reply to every review, if you wish to leave feedback. I always appreciate comments on my work. See you next time (hopefully)!