As I write this, I am also doing another country's chapter. I am writing both at the same time, so it's a toss up, really, as to which one gets finished first.

EDIT: make that writing three chapters at once. Damn you, France!

The whole fiasco could have been avoided if America had only checked his fuel tank the day before he left for the G8 meeting. He was half way to the building, already set to be at least ten minutes late, when the red 'almost empty' light began to flash. According to his sat-nav, the nearest petrol station was twenty-five minutes away. He only just had enough fuel to get that far, if he did not run into too much traffic on the way. The building he was hosting the meeting in was further. It was a choice between what would, in the end, cause him more pain; arriving late to the meeting, or not at all.

He got out his phone and texted Canada.

'wiL b l8. Cn u teL Ger 4 me?'

Quite quickly, he got his reply. Only two letters, but never had the word 'OK' brought such a sense of relief to the superpower. If, however, he had known what kind of repercussions this one text would have, he would have sent a message directly to Germany, despite the long lecture he'd get via text – and who used grammar and full words while texting, anyway? – or through a call he would not be able to ignore without getting a lecture in person that would be at least twice as long.

Canada had finally been given a chance. It would not go to waste.

Before he could set his plan into motion, the quietest nation stopped off at McDonald's to gather the most important things for pulling it off; a mountain of Big Macs and an ocean of milkshakes. He pulled up to the meeting's building, five minutes late, tie loosened, top few shirt buttons undone and suit jacket fully open. His car parked and the trek to the meeting room taken (Would it kill America to install lifts that actually worked?!), the forgettable country paused just outside the door, the sound of England and France's first real fight since The Incident easily passing through the thin wood. Neither of them had spoken about it, but France seemed much less eager to get a rise out of England, choosing instead to take the disagreements and mild insults with good humour and a flirtatious reply. These shut the Englishman up more effectively than any other method that had been tried before, and most nations watched, with great amusement, as he slowly began to resemble, in Spain's words, a tomato. [1] The peace, it seemed, could only last for so long.

For Canada, the fighting was almost a godsend; those two where the only ones who could (semi) reliably tell the difference between him and his southern brother, and the other five would be stressed out by the re-emergence of the hate side of England and France's love-hate relationship. He took a long breath and dug deep inside him, mentally putting himself into the only 'zone' in which he could be easily heard, and even… shout.

Ice hockey match.

Granted, he was more angry than America would be, be he could channel it into America's almost permanently hyperactive aura, right?

Slam!

He kicked the doors to the meeting room open, 'heroic' grin plastered onto his face and an item of fast food in each hand.

"You can all relax! The hero has arrived!" Canada took a large bite of the burger in his left hand. A small part of him stopped, paralysed with shock and not a little fear as every eye was turned on him. He had, however, had much time to observe the other nations while they ignored him, so, with his gelled-up 'Nantucket' bouncing as he moved, the usually forgettable country put into practice everything he had observed and committed to memory. Acknowledge England first, brush off Germany's 'values of punctuality' lecture, fall untidily into seat. He never once sat still, appearing to try to do so after England frowned at him and shook his head, but 'lapsing' back into his energetic fidgeting after five minutes or so. He made sure to add in little comments while another nation spoke, and, when it was England's turn, texted under the table to America.

'no1 here. Meeting called off'

'no1 told me! U sure?'

'room empty. Ger not answering phone'

There – that was America dealt with. He wouldn't be bursting in to complicate things any time soon.

England glared at him as he put his phone away, but Canada just smiled to himself. It was almost intoxicating, being America, even if it was only for one meeting. If this worked, perhaps he would do it again?

He glanced at the agenda; it was his turn to speak. Well, America's turn to speak, and the topic was terrorism. Excellent.

Canada bounded up to the speaker's podium, some crumpled papers fluttering in his hand. He slammed them down with all the strength that he possessed and faced the table. Without once allowing his façade to slip, the normally quiet nation surveyed the six in front of him with a clinical and dispassionate eye.

Italy had all but fallen asleep during England's rather pointed lecture about taxes on imported goods, and, oblivious as he usually was, wouldn't be a cause for worry. Russia, if he noticed Canada, almost always mistook him for his brother and Germany had never noticed him anyway, not even when they had been fighting as Axis and Allies. England had already been taken in, and he was not sure whether France had seen through him, and was just playing along, or if he genuinely thought he was looking at America. As likely as the second was, he still hoped his papa would know him, even in the weak disguise.

"To counter the growing terrorist threat, I think we ought to genetically engineer a superhero to find and eliminate the terrorists in their dens! I propose the name Freedom Fighter!"

"What a ridiculous idea, America. That endless stream of burgers and fatty food and drink you seem addicted to must be affecting you worse than usual."

"Indeed, A-mè-rique," France drew the name out, looking directly into Canada's violet eyes. "I, as much as it pains me to say this, agree with England."

"What do you think we should do? Introduce stricter passport controls, more thorough background checks in government officials and restrict sales of items that could be made into bombs as well as stricter gun ownership rules? HAHAHAHAHAHA! What a joke!"

And that clinched it. He could see the rest of the G8 present nodding contemplatively at the points he had 'jokingly' tossed out.

And so began Canada's rise to power. He showed up disguised as America to every other meeting, his brother confused yet happy about the sudden reduction, and in a matter of years transferred many of America's powers to himself so subtly that no-one noticed. What, after all, are years to an immortal? Before anyone knew it, it was Canada who was deferred to on internationally significant decisions, Canada was swiftly becoming the major superpower of the world, and it was Canada was the most visible North American country.

America found the symptoms extremely irritating. His voice had begun to fade that first meeting he did not realise he had missed. He put it down to fluctuations in his economy at the time, and just focused on beating the bad guy in his latest game. Then, his strength began to wane. He could no longer easily drag around a bus with a single hand, although he would always be physically stronger than, say, Switzerland (not that he needed strength with that aim. America was fairly sure that Italy was still limping…)

In the fourth year of Canada's quiet rise to power, America started to lose clarity in the other nations' eyes. He had to try harder and harder to make himself seen and heard, especially in large meetings. Fewer and fewer countries could see him easily, and he stopped being so loud long ago. Before long, when he was noticed he was mistaken for his brother – even his boss did it once! Soon, only England could see him, albeit unreliably. America, used to constant attention and always having been in the spotlight, was so grateful for the recognition that he almost asked England to be his 'big brother' again, something that would create a huge international stir; just to be noticed.

He dismissed that as a weak moment, but the truth was that Canada was stronger than him! He had to have been to survive this – whatever it was without begging to be taken under someone's wing as a colony again, just for some form of acknowledgement from another country. Truth was, America was lonely. It had been a full decade since Canada's first impersonation and none of the other countries could remember who he was any more. No more games sent over to try by Japan, no more collaborating in throwing kick-ass parties and, possibly worst of all, no-one would sit with him through a horror film marathon. All he had to hold on to was a cushion and/or a thoroughly uncomforting Tony. While America was whimpering at the 'scariest' parts and tried to latch on to his buddy's torso, the alien pushed him off, swearing at him (well, more so than usual).

America's sense of involuntary isolation was heightened when Tony cut off his customary stream of swears and insults to ask the three letter question that he had heard from the bear Canada used to carry around like a teddy bear. Even his best buddy couldn't remember who he was!

Meanwhile, the foundations of the Maple Empire were being laid. More and more films were being set in Canada, exponentially increasing tourism. The Canadian economy was steadily becoming the strongest in the world, and Canada would soon be acknowledged as a global cultural hub.

Speaking of the world, Canada had been able to host a World Meeting for the first time in, well, ever. It was satisfying for him to speak out, to call for silence, and finally to be heard, to be listened to. Yes, this power was at his brother's expense, but America had not changed since he was a colony; mentally, the ex-super-power was still nothing but a child. Surely power should belong to those who would use it properly? Those who knew from experience what it was to be utterly without power, without any form of recognition, and would not be able to abuse it in fear of causing that same pain, the same feeling of utter worthlessness, that he himself had experienced at the hands of the world and, most painfully of all, his own family?[2]

America had dwindled as Canada had grown, but he had always been childish in his power and now, lonely, isolated, rejected, with his international strength and the attention of the world falling away from him, he, as a child would, ran back to his 'big brother'. Canada's rise to being the new superpower of the world brought the nations of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and the United States of America closer than they had been since before the revolution. More and more agreements were signed between America and the one nation that could still see him. More powers were signed over to England until there was just one step left.

LineBreakLineBreak

In a private room in the White House, the symbol of governmental power in the United States, two nations stood either side of a table with their respective bosses. On the table was a document that would, once signed, forever change the political landscape of the world. America and his President were in quiet conversation on one side of the table. England and his Prime Minister waiting patiently on the other.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this, America?"

Subdued and lacking his usual energy, America nodded.

England, not looking or feeling smug at all, stood waiting for America and his boss to sign this document, the official overturning of the Declaration of Independence.

He knew America would come crawling back, sooner or later. All of those colds and depressed fits around the start of July every year meant nothing. Just coincidence that he was all but bed-bound whenever America's birthday rolled around.

America and his President had finished talking and turned to face the other country and his leader.

"Ready?"

America picked up his pen, hand hovering over the paper. Would returning to a 'colony' see his mind, body or both regress? Would he go back to the America that England wanted, the one that could do no wrong, that never had and never could hurt and disappoint Britain the way he, the United States, had hurt and disappointed him?

Huh. Over three centuries of trying to prove his worth as a nation in his own right, and now, with his economy in shreds, his government at the most fragile it had ever been and forgotten by the world, here he was. About to sign over his right to self-governance. He took in a deep breath and closed the distance between the pen's nib and the empty line on the paper that waited for his name.

Funny, that something so flimsy and light could have such heavy effects.

Just as the first spot of ink marked the white space, both of the countries' official phones rang. Only other national representations had the number to these, and they were used only for the most vital of reasons.

And no, a party organised by 'the Awesome' Prussia did not count as a valid reason. Even he accepted that.

The pen dropped as he answered, ink blemishing the clean black and white lines of the document.

It was Russia. In the background, they could hear the sound of someone struggling. America could have sworn that he heard a faint cry of 'Maple!'

"I have found out why Canada has gained so much power!" he said, ever cheery.

Russia had never fully trusted the nation's rise. He had discovered the nation's manipulations and, yes, while there was no love lost between him and America, Canada was simply not as fun as his more hot-headed Southern brother to provoke.

LineBreakLineBreak

After the call that uncovered the manoeuvrings of Canada, America refused to sign the paper. England, needless to say, was furious with Russia. If he had been just one minute later with that call!

All in all, it took about twenty years for the world to return to something close to normal, but the balance of power between the Northern American nations was never completely the same. America never fully regained all of his power, and while Canada still had bouts of invisibility, he could control it, and often used this ability to his advantage.

Mainly to gather amusing blackmail on the other nations.

In fact, it was on one of these blackmail-gathering trips that he met Prussia, who soon spilled his many, many, manyembarrassing stories about his younger bruder.

The rest, as they say, is history.

What, you thought it was coincidence that New Prussia is in Canada?

[1] Spain never again used that word to describe anyone other than Romano after the deep sulk the Italian went into and the sheer expense of the meal required to apologise properly.

[2] I'll admit it; writing this bit gave me just a few feels…

In the previous two chapters, there have some very heavy FrUK hints. I was trying to get some subtle USUK in here – I ship both, but am currently leaning more towards the FrUK side of the FrUKUS triangle. Also, yay for PruCan!

When it comes to shipping, I am very flexible. The only two ships in the Hetalia fandom that I will not move from, no matter the circumstances, are Spamano (my OTP) and GerIta.