Friends, Brothers and Fancy Burgers

It was another bright day, with the chill of the fast approaching winter nipping at their noses and ears. The cold breeze was helping to alleviate the stinging of their sore heads, but the four of them together were rowdy and a little too loud, stopping them from nursing themselves properly. It had been commented more than once that they were bad influences on each other, and Britain couldn't deny there was some truth in it, but they didn't see each other too often, and it was good for the soul to let loose every now and again. The old market that Prussia took them to was up and going early, as all the good markets are, and the vendors were in full swing, calling out to them as they passed. Never one to tolerate the cold, France had linked his arm with Britain's and was sticking closer to him than his own clothes. Spain was already bundled up in his big winter coat (bloody Mediterainians), with a hat and earmuffs, while Prussia and England seemed to be fine in their light jackets.

"Mon ami, how are you not freezing your ass off?" France whined to them as he shivered, squeezing Britain's arm.

"Pfft! Look at you, shivering like a baby!" Prussia exclaimed "You'd think there was never winter in France!"

"There is never winter in France!" he denied completely.

Spain just laughed.

"It's not even snowing, amigo." he pointed out "Stop being a baby."

"'Cos I am sure you have sooo much experience with cold and snow."

"Stop being such a big girls blouse, France." Britain scorned "It's not becoming of a man, or a nation."

"Your metaphors confuse me, cher."

The four of them bumbled through the market to the riverfront where they were meeting America. The young nation wasn't waiting alone, his brother and Japan with him, eating an absurd amount of bagels that they had bought from one of the stalls. Automatically, Prussia and Spain started to run toward them, yelling and screeching, and Japan knowingly hid behind Canada so he wouldn't be jumped on. The mild-mannered nation easily handled the other two leaping at him, but Mr. Kumajiro certainly didn't appreciate it, biting anything that came close enough. Britain doubted that a Spaniard had ever been bitten by a polar bear, but there was a first time for everything, and he tried desperately not to laugh as the group tried to pry the animal off his hand. America examined England closely, the same as he had yesterday, until his brother roughly nudged him with his elbow.

"I am torn." France admitted as he squeezed Britain's arm "My little Canada looks so very warm with his big fluffy jumper that I want to use him like a hot water bottle, but when again will mon petite lapin be so docile?"

"Alright, let go."

Britain tried to take his arm back, pulling away from France, but he held tight and whined about being cold. Sensing hijinks, Spain and Prussia piled on them too.

"I'm cold, I'm cold!" they chorused "Warm me up, Britain!"

"Get off, you gits!" England scolded, stumbling under their weight "This isn't dog pile on Britain day!"

"Aren't older nations supposed to be more mature?" Canada wondered aloud.

"In theory, yes." Japan agreed "But just look at China, and he's over 4000 years old."

"Wow, that's seriously old." America marvelled "How does he not have, like, a million wrinkles yet?"

Meandering through the market, the seven of them (or eight, if you included the bear) were more of a nuisance than anything else. Occasionally they bought something, but mostly they just blocked the stalls – America and Canada marvelled over the 'ethnicness' of everything ('Look at all these sausages just hanging around, that's so weird!' 'Hey, these toys are really made of wood!'), Japan took pictures of everything (like he hadn't had enough of that yesterday), while Spain wandered about trying all the free samples. Prussia took the opportunity to restock his larder, while France stuck to England like he was the last remaining source of heat in the world. America seemed a little too excited to find a stall selling burgers, but pulled a funny face when he bit into it.

"This tastes weird." He postured.

"That's because it's a real burger." Britain pointed out "It's been made with mince, onions and garlic and fried. You won't find any processed garbage or mono-sodium glutamate in there."

"What-whaty whatwhat?"

"Ugh, your idea of a 'real' burger is so bland." France criticised "How about throwing some red peppers in, with creamy Gruyere cheese and vegetables?"

"Dude, that's not a burger!" America insisted "Burgers need pickles, grilled onions and secret sauce!"

"Shut up, you jerks, you're making me hungry!" Prussia ordered.

"With a relish made with fresh tomatoes, extra virgin olive oil and salt and pepper." Spain agreed.

"I hate you all!" their host declared, turning on his heels back the way they had come "Now I have to buy ingredients for burgers as well!"

Spain chased him back towards the fruit and veg stall to help him pick put fresh produce.

"Don't bother to ask if we actually want to eat burgers." Britain muttered after them.

"Considering all the burgers at your place are laced with horse, I'm not surprised you're off them." Canada laughed.

"Horse is a legitimate foodstuff!" France fumed "People have been eating horse for centuries!"

America and Canada's shuddered, jaws dropping open in horror at the very thought, but Japan nodded sagely.

"Seriously?!" America shrieked.

"Yes, its true." Japan confirmed "It's not eaten in my country, but I ate it on the continent often before my isolation."

America screamed in a way only he was capable off, wrapping his arms around his body and trying the to shake the information from his head, crying 'nope nope nope nope nope' over and over again. Canada's face was frozen in disgust.

"I don't think I would like to try it." He said honestly, squeezing his bear.

"You probably have and don't realise it." Britain teased.

"It tastes like game." Kumojiro agreed, making the man holding him physically shudder.

A sudden cold wind swept through the market, and France somehow stuck even closer to Britain.

"You wouldn't be cold if you dressed better." The Brit criticised.

"What? I am perfectly dressed!" France hissed "This is the very best designer couture!"

"All style and no substance."

"Better than your ugly attire! What is that, tweed?!"

"Houndstooth."

"Even worse!"

The two bickered away happily, practically standing on each others feet, not noticing a pair of blue eyes trained on them closely, until his brother elbowed him once again.

"Quit staring." Canada hissed "You're being rude."

"I can't help it!" America whispered back (as best as he could whisper, anyway) "Why is France hanging all over him like that, anyway?"

"Its annoying having a big French-speaking blond hanging on you all the time." Kumojiro agreed, looking up at Canada "Who are you?"

"I'm Canada." He sighed.

"Who?"

"All I'm saying!" America went on "I mean, why didn't he come to me if he was feeling down? I know how to cheer people up! Making people happy is what heroes do!"

"It's not an emotion." Canada tried to tell him again "It's an illness. You're not a doctor."

"Neither is France! And I don't smell like cheese."

Canada could only sigh.

"If you were ill, you would want England to take care of you because he's the one you care about most." He explained "That's the reason France is staying with him."

"But they aren't even close! They're always fighting!"

"They're neighbours. They've invaded and conquered each other several times. They're best friends as well as enemies… they're practically brothers…" he sighed again "If you can't understand, there's no way I can explain. Not all relationships are simple."

"What you said makes no sense." America said flatly "You're either friends or enemies, you can't be both."

Canada opened his mouth to try and explain again, but Japan pulled on his sleeve to get his attention, simply shaking his head, and the blond closed his mouth. Some things were just more effort than they was worth.

"The important thing is how to get the idiot frenchie away from Britain!" America went on "There's no way he's gonna cheer up with someone he hates clinging to him like that!"

"Please, listen when I talk." Canada sighed.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Canada."

Prussia refused to let anyone back in his house when he remembered what a state it was in, slamming the door in their faces with shrieked apologies. A cacophony of banging and scraping could be heard for a good five minutes before he opened the door again, the only sign of his struggles being a single bead of sweat on his brow, rictous grin frozen on his face.

"Come in, come in, welcome to my awesome home!" he bid.

"We were here last night, idiot." France reminded him as he walked in, finally releasing Britain's arm "You better not have thrown out my underwear!"

Prussia pulled a face.

"If it's not on your person or in your suitcase, I set it on fire."

"Please tell me you didn't expose Ms. Hungary to your undergarments." Japan urged.

"This is France." Britain pointed out "Hungary considers herself lucky if she sees him in his knickers."

"As opposed to being in her knickers, non?"

Prussia punched France in the face. No one stopped him.

The impromptu barbecue lasted all evening, the host pulling together potato salad, fresh bread and cold meats from his larder, with France teaching Canada how to make burgers properly. Each made their own version, and it ended up as a pretty interesting, if somewhat meat centred dinner – Spain's burger was so full to the brim with tomatoes and paprika that it went bright red; Prussia's loaded with black pepper and chunks of potato; Japan's was smaller than the rest and simply added soy sauce to the base ingredients; and France's was mixed with red peppers and had a centre with melted cheese. No-one let England in the kitchen: he tried certainly, but they found ways. Concerned for the safety of his brand new kitchen appliances, Prussia sacrificed his precious beer and commandeered the assistance of his two dogs, Ralph and Franz, to keep him busy, knowing Britain's weakness to animals (especially fluffy ones).

It was late evening before America, Japan and Canada needed to leave and catch their respective planes home. Spain stayed a little longer, since Romano was going to be in a completely foul mood now his beloved little brother had married (especially since it was someone he didn't like), and even Boss Spain could only take so much of his little Romano in a bad mood (he was bad enough when he was in a good mood – how many times can you call someone a bastard in a conversation?). Prussia excused himself for an early night, leaving Britain and France to pack their bags for their flight tomorrow.

"Are you alright?" England suddenly asked as he folded away his suit trousers.

"Hm? Moi?" France smiled at him over the bed "I'm perfect. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You were very clingy today." He pointed out "Even for you."

"Ah, je suis desole, I must apologise to America next time I see him."

"America?"

"Oui, I underestimated him. I thought for certain that his inability to read the mood would cause a problem for you today, but I was wrong."

Britain laughed.

"Yes, he does put his foot in his mouth quite a lot, doesn't he? But you don't need to worry about him – I don't take anything he says seriously."

"Mon ami, you are a terrible liar!"

"Shut up and pack. We're not running around tomorrow morning because you can't find something!"

"Oui, oui."

A few days later, across the other side of the planet, America sat in his brothers house, arms crossed, feet up on the coffee table, brow furrowed in agitation. Canada sat patiently on the armchair beside him, the ticking of the clock the loudest noise in the room as he waited for him to speak.

"Um…"

"I HATE THIS!" America suddenly roared, throwing his arms up theatrically "I feel so useless! I couldn't cheer England up at all thanks to that fucker France hanging all over him! And now he's on the other side of the planet, I can't even talk to him! Oh, I know! I'll move to England! How does that sound?!"

"Sounds like a bad idea." Canada answered honestly.

"Eeeeh?" America sighed "Yeah, you may be right. I could never get used to all that rain. One shower a day is enough."

"What-"

"I know! How about I send him 200 crates of tea! That bastard loves tea!"

"Why 200?"

"One for every year I've been independent!"

"Has it been exactly 200 years?"

"No, but do you think that's important? You think 200 isn't enough?"

"I think it would bother him."

"I know!"

"Again?"

"He likes animals, right? I'll find 200 jackalopes and ship them to him! How much do you think it would cost to ship a jackalope?"

"I'm pretty sure they don't exist."

"Dude, jackalopes totally exist! I went to this restaurant one time in death valley and they had the head of one on the wall!"

"You're an idiot."

In the hallway, the phone started to ring. Canada excused himself to answer it, hoping his brother would be on a different subject by the time he got back. Being the big kid he was, however, America tailed him and listened in on the conversation, peaking just around the doorframe.

"Hello?" Canada greeted as he picked up the receiver "Oh, Cuba! Good evening…oh, it's still afternoon there? How's the weather?... ah, that sounds nice…uh, yeah, he's here…no, no, I'm fine…that's really not necessary… thank you, but it's really okay…thank you…you're very kind… I'm sorry…okay, talk to you soon."

As he went to put the phone down, America couldn't help himself.

"COOOMMMIIEEE!" he yelled, causing Canada to slam the receiver down on the cradle, his entire body going bright red in embarrassment.

"You fucking idiot!" he cursed "How the fuck are we related?!"

"Dude, calm down, bro. Where's your ice-cream?"

America wandered off to the kitchen. Canada could strangle him, stomping off to give him a good talking to.

"Don't go helping yourself to other peoples ice-cream!" he scolded, following his idiot brother to the larder.

"Canada, dude, why are you still friends with that donkey-eating weirdo?" America asked as he rooted around through his freezer.

"He's a good friend." Canada said simply "And for that matter-"

"He's a communist."

"That doesn't change the fact that he's a good friend. He's really been there for me over the years."

"What the hell for? You don't have any problems."

Canada didn't have time to answer before America jumped up in triumph, holding a bag on mince.

"Found it!" he declared.

"Wha… weren't you looking for ice-cream?"

"I figured it out while you were yapping your gums with that communist." he went on "The only reason Britain is putting up with France is because he can cook good, right?"

"That's not right at all."

"So I'm gonna learn to make fancy burgers too. Then Britain won't have to live with someone he hates! I'll totally be his hero, and then he'll owe me, and I can totally use that to broker economic treaties on my favour!"

"You're an idiot."

"So!" he finished as he shoved the mince into Canada's hands "Teach me how to make the fancy burgers!"

"What? Me?"

"France showed you, right? You can totally teach me! We'll add some processed cheese and food colouring and stuff to make it even better!"

"Food colouring? What for?" Canada marvelled.

"To cheer England up, of course! We'll do a red, white and blue one and turn it into a union jack! That'll be totally sweet! And then we'll do one twice the size in old glory! Oh, and if there are any left-overs, we can to the Canadian flag. What is the Canadian flag anyway?"

Canada couldn't help but laugh through his nose.

"You really care about other people, don't you?"

"Of course! That's what heroes do!"

Knowing that there was no arguing with America, Canada agreed to show him how to make the 'fancy' burgers, but he drew the line at the food colouring. He knew that it would probably piss England off more than anything else to receive 200 Union Jack burgers (again with 200?), but his brother seemed pretty determined, and when he got an idea in his head, no matter how awful and stupid, it was hard to dislodge it. Once the ingredients were cut and weighed, Canada gave the eggs to his brother to crack into the mixture.

"You can change the amount of onions and garlic in the mix based on your preferences, but always use the right amount of eggs to meat, or the burger will fall apart as it cooks." he instructed as he rolled up his sleeves to wash his hands "You have to mix it with your hands. If you try to use a blender, you'll end up with a mush, and you may as well get a McDonalds."

"I like McDonalds." America defended.

"I know you do." Canada said "Everyone knows you do."

"Whaaat? What does that mean?"

"Nothing."

Canada grabbed the bowel from his brother and put it down on the counter, getting his hands into the gooey contents.

"Pay attention to this part, it's important. You have the cook the onions before adding them to the mixture or they won't cook properly when you fry them. Once the egg is mixed in properly, you can make the patties, but don't squeeze them too much to all the juice will run out. Are you listening, America?"

He wasn't listening: he was staring at Canada's arms, expression hard to read. Canada felt his blood drain, head growing light and dizzy. He had forgotten. He started to pull his sleeves down, but America grabbed his arms and pulled them closer for a better look, strong hands like a vice grip against his wrists. His eyes were cold and analytical as he took in every scar, cut, knick and abrasion on his brothers arms. Most of the strait, clean cuts had long-since healed, but some, just enough, were fresh.

"Am-"

America hit him hard across the face, knocking him off his feet and into the kitchen table, sending the chairs flying. Without a word to his brother, he stormed to the front door, slamming it hard behind him. It took Canada a moment to come to his senses from the unexpected assault. He eventually got up from the floor, washed the mince and onions off his hands, taking time to dry them properly before going back in to the hall and picking up the phone. His friend picked up after the second ring.

"Hi, Cuba. Can I talk to you?"

Canada didn't sleep well. He often woke in the middle of the night and wondered around the house until he felt tired enough to sleep again. Tonight was no different. If anything, it was worse, as he feverishly tossed and turned before getting up to make himself some toast and tea, events weighing heavily in his mind.

When he heard about Britain's depression, he had been happy, and he hated himself for that. Not because he wanted Britain to suffer – the man was like a father to him – but because, for the first time in a long time, he felt like he belonged to something. He knew that these kinds of problems often ran in families, but none of his kin seemed to suffer from the same problems he did. Knowing that his 'father' had depression… it was a connection, a similarity, a family trait. It was comforting

Cuba had listened to him, as he always did, and threatened to beat the shit out of America, as he always did: Canada didn't know what state he would be in without his precious friend on his side. Being so far away was hard, especially during the dark days, when everything seemed to overwhelm him all at once and he just couldn't cope, but Cuba would always pick up the phone, no matter what the time was, to listen to him.

As the toast popped, kettle steaming away to itself, Canada got the butter out the fridge and opened the cutlery drawer. He automatically reached for a knife, but froze when his hand hit the bare wood.

"What?"

All his knives were gone. He looked under the cutlery tray, but they weren't hiding. They weren't in the drawer below, none in the drainer or gathered in the side... Looking in his other drawers, he found his cooking knives were also missing. So were his peelers, his scissors… and his corkscrew?

"What?"

"I threw them out." Announced the familiar voice behind him.

Canada turned around: America stood at the kitchen door, looking more serious than his brother had ever seen him, with an absurdly large suitcase at his side.

"Am-"

"I'm so mad at you, Canada!" America said immediately "I'm mad that you didn't tell me something was wrong. I'm mad that you chose to confide in that communist instead of me. I'm your brother! I'm mad that you've done this to yourself, and I don't understand why! I'm mad, and I'm hurt! Did you want to die? Is that it?"

"Of course not." Canada muttered "I knew I wouldn't die. It's not about dying..."

"Then why? I don't understand! Please, explain it to me! I want to know!"

Canada sighed and smiled at his brother.

"Someone like you can't understand." He told him "It's impossible for you."

"Why?"

"Because of the way you are. You're my brother, but… you can't understand, no matter how hard you try."

This answer only seemed to make America mad, and he picked up the suitcase, marching over to Canada and shoving it in his hands.

"Pack." He ordered.

"What?"

"I'm not going to stay at your place." America announced "So you're coming home with me! I may not understand what's going on with you, but I know I can't trust you to be alone!"

"I…it's two in the morning!"

"So? We're both awake, so why not now?"

The two stared each other down. Canada was the first to relent.

"You're an idiot." He said calmly "I'm not the same as Britain. You think you're going to take care of me? You don't even know what's wrong with me. You barely know me at all. How do you think you're going to help me?"

America looked mad and confused, gritting his teeth.

"I don't know." He admitted "I don't know. But I know that I'm your brother. I know I want to help you. I know I want to do something."

He knocked the suitcase out of Canada's hands and threw his arms around his brother.

"I don't know what to do." He sobbed into his brothers hair "If we were 'human', I'd take you home to mom and dad, and we'd get you help. But we're nations, there is no 'mom and dad', and I don't know where to find help. All I know is that I'm your brother, and I have to do something."

Matthew squeezed his brother, and Canada could feel his tears on his shoulders.

"I'm taking you 'home'!" America announced again "I won't let you hurt yourself, Canada! I won't let you! I'll save you! I'm the hero! Heroes save people! I'm the hero!"

America dissolved into sobs. Canada just sighed and placed his hands on his brothers back gently.

"It's alright, eh?"

"Don't say that! That's my line! Stupid lying Canada!"

Canada's insides remained calm as his brother cried on his shoulder. He rubbed his back patiently, waiting from him to stop crying, or for the sun to rise, whichever came first.

Downer ending? Depression rarely appears at random, and can take other forms from the listless and weepy variety. Canada was a 'good candidate', considering his canon is that he's constantly ignored, attacked, and mistaken for his brother. I want to believe that America is just dense, not deliberately cruel. I might take this side-line further, if I run out of ideas for the main storyline. In the next chapter, we return to England and France, and I can warn you now that things will get worse for Britain before it gets better. Also, micro-pigs.