Told you I would be back soon!

Please read my other story I promised you: s/12318110/1/Another-World

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Chapter 12

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Canada's phone rang once again from its place in the front seat. He didn't want to pick it up. He didn't want to. But on the fifth ring, he gave up trying to be selfish.

"H-hello."

"Mon cher. Where the hell have you been?"

He could hear the exhaustion and irritation in his Papa's voice. Guilt seeped into his conscious.

"I-I've been driving."

"Driving where? Why did you leave?"

"I needed to go somewhere."

"But where?"

"I . . . just somewhere. I-I'm coming back though. I'll be back soon."

"Get back soon. Please."

"Oui, Papa. . . . Are – are you okay?"

"Just tired. . . sorry for yelling."

"It's okay."

The raspy voice on the other side faded into soft breathing.

"I promise I'll be there by morning. Love you, Papa."

"hmm. . . Love you."

A click.

Canada focused back on driving. He hoped he could get there soon.

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The cigarette between France's lips was slowing burning, bits falling off little by little. He didn't care much, though. He didn't even realize. His mind was filled with blurred images of the past centuries.

Canada and America were very adorable children when they were growing up. He was never around much for America, though, always being stuck in a fight with Britain during then. He tried to visit his own home and be there for Canada as much as possible. Even more so than his rival did. Maybe that's the reason he lost the 100 Years War. He was too involved with his child to focus on the fight. But then again, he was able to spend time with Canada. He was able to teach him courage, kindness, and his beautiful language. But Britain? He knew that Arthur was solely focused on beating him. He could only guess how many years America spent alone without his father. He could remember the day he had to give Canada away to Britain.

On the docks, he had held Canada's hand tightly. The young boy had just looked up at him, smiling as always. He knew the child didn't realize what was about to happen. Betrayal.

But when he had seen America, who had hid behind Britain, a smug look on his face, France had noticed the disappointment in the young boy's eyes. He had realized that this boy thought Britain was leaving again. Leaving him to grow up alone. To cry alone.

France had barely heard Britain's pompous voice in that moment. All he had wanted to do was cry. Cry for his own child. Cry for America. And cry for himself. He had stopped caring that Britain had won. The war had been too high of a price for these children. He and Britain had been fools. Too stupid to realize before that they should have been caring for their children, not their egos.

"So this is where you went. We've been looking for you."

The voice jerked France out of his thought. The last bit of the cigarette fell, hitting the top of his leg. He was able to wipe it away, though, before it burned through his pants.

"Norway?"

The other nation had his signature frown plastered on, hiding even more of his irritation behind it.

"Looking for me, huh?"

"Quit smoking and get up. We have a boy to help."

"Think we can actually help him though." France sneered. "He's already gone through some hell. Why should we push him further? Maybe we should let him stay oblivious."

France started to grab another cigarette, trying to ignore the other. Norway wasn't having any of that, though. His foot flew through the air, the sole hitting the tree a second later, inches from France's head.

"We both know America is a powerful nation. If he falls, we all go through hell. And I'm not looking forward to that."

Though they were nearly the same age, France has always been a little uneasy around the other. Especially since the Viking ages. But now he showed no fear and looked Norway straight in the eyes.

"We could find someone else to take his place."

"Oh? And what good would that do? Wouldn't they go through hell also?"

"Who knows? But wouldn't it be better than having America sit on that gilded throne again." France shrugged his shoulders. "We're always saying how annoying he is. How tiresome his antics get. Even you have thought of slapping him just a bit, right? Especially after him and Denmark go out for drinks. I've even had to suffer with Prussia showing up at my house late in the night asking for a place to sleep because of him-"

"Sounds like you don't care in the slightest for Alfred."

Words cut through the mask he had put on. It fell off, revealing a saddened smirk. His words were lost.

"Do you care? Francis?"

Another shrug. "Who knows. I wish I could say I care for his works, but some I just don't agree with."

"Not for America. For Alfred."

"Alfred?"

"Yes. You know the boy your arch rival raised. Your son's brother. The man who aided you in both World Wars. The man you and Britain always make fun of at meetings. The man who was ran over by a truck a few days ago. The man who is probably having another break down right now due to some sick, twisted post-traumatic stress from all the battles and wars he's fought over the years. That man! The one we owe our lives to!"

France could not bring himself to look in to the other's icy eyes. He could not bring himself to admit how annoyed he was at himself for being so childish at a time like this.

"I'm. Sorry."

"If you were truly sorry, you'd help us figure out a way to help that poor man get back up on his feet."

"I know. I know. It just scares me. He's always gone through hell. Most times because of his own pride and arrogance. But many more because of his protective nature over those he holds dear. Alfred. America. He has to be so strong. . ."

The soft thump of business shoes stepping away brought France to raise his eyes. He only saw Norway's back, still clothed in a striped dress shirt.

"We have to be strong."

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Britain sat there, hunched over. He focused on Alfred's breathing, while trying to push all the thoughts out of his mind.

He didn't know why he tried to run from his duties as an older brother. As a father.

Yes, Alfred had fought and won his freedom more than two centuries ago. But that didn't mean Britain had to stop caring about him.

He was so engrossed in his self-hatred that he didn't hear the door creak open. It was only when it shut hard that his eyes shot up towards the intruder.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He growled, getting to his feet.

The other nation didn't speak, just looked at Alfred.

"Talk now, Russia! Or else!"

"Trying to threaten me, black sheep?"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Russia's normal smile slipped, leaving a frown in its place.

"For Alfred."

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Please go read Another World! Thank you! s/12318110/1/Another-World