Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1037684.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Hetalia:_Axis_Powers
  Relationship:
      Canada_(Hetalia)/England_(Hetalia)/France_(Hetalia)/_Scotland_(Hetalia),
      America_(Hetalia)/Canada_(Hetalia), America_(Hetalia)/France_(Hetalia)
  Character:
      America_(Hetalia:_Axis_Powers), Canada_(Hetalia:_Axis_Powers), England_
      (Hetalia:_Axis_Powers), France_(Hetalia:_Axis_Powers), Scotland_(Hetalia:
      Axis_Powers), New_York_(Hetalia), Virginia_(Hetalia)
  Additional Tags:
      Mpreg, graphic_birth, multiple_mpregs, superfecundation, Romance,
      questionable_parenting, Foursome_-_M/M/M/M
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-11-09 Completed: 2014-02-20 Chapters: 18/18 Words: 55459
****** How It Begins ******
by ferix79
Summary
     England, Canada, France and Scotland have one hell of a drunken
     kegger in December 1866. Canada goes through it for 7 months, and
     America does, too, to a lesser extent. De anon from the kink meme
     from years ago.
     WARNING: this contains graphic descriptions of birth. The chapters
     with this will be marked, and you can skip over them.
Notes
     Canada is physically about 16 in this.
     This takes place on New Years. I changed the date of conception a bit
     because quadruplets almost never make it to full term, especially
     since this is the 1800s and not modern day. So a 7 month gestation
     period (Jan-July) would be slightly more accurate.
     As I said before, this is a de anon from the kink meme from 2010.
     I'll post a chapter every few days I guess? Expect little difference
     from the kink meme version.
***** Chapter 1 *****
“Oh, Canada.” England slurred, taking a swig from his mug and throwing an arm
around Canada, “It’s such a joy to spend the holiday with you and not that
blasted America.”
“Oui, I agree. He’s been nothing but trouble lately, with his civil war and
slavery. You’ve been the complete opposite of him, but you always are, of
course.” France nuzzled the boy’s neck and Canada giggled as the man’s stubble
tickled him.
“Yes, such a good boy…” That was Scotland, and even though his mouth tasted
like rum, Canada was intoxicated in too many ways to care.
“Let us take care of you, hm?”
—————————————————
Hours later, England woke. He rose slowly out of the bed, well aware of the
dull ache pounding in his skull. After rolling his shoulders a bit, he glanced
to his right.
Canada. In bed. Naked. Was he naked? England actually lifted the blanket to
confirm, and he sure was. Rather than panic, however, he stayed quite calm.
Canada must have been having an effect on him, because the boy’s face in sleep
was the definition of relaxation. With his face turned toward England, Canada’s
golden hair was splayed across the pillow behind him. No tension or stress
marred his eyebrows or forehead, and if England looked closely, he would swear
that the boy had the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips. The slightly darker
hair that mingled with Canada’s at the tips is not his colonies’, however, and
his eyes follow that hair to the next pillow over and—
Now England panicked.
“France!” he whispered yet screamed at the same time. Canada did not move, but
France jerked awake.
“A-Angleterre. What—where…?” he trailed off, glancing around the room for a
moment and then down at Canada. England watched him, and saw his eyes soften
for a moment then grow wide at his, Canada’s and his own state of undress. And
he almost began yelling at the frog again, but Canada being fast asleep in
between them and France’s own look of confusion prevented him. With no
accusations to scream at France, England is lost for words and the two stared
at each other in silence for a moment, the unvoiced question lingering in both
their minds.
The door slowly creaks open.
“Morning, lover boys.” Scotland drawled, leaning against the doorframe and
staring at the two men in bed. France and England look to him, then back at
each other, and then back to Scotland. England is the one to break their
silence.
“Did we really…?”he questioned, leaving the last few words hanging, but
Scotland understood.
“Yep, from what I can remember. Quite a night, if I do say so myself.” He
smirked, like he was remembering a fond memory.
A number of emotions played out on England’s face, but his eyebrows soon
furrowed and he settled on anger. France’s mouth dropped open a bit and his own
eyebrows shot up on his forehead.
“You arsehole! We slept with Matthew and that’s all you can say?” he whisper
shouted once again, gesturing down to the sleeping boy.
“What do you want me to say, Arthur?” Scotland sneered, “It’s not like we can
change what happened last night now. The deed is already done, might as well
make the most of it.” France was sure he heard England actually growl.
“Get off of my land. I don’t care how, just get out. I don’t want to see your
sorry arse for years.” He stated, a malicious undertone to his voice. Scotland
snorted, turned, and then slammed the door shut. France and England flinched
and immediately turned their gazes towards Canada. The boy seemed to flinch at
the noise, but did not wake otherwise.
England did not seem to be in the mood to talk, so France was forced to do it
himself.
“Arthur.” He stated plainly. The Englishman glanced up at him, indicating that
he had his attention. “I believe we must…make a truce for a few days. For
Matthieu.”
England stared at him for a moment, but then answered. “I suppose you’re right.
For him.” He nodded, looking back to France, “What do you suppose we do?”
The Frenchman had turned his eyes towards the sleeping boy, his gaze soft and
sweet. “We act as if it never happened.”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
France and England decided that dressing and making themselves presentable was
a priority before Canada woke. After getting a change of clothes, they fought
over what to do next outside of Canada’s door.
“What will we do when he wakes? The boy was a virgin—”
“I’m not so sure about that, frog…”
“Are you implying that I molested him as a child?”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it past you.”
“I could say the same to you, rosbif.”
After cooling off for a few minutes, they tried again, this time in the sitting
room.
“As I was saying, our dear Matthieu was a virgin before this. When he wakes he
will no doubt be, ahem, aware of our activities.” France said, crossing his
arms and staring expectantly at England. France was perched on a loveseat
patterned in earth tones while England sat across from him in an elegant
armchair—something he himself had brought back from the far reaches of his
empire, no doubt.
“Well what are we to do about it now?” England asked. France rolled his
eyes—leave it to England to be completely unhelpful.
“Well, Arthur, there will not only will he be in pain, but there will also be
physical evidence present. It would…probably be quite startling for him.”
France said, concern in his voice.
England narrowed his eyes for a moment unsure what the man was referring to,
but then gasped as his eyes widened in realization. “But there’s nothing we can
do about…that, is there? He would wake if we tried anything.” said England.
“Yes, that is the problem. The moment he sits or stands up it will drip out,
and there will be nothing we can do.” France said, looking down and resting his
chin in his fingers, “Unless, we somehow manage to get him into a bath without
waking him. Matthieu is a good child, he will not question something that both
of his fathers are doing.” He glanced back up at England, waiting for the man’s
reaction.
“Bathe him ourselves? I haven’t done that in decades…” he trailed off,
remembering having to force both the rambunctious America and quiet Canada into
a basin to wash. With his colony much older, it would no doubt go more
smoothly. Silence lay between them for a few moments, but then England spoke
up. “Yes, I suppose it could work. He will be sleepy and…probably quite hung
over from last night. He might not even realize what is going on.” England
nodded to himself.
“Yes, I was thinking the same thing.” answered France. He crossed one leg over
the other. “So, how long will you stay here? I have…other business I must
attend to on the continent, so I must leave by tomorrow morning.”
England thought for a second, and then answered. “I must return overseas soon.
I have maybe two days at best. My legislature is eager to reconvene after the
holiday for some new law or other. They tell me that I absolutely must be
there, but haven’t said a word on what it’s all about.”
“Hm” was France’s only response before he stood. “Well, we should really get
going with this, then. Who will wash him?” The question lingered in the air,
both nations staring each other down—France with a confident smirk on his face,
England with a glare.
“He is my colony. I will wash him—wouldn’t trust you for a minute around him
nude, anyway.” England stated plainly, also standing and moving towards the
room Canada still slept in. After England disappeared from France’s line of
sight, the man’s smirk dropped right off his face. His precious Matthieu was,
as the other nation insisted, an English colony now.
Before England opened the door to Canada’s room, he stopped and addressed
France, but did not look at him. “You could cook for him, Francis.” He said,
which peeked the Frenchman’s attention, “He…he loves your, what do you call
them, crepes? He even makes them himself, from time to time. If he woke up to a
truly French breakfast I’m sure he would be…thrilled.” England said, hesitating
before pushing the wooden door open slowly so it would not creak much, leaving
France in the sitting room, smirk having returned to his face.
England checked to see that Canada was still soundly sleeping before going to
draw a bath. The water was only lukewarm—heated over the fire in a rush—but it
would do. Once the tub was filled England delicately lifted the edge of the
sheet that was just barely covering his colony’s hips and peeled it back to the
edge of the bed. The boy had turned in his sleep since he and France had woken,
so luckily he was lying on his back. England straightened up for a second and
took a deep breath before leaning over the bed and slowly wriggling his arms
under the sleeping colony.
With his arms completely under the boy—he could even see his fingers over
Canada’s stomach—England halted all movement for a moment, awkwardly hovering
over the bed. When Canada did not stir, he heaved the boy up into his arms,
making his best attempt not to jostle him too much, and waited until the still
sleeping Canada settled in to his embrace.
It made him blush a bit, seeing Canada’s head resting against his shoulder. He
was reminded of days when both brothers were small enough to fit into his arms.
He quickly shook off the thought, though, remembering his current task.
The door to the adjacent room was already wide open, so England didn’t even
have to nudge it open with his shoulder. The room was bare, save for a maple
armoire filled with linens, a window on the opposite wall, and the full bathtub
in the center. England debated for a second the best method of placing Canada
in the tub, and then kneeled slowly, as if he was carrying and armful of the
finest china. He struggled a bit due to the awkward position, but soon his
second knee was on the floor and Canada was being gradually lowered into the
warm water.
England was glad that he rolled his sleeves up prior to the bath, because just
lowering the boy into the tub caused the water to rise to his elbows. With the
water and tub supporting him, England was finally able to let go of his colony
with a relieved sigh. He glanced back up to his face for a moment and, sure
enough, Canada was still fast asleep, the boy’s head tilted to the side and
resting on the edge of the tub. England allowed himself to feel accomplished
for a moment before getting down to his actual job.
The tub wasn’t very wide, but it would do, England decided. He managed to nudge
Canada’s legs apart just enough to slip his hand past the boy’s thighs. Easily
finding his hole, England watched Canada’s face as he slowly pushed in.
Canada’s eyebrows seemed to furrow just so, and his nose wrinkled a bit
throughout the process, but he still did not wake, and for that England was
extremely grateful. There was less semen than he expected—all three of them did
did have their way with him—but England was just glad for the task to be over
quicker.
With the majority of it cleaned out, England rinsed his hands in the bathwater
and then moved to grab the cloth and bar of soap beside the basin. Suds began
to cloud the water, which relieved England because Canada wouldn’t notice the
remainder of the previous night’s activities. As he moved to the boy’s chest,
however, Canada stirred.
“Arthur…?” he mumbled, lifting a hand out of the cooling water and rubbing at
his eyes, only to pull away when he felt the water. “W-what? Arthur why am I in
a bath?” he questioned, not immediately surprised by his own nakedness. The
moment after the question left his mouth, however, he snapped his eyes shut and
groaned, bringing a hand up to his eyes again.
England nearly panicked when Canada woke, but soon put up a calm and caring
façade. He answered Canada with a warm smile. “Last night was…a bit rough for
you. What you’re feeling is a hangover, no doubt. You were very drunk, to say
the least.” England said, resisting the urge to coo at those large, lavender
eyes before they shut. When Canada turned away from the window in pain he
frowned and ran a hand through the boy’s still partially dry hair. “Scotland
and France are not the best company for you, so I thought a warm bath would be
best. A good way to start off the new year, at least.” He said, attempting to
convey comfort through his voice.
“ ’m sorry…” he mumbled, still fisting at his eyes as if it would remove the
ache in his temples. “Shouldn’t have drunk so much.”
“No, no, Matthew, if anything I am at fault for this. It was very irresponsible
of me to have let last night go so far.” He assured the boy, who was now
hanging over the edge of the basin. Canada groaned again. Well, at least he
didn’t seem to recall anything else about the previous night. “Give me just a
minute…” England stood and paced over to the armoire, opening it and retrieving
a large, fluffy towel. “You’ll feel better with some breakfast in you, I’m
sure.” England said, and dropped the towel next to the tub before kneeling and
bracing his hands under Canada’s arms. “Come on, now, lad. You can’t stay in
there forever.”
With that he hauled the colony up and out of the water, leaving him shivering
for only a second before wrapping the towel around his shoulders. At least the
boy was decent now.
“England, I’m going to be sick.”
It was perhaps Canada’s most coherent thought of the morning, and it propelled
England into a flurry of action. Canada brought a hand up to his mouth and
began to whimper and whine as England bolted over to the armoire again, threw
the door open, and luckily found a small tin bucket resting in the bottom of
the wardrobe. He ran back across the room, bucket in hand, and nearly flung it
into Canada’s hands in the nick of time as the boy collapsed down to his knees,
retched once, and then proceeded to vomit whatever alcohol hadn’t been absorbed
into his system since the previous night. England was by his side at once, one
hand on his back and the other holding back Canada’s just barely-past-his-ears
length hair.
They remained like that for the better part of a quarter of an hour, retches
and shivers and partial sobs racking Canada’s slim frame. England frowned and
knitted his brows in concern and frustration, unable to do anything to ease the
boy’s pain but murmur comforts into his ear and kiss his brow. Finally, the
retching started to die down and only thin stings of bile came up. Another few
minutes and Canada was just a shivering mess on the floor.
“It’s alright.” England whispered softly, stroking the boy’s back once more
before lifting an arm around his shoulders and looping his own around Canada’s
waist. “Come on then.” Canada had left a small puddle of water on the wooden
floor, but England ignored it for the time being.
Moving Canada back into his own room and getting him dressed was, luckily,
uneventful. Canada was grateful for the heavy curtains drawn over the windows,
unlike the bathing room which didn’t even have curtains. England left for a
moment to retrieve a cup of water, and Canada accepted it eagerly when he
returned, gulping down every last drop. When Canada sat on the bed in pants, a
long sleeved shirt, and fur lined slippers he had made himself, a knock came
from the door. England didn’t move to answer it for a moment as he was drying
his colony’s hair, but the visitor took it upon themselves to crack open the
door, a sliver of light flooding into the bedroom.
“Bonjour, Matthieu.” greeted France, a small smile on his face. He glanced to
England for a moment and the man gave a stiff nod, affirming that everything
was fine.
“Papa!” Canada exclaimed, moving off the bed to hug the older nation. England
frowned at the endearment, but only slightly. “I had nearly forgotten that you
were here…” Canada trailed off, burying his face into France’s chest.
France chuckled at that, wrapping his arms around Canada’s back. “Oui, it was
quite a night for you.” The Frenchman rubbed the boy’s back soothingly for a
few moments. “You didn’t have any troubles this morning, did you?”
“No, well, not much. I..I threw up a bit, but I feel better now!” Canada
explained, lifting his head to smile up at France. France grinned back.
“It definitely wasn’t ‘a bit’, Matthew. You can be sure you won’t be drinking
again for a long time.” England interjected, tossing the used towel into a
nearby bin of dirty clothing. Canada blushed, but then winced, his hangover
making itself known once again. France reached back and opened the door,
stepping aside for Canada.
“Let’s go have breakfast then, hm? I made crepes, and there is syrup on the
table.” Canada’s eyes lit up, and he quickly exited the room, but not running,
his manners ever present. With the younger boy gone, France looked to England
again.
“He doesn’t suspect a thing, does he?” France said, flipping his hair out of
his face.
“If he does, he certainly doesn’t act like it. I don’t think he even remembers
that Scotland was there.” England answered, stepping towards the door. France
let him out first, then closed the door behind them.
“Just one more day, hm?”
“Yes. After that, we can forget all about this.”
Chapter End Notes
     I hope the bath scene wasn’t too awkward or anything D:
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The day came and went, as did France and England. Canada was sad to see them
leave, but was gracious for the time he was able to spend with them, anyway.
And having the house to himself was nice, for a little while. The house he was
currently in—the first one England had ever built for him—was nestled in
between Montreal and the American border, so it was far away from the bustle of
any city. Kumajirou wandered in an out as he pleased, and Canada went about his
normal business for a few weeks.
But he just couldn’t stop crying.
A sob broke loose from his mouth as Canada buried his face in Kumajirou’s fur.
“Kuma, I don’t know what to do anymore! T-this” he stopped to breath and wipe
his nose “This is the third time this week! I never cry this often, and Alfred
was always the one that said boys should never…should n-never…” He couldn’t
bring himself to finish that sentence, tears pouring down his cheeks as another
sob shook his shoulders.
The polar bear lifted his head and craned his neck to look at his owner, but
then plopped it back down onto the table top. “Maybe you should go visit him.”
Canada had been letting him do the strangest things lately, like not caring
that he sat on the kitchen table and giving him the leftover dinner when it was
left uneaten.
And it was left uneaten very often, now.
“Visit him? But why? He’ll probably just make fun of me and tell me to get off
his land!” Canada exclaimed, wiping more tears off of his face. Kumajirou only
let out a sigh. A few moments of silence passed between them, save for Canada’s
sniffling, but then the colony gasped.
“Kuma, maybe you’re right! I should go visit Alfred, maybe he knows what’s
going on with me!” Canada immediately stood from the table, and rushed to grab
a coat and shoes. “There’s a town about two kilometers from here, I’m sure I
can make it there before dark and send Al a telegram. It wouldn’t be polite to
just burst into his house, of course. I’ll be back later, thanks Kuma!” he
shouted as he yanked on his coat and slammed the door. Kumajirou looked out of
the kitchen window to see Canada dash by, grab the horse he always kept at the
house, and then ride off into the distance.
The bear rolled onto his side, still lying on the table. He wasn’t entirely
sure of what he had just done.
-----
It only took a day for Canada to receive a reply from America welcoming him to
his home in outside of Albany, and that exact evening Canada was boarding a
train in Montreal.
The sudden excitement he had from the previous day had worn off, and Canada was
exhausted. He had packed a good sized trunk, enough clothing for a week or so,
and left his home around noon to arrive in Montreal a few hours later. In his
rush to see his brother he had forgotten to eat lunch, so he grabbed a bite to
eat in the city. The fact that his only meal of the day had come up about an
hour later in a public restroom did not bother him, for some reason. It was
just nerves, he thought, or maybe he had eaten too fast.
Just half an hour before his train was set to arrive he had nearly fallen
asleep on a bench outside the station. The shrill whistle of one of the trains
jerked him awake however, and he hauled himself up to just barely make it into
the train car. After storing his luggage away and finding an empty compartment,
he collapsed against the seat and was asleep within minutes.
Hours later, during the middle of the night, the train made a stop at a small
station to refuel and let a few passengers off. The vehicle’s jerking stop
awoke Canada, who was suddenly overcome with a wave of nausea. His compartment
was still empty save for himself, he noticed, as he stumbled out and down the
hallway, determined that he just needed some fresh air. He somehow miraculously
found a door and shoved it open, nearly fell down the steps, but then regained
his balance. His legs led him to the back of the station where he grabbed onto
the wall with one hand, bent over, and retched violently.
He stayed that way for another minute or so, his stomach contracting intensely
every few seconds, but nothing ever came up. After a few tries, thin strings of
pale yellow bile dripped to the ground and Canada gave a shuddering sigh.
Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he straightened up and used the wall to guide
him back to the front of the building—how he found his way to the back in pitch
dark was beyond him. He managed to find a kind man inside the station who
offered him a cup of water, which he sipped gingerly from for a few minutes
before the train was announced to leave.
When he arrived back at his compartment, he took off his coat and laid it over
himself like a blanket, lying down on the bench rather than sitting up. As the
train whistled into the night and began moving again, he began to wonder why he
had been throwing up so much lately.
-----
The next morning Canada awoke rather gently, roused by the ‘clack-clack’ of the
train over the tracks rather than nausea or the shrill scream of a train
whistle. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and stretched, his coat
pooling in his lap as he yawned and glanced out the window. Dawn was only just
breaking.
He caught the attention of an attendant passing by. “How long till we arrive in
Albany, sir?” the man glanced at his watch.
“Not long, maybe half an hour. Would you like some breakfast?” Canada’s stomach
growled at the mention of food. He hadn’t eaten since the previous afternoon.
“Some tea and toast would be nice, thank you.” The man nodded and set off
towards the front of the train.
Canada rested his chin in his palm and leaned his forehead against the cool
glass. Though the decision to come to America had been sudden, he was glad for
it. He hadn’t seen his brother in some years, since before the Civil War, he
realized.
-----
The tea and toast did him well throughout the morning. Canada’s spirits were
raised as no nausea or sudden onset of sobbing bothered him. A dull ache in his
temples was the most of his worries, and even it wasn’t that bad.
Shortly after arriving in Albany, he found a horse and buggy service and set
off towards America’s home. The driver said it was unusual for someone,
especially a young boy like himself, to be heading off in the direction of
wilderness, but Canada assured him that there was indeed a home tucked back in
the hills.
It had been years since Canada had last seen America, but it couldn’t have been
more than ten, he thought. It took a few moments, but the colony finally
recalled he had last seen his brother in February of 1859, right outside the
house he was travelling to, actually. It hadn’t really been a proper visit,
though, because he was only there because he followed England, and all England
did was yell for America to get his ass out of the house and then proceeded to
have a shouting match with him from the front lawn. America had looked very
upset and nearly in tears when he slammed the door and finally ignored England.
The last time Canada had truly visited his brother had been October of 1846,
and he didn’t really want to remember that. He felt a blush creep on to his
cheeks as the carriage rattled along, and suddenly the driver called out.
“Well I’ll be, there is a house out here. That’s the place you looking for,
boy?” Canada peeked out the small window to find America’s—originally
England’s—two story home sitting on the horizon. He nodded to the man, and
within minutes they were on the front lawn.
“So, who lives in this place that you’re coming to see?” The driver asked as he
unloaded Canada’s trunk. Canada rubbed his temples and scrunched his nose. His
headache was getting worse.
“My brother.” He stated plainly. He really wasn’t bothered with the man, just
tired from the journey.
“Oh, I assume he’s older than yourself, then?”
“Yeah, he…we were raised by our father, but my brother left the house as soon
as he was old enough. He and my father…got in a fight.” Understatement of the
century, Canada thought, looking down to the freshly fallen snow.
“Ah, I see. Well, it does a boy good to strike out on his own. Gives him a new
view of the world. Has he been successful?” The man pulled a cigar from his
coat pocket and lit up.
Canada almost laughed. “He does well enough for himself.”
Smoke was puffed into the air and the man nodded. “Well, that’s good. Will you
be needing help to take this up to the house?” he gestured to the luggage.
Canada held up his hand and shook his head.
“No, thank you for your service, though.” he said, grabbing the trunk by both
ends and lifting it easily. The man tipped his hat and climbed back into the
front of the buggy, and Canada turned to face his brother’s home, just staring
for a minute as the man rode off. He knew no one was watching him, but after a
while he felt awkward just standing there, so he walked up to the porch and set
his trunk down. After just one knock, the door opened.
Canada couldn’t describe how America looked. He looked generally the same since
the last time he saw him, but somehow different. He just couldn’t place it.
That sunshine smile and super strength were definitely the same, though, and
Canada felt humbled to be greeted by them.
“Mattie! It’s been so long.” America laughed as he scooped him up and lifted
him clean off the wooden paneling. The northern colony laughed, too, and
wrapped his arms around America. His brother was happy and healthy, but
something was off. Just something…
America put him down after a moment and stepped aside to allow Canada to step
into the warm house. And he would have, if America hadn’t been wearing what
looked like one of England’s nightgowns. The white and blue patterned fabric
fell to just above America’s ankles, where fur lined slippers encased his feet.
Canada’s gaze travelled up America’s legs and to his stomach, and suddenly,
somehow, it all clicked.
“Alfred…are you pregnant?” he questioned, as if he was asking the time of day.
His brother gave a weak laugh.
“It’s kind of a long story, Matt, but…yeah.”
Oh.
Canada fainted.
Chapter End Notes
     -Canada is a few weeks along at this point, and experiencing the
     symptoms of fatigue, morning sickness, mood swings, and headaches.
     Also, toast and tea are said to work well for settling the stomach.
     -Yes, America is pregnant also, and with Nebraska. I'll probably
     reference some of his other pregnancies later, so I’m following this
     timeline- http://www.angelfire.com/un/cozz/hetalia.html
     (I don’t know who did that timeline, but I give them credit)
     -When Canada saw America in 1859, it was right after Al had Oregon
     and less than a year after he had Minnesota, so he was quite
     stressed.
     -Again, according to the timeline, October 1846 was around the time
     Wisconsin was conceived, with Canada as the father. And that was
     actually atleast the second time they had sex. Also, America hides
     that he is pregnant from all other nations except France, who is the
     father of Nebraska (and several others). So, Canada is the second to
     find out about nation pregnancy. France knows because he spent a lot
     of time with America during the revolution, and the 13 colonies were
     born before that, so France was bound to find out. So, when France
     said he had 'other business on the continent', he meant that he was
     going to check on a pregnant America :)
     How America has been hiding this all from England is beyond me.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Canada had never known much about pregnancy, but he supposed he never really
needed to, being a colony of a young age. He saw ladies in town if he happened
to stay in one place for a few months, and how their bellies would grow and
grow and eventually they would stop coming around town so often. Then the other
women would speak of her in her absence, and a few weeks later the woman would
return, slightly slimmer and a bundle balanced in her arms.
The closest he had ever gotten to a pregnant woman, he thought back, was right
after he was handed over to England after the Seven Year’s War. It had only
been 1765 and he hadn’t known English when England had brought him to London
for the first time and paraded him around some special dinner event. One of the
minister’s wives had been heavily pregnant and, after England introduced him as
an adopted son, she cooed at him, saying that she hoped her new baby would be
as cute as he was when it grew up.
But, in his three hundred odd years of memory, that was the extent that he knew
about babies and children. Women had them from time to time and the new
addition to the community was always fawned over by all the ladies, but Canada
had never been sure about children.
Canada was glad to, again, wake gently, especially after the ordeal of the day.
It was the first thought on his mind when he regained consciousness—America,
his brother, was pregnant. Then he noticed the hand running through his hair
and that he was now lying on a bed. His eyes fluttered open and he was met with
the wooden ceiling of a darkened bedroom. He felt the rustle of his hair as a
hand ran through it and soft, steady breathing could be heard to his right.
He didn’t really want to disturb whoever had decided to pamper him like
this—because it was lovely--but really. America was pregnant. England always
said one must have priorities.
He let his head fall to the side haphazardly, causing the hand to pull back
slightly and a soft ‘huh?’ to come from the person beside him. It was America,
be he was not surprised. They were both lying in his large bed, curtains drawn
over the window nearby to shield their eyes from the setting sun.
“Did I faint?” Canada asked before America could even say hello. His brother
smiled and pushed himself up to sit on the bed.
“Yep. I didn’t really think you would be so shocked, Matt.” Canada did not sit
up, but moved his head again to look up at America. It took a moment for the
words to hit him.
“You didn’t think I would be shocked?” he asked, incredulous, “My brother just
told me that he’s pregnant, how would you react?”
“Well, I’ve had several kids so…”
“ ‘Several’?” Now Canada sat up, his eyes wide “How many do you mean when you
say ‘several’?”
America put a finger to his lip and looked away from Canada for a moment. “Uh…”
Worry clouded America’s eyes for a moment. “Well, let’s save that for later,
okay?” he tried to play it off with a laugh, but it didn’t work.
“No! How long has this been going on? And…and how did I end up in this bed? You
couldn’t have carried me here?” Canada demanded, whacking his hand against the
bedspread.
All the nervousness drained from America’s face and he smiled. “It’s been going
on for a long time, Mattie. Since before the revolution.” Canada’s mouth fell
open slightly, but America spoke before he could. “But don’t worry yourself.
I’ve handled it well before, and I definitely can again. And of course I
carried you here! A hero can’t just leave someone unconscious on his front
porch!” America said.
“Al!” Canada whined, dragging out the name as he did when they were younger.
“You’re..you’re pregnant! Pregnant people aren’t supposed to…they aren’t
supposed to…” he trailed off, unsure where exactly he was going with that.
Pregnant women were still ladies, and ladies didn’t labor like men did. Were
things still the same for pregnant men?
“I’m pregnant, Mattie, not weak.” America said, chuckling at his brother’s
confusion. “Men don’t usually get pregnant—” Canada spluttered and interrupted
with a shout of ‘I know that!’ “—but nations are different than humans. You
don’t have to worry about me, okay?” America put a hand on Canada’s head, and
Canada furrowed his brows. He didn’t like that feeling—it made him feel like a
child.
“I can’t just not worry about you…” he muttered, and it made America smile all
the brighter.
“Let’s go get some food, okay? First lesson on pregnant people, Mattie, they
eat a ton!”
-----
America certainly wasn’t kidding about food. Canada had chosen to just make
himself a cup of tea from his brother’s tiny brick of left over tea. America
denied having it around for England or anyone else.
While Canada sipped at his cup, America was busy preparing what seemed to be a
grand feast. Clinks and clatters filled the kitchen as the nation juggled
cooking several dishes at once, including some vegetables steaming in a pot and
a piece of chicken in the oven. A loaf of relatively fresh bread sat on the
counter, ready to be sliced and eaten.
At a surprisingly fast pace, America assembled a large plate of food for
himself and sat down across from Canada at the kitchen table. The smell of the
food when it was cooking hadn’t bothered Canada much, but now it seemed
overwhelming. He scrunched his nose and moved his chair back the slightest bit,
which did not help at all, of course.
“So.” America began, cutting into the meat eagerly, “Why’d you come down here
anyway?”
“I was feeling sick and upset, so I thought visiting you might help a bit…”
Canada felt he should have had more to say, but nothing came to him. His
decision really had been a spur of the moment thought.
“Aw, Mattie if you were sick you shouldn’t have travelled down here. Especially
now; it’s so freezing outside!” America said, taking a bite of his meal, “But
I’m kinda glad you did I guess. I definitely couldn’t have gone up to you, and
I was getting lonely down here.”
Canada only nodded and silence fell between them, save for America’s constant
chewing. After he polished off the chicken and bread he glanced up to his
brother, who was only gazing sadly into his tea and stirring it endlessly with
a tiny spoon. America had been so busy eating he hadn’t even noticed the ‘ting-
ting-ting’ of the spoon against the china. He furrowed his brows.
“So how were you sick, exactly?” he questioned. His brother definitely
seemed…off.
Canada gasped and then let out an ‘oh’, as if startled. “I’ve been, uh,…it’s
very strange. But, but I wouldn’t worry about it, Al. Ever since I got here
I’ve felt fine!” Canada put on a smile for his brother, but America wasn’t
convinced.
“Mattie.” He whined, and Canada nearly winced.
“Okay, okay. I’ve just…been really tired and a bit moody, too. And these
massive headaches just seem to come out of nowhere…” he trailed off,
remembering how, when he was in the carriage on the way to the house, one
minute he had been watching the land go by and the next his head was between
his legs because he felt like he was going to vomit.
“That’s all?” Canada nodded, but averted his eyes. He’d never been that good of
a liar, so he was surprised when America pushed away from the table with a
satisfied sigh. “Maybe it’s something going on in your land. England doesn’t
tell you much anyway, does he?” America said, wrinkling his nose in disgust as
he mentioned England.
“Well, no, I guess not, but I’ve had responsible government since 1849, you
know.” Canada said, his tone becoming harsher. He watched America as his
brother stood and began moving plates to the sink.
“Yeah, I do know, but have you really done anything?” Canada hesitated. He
didn’t have a quick response to that. The question hung in the air while Canada
thought back to the past decade and a half. England had taken him to London for
a few years to experience ‘a real government’ as he called it. England’s ‘real
government’ wasn’t as exciting as Canada had imagined—mainly it was just old
men fighting over laws and taxes and policies and not really progressing in any
way. He had seen Queen Victoria once or twice, but never spoke to her
personally, nor had he participated in any debates, spoken to any government
officials, or even said a word during Parliament. England said many things,
calling the men idiots or citing times in history when his experienced opinion
was needed, but Canada was not allowed to speak.
America took Canada’s silence as a no. “Exactly.” was all he said before he
turned and began to wash the dishes.
Silence again overtook the room as Canada stared blankly at the table. He knew
his brother wasn’t being serious, and any anger America felt wasn’t directed at
him, but at England for restricting him. They used to insult and jab at each
other all the time when they were younger and it never meant anything.
Nevertheless, It started off slowly, as it always did. There was a pressure in
between his eyes and nose, and his bottom lip quivered, and a tiny tear slipped
out from the corner of his eye before he gave a loud sniff. The sloshing and
clinking of water and dishes halted as America turned to face him.
“Matt, are you okay?” he asked, all malice wiped from his features, as he took
a few steps towards his brother. He hadn’t really meant to sound so cold and
angry—he was just frustrated with England and irritable from the pregnancy.
When Canada realized America was approaching him he tried to cover his face,
but a soft sob managed to free itself from Canada’s mouth, followed by a
shuddering breath. When America realized what had happened, he rushed to his
brother’s side and immediately wrapped his arms around his twin.
“My god, Mattie I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you cry…” he murmured into
Canada’s hair, pressing kisses to the crown of his head and on his cheek.
Despite America being the source of his crying, Canada stood and wrapped his
arms around his brother, clinging to him and burying his face in his chest as
sobs continued to wrack his shoulders. After a minute or so, Canada realized
that he didn’t even know why he was crying, yet he felt unexplainably sad. It
was all so tiring.
Eventually Canada’s sobs died down and he unwound himself from America’s
embrace. America gave him a tired smile and Canada managed to turn his lips up
slightly, wiping away the last of the tears that had streaked down his cheeks.
Without any words, the brothers made their way to America’s bedroom and began
to dress for bed. Canada did, at least, because America seemed quite
comfortable in his nightgown.
“I’m sorry.” America stated plainly once he and Canada were comfortably in bed
together. Even after decades of not living together they both had a silent
agreement that sleeping together just felt so right. It was much too cold to
sleep in separate beds, anyway.
“S’all right.” Canada muttered, fisting his brother’s nightgown and breathing
in a scent that was undoubtedly America. A hand ran up and down Canada’s spine
in a comforting motion, contributing to his increasing weariness. The crying
had been emotionally exhausting, too.
For the first time in many years, America genuinely felt happy.
Chapter End Notes
     I wanted to get to the part where Canada actually finds out he’s
     pregnant, but that didn’t happen >
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
In the middle of the night Canada got up and had a slice of the bread he had
seen earlier. With a bit of butter it was delicious, and he wondered if his
brother had really baked it himself. Once slice turned into two and soon half
the loaf was gone, but Canada was satisfied and fell back asleep within minutes
after he returned to bed.
-----
America didn’t always wake early. In fact, with his pregnancies he could stay
in bed until high noon before dragging himself into the kitchen to find
something to eat. Wednesdays, however, had always been his day to wake early,
and today was supposed to be no different than any other Wednesday.
Waking up next to a warm body was a good persuasion to one’s mind, though.
As he woke, America’s internal clock alerted him that it was well past the time
he usually greeted the day, but he ignored it. Today was different, because for
the first time in decades America was greeted with Canada’s peaceful face as he
cracked open his eyes. He lifted his head slightly, but then recalled the
previous night and settled back into the pillow. Canada had been stressed, and
America wouldn’t be a good brother, much less a hero, if he roused a sick
person from rest.
Canada had rolled to the other end of the bed—and out of America’s reach—some
time during the night, and America certainly wouldn’t stand for that. Or
perhaps ‘lay for it’ would be a better choice of words in this situation, he
thought. Either way, he slowly maneuvered his swollen belly and body over the
expanse that separated him and Canada, and wrapped an arm around his brother
when he was close enough. Canada took a deep breath, but did not wake, so
America relaxed and allowed his eyes to slip closed again.
They remained in that position for the better part of half an hour before
Canada finally woke. America was drifting between the world of the waking and
the resting when he heard a soft noise. Languidly, he opened his eyes and
stroked Canada’s arm a bit, trying to wake his brother fully. Sleeping was nice
while it lasted, but he really did need to get up.
“Mattie…”he whispered, moving his mouth close to the other blonde’s ear,
“Mattie I really need to get up, okay? I have some stuff to do, and I really
need to pee.” He heard Canada snort in what he assumed was a laugh, and then
chuckled slightly himself before patting his brother on the side, rolling over,
and hauling himself out of bed. With a few cracks and pops America twisted
around, stretching his limbs and back. By the time he moved to the bedroom
door, Canada was sitting up, but still not out of bed.
“I’m gonna go make breakfast, okay? Come down and eat some of it soon—I know
you barely ate a thing yesterday.” Canada only nodded absentmindedly. America
decided he didn’t like the look of him or his skin, which was paler than usual.
“Matt? Ma~att…”
Canada did not acknowledge him at all. He was sitting cross legged on the bed,
one hand covering his stomach—almost in a defensive way—and the other up near
his mouth, just a few inches out from his lips. Confusion was evident on his
face.
He looked up to his brother, standing in the doorway and still in the
nightgown, and his confusion only multiplied. It was almost like he was
underwater. America’s lips were moving, but he couldn’t hear a word of what he
was saying, and there was a sort of…buzzing noise in his head. But not really a
buzz, not like bees, anyway, more like a dull roar that was ever so slowly
increasing in volume. Soon he couldn’t even hear America’s garbled speech.
Suddenly, he lurched forward and his legs moved on their own. In a split second
he was off the bed, shoving past America, and walking—more like jogging—down
the hallway to the bathroom. He shoved open the door, one hand still on his
stomach, and luckily spotted a rather large basin immediately. America was at
the bathroom doorway now, and Canada collapsed to the ground, grabbed a hold of
the basin, and retched for all he was worth.
Canada’s eyes were, luckily, squeezed shut, so he didn’t see any of his stomach
contents in the basin. He sure felt it though. The experience was pretty
similar to the incident he had with England three weeks prior, but without the
headache. The overall body ache, however, was still present.
“Whoa, Mattie!” America exclaimed, hurrying to his side, “You must be more sick
than you thought! Jesus…” he sighed, squatting down as best he could with his
protruding belly. Once stable, he drew back Canada’s hair with one hand and ran
his fingertips over Canada’s back with the other. For several minutes, only
strangled choking sounds and the slosh of half digested stomach contents could
be heard. America was glad that he was past the stage of morning sickness and
sensitivity to strong smells, because he would have joined his brother if he
wasn’t.
That thought made him ponder why exactly his brother had been acting so strange
since he arrived. He had been quite cold to Canada hen he snapped at him, but
that was normally not enough to make his brother cry. Also, he knew that the
other boy wasn’t a ‘bottomless pit’, as England had once called him, but Canada
could eat when he wanted to. And he usually wanted to often, especially if the
food wasn’t England’s. It could have been the stress of the trip, he supposed,
but unless Canada was travelling from his northern lands the trip couldn’t have
been that long.
Being quick to cry, having strange eating habits, and now waking up to vomit
his brains out made America think of only one thing, but he chose to reject
that thought, for now.
Two coughs and the sound of someone spitting brought America back to reality,
and Canada coughed once more before slowly leaning back and then plopping onto
the floor next to America, panting and pale and sweaty. America moved his arm
around Canada’s back, supporting his brother.
“Hey.” Was all America could think to say, and the other blonde glanced
sideways at him with hazy eyes. A grunt was all Canada could manage in response
before America beckoned him to stand. Leaning heavily against the pregnant
nation, Canada managed to get back into the bedroom and down on to the bed. His
brother left for a minute, but then returned with a glass of cool water, which
Canada greatly accepted. Strong arms guided him to lie down, but he pushed away
the covers that were brought up to his chest. America drew his hands back and
allowed the sick boy to kick the blanket to the foot of the bed.
“You feeling better?” America asked quietly, settling on the edge of the bed
and reaching a hand up to run his fingers through Canada’s hair. The locks were
sweaty, but he didn’t mind. Canada leaned into the touch.
“Yeah…” he rasped, “Don’t know what came over me.” America ‘hmm’d in response
and watched his brother’s eyes slip closed.
“As much as I’d like to stay here, I have a guest coming over today, so I need
to go get dressed, okay?” Canada’s eyes snapped open.
“A guest? You mean someone else knows?”
“Well, kind of, but…” America shook his head. “He’s not a nation. He’s one of
my states—one of my other children. Ya’ see, I stay in this house a lot when
I’m pregnant because my second oldest—New York—lives close by. He brings me
groceries and comes to visit every once in a while because I can’t go out like
this.” America explained, placing a hand on his stomach. Canada had lifted his
head slightly to listen to his brother, but then let it fall back down onto the
pillow with a ‘fwump’.
“So…your children are your states…so that means you’ve had how many? I can
never keep track of them…” Canada paused for a second before the realization
hit him. “Holy hell, Al, you have over twenty states, right? That’s …oh good
lord.” He groaned, pulling an arm over his eyes. America suppressed a giggle.
“Am I the only one who doesn’t know about this pregnancy thing?”
America shook his head again, even though his brother couldn’t see him. “No,
actually you’re only one of two outside of my family who knows about it. France
knows, too, but that’s only because he was around me so much during the
Revolution. He’s actually the father of my most recent one…” the nation trailed
off, rubbing his belly a few times as a small smile slipped onto his face. “But
anyway, I need to get dressed, okay? I’m going to make breakfast after that, so
come out when you’re feeling up to it; I’m sure some food will do you well. New
York usually eats here, too, so you’ll get to meet him.”
Canada removed the arm covering his eyes and rolled onto his side, curling in
on himself and nodding to America as his brother stood and moved around the
room. A few minutes later, when America was finished getting dressed, he
assumed, he heard the door open.
“Oh, and Matt?” Canada lifted his head, indicating that America had his
attention, “I’ve had over thirty kids. This will be my thirty-seventh,
actually.”
“Maple…” in one motion Canada pulled the other pillow over his head and curled
in on himself, and America shut the door with a laugh.
-----
Eventually, Canada managed to make it out of bed to wash his face and dress for
the day. He donned a simple pair of brown trousers and a white dress shirt,
leaving the top button undone. On a normal day with England he would have been
dressed in twice as many layers and his collar would be right up to his neck,
but today was not a day for that. As he descended the stairs to his brother’s
kitchen he was happily greeted with the sizzling of bacon and eggs. His stomach
rumbled at the smell.
“Hey Al.” he stated simply as he entered the kitchen, eyes focused on the stove
as he grabbed a plate.
“Hey yourself.” America said with a chuckle, looking to Canada who was now
right next to him, eyes fixated on the stovetop. “You want some?” he offered,
raising an eyebrow and the spatula. Canada nodded, eager.
Two plates of eggs and five slices of bacon later, Canada heaved a satisfied
sigh and slumped back in his chair. America rose from his place across the
table to gather the plates and set them into the sink for later.
“Well, at least you’re eating now.” America said, sitting back down and resting
his elbows on the table and then his face in his hands. “You’re feeling better,
right?” he asked, cocking his head with the last word. Canada set a hand on his
stomach and sat up.
“Yes, I think so. Still pretty tired, though.” America opened his mouth to
reply, but a knock at the door interrupted him and his face lit up.
“Oh, I bet that’s New York! I can’t wait for you to meet him.” The nation
hurriedly pushed back from the table and moved past Canada. The sound of an
opening and his brother’s excited voice drifted into the kitchen, along with
the ‘thump’ of several bags falling to the floor. Canada could have sworn he
heard someone wheeze as they were no doubt lifted off the ground in a hug.
Moments later, a brown haired young man entered the room, followed by America
himself. The boy, surprisingly, didn’t look to be too much younger than his
father—good lord, America was his father—which disturbed Canada a little bit.
But only just.
He looked the boy over. His dark brown hair fell to his ears and a little piece
stuck out behind the left one. His skin was relatively pale, and blue, blue
eyes gazed at him from behind thin wire frames. He was dressed much more
appropriately than either of them, in a pair of tailored trousers, waistcoat,
and frock. Canada suddenly noticed that America was only wearing drawers and a
long sleeved shirt. If England had been here—was New York even England’s
child?—he would have scolded the two of them and fawned over New York.
Silence persisted for a few seconds as both the colony and state looked each
other, but Canada ventured to break it. “Hello.” He said, a bit awkwardly, and
stuck his hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m Canada, or Matthew, if
you prefer.” He finished with a small smile, and, hesitantly, the boy set down
his bags and stepped forward to take his hand.
“Michael.” He answered, monotone. Canada tried to keep up his smile.
“Aw, c’mon Mike, don’t be such a stick in the mud. He’s your uncle, you know.”
America goaded, poking his son’s back. The state only looked annoyed.
“No, it’s okay Al. It’s nice to meet you, Michael.” The state nodded in return,
and America was soon distracted with something else.
“You want some eggs, Mike?” he asked over his shoulder, already turning to the
stove to fry more bacon. New York moved his bags over toward the ice box and
opened one, pulling out various groceries and setting them on the counter. He
opened the ice box to load in milk and eggs and other trivial foods. “Sure,
dad.”
Canada sat back down and watched, surprised and slightly amused. They were both
so domestic, going about their daily tasks with practiced ease, as if it was a
ritual that had been done many times before. Canada imagined it had. America
being pregnant didn’t help the situation, either. Continuing to watch the
father and son, Canada allowed his mind to wander.
“Who is Michael’s other father?” he blurted out suddenly. The northern colony’s
eyes widened after he realized what he had said, but he refrained from smacking
his hands over his mouth. He hadn’t meant to ask such a personal question, but
it flowed freely from his lips.
New York froze and glared at him over his shoulder, but America’s reaction was
different, luckily. The nation didn’t even flinch, continuing to move the
spatula about the pan while the bacon fried nearby. “Holland.” He stated
plainly, “or The Netherlands, if you prefer. That was a long time ago, though.
Michael was only my second.” America picked out a clean plate from a cabinet
nearby and began spooning eggs onto it. Seeing that he father wasn’t visibly
disturbed by his uncle’s tactless question, New York returned to filling the
icebox before shutting it and sitting next to his father at the table.
Through their conversation, America made it seem like he hadn’t seen New York
in years, though knowing him it was probably only a matter of two or three
weeks, Canada thought. America complained about his swollen feet and New York
listened, though Canada had a feeling that the boy—son, his brother’s son—had
heard it many times before. That was the thing, though. It didn’t matter if
this was the first or fiftieth time this had happened—New York just sat there
as if it was a normal, everyday occurrence. Canada wondered why he was so
amazed with this fact, this whole attitude, really, but couldn’t find an
answer, so he, too, just listened and interjected a word or two every now and
then.
The conversation turned to New York’s politics, and then to Canada’s random
appearance and sudden sickness. For the first time that morning, New York
actually showed some emotion towards him.
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” He had said, his eyes with vague concern in them.
Canada nodded in thanks and said his brother made him feel better, and that he
shouldn’t worry. He would have preferred to have left it at that, but no,
America had to blab to New York that he had woken up that morning and
immediately went into the bathroom to hurl. A faint blush worked its way on to
the northern colony’s cheeks, and he snapped at his brother to hush, but it was
too late.
“You make it sound like Uncle Matt himself is pregnant, dad.”
An awkward silence passed around the table. New York was waiting for his
father’s response, America had frozen for a moment, mid laugh, and Canada was
busy freaking out over the fact that he just got called ‘uncle’.
Oh, and the pregnancy thing, too. Right.
“Haha! Mike that’s ridiculous! I’ve-I’ve been pregnant plenty of times—I think
I would notice if my own…brother...was pregnant…?” he ended with an odd
inflection, making his statement sound like a question, and Canada lost it.
A cold tingle ran down his spine and settled somewhere in his stomach, ruining
the glorious, warm meal he had just eaten. His left hand somehow found its way
to the edge of the table, and he was holding on for dear life. Pregnant? No,
no, no, he couldn’t be. He just couldn’t. He hadn’t even done anything recently
with anyone else.
Canada gulped. He had trying to deny it, but he wasn’t as naïve as those
Europeans thought he was. He knew…partially what had happened that night, and
that was all re really needed to know.
Okay, yeah, him being pregnant may, on some small scale, have been a possible
explanation to his random sickness, but really, now.
A wave of nausea swept over him and he looked down. His right hand was still
resting on his stomach.
“I think I need to go lie down.” Canada heard himself mutter faintly, before
letting his legs do the work for him and mechanically rising and heading out of
the kitchen, left hand holding him steady on the wall or whatever else was
nearby. Still seated at the table, America glanced at his wide-eyed son.
“M-maybe you should leave…” he said, scratching the back of his head. New York
turned his gaze to the nation and nodded.
“Yes. Perhaps that would be for the best.” America saw him to the door and
pushed an apple into his hand for the journey back. New York claimed he didn’t
need it, but America gave him a hug and kiss on the forehead before ushering
him out the door.
Up in America’s room, Canada curled up into a ball and pulled the sheets around
him. His eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of frustration, confusion, and concern,
but not anger.
His hand was still resting on his stomach.
Chapter End Notes
     The New York in this is how Ive seen him commonly portrayed. You can
     go search deviantArt for an image of him because I think the person
     who created this version of him is on there. I’m not claiming to have
     created him at all, ect ect…
     Also, America is 6-7 months along at this point. Nebraska was
     conceived in June of 1866.
     Here's New York's design-
     http://darkfire75.deviantart.com/art/New-York-profile-121874583
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It wasn’t long until Canada heard the door creak open and saw a sliver of light
fall across the bed he was nestled in. He heard his brother’s footsteps and
felt the mattress sink where his brother sat down, but did not acknowledge the
other. Finally, America spoke.
“C’mon, Matt. Talk to me.” he said softly, placing a hand on Canada’s hip and
rubbing slow, soothing circles there. Canada flinched slightly at the contact,
but then sighed.
“I don’t know…” he whined, turning his face into the sheets.
“ ‘bout what?”
“Everything!” the Canadian exclaimed, sitting up in bed and gazing frantically
at his brother, who quickly retracted his hand. Canada relaxed immediately, not
having meant to snap at his brother, and frowned. He didn’t say anything
farther, though, leaving a bit of an awkward silence between the two. America
had something to say—or rather, ask—but wasn’t sure how to bring it up. He knew
he might as well bring it up sooner rather than later, however, because it
needed to be asked sometime.
“So, who do you think is the other father?” Canada snapped his eyes to America,
wide eyed and his mouth in a tight line. For a moment he felt scandalized that
his brother would ask him that so soon, but realized that he hadn’t meant any
harm.
“I, uh…um…I’m not sure what to say…” he rambled, furrowing his eyebrows. He
knew about the last time he had had sex, but the more he thought about it the
more it confused him. Could it have been the first one, or the last…? How did
that even work?
“No, it’s fine, I understand. If you don’t want to share for now then that’s
fine. Lord knows I’ve had my share of experiences where I…wasn’t proud of what
had happened…” he paused for a moment, and Canada felt bad for him. Suddenly,
he grew serious. “But it wasn’t, ah, forced, was it?” America asked cautiously.
His pregnancy be damned—had anyone forced themselves upon his Mattie he would
cross the Atlantic and run them through with a bayonet himself.
When America saw Canada’s reaction, though, he knew that that wasn’t the case.
His brother gasped and brought his hands up, waving them in a negatory sign.
“No, no, that’s not it at all. That time was just…unexpected. As is this, I
suppose.” America gave him a reassuring smile
“So you really think you are pregnant?” It took a moment for Canada to respond,
his mind spinning from actually hearing someone say it, but eventually he
nodded. “Yeah, to tell you the truth, I was kinda suspicious of you this whole
time. I’ve been through the same process too many times not to know what to
look for.” America said, lying back across the foot of the bed. Canada crawled
out from under the covers and lay beside him.
Neither said anything for a long while, but after a few minutes America rolled
onto his side, facing Canada, and pushed his arm out for his brother to lie
against. Canada accepted and America then curled his arm up to stroke his
brother’s shoulder.
“What would you say if I didn’t know who the father was?” Canada asked
suddenly.
“Well, I would say it’s sad that you don’t know, but it’s not that big of a
deal, as long as you’re happy and healthy and all that. Nations—or whatever we
are—tend to get around a lot. I’m kind surprised you don’t, though, because I
imagined that you didn’t sleep with many people. I know I’m not one to talk,
but you’re a bit young.” America answered, not even moving his gaze from the
ceiling. Canada was surprised he was so relaxed about the whole situation.
He probably wouldn’t be for long, though, once Canada told him what he really
knew.
“Uh, I guess that didn’t come out right…” Canada paused, searching for the
right words, and heaved a big sigh before saying anything else. “You see, there
was this night…” he began.
“Yeah.” responded America.
“It was new years eve night. And I had three others over at my house, just to
celebrate and stuff, you know.” America ‘hmm’ed in confirmation. “But the
drinks got out of hand and we all…” he trailed off, a furious blush coming over
his cheeks at the memory. Now he had America’s attention. He knew because the
nation pulled his arm out from under his brother’s head and sat up, expression
unreadable. Canada sat up, too.
“You had a foursome.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement, and Canada wasn’t
sure how to respond to that. America sounded all too much like England.
Reluctantly, Canada answered. “Yes…” he looked away and seemed to shrink in on
himself. Noticing this, America softened his eyes and placed a hand on his
brother’s back.
“I’m not mad. Not at you, atleast.” He said in a dry tone, tilting Canada’s
head up with his other hand and touching their foreheads together. “Do you mind
telling me who it was with?”
“Francis…and Arthur…and Scott.” Canada said, reluctant. He couldn’t really
gauge his brother’s reaction as they were so close, but he didn’t seem too
upset. His eyes were closed though, and he didn’t say anything for a while.
“Well, I understand your confusion. I mean, which one is the father? The first
or the last? Do you even know who was first or last? How does that even work?”
America said suddenly, pulling his head away and waving his hands as he spoke.
Canada giggled at his words and actions, but then leaned over and hugged him.
Out of nowhere, he felt warm and fuzzy.
“Thanks, Al, for supporting me. This was the last thing I expected, but I guess
I’m really lucky to have you.” He nuzzled into his brother’s shoulder and
smiled. Suddenly, everything felt okay.
America smiled, also, and wrapped one arm around Canada. “You don’t need to say
thank you.” He murmured, “I’d do anything for you…” America nosed the other’s
hair, breathing in the faint scent of maple.
“Hey, you’ll be staying here, right? So we can both be pregnant and cry and
crave weird food together, right?” America asked some time later.
“Definitely.”
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry this chapter is oddly short D:
     Scott is the unoriginal name for Scotland, but you probably figured
     that out.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Second week of February, 1867
Two weeks passed by in America’s cabin relatively quickly, but not quietly.
Canada still experienced morning sickness—often and violently, to America’s
despair. There would be days when the nation would wake to find his brother
already in the bathroom, vomiting into a metal basin, and did not expect him to
emerge for the next hour or two. America tried not to let his distress show,
though, and made several trips during each incident to empty out a basin or
bring Canada a glass of water.
When Canada wasn’t throwing up or eating, he was most likely sleeping. And not
just little cat naps in the afternoon or accidentally falling asleep at the
table sleeping, but full out five or six hour sessions of him being completely
passed out in bed, even after a good night of sleep. America began to worry,
especially when he had to nearly carry his brother into the kitchen in order to
force him to eat. He knew, better than anyone probably, that being tired and
fatigued where early symptoms of pregnancy, but even he had never experienced
anything of this magnitude.
“Mattie, get up.” he said, tugging on the comforter and trying not to sound too
demanding. The figure under the covers groaned.
“Stop it. You sound like Arthur.” Canada murmured, yanking the covers back.
America threw up his hands in a huff and plopped down on the foot of the bed,
his nightgown fluttering at the sudden movement.
“I swear England is the father. That’s all you talk about, nowadays.” America
raised the pitch of his voice, imitating Canada. “ ‘Al, what do you think
Arthur will say? What name do you think Arthur would like?’ Bah.” he finished,
crossing his arms and scowling at the lump under the covers. He swore that he
felt a glare back, but then the lump exhaled and shifted around a bit.
“Al, you don’t understand. I’m just so tired…” Canada wanted to explain to his
brother, but couldn’t find any words to describe his sheer exhaustion. He was
too tired to think about that, anyway. He hadn’t even opened his eyes at his
brother’s demand, and snuggled back in to the pillow when he heard America
sigh.
“Fine. One more hour, but then you’re getting up. You need to eat, Matt.” he
said quietly, patting his brother’s side through the blankets as he stood. He
walked over to the door and glanced back at Canada once more before shutting
it. He knew for a fact that the boy was fast asleep before he had even taken
two steps.
Sighing, America made his way back toward the kitchen and away from his—now
more like Canada’s—room. He understood his brother’s exhaustion, but Canada
wasn’t the only one pregnant! America himself was often tired during the day,
and it was difficult to find time and place to nap between taking care of his
brother and the house—especially since Canada was always in his bed. Had the
colony been coherent, he would have dragged him out to the living area and
given him a stern lecture—
America’s hand shot out to the wall, groping for something to hold him steady.
He doubled over, as much as he could, anyway, with his other hand resting on
his stomach and just let the tightening feeling run through him. He knew these
sensations very well, but that knowledge didn’t ease the discomfort. After a
few seconds he straightened up and took slow steps toward the kitchen, intent
on pouring himself a glass of water to help ease the mini contraction.
He never really knew what to call the sensations that began occurring in the
weeks before his due date, but they came every time, without fail. They felt
enough like normal contractions during the actual childbirth, though much less
painful, so he was content with just calling them that. They certainly scared
him as much as the feeling of going into labor, anyway. Just eight years
before, pregnant with Oregon, he had mistaken his real contractions for the
less intense ones and had paced around his home in Virginia for four hours
before an overwhelming pain forced him to the floor. Minutes later, to his
amazement, baby Oregon was wailing on his living room floor. Had he been
standing, America thought he would have fainted.
After staring at his new son for a few seconds—covered in blood and wiggling
about on the wooden floor—the shock fell away and he had ripped off his
nightgown, wrapped Oregon up in it, and cradled the boy close to him the rest
of the day.
He shivered at the memory. It had been a horrible day, but he was no less
grateful for the new addition to his family. When he brought himself back to
the present he was already in the kitchen, and the cramps had lessened to a
more manageable level. He still wrenched open the icebox, found a glass of
chilled water from the previous night, and chugged it down, though, and felt
better for it.
Taking the glass with him, America waddled over to the sink and began working
on the dishes from that morning—his dishes were the only ones there, though.
That thought circled him back to Canada, and he sighed. Being confined to his
house was so frustrating—he had so little to think about, sometimes. The only
other topic he could find in his mind was the fact that he hated how he began
to waddle in the final weeks of his pregnancies. It made him feel horribly fat,
and the fact that no one was usually around to comfort him during the late
weeks of his pregnancies didn’t help either (France had been there once, in
1836, for Arkansas’ birth, but that was the only time).
His thoughts and the dishes were interrupted by a soft yawn from the doorway.
America turned with a ‘hm?’ to find his brother standing at the entrance to his
kitchen, clothing and hair thoroughly rumpled with sleep. A soft smile came to
his face.
“Hey, how are you? I’m surprised you actually made it out here on your own.
You’re not sleepwalking, are you?” he joked, and Canada turned his lips up a
bit.
“No, Al, I’m awake. I just…couldn’t sleep. After you left I rolled around for a
few minutes, but couldn’t get comfortable.” America nodded in understanding as
Canada combed his fingers through the unruly mess of his hair and made his way
over to the dining table. Upon seating himself in one of the chairs, Canada
laid his head down on the table top and groaned, “My god, I can’t believe I’m
pregnant.”
America chuckled. “You’ve been saying that for two weeks.” he pointed out,
turning back to the dishes.
“Says the one who’s been pregnant thirty seven times.” Canada stated dryly, his
hair muffling his voice as it fell around his head and onto the table.
“Fine, fine. I know. It is very…startling.” He finished awkwardly, unsure how
to comfort his brother. The same process had occurred so many times for him, he
had just accepted it. It had been over one hundred years since his first
pregnancy—what exactly was he supposed to say?
Silence sat heavy between them for a few minutes, but then America thought of
something to distract his brother.
“Hey, you hungry?” he asked, but Canada knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
The colony raised his head off of the table and swept the hair out of his face,
giving his brother a pathetic stare. “Don’t look at me like that, Matt, you
have to eat something. Here, I have some stew that I made last night. I’ll just
reheat some of it, okay? I’ll even eat with you.” America said, focusing on
staying positive for Canada. He lit the stove and reheated the whole pot,
spooning out a heaping bowl for Canada and a smaller bowl for himself.
America plopped down into the seat across from Canada, all smiles, and
encouraged the colony to eat. Canada picked at his food, still frowning, but,
to America, it was a start. While his brother picked at the vegetables and
rabbit meat in the stew, America attempted to keep up a conversation,
describing the beauty of upstate New York in the spring, and how they could
both go with the new children later in the year if Canada decided to say
longer. The only response that America received was the occasional grunt or
other committal noise, yet he kept on rambling to stall for time.
It worked, too, because the more he spoke, the more Canada began to spear small
pieces of carrot or broccoli. Before he knew it half the bowl was gone and his
brother had even picked up his spoon to sip at the warm gravy.
Somewhere between America’s rambling about the South’s reconstruction and
Russia bothering him with some frozen territory up North, Canada interjected.
“Francis.” Was all he said, mouth partially full of potatoes, and America’s
rant screeched to a halt.
“What was that, Mattie?”
“I said Francis. I think he’s the father of my…child. You said England before,
but I think it’s Francis’.” Canada stated, placing a hand on his stomach. There
wasn’t even a bump there, yet the motion felt so comforting.
America only responded with a ‘hm’, leaning back in his chair and stretching
his arms over his head. “Well, maybe,” he finally said, contemplating his
words, “Wouldn’t it be kind of funny, though? Since he would be the father of
both of ours…”America snorted. “He does get around, doesn’t he?”
Canada blushed and looked away, but continued taking tiny bites of the
vegetables in the stew. Perhaps it had been an awkward time to bring the topic
up. Sensing his brother’s uneasiness, America scrambled for the words to save
the moment.
“No, I didn’t mean—I’m not trying to say anything about you. I was…just joking,
but it’s kinda true, isn’t it? But it’s the same way with England and Spain and
probably Scotland, too. They’re European—it’s like how they settle disputes
over there or something.” America explained, and Canada cracked a small smile.
America laughed and continued. “Yeah, I mean—oh.” He stopped suddenly,
expression screwing into a mixture of pain and stress. Just like before,
though, America knew the feeling well and let it pass, pushing himself up out
of the chair to stretch and walk around a bit. Canada furrowed his eyebrows.
“What are you doing?”
“Me? Oh, guess I haven’t told you yet, have I?” he asked himself, and Canada’s
confusion only grew.
“You see,” he began, twisting until his back popped, “when you get close to
your due date you start feeling these weird sensations…kind of like…kind of
like cramps you feel in your leg after running for a long time, but you feel
them in your, uh, pelvis area.” He murmured the last bit, wishing that Canada
could just understand all the motions of pregnancy like he did. But he had to
explain things to his brother, he knew, because the boy was as clueless as he
had been during his first pregnancy—unsure, unknowing, and unaware of all the
crazy changes going on in his body.
And that was not a good feeling.
“The point of them is to kind of get you ready for the actual birth. When you
do actually give birth, you’ll feel the same sensations, but much stronger. Um,
for women I’m not sure what the exact purpose of them is, but for nations—er,
at least male nations—they seem to signal that your, um, birth canal
is…uh…forming.” America finished, face beet red. He had gone through this so
many times; why was it so embarrassing to explain?
Glancing back to his brother, America saw that Canada was also flushed pink.
Well, at least he wasn’t alone in his awkwardness.
“Oh.” Canada said, eyes widened slightly. “Um, I…” he nudged the bowl away and
America stole a glance at it—a good half of the stew was gone. It was a start.
“I’m not that hungry…anymore. But…but you’re okay, right?” he questioned,
concern evident in his voice as he looked up to his brother. America nodded.
“Yeah.” He stepped forward, exhaling as the tightening sensation eased, and
ruffled Canada’s hair. “I’m perfectly fine. If I wasn’t feeling them, I would
be worried.” He said in a calm tone. Canada nodded, the slightest upturn of his
lips giving away his relief.
America did the dishes again, spooning the leftover stew back into the pot,
before he waddled into the living room to find Canada nodding off on the couch,
sitting up. He chuckled and moved over to his brother, nudging the sleepy boy
awake and guiding him into his—was it theirs, now?—bedroom where Canada ended
up nuzzled into America’s side, contently dozing as the sun set.
Chapter End Notes
     -This will be the general format of the chapters form here on out-
     little time skips with the date at the beginning so no one gets
     confused. The dates have no specific meaning, I'm just trying to
     portray how far in to each month the story is, a pregnancies are
     generally measured in weeks or months.
     -Physically, I picture Canada as being younger/shorter than America
     since he stayed a colony longer, but only by a year or two. Once he
     gains confederation, he'll catch up with his brother, age and height
     wise.
     -Exhaustion is present in a pregnancy early on and also in the month
     or so before delivery. It is said that with multiples, the exhaustion
     increases because the body must care for several other beings at the
     same time. This explains Canada's extreme exhaustion.
     -The sensations America is feeling are Braxton Hicks contractions, or
     small contractions that are felt in the weeks leading up to delivery.
     At the time, there was no medical term for them; however, just a few
     years later in 1872, they were named for an English doctor who began
     investigating the sensations that many pregnant women reported.
     -Around this time in America, the South was undergoing reconstruction
     from the Civil War and Russia was offering the territory of Alaska to
     America for the 2nd time(March 30, 1867 was the actual date of
     purchase)
     -I hope noone minds me getting slightly into an explanation of how
     the babies are born? That was what America's awkward explanation was
     for, but I probably won't touch on it again, if anyone felt unnerved
     by it or something. I thought providing some kind of explanation
     would be better than just like- WHAM! Baby's born! with no valid
     explanation to exactly HOW the child came into the world, because Al
     obviously can't perform a c-section on himself OTL
     Oh, and prepare yourselves if you don't like graphic scenes. I'm
     pretty sure that Nebraska will be born next chapter.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     This one is hella short, so 2 chapters this update.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Middle of the third week of February, 1867
“Hey Al…”
“Hm?” America cracked an eye open at the sound of his brother’s voice. It was
pretty early in the morning—the sun was only just beginning to peak over the
horizon. They could’ve gotten up, but Canada didn’t feel sick and America
wasn’t hungry, so there was no real need.
“Why…” the soft voice was interrupted by a yawn, “Why do you have so many
kids?” Canada asked, rolling on to his side and slinging an arm over the
nation’s swollen stomach while his brother had an arm over his shoulders and
back. America had promised that Nebraska wouldn’t be far off, now. He himself
was starting to show, in fact, which was exciting but frustrating at times.
Like this time, since he couldn’t press himself into his brother’s side like he
could just a week ago.
“Well, I can’t just not have a state, Mattie. I don’t know why it happens every
time; it just…does, I guess.” The colony only ‘hmm’d in response, and America
let his eyes slip shut again.
“Do you ever get bored of them?” That caught America’s attention, and he raised
his head a bit to look down at his brother.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Canada bit his lip, hesitating for a moment, “You have more than
thirty of them. Doesn’t this process and the stress ever, y’know, become too
much? And…I never saw you with your states before this, so do you just kind of
ignore them when they get older?” America let his head flop back down onto the
pillow.
“Well, I admit, I don’t visit all of them enough, but it is pretty hard to keep
up with all of them. But they help me a lot and I appreciate that—once they’re
old enough they help with things at the state level while I deal with the
national and international stuff. I’m becoming such a big country…it takes a
ton of the work off my shoulders.” America explained, and paused for a moment,
searching for the right words, “But when one of us is in trouble, everyone
helps to care for him or her. We’re really spread out and we don’t see each
other often, but we are a family. We all still love each other.”
Canada nodded, and neither of them spoke for a few minutes.
“You know what?” America broke the silence, sounding optimistic.
“What?”
“I’m really glad to have this baby.” He answered, and Canada could hear the
smile in his voice.
“Oh?”
“Yeah…the past few years in my country…haven’t been very good, especially for
the states. I had Kansas, West Virginia, and Nevada during the war, and let’s
just say I never want to have an experience like that again.” Canada nodded
sympathetically. He was glad that he wasn’t a nation, sometimes. He had not yet
experienced a civil war. “But this time, everything went fine. All of these
months have been completely normal and calm, and all of the other states have
even been happy about the new addition.” America explained, bringing his other
hand up to rub his belly.
“Well, my Boss originally vetoed it, but I found out a few weeks ago that
Congress overrode his decision. Remember when I was writing that letter that
one day?” Canada nodded. “I was writing him to tell him he can take his veto
and shove it up his ass.” America said with a snort.
“But anyway, I’m very grateful for little Nebraska,” he continued “I think
she’ll bring the family together. Kansas, I’m sure will be happy to know that
he’s a big brother now. He claimed that Nevada and West Virginia were too close
in age to him to be younger siblings.”
Canada giggled at that. “How old is he?”
“ ‘bout six.” America said with a yawn. “All this talking is making me tired.”
“How do you know she’ll be a girl?” asked Canada.
“Nebraska? I just know. It happens after thirty seven pregnancies, I suppose.”
Canada was sure he could trust his brother on that.
Chapter End Notes
     Ah I cant take myself seriously with this story, even though I love
     it to death.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Notes
     WARNING:This chapter contains smut and childbirth. YOU HAVE BEEN
     WARNED.
     You have also been warned that I have never claimed that I am good at
     writing smut.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
February 28, 1867
Another week passed by and it never got any warmer out, meaning it was
absolutely necessary for America and Canada to share a bed for the warmth it
provided—not that they minded in the least. Canada had begun to show more, with
a slightly noticeable bulge curving out from his otherwise flat stomach.
America commented on how he was showing so quickly, but then told his brother
not to worry.
“Maybe it’s just a first pregnancy thing, I don’t know. It’s not like there are
any documented cases of nation pregnancies. Hell, I think I’m the only one
who’s ever been pregnant, besides you now.”
Currently, it was late in the evening and Canada had picked up a book he had
found lying around in one of the house’s spare rooms. America was off elsewhere
doing…something; he really had no idea what. But the absence of his brother
meant that the house was quiet, and a quiet house combined with the
surprisingly soft cushions of America’s old sofa did wonders for Canada’s
aching back.
His comfort was interrupted, though, when a pair of arms wormed their way
around his neck, settling on his slightly bulged abdomen as a face came from
behind to nuzzle into his hair.
“Mattie…” Canada didn’t sigh, but placed the novel off on the side table and
quirked a brow.
“Al?” he knew it was his brother—they were the only two in the house and only
America would call him by that name—but he sounded off, somehow.
“Mmhmm…” the nation hummed, nuzzling his brother’s neck and then moving up to
nip at the lobe of his ear.
“Ah!” Canada gasped in surprise and reached an arm back to half-embrace his
brother, halting the nation’s assaults. “W-what are you doing?”
“Nothing.” America said innocently, and pulled his arms away only to come
around the front of the couch and curl up next to Canada. “I’ve been
wondering—you’re feeling fine, right? Like with your emotions; I know they can
be very frustrating early on.” He asked, reaching one arm around his brother’s
shoulders and another around his middle.
“Yeah, um…they’ve been fine. As fine as they can be, I guess. Sometimes I feel
upset for no reason, but it’s actually been okay the past few days.” Canada
relaxed into the nation’s embrace, leaning his head on the other’s shoulder.
Maybe his brother was just being weird earlier.
“That’s good…but you haven’t felt any other symptoms?”
“Well my back has been hurting—”
“I mean emotionally, Mattie.” Canada was surprised by his abruptness, but
brushed it off.
“No…why?”
“Because I’ve been feeling some…” he paused, “intense symptoms, and I think you
could help me with them. I guess you could say they are physical, too.” America
shifted slightly, and Canada could have sworn he heard a whimper.
“Well, what can I do?” he questioned, lifting his head and looking to his
brother. America’s blue eyes had a heavy look to them.
“Matt,” he muttered, before leaning in and pressing his lips to Canada’s.
Kissing his northern neighbor was always a treat—the colony’s lips were almost
smaller, and much softer. Like kissing the finest velvet.
Canada didn’t back out of the kiss, but jumped a little when their lips
connected. It had been several decades—he had forgotten how his brother felt.
The nation next to him shifted slightly, and Canada could feel something other
than his brother’s swollen belly pressing against his thigh. He moaned into the
kiss in realization and, with just a hand to the other’s chest, broke the kiss
momentarily.
“You really want to do this now?” he asked in almost disbelief. He wasn’t
trying to imply that America was unattractive when nearly nine months
pregnant—quite the opposite—but he had to admit he was…well he wasn’t sure what
he was. Especially since he was reacting to his brother’s arousal.
“Yes. Matt you don’t understand. I haven’t had physical contact with anyone
except for New York in months. France stopped by once but he wasn’t very
willing, and I think now I know why, but that’s not the point. It’s not like
you have to fuck me.” America said, pausing to push forward and capture
Canada’s lips once more. “Just touch me. And, and, and it’s not like I’ll just
ignore you!” he exclaimed, need evident in his voice.
While Canada should have been astonished at how desperate his brother sounded,
America’s last sentence struck him and he smashed his lips into his brother’s,
pushing his tongue against the nation’s lips and into a warm open mouthed kiss.
America moaned into his brother’s mouth and immediately wrapped his arms around
the smaller colony’s shoulders.
“You better not ignore me.” Canada almost growled when he broke the kiss, and
began fiddling with the ends of America’s nightgown. After a few minutes of
kissing, America got impatient and pushed back.
“C’mon, Matt, stop stalling…” He yanked the nightgown up over his head and
tossed it off somewhere behind him—as long as it didn’t hit a candle, he didn’t
care about it at the moment. Canada soon discovered that his brother had worn
nothing under the night gown, not that he minded.
It was strange—seeing America naked and pregnant—but there was something oddly
beautiful about the swollen curve of his abdomen and his equally swollen cock
just below it. After ogling his brother for a few seconds he realized he should
probably cut to the chase, as America soon demanded while pressing hungry
kisses to his neck. Canada let America take control, the nation’s hands
wandering all over his body as they slowly divested him of his own clothing.
When the northern colony was also completely naked, America leaned back and
examined his brother. Canada grew conscious of those scrutinizing blue eyes,
but his brother soon reassured him.
“You look absolutely adorable like this.” The elder said before leaning in and
pressing a chaste kiss to Canada’s forehead. The intimacy in his words made
Canada blush furiously, and he responded.
“You do, too. In a kind of weird way. But a good weird way…” he babbled, but
America soon silenced and thanked him with a kiss.
While the heavily pregnant nation had been frantic before, America slowed his
ministrations and just let the both of them explore each other’s bodies. It had
been decades since they had last done this, and both had certainly changed in
various ways. His brother wasn’t as hesitant, he noticed, but he thought that
he preferred him this way. While the majority of their lands were currently
blanketed ion snow, Canada’s hands were anything but cold. Those warm—and oddly
large, he must have been growing—hands roamed America’s body as they kissed,
coming back to rub the nation’s large belly several times.
America admitted that he was enjoying the attention, but was desperate for
release. “Mattie,” he drew out his brother’s voice in a moan as Canada got the
message and moved his hand south, finally cupping his brother’s erection and
giving it a small stroke.
That was all the invitation America needed. Soon he was thrusting into his
brother’s hand frantically, his mouth open in ecstasy. Between the moans and
open mouthed kisses, Canada leaned in close to nibble on his ear.
“Hey…what was that about not ignoring me?” he panted, and America bit back
another moan.
“S-sorry Mattie…let me just…” no more words were needed as the nation reached
down and rubbed the leaking tip of his brother’s cock. Canada’s eyes fluttered
and he gasped, and America decided that he liked that reaction very much,
moving his hand farther down and jerking Canada off in long, slow strokes.
It did not take long for both of them to finish after Canada decided to
alternate between fast and slow strokes. The change of pace was evident in
America’s voice immediately, and when he reciprocated the gesture Canada all
but screamed out his name. How they came in unison, moaning each other’s names,
was a mystery to them, but they both slumped back against opposite ends of the
sofa afterwards, flushed and satisfied.
After a minute or so the warmth of the afterglow wore off, mainly because many
of the candles in the room had died out and the fire in the fireplace was
running low. Canada was the first to move, pushing himself into a sitting
position and retrieving his wrinkled clothing from the floor to pull back on.
“C’mon, Al, you’ve got to get up and get dressed again. The cold can’t be good
for you or Nebraska.” Canada murmured softly as he buttoned up his shirt.
America only groaned, sighed, and then slowly pushed himself up so that his
feet were back on the floor, but he was leaning so far over the edge of the
sofa that Canada worried he would topple over.
“Al?” His voice was barely a whisper, but America did not respond. Just as
worry and fear were creeping up Canada’s spine, he heard a dripping noise and
America gasped sharply.
“Shit…”
“Al? Alfred what’s wrong?” Canada asked, raising his voice and trying to keep
the panic at bay. America only gasped again and gripped his stomach.
“Matt, go get all the blankets and towels you can find.” He stated, his voice
straining as he gripped one arm of the sofa and lifted himself on to unsteady
legs.
“What? Al I don’t understand. What’s going on?” Canada demanded, tearing up.
Had he hurt the baby during their activities?
“Matt…Matt calm down.” America managed as he took a few steps and straightened
up, turning to see his brother’s eyes widen greatly in realization. “I’m going
into labor.”
-----
March 1, 1867
After the initial shock had worn off, Canada could say he was…excited. Worried,
but still very excited. His brother was having a child. And not just any child,
but one of his states—one who would grow and live and love her land like they
had, and be loved in return by the citizens of this newly formed state.
The initial shock, however, did take a while to wear off. At his brother’s
request, Canada had dashed around the house, yanking every blanket and towel he
could find off beds or out of linen closets and constantly returning to the
sitting room as America formed a makeshift nest out of all the fabric. Finally,
his brother requested a heavy robe when all the closets and beds in the home
were stripped bare, save for America’s own master bedroom. Canada fetched it
quickly, and helped America wrap himself up in it to fend off the cold.
After a good hour of Canada running around, America laid back and took a deep
breath, Canada tense by his side, waiting to see what to do next.
“Whelp, guess we just have to wait now. Don’t stress out too much Mattie, okay?
I’ve lived through tons of these on my own, and I know very well that after a
while it’s all just a waiting game. Why don’t you go relight some of the
candles and replenish the fire? I’m pretty warm, but I don’t want you to
freeze.” Canada had stared at him in disbelief for a second, amazed at how calm
America was, but then stood slowly and plodded into the kitchen in search of
matches.
As he travelled about the sitting room, striking matches and reveling in their
heat as they were near to his frigid fingers, was when the shock began to wear
off. In the dim light he could see he brother’s form and hear the occasional
groans and pants and gasps, which soothed him, in a way. He knew America was in
pain, but occasionally the nation would let out a long and relieved sigh,
almost as if he was glad that this ordeal was nearly over. Canada was sure that
he was.
The two did not speak, Canada unsure if it would comfort or unnerve his
laboring brother. He continued about his task, though, and eventually set the
box of matches up on the hearth before grabbing two logs from the pile nearby
and tossing them into the fireplace. As the new wood crackled and burned, he
made his way back to his brother.
“Are you doing alright?” he questioned, squatting down and brushing sweaty,
golden locks off of America’s forehead before pressing a kiss there.
America groaned and gasped sharply, but then replied. “Y-yeah…like I said, it
just takes time.” He tried to smile up at his brother, but another contraction
soon hit and his face screwed up in pain. Canada ran his fingers through
America’s hair one more, and then stood, heading for the kitchen again. He
poured a glad of chilled—but not icy—water and came back out, determined to
stay by his brother’s side for the duration of the process. America gratefully
accepted a few sips of the water and Canada grabbed a small, unused towel from
nearby to dab at his brother’s forehead.
And so they waited.
It was hours until anything happened, but Canada kept his vigil, holding on
tight to his brother’s right hand. America squeezed hard every time a
contraction struck him, and the colony almost regretted allowing the nation in
labor to hold his hand. He knew, though, that if America could go through this
whole painful process, he could sit beside him for a few hours and give him the
comfort of having someone to hold on to—even if his hand sometimes felt like it
was broken, or at least fractured.
During the duration of the night—or early morning, really— America would
randomly come up with items for Canada to retrieve, assuring him that they were
all necessary. Around the time dawn broke, another blanket, a pair of tiny
scissors, and string sat nearby.
“To cut the umbilical cord.” America had explained, and after a few minutes
Canada gave in and asked what an umbilical cord was, embarrassed but relieved
when America chuckled. At least his brother wasn’t in too much pain—or not
showing it, anyway.
Between contractions America explained the gradual steps of labor as he
understood them. He only drew from experience, he admitted, because he, too,
was much too embarrassed to ask a more knowledgeable person about the process
of birth.
Before he knew it the sun was rising, and America seemed to be proceeding into
the next stage of labor.
“I’m going to start pushing, Mattie, okay?”
“What.”
“Mattie, hold my hand!” America gasped and latched on to his brother’s wrist,
squeezing as if his life depended on it. Canada himself gasped and winced
before prying his brother’s hand open in order to guide it into his actual
hand. After a few seconds America gasped loudly and drew in a huge breath, as
if he had just run a marathon. The pattern continued for the better part of an
hour—first America would squeeze his hand with an iron grip, then take a big
breath and hold it, his eyebrows scrunching up and his body going completely
tense. After what seemed like minutes to Canada, the nation would relax, take a
few breaths, and then start again.
Finally, America gave a sigh of almost relief and Canada cocked his head at his
brother.
“Her head is—ah—coming through. I just…I just have to relax now…” he mumbled,
his eyes fluttering closed. He was exhausted, no doubt.
An idea struck him and Canada pressed a kiss to his brother’s temple before
darting into one of the many guest bedrooms nearby, grabbing a pillow, and
returning to America’s side. He slipped a hand under America’s head—the
nation’s hair now completely soaked in sweat—and lifted it off the mound of
towels and blankets they had arranged. When his brother felt the cool softness
of the cushion he turned his tired eyes to Canada and smiled.
More waiting followed, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the hours before. America
still squeezed his hand intermittently, but he could tell that his brother was
trying to relax and let the process continue. Some forty minutes in to the
stage, America let out a shuddering sigh and addressed Canada.
“Matt, you need to get a towel and go around the front of me, okay?” Canada
raised an eyebrow at the request, wondering if the baby was truly about to be
born, but obeyed, dislodging a towel from the nest and crawling around between
America’s legs.
It was a shock—seeing a baby being born for the first time—and one thing Canada
couldn’t get over was how…large the birth canal was. It had stretched to a size
that didn’t seem natural to him and oh my god was that the baby’s head!?
“Al! I can see her…I can see her head!” He exclaimed, scared but unable to
quell the excitement overtaking him.
“I know, Mattie. She’s about to come out.” America said in a strained voice,
trying to have patience with his inexperienced brother. “Drape the towel across
your arms…like you’re about to catch something. Because, well, you are.” Canada
lifted his eyes back to his brother’s face and nodded, arranging the towel
appropriately. “When she comes out just wrap her up and keep her warm, okay?
We’ll cut the cord a few minutes afterwards…”
Canada nodded again and he was astonished at how quick the next minutes flew
by. One second America was groaning as he watched the birth canal twitch and
contract, and the next his brother was screaming and out popped a newborn baby
girl, as well as a bunch of bloody, clear fluid that he quickly moved to avoid.
The baby captivated his attention. She was pink and wrinkly and wailing as he
wrapped her up in the cloth, patting her softly to assure that she was dried.
The cord—a strange fleshy color—extended back into America, but Canada ignored
it as his brother instructed him. After a minute he realized that America would
probably want to see his new born child.
“Al.” he whispered, unable to wipe the smile off his face as he poked his
brother’s shoulder. America was panting and had thrown his arm over his eyes,
whole body gone limp in pure relief from the pain. “Al…” he tried again, and
after a moment America lifted his arm, blinking the tears out of his eyes that
neither of them had even noticed before glancing over to Canada and the bundle
in his brother’s arms. Slowly, a smile creeped on to his face and he opened his
arms.
“Hey…” was the first thing America said when the tiny being was nestled in his
embrace, and gradually she quieted down. “Nebraska…” he mumbled, smiling fondly
and pushing a finger into the baby’s wandering hands. “Nebraska…” he said
again, and chuckled at his daughter’s soft cooing noises.
Canada only sat nearby, fascinated as the two interacted for the first time.
Just minutes later, Canada saw a tear roll down his brother’s cheek and he gave
in to the happiness, too. He laughed, drawing his brother’s attention before
moving closer and embracing America, letting a few tears leak from his eyes as
they both gazed down at the child.
After a few minutes, America mumbled something about being uncomfortable and
Canada released him, glancing around for a moment before he located the thread
and string from earlier. On America’s instruction he carefully unfolded the
towel and tied off the cord close to Nebraska’s stomach before using the pair
of tiny scissors to snip it off. America mentioned the afterbirth then,
furrowing his brows as Canada lifted Nebraska from his arms to wrap her in a
drier, softer blanket, and minutes later a bloody, fleshy mess spilled out on
to the floor. Canada was too astonished to hide his repulsion.
“Yeah, giving birth isn’t as great as it seems.” America said, referring to the
shocked and disgusted expression on Canada’s face. “I know it’s kinda weird,
but could you just wrap that up in a towel and toss it out back? After a few
days I usually get the strength to go bury it or something.” The colony, still
a bit shocked, handed the baby to America before doing as his brother
instructed, hurrying back inside after the deed as to not let in the frigid air
inside.
By the time Canada came back, America had used several of the towels to wipe
the sweat the other fluids from his body, and looked as if he was about to pass
out. Canada gave America before helping him to his feet and allowing his to
lean heavily on his shoulder as they made their way up the stairs and into the
bedroom.
Canada sat on the bed, coddling and cooing at Nebraska, as America pulled on a
pair of long johns and another nightgown. With a few shaky steps, the nation
was in bed and looking seconds away from falling asleep. Nebraska still in his
arms, Canada moved around the other side of the bed and crawled in with his
brother, throwing the blanket over both of them.
“Shouldn’t you feed her?” he questioned, placing the newborn next to her
father—or would it be mother?—as they both drifted off.
“Depends,” America said, nuzzling into the pillows and placing a kiss on his
daughter’s forehead. “Usually you can wait a few hours, but it’s different
every time.” He yawned and shut his eyes. “I rememb’r …New York was so fussy.
Nursed for an hour after he came out and jus’ wouldn’t let me sleep…” America
mumbled, and then sighed as he finally dropped off. Canada giggled at his
brother’s words, and wondered how many other stories he could tell. He’d have
to ask him sometime, Canada thought, and fell asleep imagining all the things
that would come next in their lives.
Chapter End Notes
     Orgasm can indeed induce labor, and that’s what happened to America.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
     I'm so sorrryyyyy for not updating ;_; I have been very busy with
     school and life. Two chapters this time to tide everyone over from
     the long wait. I promise I'll keep up with this more.
     For reference-
     New York's design-http://darkfire75.deviantart.com/art/New-York-
     profile-121874583
     Virginia's design-http://hareno.deviantart.com/art/State-tan-Miss-
     Virginia-126267426
     They both belong to their creators.
Canada woke violently to the sound of a loud, shrill wail. He hadn’t even known
that a normal voice could reach that pitch, he thought, as he pushed himself up
haphazardly to find its source. It wasn’t difficult to find the origin, because
all he had to do was look beside him and see America with a baby Nebraska.
Oh. Right. Baby, born yesterday. Babies cry.
He didn’t want to yell while Nebraska was right there, but Canada was unsure if
his brother would even hear him if he didn’t. Luckily, America suddenly
silenced the newborn state with a thumb in her mouth and then turned to him.
“Good morning, or afternoon, I guess.” He whispered with a smile. Instead of
returning the sentiment, Canada just looked at the nation like he was crazy.
“How are you so happy and awake? That crying was absolute murder on my ears.”
He whispered in return, watching Nebraska grip on to America’s wrist. America
chuckled.
“I don’t really know...”he trailed off, just looking down at his daughter with
fond eyes, “this happens every time. Whenever I see them they just make me so
happy. Maybe because…they’re a part of me, and when a new state is born, my
borders expand more and more. More room for more people.” America dislodged his
finger from Nebraska’s mouth and wiped the spittle off on his shirt before
setting her down gently among the sheets. She gurgled a bit, but thankfully the
wailing did not resume.
“What are you doing?” questioned Canada.
“She needs to be fed. That’s why she was crying—she’s just hungry.” He
explained, and Canada responded with a soft ‘oh…’ until America pulled his
nightgown over his head.
“Wha—? Alfred, what are you doing?” Canada blushed at his brother’s bare chest
and still swollen belly, though he had no reason to. He had certainly seen more
than he had ever wanted to the night before, yet the innocence and intimacy of
being in bed with someone shirtless and not trying to sleep with them was,
well… It was a feeling Canada had never experienced.
“You do know how I feed her right? I mean, I know this whole pregnancy thing is
really weird, but the whole process is actually pretty similar to what a woman
goes through. Even after you give birth.” America explained, wiggling his hands
under Nebraska, lifting her off the bed, and cradling her against his chest.
Canada cocked his head, and America sighed at his brother’s cluelessness. “She
has to be breast fed. It’s really the only way to go unless you want to be
milking a goat all day.” The colony’s eyes widened in surprise, and he felt
foolish for not thinking of that.
Canada did not respond, so America shifted Nebraska slightly and guided her to
one of his nipples. She made a little noise as her mouth searched for a second,
but then she latched on and, to Canada’s amazement, began to suckle.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, America gazing down at his newborn and
stoking her back with his fingers. The colony just watched in amazement,
shifting to lay down again, with his head at the foot of the bed so he could
watch the two interact. It fascinated him, and he wondered if he would be like
that when his baby was born.
“What does that feel like?” Canada said suddenly, lying his head down on his
arm. America looked up, as if snapping himself out of a daze.
“Oh…well, uh, it’s kinda strange at first. Especially for the first few times
after every baby is born…but after a minute or so there’s just this,” he
paused, thinking of a good word, “comforting…and warm feeling that settles in
you. It’s…a really good experience because you bond with the baby whenever he
or she breastfeeds…um...I don’t know how else to describe it, it’s hard to say
exactly what I feel. But you’ll know it when you feel it.” Canada nodded, and
the two lapsed into silence again.
The colony continued to watch his brother and what was now one of his nieces,
studying them both and attempting to gather what they were thinking or feeling,
because he could feel some sort of special connection there, but he just
couldn’t place it…
After a good five minutes of nursing, Nebraska cracked open her little, round
eyes and gazed up at America, mouth still latched on to his nipple. Canada’s
eyes stayed fixated on Nebraska, but he heard his brother make a noise, like
his breath was hitching in his throat. He understood now, looking at the
newborn baby’s eyes. They were a bright, bright crystal blue, and she was
looking up to America as if he was the only person on the planet. To her,
Canada thought, he probably was.
Somehow the next few minutes flew by, and suddenly Nebraska released America
and let out a small, but satisfied sigh. The nation grinned down at her and
used the edge of the bed sheet to dab at the little drops leaking from her
mouth.
“So, want to go eat?” America asked brightly, setting the baby down again and
pulling his nightgown back on.
“Eh? Don’t you need to rest?” America shrugged his shoulders.
“I’m not going to go run around in the snow; I just want to go down to the
kitchen. Don’t worry too much, okay?” With that, the nation pushed the blankets
aside and stood slowly, making sure he had his bearings before lifting Nebraska
and resting her against his shoulder. “Well, come on,” he beckoned “I know
you’re hungry. Plus, after breakfast we have to clean up…well, everything.”
-----
The rest of the day was filled with two things—America sitting and coddling
Nebraska, feeding her every few hours when she got fussy, and Canada going
about the house doing all the necessary chores while America watched.
The sitting room smelled absolutely horrid due to the fact that they didn’t
clean up after the long morning, but both agreed they wouldn’t have done it
anyway, given another chance. With America seated happily in the kitchen, a
pile of pancakes on his plate, Canada reluctantly ventured into the sitting
room and heaved the blood and sweat stained towels and blankets off the floor.
There was also a stain on the floor, he noticed, and America told him that he
would have to wash it off by scrubbing the floor. Canada had frowned and not
spoken to his brother for a good hour after that.
Washing the various heavy blankets and towels was a laborious task, and Canada
later told America that he was lucky that he wasn’t more pregnant. Had he been,
he would have refused to act as his brother’s maid for the day.
He knew that the laundry, the dishes, and the scrubbing needed to be done,
though. Raising a baby would be impossible otherwise. Luckily, America owned a
hand powered washing machine, but most of the blankets were too heavy for it,
so Canada was forced to dress warmly and haul a large tub out to the front
porch in order to wash the linens before wringing them dry and hauling them
inside to hang dry. Earlier in the day he had converted one of America’s spare
rooms into a giant clothesline, stinging rope form the ceiling to accommodate
all the linens.
While he washed and scrubbed various things throughout the day, Canada allowed
his mind to wander.
How far along was he again? It was the beginning of March, so that was just
over two months so far. If he was right, his own child would be born sometime
in…September? He sighed let his head fall slightly. Seven months? How was he
supposed to live through this? He should ask his brother how he struggled
through the nine months time after time.
“Mattie!” Speak of the devil. “Hey, Matt, guess what?” Canada sighed and
pitched himself up on his knees. He had been scrubbing the floor
boards—hopefully one of his last tasks of the day.
“What?” he answered, bemused by how bouncy his brother already was after such
an ordeal.
“I forgot to tell you, New York and Virginia are coming over next week. I sent
both of them a telegram a few days ago, cause they always like to come over
after I give birth, so they’re going to come visit and see Nebraska!”
Canada blinked up at his brother. New York and Virginia? He had never met the
latter. “Okay, sounds good. I’m excited to meet more of your states.” He said,
smiling.
“Yeah, I told them about you, too. Well, New York already knew, but Virginia
said she’ll be happy to see you.” Said America, readjusting Nebraska in his
arms. She had just woken up, apparently, and Canada’s eyes softened when her
cooing noises reached his ears. America sighed slightly, but still smiled.
“Well, I guess I have to go feed her again.” He said, stoking her cheek as she
stirred. Canada plopped the scrub brush he had been using back in the bucket of
water and followed his brother. It was probably about time for him to make
dinner, anyway.
Dinner ended up being pancakes again, because Canada didn’t feel like making
anything else. While he cooked, America fed Nebraska, and then the two ate,
discussing the baby and Canada asking question after question as to what would
happen next.
“How are you going to feed her at night?”
“Same way I do during the day. That’s the thing, though; I have to get up every
few hours to feed her. It’s never a pleasant thing, but I have to do it. Sorry
that you have to sleep in the same bed. You’ll probably wake up every time I
do.” Canada shook his head.
“No, I understand. She’s just a baby…so I guess you can’t really tell her when
to eat when you don’t feel like feeding her. I never thought of it like that.”
He said, shoving another forkful of pancake into his mouth. America nodded and
did the same. Nebraska was asleep against his chest, held up by a sling of
cloth.
“So, is she going to sleep in bed with us again?” America nodded again,
swallowing.
“Yep. I actually built a bassinet for her, but it’s way too cold. If it was
summer I would let her sleep in it, but its better if she’s just in the bed
with us for now. It makes me feel better, too.” He explained, and Canada
nodded, hoping that one day, he could feel that way about his own children.
------
“What are you going to name her?” Canada asked later that night when Nebraska
full of milk and nestled warm between them. He turned his head to the side to
look at the outline of his brother’s face in the moonlight.
“I don’t really know. I thought of a few names before the birth and I narrowed
it down a bit more now, I think, but I’m still not sure. I want to wait until
New York and Virginia come visit, though—I want their opinions, too.” America
said, letting his eyes drift closed. Canada thought that he should probably not
carry on the conversation too long as his brother looked tired. No doubt he
would be getting up several times during the night, too, so he would need all
the sleep he could get.
Not to mention himself, too. Scrubbing floors and cooking all day along with
being pregnant was not an easy task.
“Wait till they visit? But that’s a week away…don’t you think that’s a bit long
to wait?” Canada asked, a bit disappointed. He had wanted to have a name to
call his new niece by.
The fabric of the sheets rustled as America shrugged. “I guess, but I’ve waited
longer with some of my others. Plus, she’s one of us—a state. She’ll live to
see hundreds, if not thousands of years. There’s no rush to it.”
Canada paused and thought about his brother’s words. They were very true. Who
was to even say how old he and America had been when they were named? “Well,
can you tell me your favorite name as of now?”
“Renee.” America said simply, tugging the thick comforter up to his chin. “ ‘s
a French name. I thought it was fitting.” Canada nodded.
“Hmm…yeah, I like it.” He turned on his side—not only to look at Nebraska, but
because it was more comfortable for his back. “Renee…”
-----
America really hadn’t been kidding when he said that Nebraska would wake them
up in the middle of the night. It went on all week like clockwork—they would
all go to bed a few hours after the sun set and after shutting their eyes for
what seemed like five minutes they would wake to Nebraska’s wailing. Sometimes
one of them was so exhausted that the crying wouldn’t even wake them for a
minute. Canada felt lucky, though—he got to go back to bed almost immediately
while America had to stay up for up to half an hour to wait for Nebraska to be
full again.
The one thing they didn’t have to worry too much about, thankfully, was
diapers.
“I’ve got it down to a science.” America said with a smirk one afternoon. “I
found this really absorbent cloth and I even learned to sew a little bit to
make it fit right! It took me a while to get it, though. It was around 1825, I
think, a few years after I had Missouri. Keeping up with his diapers was so
difficult and the summer heat of the South didn’t make it any better. It was
horrible!” he explained, lifting up Nebraska’s bottom as he slid a clean diaper
underneath it. She made a noise that sounded almost confused, screwing up her
face, and Canada sickered. “But now with these, I don’t have to worry about
them leaking or smelling bad. Maybe I can make more for you when I have some
free time.”
Pregnancy was truly the strangest thing on Earth, Canada decided. Not only had
it transformed his brother into a sensible mother and housewife, but the things
it did to one’s body! The combination of his own symptoms and watching America
come out of his own pregnancy was enough to make his head spin. Not literally,
of course, but the back aching made up plenty for the proverbial head spinning.
With the cleaning up done from America’s birth, there were few household chores
left to do over the next few days, save some laundry. Lucky for Canada, though,
America had recovered much of his strength and was happy to prance around the
house doing whatever needed to be done while Canada lay on the couch in pain.
Nebraska joined him occasionally, when America needed to cook or when she
conked out for a nap.
When Canada wasn’t busy groaning at his brother to bring him a hot towel, he
began to notice how quickly America lost his swollen belly over the course of
just a few days.
“That’s weird.” He had remarked one morning at breakfast, saying that a living
being shouldn’t be able to drop that much weight in such a short amount of
time.
“I’m glad for it. I think my skin works differently than a woman’s—first of all
because, well, I’m a man, and second because I’m a nation. I get some stretch
marks here and there, but within day they’re gone and within a week my stomach
is back to normal size. It’s like I’m the fountain of youth!” he said, laughing
before going back to the meal in front of him and proceeding to shovel food
into his mouth. After two days of pancakes Canada had switched over to eggs and
toast for breakfast, thinking that America probably needed some kind of
nutrition, especially since he was feeding not only himself, but Nebraska.
The week flew by, and Canada was caught off guard when his brother told him the
New York and Virginia would be arriving the next morning. The slew of learning
how to change diapers, cooking, and worrying about his own pregnancy had busied
him too much, he supposed.
At least the morning sickness had disappeared, as it seemed to be the only
thing doing so.
-----
America said that New York and Virginia wouldn’t be visiting until around nine
in the morning, and that the snow would slow them down, no doubt. So at ten
minutes to nine, Canada plopped down on the sofa and drowned himself in
blankets, hoping to get some more rest after being unable to sleep the previous
night. As the days creeped by his back pain only increased, though it seemed to
come in waves that were a few hours long, and then fade off for a while.
Just as he was drifting off, the loud and incessant sound of someone knocking
at the door penetrated the house.
“Dad!” a feminine voice called, “I want to see the baby!” She seemed quite
distraught, thought Canada as he groaned and shifted under the blankets. The
next thing he heard was the soft ‘thump thump’ of America’s socked feet coming
down the stairs.
“Ready to meet the niece and nephew, Matt?”
“I already met Michael…”he murmured. Curse his brother for knowing when he was
awake or asleep.
“Yeah, but you said like two words to him.” America retorted, coming over to
the back of the couch. The knocking continued in the background. “Now get up, I
actually need your help for this.”
“To answer the door?”asked Canada, pushing the numerous blankets aside as he
sat up.
“No, to hold Nebraska. As you can hear, Virginia is…eager to see her. I want
you to hold her while I answer the door so I don’t drop her or something. Or
she doesn’t get squished by Virginia…” he trailed off, leading Canada to
believe that this had happened before. He sighed and got up from the couch,
moving around to his brother to accept the little girl wrapped in a blanket.
America wandered off in the direction of the door, but Canada paid him no more
attention when he caught Nebraska’s eyes. He knew that he must have meant
something to the baby, since he had been around since she was born the previous
week. She just looked so…fitting with America. He had to admit, he was slightly
jealous.
There was a shrill, but short creek of a door opening, and then Canada wasn’t
even sure of what he was hearing. From what he could see, though, Virginia had
straight, dark blonde hair that fell past her shoulders and green eyes. Well,
no surprise there.
“Dad, hi, you look so good! How is everything? Have you been eating well? Oh,
and where’s the baby?!”
America was about to answer, but his daughter kept babbling. He only chuckled
and nodded along, shutting the door behind New York, who wandered over to
Canada.
“So this is the newest addition to the family, hm?” New York asked, surprising
Canada who had been focusing on Nebraska herself.
“Oh…yeah. Little Nebraska. Born on—”
“March first, I know. It was the day she was accepted into the Union.” He
interrupted, though with a soft smile, looking over to Canada. “Do you mind if
I hold her?”
“Not at all.” New York held out his arms, and Canada settled the child gently
into his embrace. He knew there was no need to explain how to hold the baby—the
state had done this many times, no doubt.
New York looked so peculiar with a child, but he supposed everyone did to him,
because two months ago he never would have even considered such a thing. The
state cradled his baby sister in his arms for a few moments, rocking her gently
and even cooing to her.
“Hello…I’m Michael. I’m your brother, did you know?” he chuckled at his own
words and then stepped over to the couch, seating himself in the space Canada
had vacated. Canada just stood back and stared at the two—it was absolutely
adorable to watch them interact. New York looked so much older—and was a good
hundred years older—but some day they would both look the same age. Also,
Canada noticed that he had never actually seen New York smile, though his last
visit was quite short. His smile was a kind one, and one he reserved for
precious few, the colony could tell. It fit him very well, though, especially
in the current situation.
The state continued to coddle his sibling and Canada continued to watch, and
after a few minutes New York lifted the hand not supporting Nebraska and
stroked her cheek. The baby closed her eyes at the touch, displeased by their
cold, rough feel compared to America’s. New York’s smile widened slightly.
“Oh, I’m sorry, am I too cold for you?” he muttered, retracting his hand. He
didn’t say anything more, but blew hot breath onto his fingers before trying to
touch her face again. Eventually, Virginia noticed that her brother was holding
a baby. Even the quick ‘tap tap tap’ of her shoes sounded eager as she made her
way over to the sofa.
“Michael, can I hold her?” she whispered, leaning over the back of the sofa and
New York’s shoulder. New York nodded and handed the baby girl up to his older
sister. She was immediately enamored by the new state.
“My gosh, she’s precious…” Virginia said, gasping when Nebraska looked up at
her. “Oh, her eyes…they look just like yours, dad.” Behind her, America
chuckled.
“She’s only a week old, Leslie, they might change in a few months.” So that was
her name, Canada thought. He’d have to try and remember that.
“Oh hush, hun. I can admire them while they are this color.” She said to
America in almost a chiding voice. America himself just laughed and then sat
down on the couch.
“Only five minutes of you two holding her and I already feel relieved.” He
said, sinking into the cushions and blankets. “I love her and all, but not
having to worry is a nice feeling…” He let out a long, relieved sigh.
“You’re not relaxed when I’m holding her?” Canada questioned, drawing the
three’s attention.
America shook his head with a bright smile. “Naw, Mattie. It’s just that when
I’m not worrying about her I’m worrying about you! You’re still pregnant, you
know.” Virginia’s eyes lit up.
“So you really are? Michael mentioned that he heard something about you, but I
didn’t know if it was really true. That’s adorable! I can’t wait until yours is
born too!” Virginia said, nuzzling Nebraska in happiness.
“Mike! I told you to keep it a secret!” America said sternly, giving his son a
light smack on the head.
“I did! I only told her about two hours ago, and it was because she wouldn’t
stop bothering me.” The state asserted. America rolled his eyes.
“So how long are you two staying?” Canada questioned, changing the subject. He
didn’t want to be rude, but having visitors while your body was going through a
myriad of strange changes wasn’t very appealing.
“Well, with how adorable she is I think I want to stay longer.” Virginia said,
smiling down at her youngest sister. Nebraska only cooed and gazed back up at
her.
“If she’s going to stay a little longer then I don’t see a problem with doing
the same.” New York said, “Might as well stay until this horrid snow clears a
bit.”
Canada smiled at them on the outside while frowning on the inside. They seemed
very nice, but he had to admit that he was disappointed. With an internal sigh,
Canada thought about how glad he was to not be waddling around in a nightgown
yet.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Virginia and New York ended up staying for a week, rather than the three days
they had planned. To Canada’s pleasure, nothing much changed in his daily
schedule with the addition of the brother and sister to the household. The two
actually grew on him quite well, as they would cook and clean so he and America
wouldn’t have to.
The two states, especially Virginia, were also ever eager to take care of their
younger sister. On the second day, while they were all eating a breakfast that
New York had cooked, Nebraska was finally named.
“I don’t know dad, I really do like the name Stephanie…” Virginia said,
cradling the little girl in her arms. America crossed his arms.
“I guess it’s okay…but I can’t see her as a Stephanie. What do you thin—“
“I’m not getting involved in this.” New York interrupted, looking down into his
plate rather than at his father and sisters, “The last time I tried to name one
of the states was when California was born, and you two got into such a big
fight over the name I suggested and the name Leslie came up with that you
nearly dropped him.” New York looked up from his plate, dabbing at his mouth
with a napkin, “So you two can argue over names on your own, but if you’re
going to do so then give me Nebraska.” He held out his arms across the table
expectantly. Virginia pouted, but when her brother’s expression didn’t falter
she handed the child over.
“I still think Stephanie is the best choice.” She said haughtily, standing up
from the table and going to put her plate in the sink.
With New York’s backing nonexistent, America looked to Canada. “What do you
think, Mattie? Doesn’t she look like a Renee and not a Stephanie?” he asked
with a smile. From behind America, Virginia glared at her uncle, as if daring
him to pick a side.
“Well, um…I, uh…” he shot a glance over to Nebraska, resting in New York’s
arms. Her little blue eyes cracked open and gazed at him, and he bit his lip.
He never knew naming someone was so stressful! After running the names through
his head again, he forced out a few words.
“I…I like Renee…”
“Fine!” Virginia through her arms up and marched out of the room. At the same
time America bounded over to his brother and hugged him around the neck.
“Awesome choice Matt—I knew you’d side with me! Oh and don’t worry about
Leslie, she’s just being over dramatic.” America said, releasing Canada. The
colony took in a big gasp of air and massaged his neck as America reached
across his lap and plucked Nebraska from New York’s arms. The state looked
annoyed and stood up, gathering the three remaining plates.
“Renee, that’s your name now, sweetheart!” America said with a giggle, rocking
his daughter in his arms. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and swept her out
of the room—probably to go somewhere more private to feed her—leaving Canada
sitting there wondering what just happened.
A few hours later, Canada found that America was right about Virginia. He had
taken a nap and then emerged into the sitting room to find America and his
three children settled on the sofas and exchanging idle chatter while Virginia
nuzzled and cooed at Nebraska. Canada was greeted when he emerged from
America’s room and decided to join them—being noticed was a very nice feeling,
he decided.
He didn’t say much, just listening to their soft voices while a roaring fire in
the fire place warmed the room. Though he had just woken up, Canada nearly
nodded off on the couch. He let his mind drift from Nebraska’s new name, to how
many months left until he would give birth, and then finally to a subject her
had thought about often—America’s other children. New York and Virginia were
very pleasant children, and he hoped that his would grow to be the same, but a
question about some of the other members of his brother’s large family had been
bugging him ever since he met New York.
“Hey Al, didn’t you say that you’ve had children with me before?”
The tension in the room immediately skyrocketed, and Canada felt three sets of
eyes on him.
“Well, um…” America tried to form words, but couldn’t come up with anything to
say.
“He didn’t have children with you; He gave birth to two states of which you
just happened to be the father.” New York said coldly, glaring at the colony.
Canada shrunk back into the cushions and looked away from his brother.
“Michael, stop that.” America said firmly, shooting his soon a disapproving
look. New York looked away. “Matt, don’t listen to him—he’s just being stupid.”
Canada saw New York visibly tense at his father’s words, but the state said
nothing. Virginia, he noticed, didn’t look too amused either. The four sat in
awkward silence for a few moments, Nebraska making soft cooing noises and the
fire popping.
America, by some miracle, sensed the tension in the room and sighed. “Okay.” He
said, “Alright. I knew this day would come.” New York and Virginia looked to
their father, who repositioned himself on the sofa and sunk into the cushions,
getting comfortable for the long conversation that would ensue.
“Yeah, Matt, you have fathered some of my states. Two, actually.” America
began. Canada snapped his head back up, eyes widening slightly. Virginia sifted
her attention back to Nebraska, though she looked substantially less enthused,
and New York gazed into the fire. “They’re Michigan and Wisconsin—both girls.”
America paused, looking thoughtful. He loved his brother, but what New York
said was true. He raised his states—his children—not their other fathers.
Canada hadn’t been around to see either of his daughters grow up, and America
wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Canada much. For decades it had only been him and
his children; no other nation or colony had weaved their way in to that bond.
Canada, however, was willing to prompt his brother on. “What do they look
like?” he asked, sitting up a bit on the couch.
“They’re…well…” America hesitated in his answer, but eventually gave in to his
brother’s curious gaze. “Michigan is the older one, but only by eleven years.
They both look to be about thirteen, now. Michigan’s got thick, brown hair, and
she’s pretty short, to be honest. She doesn’t look much like me or you, but
that just happens sometimes with my states,” he shrugged, “But she has my eyes,
and I think part of my personality, too. She can get pretty clueless at times.”
America said, smiling.
“Now Wisconsin—she’s a lot more like you. A real outdoors girl. She’s got long
blonde hair, and these long, lanky limbs that look too big for her, but fitting
at the same time.” America looked his brother right in the eyes, “And she’s got
your eyes, too. They have a little blue in them, I guess, but at a quick glance
they look just like yours.” He looked away, shaking his head slightly with a
smile, “She reminds me so much of you.”
After that, America didn’t say anything for a few moments, and Canada cocked
his head. “Well, cn you at least tell me their names?”
America shook his head. “I think you should wait until you actually meet them.
They are my children, but they all have some degree of independence. I’ll let
them introduce themselves as they see fit.” He explained with a small nod.
Canada’s face fell and he responded with a soft ‘oh…’, disappointed. Moments
later, Nebraska let out a lengthy, but soft yawn, drawing the attention of the
four around her. Virginia’s expression softened.
“It’s late enough,” he said, “I guess we should all be getting to bed.”
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
     Another chapter because wynaut.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
econd week of March, 1867
When New York told Virginia it was time to leave, it took all three men in the
house a half hour just to get her out the door.
“Just one more kiss goodbye? Please, daddy?” The big doe eyes and ‘Please,
daddy’ card always worked on America, so, with a sigh, he handed over Nebraska,
allowing his daughter to kiss her on the forehead and coddle her or a minute
more. “Okay, I guess we should leave you two alone now.” She finally admitted,
handing the baby back to her father, “But if anything happens, don’t hesitate
to wire me, okay?” She said sweetly as New York hauled both his and his
sister’s bags off the floor. A real lady should never been seen carrying her
own luggage, Virginia always insisted.
“Yes, yes, I know, Leslie. But everything will be fine. Bye now, okay? And see
you, too, Mike.” He called to his other state, who was stumbling down the front
steps of America’s house, vision obscured by bags. He managed to wiggle a hand
free and offered a small wave of farewell. America, with Nebraska in his arms,
and Canada watched as the two loaded into a horse drawn carriage and waved
goodbye again as the driver pulled away from the house, the horses’ hooves
leaving dark prints in the white slush. Once the carriage began to shrink on
the horizon, Canada let out a relieved sigh.
“They’re great kids, Al, but I’m really glad they’re gone.” He admitted, hoping
to not offend his brother. America only smiled and turned back into the house.
“You get used to it, eventually.”
-----
Last week of April, 1867
Just to catch everyone up Nebraska is now 2 months old and Canada is 4 months
along (out of 6).
The weeks flew by for America as Nebraska grew each day, but this was not the
case for Canada. While his stomach did grow, he was not happy about it.
“Wow Matt, you’re huge!” America exclaimed when he entered the kitchen one
morning, Nebraska gurgling happily in his arms. Canada was seated at the table,
arms folded and head laid down on them. When he lifted his head to look at his
brother, it was evident that Canada had not gotten any sleep the previous
night.
“I know, Al, and it’s driving me insane. You were nowhere near this big even at
six months, and here I am at only four!” The Canadian had dark circles under
his eyes and his hair was a frazzled mess. America smiled in sympathy and
walked over to his brother, balancing Nebraska in his other arm so he could
stroke Canada’s hair.
“Don’t worry, alright? Honestly, I didn’t think you would be this big either,
but every time is different. When I was pregnant with Rhode Island I didn’t
even know that I was carrying until six months in—I barely showed and had no
morning sickness at all.” America handed his daughter to Canada and went about
making breakfast.
“But with me it’s just the opposite. Last night my back hurt so much that I
couldn’t sit still. I can’t take all this pain!” Canada offered Nebraska his
thumb, which she accepted eagerly, sucking and gumming it.
America shrugged. “Well, like I said; everyone is different. And who knows,
maybe you’re farther along than you think! When was the last time you…you know,
slept with someone before New Years?”
Canada answered that easily. “When we conceived Wisconsin.”
“Oh.” America hastily turned back to the pan, cracking several eggs in to it.
Silence settled in between them, and America fished out another pan to start a
batch of flap jacks. With Nebraska gnawing on his finger, Canada remarked that
she must be hungry, and America said that he would feed her after he took care
of Canada himself.
Suddenly, in the middle of flipping a flap jack, America gasped. “I’m so
stupid!” he exclaimed. Canada jumped at the outburst and watched sadly as one
of the flapjacks fell out of the pan and to the floor. Nebraska giggled.
“I could have told you that.” Canada said dryly, scowling at his brother who
was now cleaning the floor.
“No, Matt, I had a revelation!” he said, standing and putting his hands out in
front of him, “It’s something I should have asked you ages ago!”
“Well, what is it?”
“You’re going to have a baby, so what part of you does it represent?”
Canada opened his mouth to tell his brother that his ‘revelation’ was stupid,
but his mind screeched to a halt at the question and he was left with his mouth
hanging open. Nebraska hooked her fingers into his open mouth and he sputtered
as he attempted to pull them out.
“Well, uh, I…I don’t know.” He finally said, wiping the little state’s now spit
drenched fingers off on his nightgown.
“Isn’t ‘British North America’ ” America used air quotes, “divided up into
Ontario and Quebec?”
Canada nodded. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“Well then that must be it! That’s why you’re so big, Mattie, you’re going to
have twins!” he exclaimed.
Canada thought about his brother’s idea, and let the realization wash over him
slowly. “Wow…have you ever had twins?” he asked, cocking his head up towards
his brother.
“Nope.” America said, turning back to the stove and turning the heat down,
“Only singles so far. But I knew a lady in D.C. that had triplets once!”
“How did they turn out?”
“Well, uh, they all survived. One was really sickly, though…” he trailed off.
Maybe it hadn’t been the best time to mention that. Canada groaned and put his
face in his unoccupied hand, Nebraska still gurgling and making noises at him.
America quickly shoved some flapjacks and eggs on a plate, covered them with
syrup, and took Nebraska from his brother. Canada gazed at the food placed in
front of him with a less than satisfied look.
“But you’re not even human, Mattie—you’re made of tough stuff! I can’t promise
you it’ll be easy—because it won’t be—but I think they’ll both be fine in the
end.” America assured. Canada was not comforted, so he dug into his breakfast
for comfort instead. Rolling his eyes, America allowed his brother to brood for
a few minutes—he needed to feed Nebraska anyway.
America sat down in the seat across from Canada and set his daughter down on
the table gently. In one quick movement he yanked his shirt over his head and
tossed it onto the chair next to him, eliciting a cry of ‘Alfred!’ from his
brother.
“What?” he said, picking up Nebraska again and cradling her to his naked chest,
“It’s not like you haven’t seen me shirtless before.” Canada didn’t reply, but
instead got up to retrieve more syrup.
In America’s arms Nebraska yawned, emitting a tiny squeak that made him smile
like an idiot. He didn’t know how or why he did this, sometimes, but the little
moments really made up for all the stress. His daughter lazily latched on to
his nipple and began to suckle, and America felt the familiar tug before a
sense of calmness overtook him. As she fed he stroked her hair with his thumb,
and eventually she even opened her eyes to gaze up at him. America let out a
satisfied sigh and smiled back down at her. His daughter’s true eye color had
yet to be revealed, but already her little golden tuft of hair reminded him of
France.
Although he never liked to share his children with their other fathers much, he
had a special place in his heart for the other nation. France had helped him
become a real country, and became the first nation to discover his children in
the process. At first, America recalled, France didn’t pay any mind to them, as
long as they kept quiet during important meetings or when he wanted some
private time with America. After the other nation saw Vermont, though, France
actually seemed concerned and had wanted to care for America during his
pregnancies. He had declined, obviously, but the Frenchman’s occasional visits
were always a treat.
“Hey Al?” his brother’s quiet voice broke him out of his reverie.
“Hm?”
“I’ve been thinking,” Canada begun, dabbing gently at his mouth with his
napkin, “Do you think we could invite Arthur over? I…I know you’re not on good
terms with him, but really want him to know that I’m…with child, as he would
say.” America frowned at his brother’s words.
“I don’t know, Mattie. I’m not sure I’m prepared to let him know that he has
eighteen children with me. I will tell him eventually, don’t worry, but…I just
don’t feel ready quite yet.” America said, his eyes never leaving Nebraska.
Canada’s shoulders slumped and his face fell—how could he go against his
brother’s decision?
America didn’t have any formal power over him, but Canada respected his brother
and couldn’t just try to overturn his decision in his own home.
“But hey,” America said, catching the colony’s attention, “What do you think
about inviting Francis over? I really want him to see Renee, and you said that
you think he’s the father of your children, too, right?” America smiled,
thinking that Canada would agree with him immediately. When the colony did not
answer immediately, though, he cocked his head. “What’s wrong?”
“Well…” Canada hesitated. England would so not approve of what he was about to
do, but since he was speaking to America, the nation might have made an
exception, “Maybe I’m not ready to tell France, either.” He countered firmly,
trying o assert himself. When he glanced up at his brother, he found him to be
a bit taken aback.
“Okay.” America said after a moment, smiling again, “Fair’s fair, as they say,
right?” Canada raised his eyebrows at America’s simple agreement. No one had
ever listened to him, like that.
America took no notice of the other’s shock, however, and settled Nebraska on
his lap when she detached herself from his nipple. After slipping his shirt
back on, he balanced his daughter in one arm and his dishes in the other,
putting the dirty dishes away and exiting the kitchen cooing at his newest
state, leaving a dumbfounded Canada sitting at the dining table.
-----
Second week of May, 1867
Bang! Bang! Bang!
America groaned and rolled onto his side, hoping the knocking was just his
imagination.
Bang! Bang!
Nope, not his imagination. With a heavy sigh, he sat up in bed and nudged the
warm comforter off him.
“Al,” Canada whined at the loss of warmth in the bed, “Just ignore ‘em. They’ll
go away…” America shook his head
“No, Matt. Only a few people know about this house—you, my states, my boss, and
England. Whoever’s visiting knows I’m here.” His brother only mumbled something
unintelligible and tugged Nebraska into his embrace. America smiled, then left
the room quietly.
The visitor’s knocking continued as America padded down the stairs. He began to
worry for the stability of his front door. “Alright already, I’m comin’!” he
shouted, hoping the person would hear him.
They did, apparently, because the incessant noise stopped when the nation got
to the bottom of the staircase. He steeled himself when he got to the door,
unsure who exactly was visiting and why they were coming unannounced. With a
deep breath, he opened the door.
America had to admit, he was not surprised when he was greeted by England’s
scowling face.
“Where is he?”
“Good morning to you, too, asshole.”
“Don’t try my patience, boy, I know you have him here.” England craned his neck
around the nation, attempting to catch a glance of the inside of the house.
“Tell me, England, who do I have?” America questioned, leaning against the door
frame but still blocking the other nation’s entrance.
“My colony, you dolt. Matthew. I know he must be here.” America laughed, high
and confident.
“I know he looks like me, but really, you should try checking in Canada or
something first.” He crossed his arms over his chest as England scowled more—if
that was even possible.
“I have looked in British North America already,” his tone lowered, almost to a
seething growl, “His tutor there has informed me that he ran off to the United
States sometime in January and has not returned since.”
America’s confident smirk disappeared, but he didn’t let his facade drop.
“Okay, so what would you say if I had him here? Is there any business you have
with him?” he answered after a few moments.
“He is my colony. Whatever business I have with him is not a concern to you.
And if you must know, I need to see him immediately. There have been…several
important events which I am sure he is unaware of.” said England, returning to
a more diplomatic air.
The two nations only glared at each other for a few moments, neither flinching
nor saying a word.
“Fine,” America said, tone sharp, “I’ll admit it—he is here. But you’re not
going to see him.” England’s expression rapidly morphed from nonchalance to
rage.
“In the name of the Queen, if you are holding him against his will—”
“I am not,” he explained, exasperated. It was too early in the day for this.
“You said it yourself—he came here. He even asked me before visiting, and I am
not forcing him to stay.”
They lapsed into silence again, this time only England glaring while he
calculated his next move.
“Alright then, since you are not holding him against his will, you have no
reason to deny him to see me. Despite your opinion, Matthew actually has taken
a liking to me. Who are you to say that he does not wish to see me, after so
many months?” England slowly allowed a dark smirk to come over his features as
America’s face fell. He knew he had won.
America knew England was right, and the worst part was that he knew his brother
wanted to see the other nation. Damn it all.
“Okay.” America said, attempting to not look defeated, “You may see him. But
allow me a moment with him first. He is asleep and not properly dressed.”
Finally stepping aside, England moved into the house, a single bag in hand.
America hoped that meant he wouldn’t be staying for long.
He probably hadn’t intended to, but he’d be staying after today, America mused.
“You may sit over there.” He said with a wave of his hand, gesturing toward the
two sofas. England nodded and America began to climb the stairs.
He had meant to tell England about the states sooner, he really had, but the
nation never visited on good days and he would never extend an invitation to
the other man himself. America wasn’t so worried about himself, though, because
he was his own nation. Whatever England decided, he could still deny the other
nation access to his kids. Canada, however, was an entirely different
situation. Had his brother already given birth, this could have been slightly
easier, he supposed, but nothing could change that now.
The door creaked lightly as he opened and closed it, and Canada didn’t even
lift his head from the pillow when he entered.
“Mattie.” He said, voice only just above a whisper, “Matt, wake up. I’ve got
something important to tell you.”
Gradually, the colony came out of his slumber. As soon as he freed Nebraska
from his embrace America scooped the little girl up, grabbing a baby blanket
off of the foot of the bed and wrapping her in it. When Canada sat up, yawning
and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, America sat down on the bed next to him.
“What’s the matter, Al?” Canada asked, noticing the worried expression painting
his brother’s features. America opened his mouth to say something, but then
closed it quickly, shaking his head.
“England’s here, Matt. He wants to see you.”
The colony gasped, but then smiled, his face lighting up. “Really? I…I want to
see him, too!” In haste, he threw the comforter off of his legs and grabbed a
pair of long johns that hung over the back of a chair nearby, yanking his feet
through the legs.
“But Matt, I’m not sure how he’ll react to seeing you…like this. He did not
seem in a good mood.” The colony stopped his rush and turned to look at
America. He looked contemplative for a moment, and then spoke.
“But…I’m going to have to tell him eventually. And you will, too. Alfred, I
don’t want to postpone this any longer.” Canada finished pulling on the long
johns, and then headed for the door. “Well, come on. We’re going to do this,
right?”
America sat and stared at his brother for a moment. He was surprised by the
boy’s sudden confidence, but glad. “Yeah, we will.” He stood, adjusting
Nebraska, still fast asleep, in his arms. “But let me say something to him
first. I think shoving you right in front of him and telling him about all of
my kids is…a bit much.”
Canada nodded. “Would you like me to hold her?”
“No, I think I’ll tell him about my kids first. Why don’t you wait just outside
the door, and then I’ll call you down when he’s ready.” America joined his
brother at the door, placing a hand on it. Canada looked back up at his brother
once more, and then nodded.
-----
When America walked into the sitting area with Nebraska cradled in his arms,
England snorted and rolled his eyes.
“Picked up another abandoned child, did you?” America bristled at his words,
and sent the other nation the best glare he could muster. England only rolled
his eyes again while America seated himself.
“I could call you a few choice words, England, but I’m not going to swear in
front of my child.” He begun coldly, “I was going to try and be more polite
with you, but you seem to have other ideas, so we might as well get down to
business.” England raised one bushy eyebrow—America had his attention now.
“All of these children you’ve seen over the past hundred years—they’re not just
abandoned kids. They’re my kids. And no, I don’t mean ‘my kids’ as in my
citizens, I mean ‘my kids’ as in they are my sons and daughters. I gave birth
to each and every one of them.” He explained, feeling no need to delay. England
looked repulsed.
“Are you mad? Men can’t give birth, much less get pregnant!”
America sighed. “Look, I know I sound crazy, but it’s true. You probably
thought nothing of all those times you came over here and we fooled around, hm?
Well I didn’t think anything of it the first time, either, until I gave birth
to Virginia.” England’s eyes widened, his holier-than-thou expression melting
away. “And you remember about a year after that, when Netherlands visited me
and you got all upset? I thought it wouldn’t happen again, but then New York
was born, and it’s all really just gone from there.” England’s jaw dropped, and
all he did for a few moments was stare at the other nation, disbelieving.
During the silence Nebraska woke, yawning and making soft waking noises. When
she pushed one of her little arms up out of the bundle and towards America,
England snapped.
“Y-y-you’re mad, you’re insane! That’s it, where is Matthew? I’m taking him and
leaving immediately.” The Englishman stood, straightening his coat and lifting
his bag off the floor. On the second floor Canada pressed his back against the
door, trying to make himself smaller. He prayed that his swollen belly wasn’t
visible from the first floor. Just as he could see the top of England’s head,
America spoke again.
“No.” His tone was firm and demanding, and it had a rare hint of anger,
“England, you’re not leaving. You want proof? Come here.” The nation complied
and disappeared from Canada’s line of sight, leaving the colony to relax and
let out a quiet sigh.
On the ground floor, England approached America with caution. He knew that the
small bundle in his former colony’s arms was a child, but…could it really be
his? When he was finally close enough America stood and closed the remaining
feet between them. He shifted the blanket a bit and then stood directly next to
England, enabling the other to see his daughter’s face.
“Now tell me— who does she look like?”
Though Nebraska had woken, her eyes were still closed. England studied the rest
of her face hard, though, and couldn’t come up with anything. “I’m still not
sure whether I believe you or not. She doesn’t…she doesn’t look like me…” he
trailed off. America rolled his eyes.
“Really, England we haven’t even done anything in four years. How could she
possibly be yours?” he said, bemused. England looked back to the child.
Just a second later Nebraska cracked her eyes open, blinking up at the two
nations. England swore he heard America let off a soft, barely there sigh, but
was too focused on the child to care. As the realization washed over him, he
began to doubt his own sanity.
“Oh good lord.” he said, rubbing his eyes, “She looks just like France.”
America chuckled.
“Yeah, she does, doesn’t she?” The Englishman opened his eyes again at the fond
tone of America’s voice. It had a soft sincereness to it, and he felt a wave of
nostalgia wash over him as he realized that America—one hundred years
later—sounded just like he did when he had raised the boy.
It was all too much.
England took a few steps back and collapsed against one of the sofas. “My god,
I had no idea…”
“None of the other fathers did, either. Well, except France. He found out
during my Revolution.” Said America, seating himself again on the opposite
sofa. England hunched over, putting his face in his hands.
“So, every time we…?”
“Yep. Every time.” It wasn’t actually every time. Once, right before the Civil
War broke out and Kansas was conceived, he had a miscarriage that was supposed
to be England’s child, but that was a story he was not yet willing to tell. “I
can’t explain how it happens, but it just does. We are…well, not human,
obviously.”
The two lapsed into silence, England still with his head in his hands. America
leaned back into the couch, stroking Nebraska’s cheek as she drifted between
sleeping and waking.
“So, which state is that?” England finally asked, sounding tired.
“Nebraska.” America answered, without skipping a beat. He hoped he wasn’t
keeping Canada waiting too long. “And like you guessed before, she is
France’s.” England nodded.
“So how many have…we had?”
America thought for a second before answering. “Well, I have one for each
state, just so you know, which is thirty eight total now.” He heard England
mutter a quiet ‘God and the Queen…’ before he continued, “And you’ve fathered
the most. I think there’s eighteen of yours now…yeah, that sounds right.”
When England did not say anything more for a few minutes, America brought up
the second pressing issue.
“So, I guess I should tell you where Mattie is.” He said, crossing one foot
over his knee. England’s head shot up. “Well, there’s kinda a reason I told you
all this before I let you see him. Partially it was because I didn’t want you
high-tailing it out of here after two minutes, and I think I should let Matt
explain the second reason.” He looked up to the second floor railing, “Hey
Matt, want to come down now?”
Canada didn’t give a vocal answer, but instead just headed for the stair case,
taking a deep breath as he stepped down the first stair. America tilted his
head towards the stairs and England turned around slowly.
None of the three said a word as Canada descended the stairs, but England stood
up when the boy got about halfway down, as if he couldn’t believe what he was
seeing. America was almost thankful his brother ended up showing so much—it
left nothing to England’s imagination.
Finally, Canada reached to bottom of the stairs and walked over to where
England stood, making sure his guardian could get a good look at him.
“Hello, Arthur.” He said, not to confident, but not meek, either. When the
nation only stared at him with his mouth slightly open, Canada began to get
nervous. England wasn’t…ashamed of him, was he? He diverted his eyes, unable to
look the man who was not only essentially his own father, but the possible
father of his children, in the eye. America sat on the couch with his daughter,
just letting the scene play out.
“Oh…! Whoops…” Had America not been holding a baby he really would have gotten
up quicker, and maybe then England wouldn’t have hit the floor so hard. The
‘thump’ startled Nebraska, causing her to snap her eyes open, though she
couldn’t see the nation lying unconscious on the ground. When Canada realized
that England had fainted, he looked up to America with an absolutely mortified
expression.
“Well, um…” America stepped over England and placed Nebraska gently in his
brother’s arms, “Why don’t you go sit with Nebraska for me, okay? I’ll…take
care of him.”
Chapter End Notes
     The only important note I have is that Vermont was the first of Al’s
     states that was fathered by France. That’s why he suddenly started
     caring about them.
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
     I think I'm going to post the remaining chapters tonight.
     I regret nothing.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
After Canada numbly waddled over to the couch America had been occupying,
Nebraska in arms, America squatted low and wiggled his arms under England.
Lifting the man took no effort, of course, but he had considered just leaving
the man on the floor.
But then Canada would have gotten upset. And America didn’t want that.
With a sigh, the nation placed his former guardian on the couch, not really
caring much if he looked comfortable or not. He then joined Canada on the other
sofa, tossing him a reassuring smile as he sat.
“So how do you feel?” he prompted. His brother didn’t look as horrified as he
had a minute ago, but he was sure that Canada was still troubled.
“I…I’m a bit worried…” he murmured. America didn’t believe a word of it.
“Mattie…”
“Okay, I’m really worried!”the colony nearly shouted, whipping his head towards
America, eyes wide. His movements jostled Nebraska, who looked confused and let
out a ‘guh’, rolling her eyes up to gaze at America and Canada.
“Hey, be careful with her.” America chided, reaching over to stroke his
daughters little tuft of hair. Glancing down, Canada immediately realized what
he had done wrong and his expression melted back into one of uneasiness and
worry.
“I’m sorry…” he said, voice nearly at a whisper. He ducked his head and pressed
a light kiss on Nebraska’s forehead, to which she giggled. Canada smiled back.
“It’s alright. It’s just that you have to remember that you’ll soon be doing
this all day. Once you get used to the routine it becomes easier, but you have
to learn fast that your number one priority isn’t yourself anymore.”
Canada hummed, nodding at his brother’s words. He supposed he couldn’t
understand them now, but one day he was sure they would be very true. Looking
down to Nebraska once more he held her out to his brother, who took her with
questioning eyes.
“Where’re you going?” America asked as his brother stood, cracking his back.
“To the kitchen. I think England would enjoy a cup of water when he wakes up…he
might be dizzy, you know.” Canada explained. America chuckled and then nodded.
“England really was right, baby.” He whispered to Nebraska as Canada left,
“Matt really does like him a lot…” Nebraska only smiled up at him and gurgled
happily, reaching her hands up in the air. He grinned back and placed his
fingers into hers, allowing her to grab and tug at them while he admired her.
Canada soon returned, and just as he set the cup of water down England’s eyes
fluttered open. Canada jumped a bit at the movement, scurrying a few feet away
as England reached a hand up to rub at his eyes, groaning.
“Matthew?” the nation said, hand still over his eyes.
Canada didn’t move from his spot. “Yes?”
“You…you’re pregnant? With a child?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.
“Yes, I am.” The colony answered after a moment. He thought about correcting
the Englishman and telling him he was having twins, but that might have been a
bit much for the time being.
England inhaled then let out a long, loud sigh before swinging his legs over
the edge of the couch and sitting up again. “Come here, luv.” He said,
surprisingly calm. Canada hesitated again, but when England held out his arms
the colony walked over. Slowly, as to not startle him, England wrapped his arms
around his colony’s back and pulled him into a light hug. Since the nation was
sitting he was hugging Canada’s belly more than his torso, but Canada didn’t
mind. The colony’s lips gradually twitched up into a small smile and he wrapped
his arms around England’s shoulders, burying his nose in sandy blonde hair that
had a distinct and comforting smell.
“I’m not upset with you, I hope you know.” England said, loosening his grip on
the boy. Canada did the same, pulling back to look England in the eye.
“You’re not?” he asked with genuine surprise, moving to sit next to England.
The nation shook his head.
“Of course not. I am…appalled that this had gone on so long without me knowing,
but I couldn’t possibly be angry with you for it—especially because I was, ah,
part of the reason it happened…”
“Oh.” Canada stared at England, unsure what to say, “Well… that’s good. I’m
glad.” They smiled at each other, and Canada thought things were finally
looking up.
Over with America, Nebraska began to whine and pull at America’s shirt,
attracting the attention of the other two. “She’s just hungry, don’t worry.” He
explained, mainly to England. When he set her down and took off his shirt,
England gasped.
“What in the world are you doing? That is extremely inappropriate and—”
“Calm down, England. We’re in my house—do you really think anyone here besides
you cares about etiquette right now?” he said, rolling his eyes. England did
not answer. “Plus, how did you expect babies to be fed? Unless you want to go
milk a goat all day, I’m going to feed her this way whether you like it or
not.” With that, he scooped Nebraska back up and held her to his chest.
England’s eyes widened.
“You…you really breastfeed them?”
“Yeah, duh. How else is there?”
“Well, I had no idea—”
“Arthur,” Canada interrupted, hoping to quell the inevitable fight, “yes, he
does breastfeed his children. It’s natural.” England looked at him as if he
were mad, and then back at America. After that, however, he slowly nodded.
“Yes…I suppose you’re right.” America looked smug, and Canada knew that in his
mind he had won the battle. He sighed internally—it would always be a
competition, with these two.
A few awkward moments of silence passed, but then England cleared his throat
and turned to his colony.
“So, do you know whether the child will be male or female?” he asked, doing his
best to ignore the other nation in the room.
Canada shook his head. “No, there’s really no way to tell. Al can kinda tell
with his own kids, but that’s because he’s had so many of them.” He said with a
slight smile. When England cringed, however, he moved on. “But, uh, no, I can’t
tell. I can’t really say whether I would prefer a boy or girl, though…” That
train of thought lead him back to the fact that he was having twins, and he
figured he should probably tell England.
“Oh, but there’s something I wanted to tell you, Arthur.” As soon as the words
left his mouth, America’s eyes snapped up. It didn’t seem that England noticed,
but Canada did. He knew his brother was just being overprotective. England
motioned for him to continue.
“Well, because of…that night…I don’t really know who the father is, but, um,
that actually wasn’t what I wanted to say…” he trailed off, biting his lip. Why
was it so difficult? England cocked his head at his colony. “So, uh, the point
is that each baby born from us,” he motioned to himself and America, “is
supposed to represent a certain part of us, we think. For Al it’s all his
states, so we figured that for me they must be the divisions that I’m made up
of—or, Ontario and Quebec.” He explained. England nodded, contemplating what
the two had figured out together. It made sense, he decided.
Canada, however, realized that England didn’t understand what he was implying.
“So, because I’ve been really big, because I’ve been showing a lot,” he rubbed
at his stomach, “we figured that I’m probably having twins.” Canada’s voice
became substantially quieter as he went on, reducing itself to barely a whisper
by the end. He wondered if England had even heard him.
He had, apparently, because within seconds the realization began to dawn on
England’s features and he covered his mouth with his hand. “A-are you really?”
Canada nodded.
“I mean, there’s really no way we can know for sure, but it makes sense. I
don’t know why this is happening now, though, of all times, because Quebec and
Ontario have made up my lands ever since 1791…” he explained, biting his lip
again and furrowing his eyebrows.
England cleared his throat again. “I suppose I should tell you both why I
originally came here.” He said, acknowledging both boys. America looked up
slightly, to assure England he was listening while he continued to feed
Nebraska. “You see, a very important act has passed in Parliament, and it
achieved Royal Assent on the twenty-ninth of March.” He began, leaning down to
retrieve several papers from his bag, flipping through them, “It is named the
British North American Act of 1867,” he looked up, right into Canada’s eyes,
“And it is an act of union for the Provinces of Canada, Nova Scotia, and New
Brunswick. It proclaims that, on the first of July, 1867, the Dominion of
Canada will be formed from these three provinces.” He finished, holding the
papers out to Canada.
He took them, gazing down at the large, printed text on the pages weathered
from travel. The largest word on the page was, in all capitals, “UNION”. He
turned to the first page of the document, scanning over some of the words
briefly— he knew he could read them in full later. When he looked up America
was smiling at him, all teeth and bright as newly fallen snow. England was,
too, though with a more subdued and parental look. Slowly, Canada’s own face
broke into a smile.
“You really mean it?” he asked, looking to England with bright eyes.
“Of course I do.”
“Oh, Arthur! Thank you so much!” he cried, assuring that the papers were set
safely on the table before he lunged at the nation, hugging him round the neck.
England chuckled and hugged him back, but Canada soon detached himself as he
knew he must have been pretty heavy.
“You’re welcome. You have…you have certainly earned it.” He said. Canada looked
over to America, hoping to share the joyful moment with his brother. For just
half a second, he swore he saw something dark flash behind America’s eyes, but
then that bright smile was back again.
“This is great, Matt. I’m so happy for you!” he said, glancing back down at
Nebraska as she finished nursing. As he slipped his shirt back over his head he
listened to the other nation and colony chatter—mainly about the limits Canada
would have with his new government—a thought struck him.
“Hey, Mattie?”
“Hm?” Canada turned to him, glowing grin still present.
“If Ontario and Quebec make up the Province of Canada, and Nova Scotia and New
Brunswick are going to join you to make the Dominion of Canada, does that
mean…?” he trailed off, hoping he was wrong, but knowing he probably wasn’t.
Like snow melting on a warm day, Canada’s expression changed from happiness to
shock. His mouth hung open, unable to form words, but England voiced his
concern for him.
“Are you implying… that Matthew is going to give birth to not one or two, but
four children?” he questioned, features alight with disbelief. Canada began
shaking his head slightly.
“Well I…I don’t mean to ruin the good mood, but it kinda makes sense, doesn’t
it?” said America, “And it’s definitely something we would have to plan for…”
he looked up to his brother. “You okay, Matt?”
Canada snapped his eyes up to America, as if coming back to reality. “Uh…” was
all he said at first, but then collected himself, “Four…four is a lot of kids,
Al.”
“I know it is—especially all at the same time, too—but we can’t do anything
about it. I’m just saying we should be ready for it.” He said, nodding. Canada
sat back against the sofa with a whimper, putting his face in his hands, and
America’s brows knitted together in concern. “What’s wrong, Matt?”
“It’s just…” came the meek first words. England rubbed his shoulder
encouragingly, and Canada eventually took his hands off of his face, “I never
wanted any of this.” He finally said, looking miserable, “When we first
discovered I was pregnant I was really surprised, but I got used to the idea of
having a little…someone that I could raise and call my own. When I watched you
and Nebraska I felt even more excited.” He explained, smiling fondly at the
child in America’s arms, “Even when you first brought up the idea of twins I
wasn’t that upset. I mean, it was a little scary, but I thought I could handle
it with your help.”
“But really, Al, four kids? Growing inside me all at the same time? And four
kids that I’ll need to care for and feed and raise? How am I supposed to do
that?” his voice cracked on his last words, and America could see the glassy
look coming over his eyes.
“Mattie…” he murmured, unsure what to do. England looked equally distraught. An
idea struck America, though, so he stood and moved around to the other sofa.
Canada looked up as his brother approached, and cocked his head when America
offered him Nebraska, but he took her in his arms nonetheless. Wiggling into
the small space next to Canada, America worked an arm around his brother’s
shoulders and leaned down to look at is daughter with him. England watched the
two brothers passively—he hadn’t seen them act like this since they were both
colonies.
“Look at Renee, Matt, take a real good look at her.” He said, and his brother
obeyed, swiping a little blonde tuft off her forehead and looking her over. It
was a strange thought—that this tiny being represented a whole population.
Canada looked from her blue eyes to her little pink lips— usually covered in
spittle, as they were now—down to her pudgy arms that lead out to stubby
fingers—always reaching and grasping for anything they could find—and finally
down to her feet and toes, now wrapped up in small baby-sized socks. They would
carry her across the world, one day; from America to Canada and back, and all
across her own state. “She’s adorable, isn’t she?” America said, his voice just
above a whisper. Canada nodded absentmindedly.
“Now imagine this—inside you, right now, four little things just like her are
growing. And one day, you’ll give birth to them—all four of them—and they’ll be
yours. Just like New York and Virginia and Nebraska are mine, Quebec, Ontario,
New Brunswick, and Nova Scotia will be your children. But you know what the
best thing is?” he questioned, but Canada did not answer, “They’re even more
than kids to us, like they are to humans. Those four will be part of you—all
the people that live in Canada, all the actions they take and things they
build, all of their successes and failures—they will represent them, too. It’s
hard to explain, I think, but you’ll understand eventually.”
Canada didn’t respond, but kept gazing at Nebraska as if she was the center of
the world. A few moments of silence passed before England chipped in.
“And Matthew, do you really think we would leave you or not help you just
because you are having more children? If anything we would be more supportive.”
America nodded against Canada’s shoulder. He did agree with England, but
actually acknowledging him to be right still felt strange. Canada was quiet for
a few moments more, but then gave Nebraska back to America. He accepted her,
but kept his place squished into the couch next to his brother. Canada put a
hand on his belly before he spoke.
“I…don’t really know what I was thinking,” he admitted, “The thought of it
still scares me a bit, but I think you’re right. Or, I’ll take your word for
it, until I find out how right you are.” He said, a small smile returning to
his face.
Seeing that the situation was relatively under control, England stood from the
sofa, stretching and glancing at the clock America had on the mantle.
“Goodness, ten o’ clock already? And you two haven’t even had breakfast yet,
have you?” Canada shook his head, but America stood hastily, placing Nebraska
back in his brother’s arms.
“Haha! D-don’t worry England, I’ll go make something! It’s my house, so I
should be a good host anyway!” America babbled, walking briskly towards the
kitchen. That damn Englishman wasn’t ruining any of his property. Not anymore.
England rolled his eyes at the nation, turning back to Canada with a warm
smile. He sat back down on the sofa and admired Nebraska. “So, I think I’ll be
staying longer than I thought.”
Canada’s smile grew, almost to the point it had been at before. “I’m glad—I
really want you to be here to see my children.” He said, and after thinking for
a moment added, “And maybe yours, too.”
England nodded. “Yes, I…I don’t know what I’ll do if they’re mine. I certainly
hope they are, but I will be,” he paused, tilting his head a bit, “simply
overjoyed.” Canada hummed in agreement. “Might I hold her?” England asked
suddenly.
“Uh, I guess so. I don’t think Al would mind.” Canada said, biting his lip.
Even if his brother did mind, he would yell at England, not him.
“Please, it’s not like I’m going to drop her. We’re sitting on a sofa, for
goodness sake.” England held out his arms and Canada complied, placing the tiny
state into the nation’s embrace. The Englishman’s face immediately lit up, but
in a kind and gentle glow. “Hello, little girl.” He said, grinning, “Aren’t you
just the most adorable thing. It’s a pity you had to be France’s, but it was
just destined, I suppose…”
With England preoccupied, Canada reached for the act confirming his
confederation again, opening up to the first page and reading in a bit more
detail. After the first page he only skimmed the text, but understood most of
the rights his government was being given. Each province would have a
legislature, and a national legislature would be put in place, with
representation by population. A federal election, a court system, and even the
allowance of his Parliament to be documented in French and English, along with
many other responsibilities were listed, but they were all his. Not England’s
anymore, but Canada’s, as a united Dominion. He almost couldn’t believe it was
happening.
One date caught his eye, reading 1 July, 1867. As he read the sentences around
it, Canada realized that that was the date everything would go into effect—the
day there would be a united Dominion of Canada. He placed a hand on his stomach
again, grinning at the thought, but then something struck him.
July, 1867. That was only two months away, wasn’t it? The day Nebraska was born
was the day that her state entered the Union, so would the same concept hold
for him? That didn’t make any sense…
“Alfred?” he called, still studying the papers to see if he had missed
something.
“Yeah?” he brother quickly answered, his head popping out from the kitchen.
“Do you think I’ll give birth on the day that I become a Dominion?” he asked,
and England looked up at him, too.
America began to walk over to the two, wondering what his brother was
scrutinizing, “That sounds right. My states are always born on the day they
enter the Union—well, except for the first thirteen, but that’s a different
story.” He said, placing a hand on the arm of the sofa and leaning into it.
“Why?”
“It says here that I’ll become a Dominion on July first of this year.
That’s…that means I would only be seven months along, not nine.” He said,
cocking his head up at America. The nation furrowed his brows.
“Yeah, you’re right, but there’s no other date I can think of that you would
deliver on. I know I’m the only one that’s actually given birth, but I don’t
think we would just give birth on random days like humans.” America finally
noticed that England was holding his daughter, and frowned a bit. Nebraska
looked fine, though, so he let it pass for the time being.
Canada turned his gaze back to the paper, sullenly staring at it as if it had
an answer. “But…isn’t that bad for the babies?”
Tilting his head from one side to the other, America took a moment to answer.
“You remember my story about Oregon, right?” Canada nodded, but England glanced
up at him quizzically, “He’s one of your kids, but he was born pretty early. I
had no idea he was coming.” he explained simply, “Anyway, Oregon turned out
fine. He was really tiny when he was born, though, so I made sure to wrap him
in extra blankets and feed him as much as I could. It took a few months, but
eventually he was healthy and growing, just like all of his other siblings.”
America assured. “I guess it might be different with four, but we can’t really
know now. At least you’re giving birth in the summer, not in freaking
February.” America snorted, turning and retreating back to the kitchen.
“But hey, at least you know when to prepare!” America called back, “Maybe
they’re just cramped in there or something and want to get out early! Oh wait,”
he said suddenly, turning around to face the two again, “England, you gonna
stay until Matt gives birth?”
“I would prefer to, yes, and even for some time afterwards. I imagine I could
be here until the end of July.” He said, turning his head slightly towards the
other nation.
“Great.” America said sarcastically, “It’s going to be a great month.”
Chapter End Notes
     -Royal Assent was when, after an act was passed in Parliament, the
     Queen/King of England approved it and proclaimed it law. Kind of like
     how the American president can veto or sign bills.
     -Originally, the act was called the British North America act of
     1867, and there were several other 'BNA' acts over the years.
     Eventually they were renamed, making the BNA of 1867 into the
     Constitution Act of 1867
     -The 'dark flash behind America's eyes' was because A)he was
     wondering why England couldn't have done something like that for him
     and B)one of the reasons for the BNA of 1867 was to protect Canada
     from America's 'Manifest Destiny', which was a very real threat, at
     the time. Basically, he's pissed at England for making Manifest
     Destiny more diffiult.
     -Oregon was born on Valentines day, if I didn't mention that before.
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
3rd Week of May, 1867
Although America and England managed to get on speaking terms, that did not
mean that they were civil to each other one-hundred percent of the time, Canada
soon found.
“I never said you could use my kitchen, eyebrows.”
Or maybe not even fifty percent of the time.
“What did you call me?” England growled, turning from the stove where he had
just set a kettle to boil.
“Are you deaf? I said stop using my kitchen. You can be a guest here, but
you’re not going to ruin my stuff.” America said firmly as he sauntered into
the kitchen one afternoon, Nebraska in arms. He handed his daughter to Canada,
sitting at the table, and then stepped toward the icebox.
“I’m only making tea—I wouldn’t destroy anything even if I was cooking,
anyway.” He said, turning away from the American rummaging through the icebox
for something to cook.
“We don’t drink that in this house.”
“Don’t drink—”England paused, balling his fists in rage, “I’m not making it for
you, you arse, I’m making it for Matthew and I.”
America stood, a bag of chilled vegetables in hand, and looked England directly
in the eye. Neither nation was willing to back down. Canada watched from the
table, bored, leaning his chin into his palm while Nebraska babbled at him.
“Where did you even get a tea pot and tea?” America asked, motioning to the
simple ceramic pot on the counter and sneering at the Englishman as he moved
around him to fetch a cooking pot.
“I brought them. No decent travelling gentlemen can go without, of course.”
England turned back to the kettle, if only to stop looking at America. It would
still take some time to boil.
“Of course…” America said, somewhat mockingly. England ignored him, though, and
the kitchen fell into a somewhat awkward silence. Trying to start a
conversation, Canada asked what his brother was planning on cooking. His only
answer was a murmured, “Veal and string beans. New York brought us a good
amount of meat and I don’t want it to go bad.”
After that the silence remained until America was finished cooking dinner.
England finished brewing the tea before dinner, but only poured two cups, gave
one to Canada, and then exited the kitchen with his own, wishing to avoid
confrontation. When the meal was nearly finished Canada helped set the table
while his brother sliced the meat and called England back in.
“Oh, I was thinking that I should wire someone for the rest of my belongings,
back up in Canada.” England said during dinner. Canada wasn’t too sure who he
was addressing, or if he was just making a statement. As always, though, his
brother had to make a big deal out of everything England did.
“And have some random human come up and risk seeing Matt like this? I don’t
think so.” America said between taking bites of his own meal and nudging
Nebraska back on her chair. She occupied the fourth regular chair next to her
father, as she couldn’t sit in his lap while he ate.
England rolled his eyes, stabbing two string beans particularly violently. “I’m
not saying that some run-of-the-mill barn boy will come up and deliver them to
me—I have servants for jobs like this. I wouldn’t trust any of your citizens to
handle my baggage, anyway.”
“Still, trusted servant or not, they might see Matt and our whole cover would
be blown. Do you have any idea how insanely difficult it would be to cover this
up if it got out?” America turned his attention more directly toward England,
glaring.
“Of course I do! Do you really believe that I want us to be found out?” the
Englishman sputtered, raising his voice. Next to him, Canada sighed. “All I am
saying is that I need my belongings if I am going to stay here for an extended
period of time.”
America raised his own voice in response. “Well then maybe you should go get
them yourself!”
“That could take weeks! I might miss Canada’s delivery and—”
“Well I didn’t want you here for that in the first place!”
“What? You arse! How dare you deny your brother happiness and comfort for your
own selfish reasons.”
“Don’t swear in front of my child!” America screamed, slamming his fist down on
the table.
“That’s it!” Canada shouted, standing as quickly as he could. Overwhelmed by
all the noise, Nebraska began to cry, starting off with soft sobs but soon
building up to wails. Both of the nations’ heads snapped up to the pregnant
colony, but then all three looked down sadly at Nebraska. Canada sighed again.
“Why,” he begun, working around England chair with some difficulty, “Must you
two always fight? I know the revolution was a big deal, but get over it! That
was almost ninety years ago, Jesus…” he trailed off, squeezing past America’s
chair and lifting the crying child into his arms. He stroked her hair and
kissed her forehead, trying to wipe the tears away as they fell down her chubby
cheeks and whisper comforts to her. Then he faced America and England again.
“I am going upstairs to take care of her, but I’m not coming down until you two
decide to behave like adults!” he said firmly, and whisked Nebraska out of the
kitchen without another word. He felt a little awkward, just leaving two of the
people he trusted the most like that, but it couldn’t be helped. The
environment wasn’t good for Nebraska now, and it wouldn’t be good for his own
children later.
Back in the kitchen, America and England were left staring at the doorway from
which Canada had exited, surprised at the colony’s forward attitude, but
feeling guilty for their shouting match.
“Well, perhaps we should, ah…” England began, lifting his napkin from his lap,
“Perhaps we should talk.”
America nodded, and the two stood, taking their own and Canada’s plate to the
sink. On America’s suggestion they retired to the sitting room, each sitting on
opposite sofas as they had done before. The air between them was still tense,
though, so England tried to break the ice.
“Where does Matthew sleep, anyway? One of the other guest rooms?” he asked,
glancing up to the second floor. There were a litany of rooms he hadn’t yet
explored, so many of them could have been more bedrooms.
“No, he sleeps in my room.” America answered. The other nation cocked his head
at him.
“You have two beds in your room?”
America rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “No, he sleeps in my bed. Why do
you want to know this? Can’t we just get to the point?”
England tried to hide his anger—he really did—but in the end his jealousy won
out. “Why are you sleeping in the same bed? Surely it’s quite cramped…”
“It gets cold here in the winter. When I discovered he was pregnant I suggested
we share it for our own comfort. And after Nebraska was born we had to keep her
warm. What’s it to you, anyway?”
“There’s not a flake of snow on the ground, why is he still sharing your room?”
England pressed on, through gritted teeth.
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe we care about each other?” America
countered, trying to keep his voice below a shouting level. England opened his
mouth to retort, but stopped himself, pausing for a few seconds.
“I…” he sighed, “Matthew is right. We have to stop this. I don’t think this
household can handle arguing like this for another eight weeks…” he said,
putting a hand to his forehead. This time, it was America who carried on the
fight.
“Stop talking to me like a child.” He seethed.
“What? I’m not!” said England, which was soon countered with a ‘Yes you are’.
America was baiting him, he could tell, probably waiting for him to do
something stupid that would turn Canada’s anger away from America and toward
England.
“Maybe if you got your head out of your arse you’d realize I’m not.” the
Englishman whisper shouted, hoping that his colony couldn’t hear them from the
second floor. The younger nation was taken aback by his harsh words and didn’t
respond.
“Now,” England started, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back into
the cushions, “I propose we form a sort of…truce. Just for a short time. It
would be in our own and Matthew’s best interests, I believe.”
America took his time in responding, putting two fingers under his chin in a
sign of thought. The Englishman almost sighed, but then realized that that
would only annoy the other farther, which usually wasn’t a bad thing.
But he couldn’t. Because Matthew needed him not to. So he held himself back and
waited.
“So you’re saying…we hold our tongues for Matt, because we don’t want to upset
him…”America said, almost murmuring it. England wasn’t sure whether the words
were directed at him, but he answered anyway.
“Yes, we wouldn’t want to place more stress on Matthew than he already has. And
I don’t think making Nebraska cry like that was your intention, either.”
Shaking his head, the younger nation diverted his eyes. “No…”
“Exactly. So we can agree on this? I’ll try not to step on your toes, as long
as you promise not to pick fights with me just for your own amusement.”
“…okay. Yeah, that sounds fair. And, I was thinking about it, out fighting is
pretty bad for Matt in a lot of ways. I think I read somewhere that putting
stress on someone who’s pregnant can cause them to go into labor early or even
miscarry.” America agreed, looking back to the other nation.
England’s face fell slightly at just the thought. “And we certainly don’t want
that…” America nodded, and a contemplative silence encased them. After a
moment, though, America stood.
“Maybe we should go apologize to Matt.” He said.
“Actually, one more thing, America.” England said, holding up a hand, “I am
sure you know by now how Matthew became pregnant.” The younger nation nodded,
“So, when, in your opinion, do you think we should…alert the other potential
fathers?”
At England’s question America’s brows knitted together in thought. He hadn’t
thought about that.
“Well…I’m only basing this on my past experience with giving birth, but I think
we should wait until after he delivers. There have been times in the past…where
I haven’t been sure of the father, either. What usually happens to me, though,
is that after I give birth to the state I can just kind of tell who their
father is. You can just feel it.” He described, looking out a nearby window.
England raised an eyebrow slightly at his answer, but knew he couldn’t refute
him on that point.
“Alright.” He said, standing, “If you think it best.”
America nodded, and the two began to climb the staircase.
-----
4th Week of May, 1867
“Mattie?” America said one night, after putting Nebraska to sleep in her crib.
The snowy months were well passed, so she had been sleeping there for the past
few weeks.
“Yeah?” his brother answered, already settling in to bed.
“I’ve been thinking…even with Renee in her crib, this bed is getting kinda
cramped.” He said, sitting on the mattress and motioning to the minimal space
that separated them. The more Canada’s belly grew, the more space he demanded
in the bed each night.
And America loved his space. But he also loved his brother.
Canada glanced down and nodded. With him lying down, there was barely enough
space for America. The two had to tangle together in order to be comfortable,
not that either of them minded.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
 
America smiled, glad his brother was taking this well. The last time a
situation like this had arose—when he asked his brother to move over on the
couch a bit—Canada had accused him of calling him fat and ugly. “So, I was
thinking that tomorrow we could move some of your—er, my clothes—and your stuff
into the room next to me. It’s just like this one, so you’ll fit perfectly into
the bed and we’ll both be more comfortable.”
The pregnant colony nodded. “Sounds good…but I can stay here tonight, right?”
he said, looking up to his brother. America felt a slight blush come over his
cheeks.
“Yeah.” He answered, sliding down in bed next to Canada, “One more night
together.” He threw an arm over his brother, letting his hand rest on the
other’s swollen belly.
Though neither would admit how comfortable it was to sleep next to the other,
the boys kept their word and, the next morning, Canada leaned on the second
floor railing as he watched his brother move clothes back and forth from one
room to the other. He would have helped, but America said his ankles and back
would hurt more if he did.
“What’re you two doing?” A sleep rumpled England asked, yawning as he emerged
from his own guest bedroom.
“The bed we were sleeping in got a bit cramped.” Canada explained, placing a
hand on his stomach, “So we decided that I should move to the room next to Al.”
England hummed, watching the other nation begin to carry Canada’s own bags into
the next room. “Well, I think I’ll go put on the tea.” He said, extending the
invitation to his colony. Canada nodded, then turned back to find his brother
walking into the spare bedroom emptyhanded.
“I think that’s it, Mattie!” America called, and Canada then followed him into
what would become his new room. It was very similar to America’s, with simple
wood furniture and a window on one wall. The closet door was open, several
nightgowns hanging from the rack. The colony’s own clothes stayed packed away
in his bag, too small for him now.
“Thanks, Al.” Canada said, moving up and hugging his brother from behind. It
was difficult, reaching over his belly, but he managed. America giggled and
moved his hand up to grip Canada’s.
“No problem! Of course I’d help you…” he trailed off, and the two remained in
that comfortable silence for a few moments longer, gazing out the window as the
world woke up. After a minute, both brothers jumped as they felt a sudden
movement, releasing each other from their embrace.
“W-what was that?” Canada asked, eyes wide as he gazed down at his stomach.
America laughed again.
“Matt, it’s nothing to worry about. Your babies are starting to move! That was
one of them kicking your insides. It kinda sucks sometimes, but it’s a cool
thought, huh?”he explained, smiling at his brother. Canada only stared at him,
dumbfounded.
“So…that was one of them? Ontario or Quebec or New Brunswick or Nova Scotia?”
he asked.
“Yep!” With that, Canada was out of the room and dashing down the stairs—or,
walking as quickly as he could.
“Arthur! Arthur come here!” he shouted, spotting the nation nestled into one of
the sofas, a steaming cup of tea in hand. He jumped at the shouts and set down
the porcelain cup, whipping around to his colony.
“What? What’s the matter? Is something wrong?” he asked, watching Canada come
down the stairs. Nothing seemed to be amiss.
“No, nothing’s wrong.” Canada said with a smile, and England breathed a sigh of
relief. “Put your hands on my stomach, you’ve got to feel this!”
“What.”
“Just do it! I promise, it’s really amazing!”
His colony seemed so enthusiastic, so England couldn’t do anything else but
comply. He placed both hands on either side of Canada’s swollen belly,
wondering what exactly he was supposed to be expecting. It felt strange to
touch his colony here, even if it was only his stomach. This was a different
situation, though, he supposed, and had to admit that he felt protective,
touching Canada in such an intimate way.
“It happened just a minute ago, I swear. Oh, come on babies…” England furrowed
his eyebrows. Was he talking to the—
“Ah!” he half gasped, half shouted in surprise, yanking his hands off of Canada
as if he had been burned. What on Earth…?
“Did you feel it?” Canada asked, looking down at him with curious eyes.
“That…that movement?” he answered warily. Was this even normal for a pregnant
person?
“Yeah! Arthur, don’t you realize what that is? That’s one of the babies—one of
my babies! Alfred said that’s one of them moving around in there!” he
exclaimed, placing his own hands on his stomach and looking at it in wonder.
“Are you sure?” England asked, almost not believing him. The children weren’t
even full grown! How could they possibly…
“Arthur, who’s the most experienced one with pregnancy here? Do you really
think he’d lie about something like that?” Canada said. From the second floor
America watched them, chuckling at their exchange. His brother could be so
funny if he just asserted himself a bit.
“Well I…it’s just…” he trailed off, unable to think of any words to describe
that feeling. Those were real, live beings in there—and they very well could be
his own offspring. “May I…may I feel it again?” Canada nodded, still smiling
like no tomorrow. Tentatively, England placed his hands on the sides of his
colony’s stomach again. It took a few moments, but he eventually felt another
movement, albeit a bit weaker. It was good enough for the Englishman, though,
as he wrapped his arms around Canada completely, pulling him closer and
pressing his cheek into the swollen belly.
“My God…I can’t believe this!” he said, voice shuddering a bit. In later years,
he would always deny that he got teary whenever he felt a kick. Canada was a
bit surprised by the sudden movement, but went along with it all the same. Up
above, America smiled again and turned around, going to retrieve Nebraska from
her crib.
-----
1st Week of June, 1867
It started as a passing thought; something mentioned in conversation and then
forgotten.
“I’d really like some cheese…”
“You know what would taste great right now? Potatoes and gravy.”
“Arthur, do you think you could cook me some scones for breakfast?”
The first two requests, America ignored. When he heard the third one, though,
on an otherwise perfectly normal morning, he thought his brother had gone
crazy.
England, however, felt the exact opposite.
“Of course I can!” he exclaimed, standing from the table and moving about the
kitchen, retrieving a pan and flour and other baking necessities.
“Hey, wait a minute!” America said, though not in a threatening tone. The other
two stopped their movements, looking directly at him. Nebraska even stopped
giggling and, after seeing her father’s face, tried to copy his serious
expression. “What did I say about my kitchen?”
England had an immediate answer to that. “But Matthew specifically asked for my
scones. Someone like you certainly couldn’t make them.” He said, turning away
to continue preparing to make the dish.
“I certainly couldn’t.” America murmured under his breath, but England ignored
him. Their ‘truce’ was working well, for the most part.
“Aw, c’mon Al, they’re not that bad!” Canada said. America shuddered. “I don’t
know why, I just feel like having them suddenly. Weird, huh?” America looked at
his brother with a raised eyebrow, but only nodded.
And so the scones were made, and America’s oven smelled like burnt food for the
next three days. At least Canada was happy when he took four of England’s
disasters and smothered them in maple syrup.
At the next incident, Canada was more demanding. America had finally lost all
of his baby weight and looked like a normal human being again, so he was going
to go up to the town’s market and pick up a few things. Right before he walked
out the door, Canada came scrambling up to him.
“Hey, Al, do you think you could grab and extra carton of milk for me? And
maybe some gravy and cheesecloth? Oh, and one or two good sized potatoes, too.”
He said with a smile. America stared at him, but eventually said ‘Alright’ and
grabbed a pencil to scratch the items on to the list. England also called from
the sitting room that he wanted more tea, and that America knew the kind that
he liked and had better not get something else.
Shaking his head, he addressed his brother again. “You going to do some
cooking, Matt?” he asked. If he was picking up all this extra food, it had
better be put to good use.
His brother nodded. “ It’s like a few days ago—I just have this weird…craving
for all those things. Well, not the milk and cheesecloth. I’m going to make
cheese curds with those.” He explained.
“Cheese curds?”
“Yeah, they’re a specific type of cheese that has a distinct taste…I’ll let you
try some later. It’s really good, so that’s why I want some.” America nodded,
assuring his brother that he would try and find the foods, and left for the
market. It was a long way to the city, but for the trip back he rented a horse
and buggy and returned to the house by late afternoon.
England greeted him at the door, assisting America with the bags and waving to
the cart driver as he left. Once everything was safely inside, Canada came down
to the kitchen to rifle through it, handing Nebraska off to America as he
passed by.
“Perfect!” he exclaimed, and thanked his brother. He’d start to cook tomorrow,
he promised.
And the next day, right after breakfast, Canada began to prepare the curds,
rummaging around in the kitchen to find the necessary pans and cooking
instruments. England, nestled on one of the couches reading a book he had
brought along, asked America what the colony was doing.
“Not really sure…I picked up some stuff for him yesterday at the market. He
said he was craving some kind of cheese…” the nation explained, nestling
Nebraska into her sling. With Canada either busy or in pain, America had to
hold her more often. “Hey, I’m going to take her outside for the first time…do
you want to come along?” he offered, somewhat awkwardly, to England. The other
nation raised a brow—whether it was at Canada’s cooking or America’s question
he wasn’t sure—but then nodded, marking the book and standing to follow him.
“Sure, if you don’t mind.”
The two exited out the back of the house—no wandering human would see them,
should one pass by. The back yard to America’s home was a starkly different to
the front, which had a rough, but somewhat clear road along with a rocky path
up to his front door. The back yard looked like it wasn’t even his and, in
essence, it wasn’t, England mused. Perhaps the back yard did not encompass the
property of the house, but the land—all the land around them—still belonged to
America. That was probably why, he figured, all of it looked completely
untouched. Green, fluffy grasses coated the hills around them for miles while
clumps of trees littered the landscape.
“It’s very beautiful.” England remarked as America lifted Nebraska out of the
sling and sat down in the grass.
“Thanks.” Was the simple answer, and then America turned his attention more
towards his daughter. The little girl was visibly puzzled by the grass and
other plant life that made up the yard—it was a far cry from the smooth wood
and bed linens of indoors. First she touched the grass, babbling nonsense to
herself as she ran her hands through it. America smiled and reached his hand
down next to hers, but then gripped some of the green blades and ripped them
right out of the ground.
“Guh!” was the surprised noise Nebraska made as the grass fluttered off in the
wind, and tried to copy her father. Her first attempt was unsuccessful, but
then she managed to grab hold of a particularly long strand and rip it out of
the earth. Her laugh was music to America’s ears, and it even brought a smile
to England’s face. He decided to join them, and was soon sitting on the other
side of Nebraska, smiling softly as she toyed with the grass and leaves and
whatever else got into her hands.
Suddenly, the two nations heard a metallic crash and bang from indoors. The
shout of ‘I’m alright!’ out of the kitchen window from Canada quelled their
fears, though.
“Are crazy, strange, and andom habits a symptom of pregnancy?” England asked,
looking over to America.
The nation laughed, supporting Nebraska’s back and he tickled her nose with
more ripped blades of grass. “You could say that.”
Chapter End Notes
     -The high chair wasn't actually invented until 1876 or so, so thats
     why Nebraska is sitting in a normal chair during dinner.
     -I really love the 'its geography' headcannon in relation to America
     and Canada's relationship.
     -I meant to include more symptoms (cravings, baby kicking, ect) when
     America was the more pregnant one, but I decided not to for two
     reasons-
     1-I wanted to move on with the story and get to Canada's part and
     2-I forgot.
     -Generally, a baby will start kicking moving from 16-20 weeks (4-
     5 months), except this time its four babies. Whoops.
     -The things Canada craves (cheese curds, gravy, potatoes) will one
     day become poutine, of course :)
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
2nd Week of June, 1867
“Mattie, come read with me!” America had whined one day, Nebraska in one arm
while he pulled at Canada’s sleeve with the other.
“What?”
America rolled his eyes. “Come read with me and Renee! C’mon, it’s good for the
babies, I promise.” Canada still didn’t understand, but stood and let himself
be tugged into the sitting room where his brother settled on one couch,
Nebraska in his lap, and he laid down on the other. That was when Canada
noticed the book that America had in his hand.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“A story, of course. I learned from a woman once that it’s good to read
children stories when they’re young, even if they don’t understand the words.
It helps them learn sounds and it’s a bonding experience, too, I guess.” He
explained, “This book in particular is called ‘The Gold of Fairnilee’—it’s set
in Scotland, and it’s about a boy, his adopted sister, and adventures they have
together.”
Canada cocked his head slightly. “But…my kids aren’t born yet…” America sighed
dramatically, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Well it can’t hurt to start early, Matt. Plus, you can read when I get tired.”
Canada chuckled a bit as his brother cracked open the book, pointing out to
Nebraska the illustration on one of the first pages. Eventually, he flipped
forward a few pages and began.
“Chapter one; the old house…”
Canada nestled his head into the cushions of the sofa and shut his eyes,
listening to his brother’s voice and picturing the words in his mind.
“ ‘So there is nothing but emptiness in the old house where Randal lived with
Jean, three hundred and sixty years or so before you were born. It is a high
old house, and wide, with the broken slates still on the roof…’ ”
And so that’s what they did, every day for a few hours each afternoon. If
Canada was reading he would hold Nebraska, but he preferred when his brother
read. America could make it so dramatic, changing his voice for each character
and reading in such an animated way. Nebraska would always giggle and laugh at
her father’s antics, while in his lap she would just sit back and listen.
One day, England passed by them during their reading time. Canada, who had not
been reading that day, thought he was going to stop and ask what they were
doing. The nation did not, however; choosing to only stand on the stairs and
listen for a minute before continuing on to wherever he was going. Later, he
approached Canada.
“Matthew, I, uh…I brought along several books, also, and I was wondering if you
would like me to read them to you, perhaps?” he asked, diverting his eyes in a
very not-England way. Canada was unsure why he was so flustered, but nodded and
smiled either way. Presents from the other nation were always a treat.
England nodded, and he ushered Canada into the sitting room were his traveling
bag sat on the table.
“Well,” England began, “I brought several for you, but I have one that I’d like
to read first…” he flipped open the latch on the old leather bag and dug
through it, pulling out a long, thin book a few moments later. “This one,” he
smoothed out the cover and then turned the first few pages, “was published just
a few years ago, but it’s been wildly popular in Europe. I was lucky enough to
grab a copy of it before I left. It’s called ‘Alice’s Adventures in
Wonderland’, by Lewis Carrol. I read it twice on the trip over here and… there
really are few words to describe it.” He explained, turning to Canada with a
smile, “But it’s very good. They’re calling it…nonsense literature, I believe,
and that’s truly an apt name for it, as you’ll see. Shall we start?”
Canada, seated next to England, bit his lip for a moment, but then swung his
legs over the arm of the sofa and laid down, his head in the nation’s lap.
“Yeah, we should.”
England blushed, just the tiniest bit, but then turned back to the book and
began reading it. His voice was different than America’s—it was deeper,
smoother, and so soft—but he loved it all the same. Canada even fell asleep to
its soft, rumbling tone several times over the next few days that they read
together.
When America discovered that England was now also reading to Canada, he pulled
his brother aside.
“Mattie, don’t you like me better? You always say that you love my characters!
England just drones on and on…” he said, but Canada had just shook his head and
chuckled as he walked away.
-----
3rd Week of June, 1867
Babies throw up, often with no warning. It was just a fact of life, for
America.
Has he had a nice suit jacket ruined? On more than one occasion.
Have his numerous nightgowns been stained beyond repair? More times than he can
count.
But, in all his hundred or so years of caring for thirty-eight babies, he’s
never had one of his children spit-up on someone else.
Nebraska, by some fate, just had to break that streak on a bright June morning,
and she broke it all over England.
The nation’s face was a mix of horror and disgust, and America just felt in his
bones that this wasn’t going to end well. Behind England, Canada sat at the
kitchen table, eyebrows raised. America hoped that Canada got used to this
scene—he would be seeing it often.
“Oh my god.” Were England’s first words, and it occurred to America that he
probably had no idea what to do. “This is…” Not trusting the Englishman to keep
hold on his daughter while vomit was sliding down his front, America quickly
took control of the situation.
“England, give me Nebraska.” He said, firm and short. England gave a slight
nod, holding the baby a bit farther away from him as America stepped up and
grabbed her. She looked out of sorts, to say the least, and still had some of
her own spit-up on her chin. He hastily went over to the counter and grabbed a
rag to wipe it away. “Listen, England,” he started as he cleaned and comforted
his daughter, “I’m sorry this happened, but there’s just no preventing it,
sometimes. Just…go upstairs and change into something else—and try not to get
anything on the floor— and then come back down here and give me the shirt. I
can wash it, so it might not stain.”
England nodded again, and turned slowly, still keeping his arms away from his
body, and exited the room with a disgusted groan. America sighed.
“Well…that was unexpected…” Canada remarked, gazing at America with eyes that
questioned ‘Are you alright?’
“Yeah, that’s generally how babies are. Uh, you can serve yourself, right?” he
asked, motioning to the stack of pancakes he had made on the counter, “I’m
going to just put her back in bed. She’s probably not feeling well after that…”
he trailed off, gingerly lifting his daughter into his arms and letting her
head fall on his shoulder.
“Of course. But Alfred…are you really going to wash Arthur’s shirt?” he asked,
surprised by his brother’s sudden kindness.
America shrugged. “I kinda feel obligated to. This is my house, and my child
did throw up on him.” Canada smiled.
“Thanks…especially over these past few weeks. For trying to be more civil
towards him.”
America only nodded as he left, leaving Canada to an unending stack of
pancakes. As he ascended the stairs, England emerged from a guest room, soiled
shirt held an arms length away from himself.
“Here’s the shirt…if the stain doesn’t come out then don’t worry. I have many
others.” He said as America walked into his own bedroom.
“Sure, just let me put her down.” England nodded, and a minute later the other
nation reemerged to take the shirt from him. “I suppose I can go clean it now.”
He said, and began to go back down the stairs again. England followed, but
America assumed he would just go back into the kitchen and have breakfast with
Canada. When the other nation was still behind him at the front door, America
was confused.
“You’re not going to eat?” he asked. England shook his head.
“I would…like to talk to you. Now is as good a time as any, I suppose.” He
explained, so America shrugged again and said ‘Sure.’
After pumping some water into a basin and getting the majority of the spit-up
off the fabric, America and England sat down together on the front porch of the
house, the ‘slish-slosh’ of water the only noise between them.
“So…” England began, looking away from the other nation, “I wanted to know
about your states.” He said. Right afterwards he heard the slosh of the water
stop momentarily, but then it picked back up again.
“What about them?”
“How many have I fathered?”
The sloshing stopped again, because America had to think for a minute to come
up with the right number.
“Out of the original thirteen, ten. And with the rest added on to that…” he
paused again “Seventeen—eleven boys and six girls.” He went back to scrubbing
the garment.
England didn’t make any exclamation of surprise this time, he only folded his
hands land leaned his upper lip against them, letting out a long sigh. He
wasn’t sure what to think.
“You fathered my first, you know, Virginia.” America said, and England glanced
sideways at him, “And I was pretty much fine without help the whole time,
anyways. You don’t have to stress out. I…I actually like being alone when I’m
pregnant, but, since you know now, I guess I could…send you a wire after one of
them is born, from now on. Because, well, I kinda have the feeling we’ll
inevitably have more.” He said with a short laugh. It was probably true.
America still had a good half of a continent of land to fill.
And who knew where his borders would extend to after that.
“I would like that.” England said after a moment, “But I’d also like to meet
the ones that are already alive.”
It was America’s turn to sigh, and he didn’t answer for a few moments. “Canada
said the same thing, you know.”
England’s eyebrows shot up. “You and Canada have…?” The other nation resisted
the urge to roll his eyes.
“Of course we have. But only twice, both of which resulted in one of my
states.” He explained. Perhaps, at another time, England would have questioned
him farther, but there were more pressing issues at hand.
“So what’s your point?”
“I just…” America stopped scrubbing for a moment, reaching up to scratch his
head, “All this time it’s just been me and my kids. None of the other fathers
have been involved…and I kind of like it that way. If I need help I can wire
New York or Virginia or even Massachusetts. I don’t need anyone else’s help,
and I don’t really want it, either.” He explained, trying to find the best
words to define his point.
“As for meeting the states you’ve fathered…well I guess you can try, but some
of the older ones will be more unsure of you. The ten of the original thirteen
that you fathered already know you—but that’s because they fought a war against
you. They might not want to know you on kinder terms.”
England didn’t react to the statement, but sat back a bit, contemplating
America’s explanation. It was understandable, especially for the original
thirteen. “But…what Matthew said, a few weeks ago, he was right. We can’t let
that war affect us for the rest of our lives, Alfred.” America immediately
snapped his gaze over to the other nation, as if he was offended by the use of
his name. He wasn’t offended per se; just surprised.
“Yeah, I realize that, but for them it’s very different. I go places—I see that
other people in other countries have fought and died for their independence
before, too.” Said America, slowly turning his head back forward, the shirt
left forgotten and floating in the basin, “But the states—this is their whole
world. Their people and their lands are the only ones they know. Independence
was very important to them, so you’re still viewed badly, in many places.”
England didn’t have a response to that, so both nations let silence encompass
them. Perhaps it was, for now, for the best, England thought. As America had
said, he and the boy were very likely to have more states together. Maybe he
could impact the newer children in more positive ways.
“But yanno,” America said, leaning back on his palms, and England turned his
head slightly to listen, “The most recent one of yours—West Virginia—he isn’t
even four yet. What’s the date again, anyway? The eighteenth? He’ll be four in
two days, if I remember right. Point is—he’s still young. Maybe, after all of
this with Matt’s kids blows over, you could come back and visit him, if you
like.”
A small smile found its way onto England’s face. “Yes, I’d like that very
much.”
America nodded to him, returning the smile, and then lifted the shirt out of
the basin. Lucky for England, the stain had washed out completely.
-----
4th Week of June, 1867
After five weeks of living together, the three had formed a decent pseudo-
family, but this time with only one colony and two nations. Their differences,
though, were mostly set aside for another time, as all of them had a more
important thing to worry about—the children.
With Canada’s supposed due date less than a week away, England and America were
very on edge. They didn’t snap at each other or argue, but America slept
lightly, waking at every noise or bump that might have come from his brother
next door. And England was always watching him during the day, constantly
scrutinizing for any sign that the colony might be going into labor. He didn’t
know what exactly labor looked like, but he knew it was painful, so he was
always ready and waiting.
That was why, one night, the three had all ended up in the sitting room after
dinner. Only Canada had been there, initially, lying down and watching the sun
set out the windows, but then England joined him with tea, and America came
after the dishes were done.
And all they could do was wait. Wait, and pass the time as best they could.
America was the first to break the silence.
“Hey, Mattie, have you thought of any names yet?”
The other two looked up at him, and the Canada tilted his head to the side.
“Sort of. But every time I think of something that I like I remember that I’ll
have to come up with a name for the opposite gender, too, and then I just start
thinking about it all too much and I give up.” He said, frowning a bit, “But…I
did hear a name that I think I might like Quebec to have.”
“What is it?” America prompted.
“Jean.”
Canada’s brother cocked his head. “Jean? The name of that girl from the book we
were reading that other week?” America asked, and Canada nodded. “What if
Quebec is a boy? Jean is a girl’s name!” The colony furrowed his brows.
“Well who’s to say that? Jean could be a boy’ name…right Arthur?” he said,
turning to the other nation. England tensed. Way to be caught in the middle of
an argument, he thought.
“Sure.” He answered, “But, ah, what about Ontario? Quebec is historically a
French province, but Ontario has a more English influence. I think it would be
only fitting that he or she would receive an English name.” He didn’t want to
impose on his colony, but if all four of these children belonged to the frog he
wanted to get some type of revenge on him.
“Like what?” Canada asked. America looked curious, too.
“If she’s a girl,” England said, putting a finger to his chin, “I think a name
like Victoria or Elizabeth would do her well. Very elegant names.” America
snorted, murmuring ‘Typical…’ under his breath. “And if he is a boy…Edward is
nice, and—”
“Matt you can not name any of your kids George.” America interrupted, staring
down the both of them.
“I was about to say Oliver, Alfred.” He said, a bit of annoyance in his tone,
but then turned back to Canada. “Any of them could work for Nova Scotia and New
Brunswick, too, depending on what gender they turn out to be.”
Canada nodded, furrowing his brows and leaning back into the sofa cushions.
“Well...I like Oliver, for Ontario, if he’s a boy. Victoria is okay,
too...maybe if Nova Scotia turns out to be a girl…” He trailed off, and beside
him England gave himself a mental pat on the back. Although the children
weren’t born yet, at least he had instilled some influence in his colony.
America rolled his eyes while the other two were distracted. England could be a
nice guy sometimes, but he still had control over his brother and liked to
exercise it. “C’mon, Mattie, there aren’t any other names you’ve thought of?”
He had thought that his brother was doing so much better with being assertive,
too.
The pregnant colony began to bite and chew at his lips. “No…not really. I mean,
I’ve thought of a few, but I don’t know if any of them sound good. It’s hard to
name someone you can’t even see, Al…”
“Why don’t you tell us, then? Maybe it’ll solve some problems.” He said, giving
his brother a smile in encouragement.
“Okay,” Canada said, giving in, “Well, the one I kinda liked is for New
Brunswick, if she ends up being a girl. I thought Bonnie sounded pretty.”
America tipped his head a bit, saying the name as if trying it out on his lips.
England did the same.
“Yeah, I think I like it, Matt. It is a very pretty name.” America said, and
then Canada turned to England.
“It’s…very you. If she is a girl, I think it would fit her well.” He said,
nodding. Canada smiled.
“Good, I’m glad you like it. But Nova Scotia—I couldn’t come up with anything.
I was thinking of waiting until after he or she is born to name them.” said the
colony.
“That’s a good choice, I think. You don’t wanna pick a name when you’re all
stressed or in pain or something. It doesn’t turn out well that way.” Beside
Canada, England nodded in agreement.
And so they carried on their evening, sitting and discussing the new lives soon
to enter theirs. America had taken the time to make two big cribs, he said, out
of spare wood he had. England promised him a blanket that he had recently
purchased, which had been professionally and beautifully embroidered by a woman
back in London. They laughed and joked about the horrid times that were
probably to come, with four mouths to feed in the middle of the night, or when
all four of the new provinces would need to be changed or bathed, along with
Nebraska who was older, but not by much.
And they waited.
-----
Chapter End Notes
     -For this fic, I see Matt as pretty much smitten with both Al and
     Arthur. The other two really like him and want his attention, but he
     cant decide who he likes better.
     -"The Gold of Fairnilee' and 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland' (aka-
     Alice in Wonderland) were both published in the 1800s. 'Fairnilee' is
     actually a children's story, but I'm not exactly sure what audience
     Lewis Carrol was writing 'Alice in Wonderland' to. And yes, 'nonsense
     literature' is really a category of literature.
     -West Virginia's birthday is the day he entered the Union-- June
     20th, 1863.
     -Victoria, Elizabeth, and Edward are all names of English/British
     monarchs.
     -George the 3rd was the king that reighned during America's
     Revolution, which is why he wants none of Matt's kids named after
     him.
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
     GRAPHIC BIRTH SCENE IN THIS CHAPTER. IF YOU DONT LIKE IT DONT READ
     IT.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The night before July the First, all three of them kept their doors open.
“I just want to be able to hear you.” America explained, “This way, whenever
your water breaks, you can just yell for me and I’ll be right there. It’ll make
everything easier.” Across the hall from him, England nodded in agreement.
Canada, standing outside his own door, nodded absentmindedly. How many hours
would it be until he had his babies in his arms? Eight? Six? Three? None of
them knew for sure. “Well, uh,” he managed when he noticed that the two nations
were waiting for a response, “Goodnight, I suppose.” England smiled at him.
“Goodnight, Matthew.”
“Goodnight, Mattie.” America chimed in, and Canada finally turned and waddled
into his room. America and England stayed for a moment longer, only nodding to
each other before turning back into their own rooms themselves.
-----
July 1, 1867
Canada had already been awake for hours when he heard the small clock
downstairs strike midnight. The first thing he had done after bidding the other
two goodnight was walk in and sit on his bed. Not lie down, but just sit and
think. He could have stayed there for ten minutes or a whole hour—he really had
no perception of time. After a while he had tried to lay down, but after just a
few short minutes he found that effort to be futile, so he stood from his
bed—being quiet as to not worry America—and walked over to the window. It was a
clear night, and surprisingly cool for this time of year. He pulled up a chair
and just sat, again, gazing out the window and letting his mind wander over any
topic it wanted.
But when the clock struck midnight he was back on his bed, still sitting, and
he was beginning to get frustrated. For all he knew he could give birth in the
middle of the afternoon, why was his body refusing to let him sleep now? He
heaved a heavy sigh and flopped back onto the sheets, not caring if he made a
bit of noise. Eventually he found that leaving his legs to hang over the edge
was uncomfortable, so he pulled them up and curled onto his side. At least he
was semi-comfortable, here…
He had no idea how long he had slept, but before the colony knew it he was
waking up, still curled up on the sheets. He blinked a few times and sat up. It
was still dark outside.
Canada frowned. He was glad to have gotten a few hours of sleep, but he still
couldn’t do anything. America and England were asleep, no doubt, and he would
feel horrible if he woke them just so he would have some amusement.
During his contemplating what to do next, he suddenly noticed that he really
had to pee. That was strange; he hadn’t felt anything before, but as he moved
off the bed he felt a sudden rush of urgency. Furrowing his brows, he listened
to his body and waddled out of his room, intent on reaching the toilet
downstairs. Luckily, America had enough money to install an actual flushing
toilet in his house. He used it and the house so much, he had told Canada, that
he might as well have the best.
The wooden floor creaked as he made his way past his brother’s room and to the
staircase, and Canada hoped that he wouldn’t wake the nation. There was no
reason to worry about him, right? He was just going to the toilet.
America, however, thought differently.”Mattie?” came his voice as Canada passed
by his open door. He sounded alert, Canada noted, so maybe he really hadn’t
been sleeping after all.
“Don’t worry, Al, I’m just going to use the toilet. I’m fine.” He answered,
spotting his brother’s silhouette sitting up in bed. America answered with an
unsure sounding ‘Alright…’ and Canada carried on.
He wasn’t sure whether England had heard their short exchange, or if the man
was even awake, but the Englishman did not disturb him as he passed his door.
Canada gripped the railing as he gingerly stepped down each stair—many emitting
a small creak—but still no disturbance from the other two in the house
followed. Once he reached the bottom of the stairs he felt accomplished, and
strode over to the door of the bathroom with no worries. Just feet before he
could reach the door, though, he felt an even larger rush of urgency than
before and he, somehow, ran those last few feet and flung the wooden door open,
not even thinking about shutting it.
Thankful for his nightgown, Canada was able to easily hike it up and sit down
on the toilet quickly. He felt a sense of relief wash over him, and he realized
that he should have been standing to pee at about the same time that he felt a
warm flow of liquid gush out of him.
The flow continued for a few seconds and Canada wondered if it would overflow
the toilet, but it soon trickled off and he was left sitting there, wide eyed,
wondering what in the world had just happened to him. He felt a cramp—almost
like a baby’s kick, but stronger—in his pelvis and his brain finally decided to
kick itself back into gear.
“Crisse, I’m going to give birth.” He muttered, curling in on himself on the
toilet and squeezing his eyes shut. His water had only just broken—why did it
hurt so much already? “I…I have to get Al. Al will know what to do.” He said,
assuring himself as he yanked a towel off of a rack nearby and stood to wipe
himself off a bit. When standing, he realized, he felt a bit more comfortable,
but pushed past that thought and opened the door that had swung closed,
gripping onto the door frame for sability.
It was all so surreal, he thought as he stood in the bathroom’s doorway,
looking out into the sitting room. If he squinted he could read the clock on
the mantle—it was just a little past two in the morning. His eyes followed the
staircase up and he saw both America and England’s open doors, both nations
waiting in their rooms for the inevitable, no doubt. Well they wouldn’t have to
wait long.
“Alfred!” he called through the quiet house. He winced when he realized just
how loud his voice was. Maybe he should have just gone upstairs. He didn’t want
to wake Nebraska…
“I’m commin’ Mattie!” Was the immediate response, and Canada heard quick
footsteps as America left his own room and headed for the stairs. “C’mon
England get up! This is it!” the nation shouted as he passed by the
Englishman’s room. From downstairs, Canada heard a few mumbled words from
England, but America ignored them, dashing down the stairs.
“You alright?” he asked when he reached the bottom of the stairs, looking
toward his brother still standing in the bathroom doorway.
“Yeah, it’s just that my water broke. I think I felt a little contraction,
too.” He said, faltering at the end of his sentence as another bout of pressure
and pain hit him. He squeezed the wood hard and bent over a bit.
“God, Mattie, you’re moving along quick!” he exclaimed, turning around to find
England stumbling out of his room, pulling on a robe, “England, go check on
Nebraska or me, okay? If she’s asleep just leave her be, but if she’s awake
then bring her down here, will you? You can wait in the sitting room for
now—I’ve got to help Matt get ready.” The two saw England nod through the
darkness, and then America gripped Canada’s arm. “C’mon, I already set up a few
things in the guest room last night.”
As America led him through the sitting room, Canada gripped on to America’s arm
and squeezed. It wasn’t the contractions this time, though, but the worry and
anxiety he had. This was really happening, but Canada wasn’t sure he was ready.
America either didn’t notice his grip or just ignored it, but soon they were in
the guest room. Canada had seen it before, but not after America had prepared
it the evening before. Most of the furniture—the desk, dresser, and mirror—was
gone, moved into another room to make more space. The bed was still in its
original place, with space on both sides for climbing in or out, but only
sheets covered the mattress. Things would get very messy, Canada thought, so
his brother probably saw no point in ruining a blanket or comforter. A few
other towels and linens lay in a pile on the floor, ready for use, also.
“Nebraska’s still asleep.”England said as he wondered into the room. America
had already helped Canada onto the bed, and was moving him to lie down.
“Kay, good. I guess there’s nothing else you can really do now, England, so you
can stay in here if you want.” America said. England nodded and moved around to
the opposite side of the bed, sitting down on the edge so he could reach
Canada. America watched him warily.
“How are you feeling, luv?” he asked, reaching up to push some of Canada’s long
hair out of his face. A sheen of sweat was already visible in the moonlight.
“Um, it’s …a strange feeling, really. Like pressure and...and worry I guess.”
He said, looking down to his swollen belly, “I’m kind of scared…” he murmured,
barely above a whisper, but both nations caught it. England thought about
saying something, but then looked to America. He knew that the younger nation
was the more experienced one here, so he let him speak.
“It’s okay to be scared, Mattie,” America said, offering his brother a smile,
“I always am when my kids are born, but...well, uh, you’ll forget about it
soon, I promise.” He wouldn’t tell his brother that the reason he wouldn’t be
scared anymore was because he would be blindsided by pain, but he was sure that
the Canadian could figure that out for himself.
America suggested the England light some candles, and pointed to the box of
matches sitting on a small table nearby. The nation nodded and set about the
task, and slowly the room lit up. Canada was reminded of just a few months
prior, when he had done the same thing for America when he was in labor with
Nebraska. America retrieved two chairs from elsewhere in the house for himself
and England, and then the colony remembered what came after the candle
lighting—the waiting.
The time seemed to pass a bit quicker, at least, because he had England and
America to distract him. America remained by his side the whole time, but
England would get up every few minutes to do something for him or to go check
on Nebraska. After half an hour the nation brought him a hot water bottle and
Canada managed to sit up with his brother’s help. Though his nightgown was
still on the heat from the bottle felt amazing on his back, and he let out a
disappointed sigh when it gradually grew cool.
After an hour the contractions really started getting worse and coming quicker,
with only four or five minutes between each. Canada had lain back down, but was
gripping on to America’s hand for all he was worth. Sometime during the process
England had gone upstairs to find Nebraska awake and brought her back down to
see her uncle.
“Hey baby.” America greeted his daughter when the other nation handed her to
him. He held up the state to Canada, who cracked his eyes open and gave her the
best smile he could muster. She didn’t understand what was occurring, of
course, but smiled back and babbled nonetheless, even placing a hand on
Canada’s face. He giggled and covered her hand with his own, but was soon
distracted by another contraction.
After Canada came down from that one, America handed his daughter back to
England. “I would prefer if you just left Matt with me now.” He said, trying
not to sound too protective and demanding, “I might call on you later, after
the kids are born, though.” England didn’t like it, but nodded and leaned over
his colony to give him one last kiss on the forehead.
“Stay strong.” He said, though by the look of Canada’s clouded eyes and
exhausted features, he was unsure whether the boy heard it or not. He exited
the room with Nebraska and settled onto one of the sofas in the sitting room.
At least he had some company, he thought.
Back in the other room, America was dabbing at his brother’s face with a cloth
when an idea struck him. “Hey Matt, do you think you could sit up?”
Canada looked over to him like he was crazy. “Why?”
“Maybe a massage would help you a bit. I looks like you’re going through labor
pretty quick, but you still have a while to go.” He said, and his brother
frowned at his words. How America went through this whole process so many times
was beyond him.
“Okay, I guess…”
Again, with his brother’s help, Canada sat up and moved more towards the center
of the bed, leaving room for America to climb on behind him. Some bloody
discharge already soiled the sheets, he noticed, and wrinkled his nose at it.
“It’s normal, don’t worry,” America assured, starting on his brother’s
shoulders, “Just like I said before—birth isn’t as great as everybody says it
is.”
They didn’t speak much after that, but America could still tell each time his
brother had a contraction. The colony would tense up and America encouraged him
to breathe, because holding his breath wouldn’t do him any good. Between the
contractions, though, Canada relaxed considerably under his brother’s fingers.
From the colony’s shoulders America moved on to his back and then quickly to
his lower back, as he knew his brother was experiencing the most pain there.
Between shuddering breaths Canada asked for the window to be opened and America
obliged. It was becoming quite hot in the room, after all.
After that America helped his brother take his nightgown off, and then returned
to massaging him. After forty five minutes America realized that the massaging
had successfully distracted his brother, as it had distracted him, too. He
vaguely heard the clock in the next room strike four, and called for England
soon after.
“Can you bring him a glass of water?” he requested when England peeked his head
in the door, not even batting an eye at Canada’s nakedness. He nodded and left
again, soon returning with a cool glass. America thanked him for it and nudged
his brother’s cheek, offering him the water when he turned around. Canada
accepted it eagerly, gulped down half the cup in no time, and then handed it
back to America.
Though England knew he should probably leave, he lingered a bit in the doorway.
“How long until…?”
“I can never be one hundred percent sure,” America answered, not even turning
to look at the other nation, “but he’s coming along pretty fast. It could be
soon, maybe within another hour or two.” Without another word, England shut the
door.
A few minutes later, Canada suddenly broke the silence. “Al I feel…different.”
He said, exhaustion evident in his voice. America looked up.
“Different how?”
“I don’t know…I still feel the contractions, but they’re not really stopping
anymore. They’re constant. And…I just feel like…it’s time.” He explained,
breathing deep between his words. He almost couldn’t believe he had actually
admitted that. America halted his massage and rubbed his brother’s back lightly
in comfort.
“Okay, let’s get you laying back down.” He said, moving off the bed. Gingerly,
Canada twisted around and laid back, settling in at an angle due to all the
pillows stacked behind him. America held onto his hand and instructed him to
lift his knees and spread his legs, because he could almost feel the change in
the air, too.
Canada obeyed and America moved around him, rubbing his belly as he looked down
between his brother’s legs. The colony blushed—not that one would have been
able to tell with his already red face—and felt oddly exposed. But it was only
his brother, he told himself, only America.
“Well, I don’t see the baby’s—er, one of the babies’—heads yet, but I think we
would know if that was happening. Honestly, I don’t really know what to look
for, only what everything feels like, so I can’t tell you much, but you look
pretty far along. Just listen to your body, okay Matt? When you feel ready,
start pushing, and try to push for a few seconds at a time.” he explained,
moving away from his brother for a second to gather a few towels. He would be
the one catching the baby, this time.
The colony nodded, grasping for America’s hand as soon as he returned. Canada
took a deep, shuddering breath and his brother squeezed his hand—they were back
to waiting, again.
The wait did not last long, though, because only twenty or so minutes later
Canada gasped out ‘Alfred!’ and tensed up, even shaking slightly from effort.
Seconds later, though it felt like minutes to the colony, he relaxed,
collapsing back onto the mountain of pillows behind him. Pushing a baby out of
himself was, without a doubt, the most painful thing he had ever experienced.
His brother brought him back to the preset, though. “Good job, Matt! Just relax
now, okay? Just breathe…” he said, grabbing a towel to dab at his brother’s
forehead again. After a minute, America squeezed Canada’s hand again. “C’mon,
Mattie, we can do this. I’m gonna help you, okay? I’ll tell you when to push,
and you just hold onto me and keep breathing.” Through the pain, Canada nodded.
“Okay,” America said, covering his brother’s hand with both of his, “push,
Matt.”
And he did, tensing up once more, squeezing his brother’s hand and fisting the
sheets with his other. He heard America say ‘Relax…’ and listened, collapsing
back again.
This pattern continued for the better part of an hour, though Canada’s
exhaustion mounted each time. America managed to hold up his head and got him
to sip at some of the water, but other than that the colony was almost
completely unresponsive between pushes. His volume gradually increased until it
was to the point that he was almost shouting with each push, but America didn’t
care.
“Don’t you worry about when England and Renee are thinking, okay? I’ve screamed
myself hoarse while giving birth plenty of times, I wouldn’t be surprised if
you did the same.”
After that Canada had pushed for a few seconds again, but instead of relaxing
after the endeavor he felt a very different feeling.
“Merde! Al, oh my god, Al it burns so bad…!” he rasped out, body still
completely rigid. America furrowed his brows and moved around between his
brother’s legs again, looking down.
“No, Mattie it’s okay! One of the babies’ heads is coming—that’s good!” he
said, patting Canada’s chest lightly as he moved back around the bed. “This is
the hard part, Matt, okay? So listen good—what you have to do now is relax. No
more pushing. The head has to come out slow, and it really hurts but that’s
just the way it is. It’ll make things easier, I promise.” Canada didn’t want to
believe him—partially because he thought he physically couldn’t relax—but his
brother knew best.
America knew how impossibly difficult it was to relax, so he tried to distract
his brother again. “I know it’s hard, Mattie, but just breathe, alright?” he
began, rubbing Canada’s belly in soothing circles. It took a few minutes, but
slowly Canada’s body lost its tension, and he actually leaned back into the
pillows. America kept talking. “Good. Good job, Matt, this’s great. You just
can’t be tense during this time—it does you no good. You know what could happen
if you don’t relax? You might tear your skin, and, oh my god, Mattie I never
want you to feel that. It’s the worst thing ever, especially if you have to
give birth to more babies after…”
Canada wasn’t entirely listening to his brother, but he was grateful for the
constant stream of the other’s voice. Just as America had months ago, Canada
intermittently squeezed his brother’s hand and America always squeezed back. He
tensed up a few times, but those were the times that the nation’s voice broke
through, encouraging him to relax and breathe.
After half an hour America’s grip was suddenly gone and Canada whined at its
loss. America ran his hand through his brother’s sweaty hair in comfort,
though, and grabbed a towel form nearby, moving in between his brother’s legs
once again. Canada heard something, almost like a tiny squeak or gasp, and it
occurred to him that that wasn’t his brother.
“Matt, this is it.” That was America, though, and Canada could hear the joy in
his voice, “You just need to push a little—” That was all the invitation Canada
needed, and next thing he knew he felt a rush of relief, and heard a sharp,
loud cry break through the air.
One of his babies had been born.
“Wow, Matt you did it! It’s a boy, your first baby is a boy!” he said with a
laugh, taking the little wriggling being and wrapping him up in the towel,
patting the blood and other bodily fluids off of his face, “I wonder which one
he—”
“Quebec.” Canada said between gasps, letting his body slowly come down from the
pain, “He’s Quebec.”
America giggled again, overjoyed at seeing his brother’s first child. “So this
is Quebec, hm? Hello…” he muttered as the baby quieted down to little gurgles,
“He has blonde hair, Mattie, a little puff of blonde hair.” Canada took a few
more heaving breaths while his brother grabbed a softer blanket for Quebec.
“Can I see him?”
“Oh, yeah, of course!” America answered, lifting the baby over Canada’s body.
The umbilical cord still stuck out of Canada, but America knew they could cut
it later. How would that work for quadruplets, anyway? He would worry about
that later, he decided, and settled the bundle into his brother’s arms.
When Canada saw his son—eyes still closed, face scrunched up with wrinkles, and
tuft of blonde hair peeking out from the blanket—he was truly at a loss for
words. “Oh my god…” he breathed, shifting the baby slightly to get a better
look at his face. “Al, I…” he couldn’t think of anything, his mind a complete
blank.
“No words to describe your happiness?” America offered and Canada nodded, his
eyes never leaving the newly born baby boy. The two brothers let all the
emotions soak in for a few minutes, neither saying a word. America knew,
though, that three more babies were on the way.
“Hey, Matt, we should probably cut the cord now.” He said, and Canada nodded,
gently unfolding the blanket so his son’s belly was exposed, the fleshy cord
still sticking out of him. America retrieved a spool of thread and tiny pair of
scissors from a small table nearby and began trying off the cord. Once he was
done, he handed the scissors to Canada. “Do you want to do it?” he asked with a
smile, and Canada grinned back, accepting the scissors and placing his fingers
through the holes. With a few snips the cord was detached and the blanket
folded back over Quebec.
“Alright,” America said, setting the thread and scissors aside for later, “I
guess you’ll deliver the placenta now…I mean, they must all have their own,
right? Four babies sharing one…that doesn’t make sense.” America said, more to
himself because he knew Canada was mesmerized by his new son. A minute or so
later Canada grunted and his face screwed up in pain again. “Just push a
little, Matt, it’ll come out easy.”
The colony listened to his brother and pushed, and a second later America
caught the bloody mess that was Quebec’s placenta in the same towel from
before. He turned away at the smell, wrapping it up like a sac as best he
could. With blood quickly soaking through the now ruined cloth, America took it
over to the window and tossed it out. Canada looked at him questioningly. “We
can deal with it later,” he said, waving his hand, “Plus, I didn’t want to
traumatize England by asking him to take it out.” Canada smirked at that,
knowing the uptight nation would probably be repulsed by the idea of it.
“Speaking of him,” America said as he moved nearer to his brother again, “Do
you think we should invite him in here to cut the cord of the next one?” Canada
hummed, stoking his son’s cheek.
“Well, we don’t even know if they’re his children…” he said.
“Yeah, but I’m sure he would appreciate it. You never know, they might be his.”
“That’s true…so yeah, that sounds good—” Canada was cut off as he face screwed
up in pain again, his body tensing just as before.
Much to Canada’s disappointment, America quickly took Quebec out of his arms.
“Damn, Mattie, looks like you’re ready for the next one. I think it’d be best
if we left Quebec with England, alright? So I’ll be right back, don’t worry.”
He assured, squeezing his brother’s hand as the colony nodded, gripping on to
the sheets again.
When America emerged into the sitting room, England was right next to the
bedroom door to greet him.
“Oh, uh, sorry I was just—” He gasped when he saw the bundle America was
carrying.
“Hey, I have to be quick. Matt’s already getting ready to deliver the second
one.” He explained, and England’s eyes widened as he accepted the bundle.
“This’s Quebec. He’s a boy, and he was the first one to be born. Take care of
him, alright? Let Renee just sit next to you or something, because you need to
hold him all the time. And if you drop him I swear—”
“America.” England held up a hand, halting the other’s tirade, “I can handle
it. It’s alright.” They gazed at each other for a few moments, but soon America
turned around, shutting the door without another word. England sighed, but knew
not to take it personally. Child in hand, he walked back to the sofa where
Nebraska lay, fast asleep with her blanket spread over her. He sat on the other
side and looked down at the baby—Quebec—for the first time with a smile.
When America returned to the room, the first thing he did was grab some new
candles from a small set of drawers and go around the room, blowing out the
old, melted ones and replacing them with the new. He then returned to Canada,
who had already begun pushing a bit for the next baby.
No words were exchanged as America sat back down, running his fingers through
Canada’s damp hair. Now that the colony knew what to expect it was just more of
a waiting game, albeit a shorter one. America still held his brother’s hand and
occasionally muttered ‘Push, Mattie’ to keep him focused, but the second baby
was much easier than the first.
Less than ten minutes after Quebec was born, his brother entered the world
also. The second boy was much louder, and America chuckled as he handed him
over to Canada, commenting on his strong lungs and asking which province this
was.
“This is Ontario.” Was all the colony said, overcome again with emotion and
pain. Ontario, unlike his brother, did not have a tuft of hair, but was
completely bald. Canada giggled at his appearance, as the only two babies he
had ever seen—Nebraska and his own Quebec—had hair.
“It’ll grow in, don’t worry.” America said, smiling at his brother’s joy, “Hey,
want me to go get England? He can bring in Quebec, too.” He asked, and Canada
nodded, his eyes brightening. Before going to retrieve the Englishman America
threw a towel over his brother’s legs. He knew England had seen his brother
naked, but it just seemed wrong to leave him so exposed to the other. Assured
that Canada was covered, America walked over to the door and peeked out into
the sitting room.
This time England was seated on the couch, still gazing down at the newly born
province. His head snapped up at the opening of the door, and he locked eye
with America.
“Would you like to come in? Ontario was just born, and Mattie wants you to see
him.” Said America, and England immediately stood, Quebec in his arms, and made
his way over to the door.
“What about Nebraska?” he asked, looking back to the couch. America waved his
hand.
“Don’t worry. She’s asleep right? She can be alone for a minute or two.”
England nodded and entered the room, the other nation following.
America grabbed the string and scissors again before joining the other two, who
were fawning over both babies. At the sight of the scissors Canada lifted the
blanket for his brother, and America set about tying off Ontario’s cord.
England watched—it was so strange, he thought, to see the boy he raised so
adept at something like birthing a child. When America offered him the handle
of the small pair of scissors, he looked up, a bit confused.
“You want me to do it?” he asked. He had been astonished that America actually
let him in the room.
“Yes, Matt wants you to.” He answered, placing the instrument into England’s
free hand and then lifting Quebec out of his arms. “Well, go ahead. Just cut in
between the ties.”
England glanced at him one more time and then nodded, stepping closer to the
bed and smiling at his colony. Canada smiled back and, as with Quebec, the cord
was detached just seconds later. England set the scissors aside and stoked
Ontario’s head, a soft look in his eyes.
“He’s beautiful.” He said, “They both are.”
“Thank you.” Canada replied, and America moved over to him and gently set
Quebec in the crook of his unoccupied arm, so they could all see the two
together for the first time.
After another minute, though, America knew that the second placenta would be
coming out soon, and ushered England out of the room, this time with two
babies. “I’ll come out in a minute and bring one of the cribs down, because you
can’t hold three babies at the same time. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
England chuckled and let the door be shut behind him, and not even two minutes
later Canada pushed out the second placenta. They both breathed a sigh of
relief with how smoothly the whole thing was going and America sat down for a
second before going to bring one of the cribs down.
“They’re actually bigger than I thought they would be.” America said as he sat.
Canada cocked his head.
“You thought they would be small?”
“Well, yeah,” he said, shrugging, “They’re two months early, and you had four
of them all growing in there together. It only makes sense.” he explained,
pulling over another stack of towels, “They still are bit small, but that just
means you’ll have to feed them more often and let them get as much rest as they
can. They will recover, I can promise you that, because they’re provinces. They
can’t die, but they’ll go through some rough times. You’ll probably end up
staying here longer than you thought, too.” Canada snorted at that.
“Al, I’ve been here six months. I was only expecting to stay maybe two weeks.”
America smiled with him as he stood, stretching.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He gave Canada a peck on the cheek before exiting
the room again, leaving the door open and nodding at England as he passed by.
He easily lifted one of his hand built cribs from up in a spare room and
brought it down the stairs, setting to down in front of England when he got to
the ground floor. The other nation thanked him, settling Quebec into the crib,
but still holding on to Ontario.
“I’d like to hold him a bit more,” he explained, “I really…feel something with
him, like a connection. I have a feeling that they might actually be mine.”
America only hummed and retreated back into the guest bedroom, shutting the
door behind him.
“Anything else happen?” he asked, crossing the room and taking his seat again.
Canada shook his head.
“Nope, the next one seems to be taking its time.” Canada said, and he was
right, because he didn’t feel the urge to push until half an hour later. When
the third did begin to come out, though, it proved to be just as difficult as
the first. America winced at his brother’s screams. The babies were being born
quicker, but with no lesser amount to pain. It only took a few pushes, though,
before a little girl came wailing out into the world.
“New Brunswick…” Canada muttered, before America had even asked him, and he
smiled as she was placed into his arms. She did have hair, though it was a
brighter and richer blonde than her brother Quebec. Soon the after-birth
process repeated itself and America found himself cutting an umbilical cord and
tossing another ruined towel out the window before returning to his brother’s
side.
“She looks a little bit smaller, I think.” He remarked as they gazed at her.
Again, Canada felt no urgency to deliver the last baby, so America allowed her
to stay in the room a bit longer. “It worries me.”
Canada turned his head a bit, trying to recall how heavy the other two had been
or how long. “Maybe…but she is a girl. Shouldn’t girls be smaller anyways?” he
asked. America shrugged.
“I don’t really know. All of my pregnancies, except Oregon, have been pretty
normal. I never really measure or weigh them because they all turn out pretty
healthy.”
The colony nodded, looking back to his new daughter and lifting her up
slightly, giving her a kiss on the forehead before extending her to America. “I
think she should go join her siblings. Never know when Nova Scotia will decide
to be born.” He said, and America nodded, gently lifting the baby girl and then
walking over to the door.
England, as always, looked up when the other nation emerged from the room. He
did not stand, but waited until he moved around the sofa with the newest
edition.
“New Brunswick,” America said, “a little girl.” He let England settle Ontario
next to his brother before handing her down.
“So, only Nova Scotia is left.” England stated, stoking the little province’s
cheek.
“Yep.”
England looked up at him. “I’ve heard his screams…is he alright?” he asked, his
concern plain in his green eyes.
“He’s…doing okay. The screams are hard to listen to, I know, but it’s normal.
I’ve screamed a lot, too, and since this is his first time it’s only worse I
guess.” England nodded solemnly, happy for the three—soon to be four—little
lives in front of him, but still worried for the young boy.
No more words were exchanged, and soon after America made his way to the
kitchen, intent on getting another glass of water for his brother. As he made
his way back through the sitting room he glanced at the clock.
“It’s nearly six.” He told Canada when he returned, exhaling and rubbing his
eyes in exhaustion, “We’ll all sleep well tomorrow.” He said, sitting back
down, and Canada nodded in agreement, taking the new glass of water and
drinking. He didn’t chug it down like the previous time, but still drank a good
half of it.
Just as the clock struck six, Canada latched onto his brother’s hand and began
pushing. America urged him on quietly, as he always did, but after twenty
minutes of struggle the colony seemed to be getting nowhere. America furrowed
his brows and, while still holding the colony’s hand, moved to the foot of the
bed to peer between Canada’s legs.
At the sight of the final baby’s bottom and legs, not head, America gasped and
swore. He had experienced this kind of birth before, and it was never easy.
Canada sensed his brother’s worry and lifted his head.
“W-what’s wrong, Al? It’s…it’s not stuck, right?” he asked, voice shaking.
America shook his head.
“No, no, Nova Scotia will be fine. This birth will just, uh, take some more
energy, Matt.” He explained, and Canada groaned letting his head flop back down
onto the pillows. “I know, I know…” he whispered, rubbing Canada’s knee, “The
thing is, Nova Scotia is upside down—the legs and bottom will come out first,
then the body and head. I’ve had it happen to me before and, like I said, it
takes some extra effort, but everything should turn out fine.”
Canada made a soft noise, indicating that he understood, and took a deep
breath. America squeezed his hand, and the colony squeezed back harder. “We can
do this, Mattie, you can get through this.”
Slowly, but surely, Canada did. America stayed by the foot of the bed for the
remained of the time that his brother was pushing, still holding his hand and
comforting him as, inch by inch, Nova Scotia’s little body slid out. After
another half an hour the majority of his chest was visible, and America
released Canada’s hand to reach down and support the child.
“Okay, Mattie, one more push…” he muttered, and like magic, the baby finally
slipped out, gasping for breath and emitting quiet cries. Canada himself was
panting, his body completely limp against soiled and stained bedspread. After
America patted down the final child and wrapped him in a warm blanket, he
noticed Canada had tears streaming down his face.
“Oh, Mattie, its okay.” He muttered, heartbroken to see his brother so
exhausted and miserable. When placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder,
garnering his attention, followed by placing the final new born baby in his
arms, he managed a flicker of a smile.
“It’s another boy, Mattie. A red-headed, healthy boy…” he said, exhaling again
in relief as he collapsed back against his chair. Canada just barely gathered
the strength to lift his head and look at the new born, but smiled again when
he did.
“Oh my god, Al it’s finally over.” He rasped, and America grabbed the cup of
water off the bedside table, supporting Canada’s head and letting him drink
before he answered.
“Yeah, it is. Nothing to worry about now but sleep, I promise.” He said,
standing again. That was actually completely false, but he assumed Canada was
too far gone to recognize the difference. He took the already soiled towel off
the side of the bed where he had left it and spread it out again, prepared to
take the final placenta away when it came out. After that, he grabbed the
string and scissors one last time, trying off and cutting Nova Scotia’s cord
himself as his brother was much too exhausted.
Canada muttered a soft and distant ‘Yeah…’ and then fell quiet, and America
hoped he wouldn’t fall asleep. He folded the blanket back over Nova Scotia’s
tiny belly—he was definitely the smallest, America noted—before returning to
the foot of the bed. Minutes later, Nova Scotia’s placenta slipped out, with
almost no pushing or effort from the colony. He was more than likely much too
tired to do anything.
After disposing of it America shut the window and went around the room, blowing
out the now melted candles. The room fell into darkness, only slightly lit by
the moonlight. Canada’s head was to the side, facing away from his baby, and
America figured he was probably already asleep. That was fine—he could take the
new babies upstairs with England, and then come back down and rouse his brother
again.
“Hey England.” He greeted the other nation after taking Nova Scotia out of the
room, “Here he is—Nova Scotia. The last one.” Said America, lowering the bundle
so England could see him. He saw the Englishman start a bit at the child’s red
hair, but he didn’t actually say anything about it.
“Shall we take them upstairs, then?” he asked, standing slowly to stretch out
his legs. Ontario was still in his arms, with the other two in the crib.
“Yes, please.” America moved around the crib and headed for the stairs, “We can
take these two up and put them in the other crib, then come back down and grab
Quebec, New Brunswick, and Nebraska.” He explained, and England nodded,
following. They did just as America described, and a few minutes later they
were standing over the two cribs, tired smiles on their faces and all four
babies sleeping soundly. America walked over to his dresser for a moment and
pulled out two more blankets along with a spare nightgown for his brother. He
draped the blankets—soft, warm wool— lightly over both sets of babies, just to
ensure that they were warm enough.
After another minute America left, mumbling that he had to go get Canada before
he forgot and left him in the other guest room. England followed with a
chuckle, but recoiled from the smell of the guest room when they got
downstairs. America, used to the smell after seven hours, only walked in and
tossed the nightgown onto the table, moving over to the bed to wake Canada.
It took a few tries, but both nations together were eventually able to help the
colony out of bed and support him while they slipped the nightgown over his
head. Afterwards, America draped Canada’s arms over his shoulders, leaned down,
and swept his brother right off the ground. England backed out of the room to
let him through, marveling that America still had his super strength from when
he was younger.
After a final trip back up the stairs, America nudged open Canada’s door and
padded over to his bed, setting his brother down as gently as he could with his
tired arms. The comforter had been kicked to the foot of the bed, so he grabbed
it and threw it over Canada before leaving his room and quietly closing the
door.
“Don’t be surprised if he sleeps a whole day.” America said once he was back in
the hallway, leaning against the wall next to his room. England was across from
him, against the banister.
“Oh, I won’t.” The other nation said with a smile. “The provinces, though, they
won’t need to be fed for that long?”
America shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. It’s different with every child. They seem
to be fine now, but they might wake overnight, or they might not need anything
for two days—you never know. If they do wake up at night, though, I can feed
them.”
England cocked his head. “You can?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll be like a wet nurse. I’m sure even when Matt’s recovered he
won’t be able to feed all of them equally—and they’ll need a lot of milk. I
told Matt earlier—nearly all of my babies have been normal and healthy. Those
four seem to be fine now, but they are small, smaller than Nebraska was, at
least.” He pushed off the wall, “So, they’ll need extra milk and a lot of rest
to grow normally.”
England hummed, and then America spoke again.
“I’d love to stay here and talk with you, but I’m really exhausted.” He said, a
yawn validating his statement, “So Imma go to bed. If you wake up earlier than
us, jus’…don’t ruin the kitchen.” He muttered, turning toward his room. “I’m
gonna feed Nebraska before I go to sleep, and I’ll probably be up in another
four or five hours to do it again…” he trailed off, finally crossing into his
room.
England smirked a bit, rolling his eyes. “Goodnight, Alfred.” He said, making
his way toward his room.
“Goodnight, Arthur.” He heard, just as he shut his own bedroom door.
Chapter End Notes
     -It was around this time (1860s/70s) that flushing toilets became
     available to people in America who could afford them. A few decades
     later they became more widely used.
     -Nova Scotia was born breech, or with his bottom and legs coming out
     first. Nowadays these births are susually done by c-section, but up
     until about the 1950s in America they were mainly done vaginally/
     naturally, so it is possible, and safe as long as one does not pull
     on the baby.
     -Nebraska is about 3 months, and she still must be fed every 4-
     6 hours, even at night.
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
America hadn’t been kidding when he predicted that Canada would sleep
completely through the next day. The nation would have, too, if he didn’t wake
up every five hours like clockwork to feed Nebraska, but he was far too used to
it anyway. Sometime around noon he heard England’s door open and the soft sound
of feet going down the stairs. A burning smell did not follow, though, so he
didn’t worry. Finally, at half past seven on July Third, Canada woke and
wandered into America’s room, waking his brother when he opened the door.
“Hey Al.” he greeted, but his feet immediately brought him to the two cribs
sitting in the corner of the room. Even after a full day, the quadruplets slept
soundly.
“Good—” America yawned, mouth opening wide, “Good morning.” He said, sitting up
and pushing his blanket down to find Nebraska sound asleep next to him. He
stared down at her blankly for a moment, trying to recall when he brought her
into his own bed.
“Did Renee crawl into bed with you?” Canada giggled.
“I, uh…I don’t remember…” the nation said, but reached down anyway and pulled
his daughter up into his arms, rousing her. He smiled at her tiny yawn. “Good
morning, my darlin’…” he drawled, lifting her slightly to press a kiss to her
forehead.
“Can I do that?”
America raised an eyebrow, looking up to his brother. “What, kiss Renee?”
“No! I meant with my own babies.” he said, motioning to the four figures in the
crib. America moved the blanket aside and stepped out of bed, Nebraska still in
his arms.
“Well, yeah, I guess so. I’m not sure if we should wake them, though…” Canada’s
face fell. His brother was probably right, but he had waited so long to have
them in his arms… “Let’s go down and get some breakfast, hm? Maybe they’ll be
awake when we come back up.” America suggested, and gently nudged his brother
out the door.
England had already woken, and was enjoying a cup of tea when the brothers
entered the kitchen. Good mornings were exchanged, and when America found
something to cook he handed Nebraska over to his brother.
“You better get used to that.” He said, motioning to the small state in
Canada’s arms, “This’ll be you twenty-four seven, now.”
England frowned. “Come now, Alfred, you make it sound as if we won’t be
assisting him.”
“Well of course we’ll be helping him, but he needs to know how to take care of
the children, too. They’re his, and he’s the one who they’ll be around when
they’re growing up. He’s the one that gave birth to them; they need to connect
with him the most, not me or you.” America countered, waving a wooden spoon
around as he spoke. England rolled his eyes and went back to his tea. Canada
just focused on Nebraska—there really was no pleasing the two nations,
sometimes.
Canada surprised himself with how much he ate once a plate was finally placed
in front of him, handing off Nebraska to his brother. On his second plate,
America joked that he needed to slow down because he wasn’t eating for five
anymore, but Canada had ignored him and kept on practically inhaling eggs.
“Oh, Matthew, I had forgotten during all the, well, chaos,” England said
eventually, “But congratulations. You’re a dominion now.” He gave Canada a warm
smile, and the colony—no, it was dominion now—halted his eating. “Close your
mouth,” England chided, still smiling, “That’s not how proper young men with
their own governments act.”
Canada immediately snapped his mouth shut, quickly swallowing the toast he had
been chewing, and grinned back. He had forgotten, also—not only were the four
provinces little lives that he was responsible for, but they also made him one
step closer to becoming his own nation.
That thought brought him back to his babies, and he quickly stood from the
table. “Al, can we go see them now? The babies?” he asked, unable to hide the
excitement in his voice. America chuckled and stood with him.
“Sure. Do you want to come with us, England?” he offered, looking to the other
nation.
“Of course.”
Canada’s grin only became wider as they all set their plates in the sink and
climbed to the second floor. America’s door had been left open, so he
immediately entered and focused only on the two cribs. He heard tiny cooing and
gasping noises that Nebraska had often made as a newborn, so he hurried over
and lifted the blanket off the first crib containing Quebec and New Brunswick.
When America entered the room, he was surprised that the first thing he heard
was a whining baby. He found his brother gazing down into one of the cribs, but
not moving otherwise.
“Al…they look so sad. What’s wrong with them?” Canada asked, turning to face
his brother with a sad and confused gaze. America handed Nebraska to England
and moved beside his brother to look at the babies. Both still had their eyes
shut and were wriggling around, looking very distressed. It took him a minute,
but he finally understood why they were so upset.
“They don’t like the light.” He explained, motioning to the window nearby and
then moving the blanket back over the crib so that the two siblings were once
again in shadow, “I guess it’s because they’re early—they aren’t used to the
brightness because they’re not fully grown. They’re feeling like they should
still be inside you, I guess you could say.” He poked Canada’s still large
stomach. His brother furrowed his brows.
“Well, what do we do?”
America didn’t respond, placing a finger on his chin and gazing off in thought.
As he had told his brother before—all of his children were relatively healthy.
He didn’t know what to do in Canada’s predicament.
“Why don’t we move them?” England said from the doorway, causing both younger
boys to look to him, “You have several spare rooms, right Alfred? Why don’t we
find something to cover the windows in one room and then move their cribs in
there? I’m sure you could find some extra chairs or something, too, so Matthew
could feed them in the same room.” He switched Nebraska into his other arm, as
the child had found it amusing to play and tug at the nation’s hair.
America and Canada glanced at each other for a moment, but then shrugged. The
plan sounded easy enough.
So, over the next two hours the room next to Canada’s was transformed into a
nearly pitch black cave. America had been convinced by England to nail bed
sheets into the wall in order to block the windows, though it took much
convincing because America didn’t want to ruin his walls by putting holes in
them. When England pulled the ‘It’s for your brother’ card, however, the
younger nation kept quiet and went about his nailing. England himself moved
furniture around as to create an open space in the center of the room for the
cribs and a chair or two, and Canada was charged with watching Nebraska, as
usual.
Eventually, America called his brother eagerly into the room and Canada was
greeted with a dark, quiet, nearly bare area.
“Well, I suppose its okay. If it will be better for the babies…” he said, still
upset that he could not treat his sons and daughter as America could his. When
America bounded out of the room to bring to first crib in, England walked over
next to Canada and placed a hand on his back.
“I know you are very frustrated,” Canada nodded, gazing down at Nebraska’s deep
blue eyes. After three months they had yet to change, so he imagined they would
remain that color, “But as you said—this will be best for the children.” Canada
was not comforted by the nation’s words, but nodded in agreement anyway.
England persisted. “Matthew, look at me. Do you have any idea how long you will
have to spend with these children? I understand it might be difficult for you
to imagine, since you are younger, but both you and they will be around for
hundreds of years to come. Someday, you will look back on these weeks as
nothing, because you will have so many happier memories with your children once
they are grown.” He said, stooping down a bit to the younger boy’s height. The
dominion was still a bit shorter than his brother.
Just as Canada gave a small smile and nodded again, with more sincerity,
America nudged him aside as he entered with the first crib. England took
Nebraska from his dominion right away as he knew they boy would be much more
interested in his own babies.
“Hold ‘em carefully, Mattie.” America said as he left again for the other crib.
“I know, I know…” Canada muttered dismissively, lifting the blanket from the
crib again. His brother had brought in Quebec and New Brunswick first, so he
reached down and slid his hands gently under the male province. Quebec made a
soft noise as he was lifted and when Canada held the boy to his chest, he
realized he was finally holding one of his babies—his first born, at that—in
his arms.
The feeling and emotion—as America had told him before—was indescribable.
Seconds later America returned with the other crib, setting it gently beside
the first one and then looking over his brother’s shoulder at the baby.
“It’s great, huh? To hold them?” All his brother could do was nod, and then
England moved up to America and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Perhaps you should find him a chair.” He whispered to the other nation.
America nodded.
“I’ll be right back.” America said, dashing out of the room. With only England
next to him now, Canada took the chance to get a closer look at his babies.
“So, about the fathers…” Canada murmured, stepping up to both cribs and lifting
the blanket off of the other America had brought in. England thought that the
dominion might have been speaking more to himself, but listened intently
anyway.
“Well, you’re Quebec…” he said, looking to the child in his arms “France’s, I’m
sure of it. And New Brunswick is France’s, too.” He reached down into the crib
to stroke his only girl’s hair. “And Ontario is yours, Arthur.” he looked into
the other crib. Ontario was definitely the largest baby, he noted, “So that
leaves Nova Scotia, who is Scotland’s.” he finished, stroking the tiny tuft of
red hair on top of his son’s head.
“You mean to say…they have different fathers?” England questioned, and America
returned to the room just in time to hear it.
“Different fathers? What about different fathers?” The dominion nodded, looking
back to the two nations while America set a rocking chair down nearby.
“Yeah. Its like you said Al—I can just…feel it. I just know. They all—well, not
Quebec and New Brunswick—each one of the nations I…slept with that night
fathered a child.” He turned back to the cribs.
America hummed as he moved next to his brother, looking down at the babies with
him. “Can you say the fathers again? I missed them.” England moved a step
closer, also interested in hearing them again.
“Well, Quebec,” he began, motioning to the baby in his arms, “is France’s, and
New Brunswick is, too. Ontario is England’s, and Nova Scotia is Scotland’s.”
His brother nodded, looking over the children as if he was trying to see their
father’s traits in them.
“I never knew something like this could happen…”
Meanwhile, England, assured now that Canada had confirmed him as one of the
fathers, offered Nebraska to America. He took his daughter but kept a keen eye
on England. The babies couldn’t die, but that didn’t mean that they could not
be injured.
“Be careful with him, England,” he warned as the other nation reached for
Ontario, “They’re even more delicate than Nebraska was.” England lifted the
blanket-clad little province into his arms, giving America a glare.
“Really, Alfred, do you believe I intend to hurt the children? I’m not stupid—I
raised you, if you recall.” He said, only the slightest of venom in his voice.
“Oh, I’m not saying I think you want to hurt them, I just don’t trust yo—”
“Stop it!” Canada said, his voice quiet but forceful, “Just stop it, you two.
It is so tiring to listen to you both all day. You will not argue around my
children, and Alfred it doesn’t matter what you think because I do trust Arthur
and in fact I want him to hold Ontario.” Both nations were taken aback by the
younger’s soft, but angry tirade. After the shock wore off, though, England
smirked slightly at America, turning his face towards his and Canada’s son.
America didn’t like it, but said nothing regarding the matter in the quiet
minutes that followed. Canada and England fawned over the babies, Canada
switching between Quebec, New Brunswick, and Nova Scotia while England was
completely enamored with Ontario, and eventually America joined his brother in
gazing at the children.
“I think I’d like to name them.” Canada said after all four were awake and
blearily blinking up at them. England and America both watched him as he set
Nova Scotia down and picked Quebec back up.
“Like I said before, I like the name Jean, so that will be Quebec’s…” he said
with a smile, pressing a kiss to his eldest’s forehead before setting him back
down. New Brunswick was the next to be lifted from the crib. “For my little
girl, I think I’ll stick with Bonnie. It just fits her.” He kissed her also,
before setting her down and looking over to the baby boy in England’s arms. He
could tell that the nation was a bit put off by the fact that he hadn’t chosen
a more elegant name, in England’s opinion, like Elizabeth or Victoria. “I
really like one of the names you suggested, Arthur,” said Canada, and the
nation looked up immediately, “I think it was Oliver? Yeah, that’ll be
Ontario’s name.” England smiled at him, kissing his newly named son after
Canada did.
“And finally Nova Scotia.” Canada said, scooping up his smallest. In the calm,
dark room it was easy to forget his concerns for his babies, but looking at the
tiny province—probably not even a foot long—he remembered how fragile they
were. The other three looked decently healthy now, but Nova Scotia was just so
small. How could any normal being grow from such a sickly child?
“Matt?” His brother’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he found
America looking at him, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“It…It’s nothing I just…” he didn’t know what to say. The two nations would
most likely just tell him not to worry, but he would worry, no matter what.
There was no easy answer, he supposed.
“Hey Arthur?” he said suddenly. The nation looked up.
“Hm?”
“How did the process of my confederation go? Was everyone happy with it?” he
asked, turning his head only slightly toward the other.
England cocked his head slightly, but answered nonetheless. “Well, the
delegates from Ontario and Quebec were eager to join, of course. The men from
New Brunswick were unsure, but we convinced them well enough eventually. Nova
Scotia’a delegates, however, were much more stubborn.” He said, and Canada
looked up to him fully, “But not only the representatives—I have heard that the
people in that province are very against joining you. They nearly coerced New
Brunswick’s representatives into some other kind of union before we got to
them.”
Canada hummed, looking back down to his son. “Perhaps that is why he is so
small…” he said, voice just barely a whisper.
Would that dissent mean anything, Canada wondered, and would something happen
in the next few months that Nova Scotia—the province, not the baby—wouldn’t
want to be a part of Canada anymore? What would happen to his child, then?
Would he die?
“Mattie.” America said, soft yet firm and reassuring, “I don’t know what you’re
thinking, but stop. Just stop.” He said, shaking his head sadly, “Nothing is
going to happen to him, alright?” Canada only stared at his brother. He wanted
to believe him, he really did. America huffed when his brother didn’t respond.
“Okay, look, you were just unified, so I guess you don’t understand it yet, but
Nova Scotia won’t just up leave you. That’s like…that’s like…” he looked around
for a moment, scrambling for an example to back up his words, “That’s like one
of my territories getting statehood and then just giving it up a few months
later. I know this is kind of a different situation—and maybe the people in
Nova Scotia are mad about the union—but they’ll see that it’s good for them
eventually. They can’t just leave.” He explained, looking his brother right in
the eye.
Canada still looked a bit unconvinced, but nodded nonetheless, looking back to
his youngest. “Well, regardless he still needs a name…”
“Have you not thought of one?” England asked. Canada shook his head.
“No, but now that I know who their fathers are I kinda wanted to name them
based on that. I did with the other three, but I don’t really know any Scottish
names…” he trailed off, staring down at the baby as if he would name himself.
England racked his brain for the names of Scottish men he had met over the
years, attempting to think of one suitable for the baby.
“I recall meeting this old gentleman,” England began, attracting the attention
of the other two, “some years ago—I do think it was quite a long while ago. He
was from Scotland, I believe, but I only remember because he was one of the few
Scottish I could stand. His name, though, I know it started with a ‘A’…” The
two brothers only stared at England as he tried to recall the name. They knew
no Scottish names, anyway.
“Ah! I remember—his name was Alistair. Yes, that was it, Alistair. It’s a very
regal name, I would say.” He nodded to himself, looking to Canada to see if the
boy liked the name. Canada mouthed the name first, and then said it out loud,
seeing how it sounded on his lips. The tiny boy in his arms opened his eyes at
his father’s voice and Canada smiled.
“Yeah…I like it. I think he does, too.” The dominion said with a giggle.
“Alistair…” he said again, and Nova Scotia only blinked up at him with bright
blue eyes.
With all four provinces named the three fell into silence for a few moments.
America, however, soon remembered the rocking chair he had brought in.
“Hey Matt, why don’t you feed them for the first time?” he suggested, smiling
at his brother. Canada smiled, too, at the prospect, but then realized he had
to breastfeed four children.
“Wait…all of them? Now?” America nodded.
“Yeah, they’re all gonna need to eat at about the same time anyway. You might
as well start learning now, right?” his brother said, much too eager for
Canada, “I can even teach you how to feed two of them at the same time if you
want me to. Not right now, though, you should probably just start with one.”
Canada could agree with that. It was a strange idea, breastfeeding his
children, but exciting at the same time. Nova Scotia still in his arms, he
moved over to the rocking chair and sat down, pushing off the floor lightly to
rock the chair.
“Well, you need to take your nightgown off first, Mattie.” America said.
“I-I knew that!” the dominion sputtered, and both nations chuckled as he handed
Nova Scotia to America before wiggling out of his nightgown. Now only in a pair
of his brother’s long johns, he felt a bit exposed. America sensed his
apprehension, though.
“Are you embarrassed?” he asked. Canada hesitated. In front of his brother
there was no reason to worry, but then again there was no reason to feel shy in
front of England either! Why was he so tense?
“Matthew, if you want me to leave then I will. I imagine being tense and
worried is never good during…this sort of thing.” England offered, and America
nodded beside him. Canada considered the nation’s words for a moment, but then
shook his head.
“No…no it’s alright. There’s no reason for me to feel upset about you two being
here. Al, you’re my brother and you helped me deliver all four of these little
guys. I think you’ve seen more than enough.” He said, and America nodded,
smiling and handing Nova Scotia back to his brother, “And Arthur…you’re the
father of one of my children. I…really want you to be here.”
England tried to conceal it, but he smiled and blushed at the younger boy’s
words. Leaving England to rejoice in his own happiness, America stepped
forward.
“So, let’s get started, I guess?” Canada nodded, “Alright. Well, it’s not that
hard to do. Here, just…” he reached down to Nova Scotia and loosened the
blanket around him a bit, giving him more room to move his arms and head, “I
think babies like to be able to move around and get comfy. Especially when
you’re feeding them, there’s no reason to keep them all wrapped up anyways.”
“That’s true.” Canada muttered.
“I’m sure you know how it goes from watching me these past few months.” America
said, rubbing his neck, “Just hold him up close to one of your nipples…he
should find it in a minute or so.” The dominion nodded again and did as his
brother instructed. Nova Scotia gasped slightly when he was rested against the
bare skin of Canada’s chest, but after a moment something seemed to click in
the baby’s mind and he opened his mouth slightly, tiny pink tongue peeking out
to search for something.
Before his son began nursing, Canada didn’t know what to think. He felt a mix
of embarrassment and love, looking down at the baby whose tongue was searching
his nipple, and actually blushed at the sight of it. The room was dark, though,
and the two nations seemed to be transfixed on his baby, so neither of them
noticed.
When Nova Scotia did finally latch on to the little pink bud, Canada felt
relieved. Just like America said, he reminded himself, all he needed to do was
make sure all four of the babies were always well fed and rested. They would
grow regularly; it would just take time…
As the baby took his first few sucks, the dominion noticed a strange tugging
sensation and screwed up his face. “You alright?” America asked, and he nodded.
It wasn’t a bad feeling…just odd. Very odd. Within moments, though, he felt a
gradual release of some sort of unknown pressure in his chest. Before that
moment the dominion had never noticed it, but the more Nova Scotia suckled, the
more relaxed Canada became.
He never imagined how close the experience of simply feeing one of his children
could be. There was a connection there, though, he was sure of it, and he had
never felt anything else like it before. Nova Scotia was looking up at him like
he was the only person in the world that mattered and…
And it was much like the first time he saw his brother nurse Nebraska.
He smiled at the memory of the lazy morning after spent in bed, and then looked
back up at the other two in the room. They hadn’t said a word since the baby
had begun nursing.
America was just standing there, Nebraska in arms, with his weight shifted to
one side. He had a content smile on his face, like everything was suddenly
right in the world at that moment. England was standing in a similar pose, but
his expression was of pure transfixion. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off
the suckling baby—he must have been fascinated by him—and didn’t seem to even
notice that Canada had looked up. With a fond smile the dominion returned his
gaze to his son, still contently suckling away from his nipple.
While staring at the baby the minutes simply flew by, and soon Nova Scotia
detached himself with a tiny grunt. None of them moved for a moment, but Canada
finally regained enough sense to grab the edge of the blanket Nova Scotia was
wrapped in and dabbed at his mouth, wiping away any excess droplets of milk. A
second later, America cleared his throat and set Nebraska down in the crib,
lifting New Brunswick out instead. He stepped over to his brother and, without
saying a word, the two exchanged the babies and Canada went about his way,
loosening the blanket as America had and then holding his daughter up to his
chest.
During the feeding America stepped out of the room for a moment, bringing back
two simple wooden chairs for he and England to sit on. Once they were all
settled in the silence remained, all three just gazing at the baby that was
nestled in Canada’s embrace, suckling on and on. The dominion himself almost
felt like they should be having conversation, like they were three good friends
sitting down for a cup of tea, but the two nations said nothing, so he didn’t
feel the need to either.
After New Brunswick was done the process continued on, Quebec going next.
Finally, America took Quebec back to one of the cradles and England stood to
hand the last baby—Ontario—to Canada. The dominion accepted his son with a
smile and nursed him like he had the other four, the dark room still cloaked in
silence.
Once Ontario finished—it seemed like he had taken longer than the others,
Canada thought, perhaps he was just greedy—England stood again and took the
baby back to one of the cribs. This time he ended up next to Quebec.
And finally America broke the silence. “I hope Oliver doesn’t end up with your
eyebrows, Arthur.” Canada couldn’t resist a snicker.
“Oh, belt up, you…”
Chapter End Notes
     -Ive read that premie babies tend to have a sensitivity to light and
     noise because they were born early, and really should still be in the
     womb. I guess you could say that placing them in a dark, quiet room
     is like simulating a womb-like atmosphere.
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Notes
     Hope you've enjoyed this! Please take the time to leave a review!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It took two months and a lot of getting used to, but by mid-September all four
of Canada’s provinces were doing much better. All of them had grown and gained
at least a few pounds—especially Quebec and Ontario, who easily outweighed
their smaller brother and sister.
Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, nonetheless, had still made much needed
progress. In his second week of life, however, Nova Scotia had battled a bout
of pneumonia, tossing Canada into a world of stress and worry for the better
part of a month. It had started with just a small fever, but one morning the
dominion woke to find his son’s lips an unhealthy blue color. He rushed to wake
his brother and—after also waking England and having a minor panic attack—the
three of them managed to figure out that all the baby needed was a good amount
of fluids and more rest. It had been during these weeks that America’s acting
as a wet nurse was most valuable, because Canada was often fixated on his
youngest child.
“It’s never going to end…” Canada muttered, miserable, one night at dinner. The
days were an endless cycle—wake up, check on the babies, feed them, eat, worry
over the babies, feed them again, and so on. They never emerged out of that
dark room, though America did eventually take the bed sheets off the walls,
letting only the blinds block the sunlight.
England only gazed at him sadly, unsure what to say. He agreed with the
other—the worries did seem like they would never end, even for his own Ontario.
He considered himself lucky that Ontario, along with Quebec, were healthier
than the other two, but that did not mean he didn’t have his share of problems
and concerns. He and his brother were still underweight, according to America.
“Mattie…” America muttered from the stove, sighing before walking over to his
brother and placing a hand on his back, “I know it’s hard—honestly, I’ve never
had this much trouble with any of my kids—but you just have to wait. They’ll
all get better, it just takes time.” Canada had heard it a million times
before, so he only put his face in his right hand and nodded. His other hand
was being used to support Nebraska who, seated in his lap, babbled in an almost
sad way and tried to reach up to Canada, concerned for him. The dominion
chuckled and put on a sad smile for the state, lifting her up into his arms for
a proper hug. For now, he knew, he could only imagine that the little girl was
one of his own.
The one thing that was improving for Canada was his weight. Even though he
still had to eat heavily in order to produce enough milk, the baby weight
seemed to just melt off him as the weeks passed. By the end of two months he
had nearly returned to his slim frame.
“You’ve still got a little weight left to go,” America said, poking at the
pooch that remained in his stomach, “But I think it looks good on ya’. You were
always so skinny—having a little extra makes you look better.” Canada had
blushed furiously at the compliment, especially after America walked past him
and gave his ass a good squeeze before heading up the stairs. He knew that
England knew about his and his brother’s relationship, but it wasn’t something
he wanted to flaunt around openly. The dominion slowly turned to face England,
standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
The nation certainly did not look amused at the other’s actions, but softened
his face for Canada. “Well,” he begun, waling over to the sitting room to pick
up a book he had been reading as of late, “that was a bit of a crude way of
putting it, but I must say I agree with him. You look very…” he looked like he
was struggling for something to say, or perhaps he just didn’t want to say it,
Canada thought, “…cute.” The nation finally squeaked out before hastily
climbing the stairs to his own guest bedroom. Canada blushed harder, and spent
a few minutes calming down before he, too, proceeded upstairs to check on his
children.
After six long weeks, Canada’s frustrations were finally quelled somewhat on a
warm August day. America had noted that morning that Quebec and Ontario were
looking much healthier—their little blue eyes awake and alert, and their mouths
either always searching for something to gum on or making the soft coos and
grunts that babies made. Their progress lifted Canada’s spirits, and for the
first time in weeks he genuinely laughed when he and America found Quebec
gnawing on his brother’s fingers one morning, the other province either asleep
or ignoring the action.
That was the day that the brothers finally decided to take the two provinces
out of their dark room for the first time. They began their mission early in
the morning, as the sun hadn’t yet risen completely. Quebec and Ontario were
both still half asleep as they were lifted from their crib and carried
downstairs, but when America and Canada seated themselves on the sofa the two
babies were suddenly wide awake and gazing at the world around them with
wonder. Canada held Quebec upright so he could look around, and soon Ontario
began to get fussy in America’s arms.
“Here, let me hold him.” Canada offered, shifting Quebec back into the crook of
his arm. His two oldest boys were always like that, he noticed—Quebec and
Ontario absolutely had to be within three feet of each other at all times or
one of them would get upset. Their behavior had led to the manner in which the
cribs were set up—Quebec and Ontario in one and Nova Scotia and New Brunswick
in the other. It worked out quite well, because Canada had several times awoken
to find that New Brunswick had scooted over a few inches in order to snuggle
next to her brother. The elder two provinces had never displayed any need to
physically be in contact often, but separate them and crying was assured within
minutes.
As always, Ontario calmed down once he was in Canada’s arms and next to his
brother. Quebec also seemed more relaxed, the dominion noticed, and after a few
minutes both brothers began mouthing at their father’s shirt, eager for milk.
Canada chuckled and settled the two next to him before taking off his shirt and
then rebalancing both of the provinces in his arms. He had become a master at
nursing two babies at once, and the skill shortened feeding times considerably.
Once both Ontario and Quebec were settled in and suckling, Canada and America
fell into calm conversation, discussing how soon the other two provinces would
be able to come out of the room.
Half an hour later the babies were full up and happily sitting in their
father’s lap, observing the sitting room and all the things in it. England
awoke soon after, joining the brothers and suggesting that they open a window,
as it was a beautiful day outside. Canada agreed eagerly.
“That would be great! We can’t take them outside yet,” he said, looking down to
his sons, “But I’m sure they would like the fresh air.” England nodded, moving
over to one of the windows along the sitting room wall and opening it. A fresh
breeze blew in, the smell of flowers and wilderness filling the room.
Ontario and Quebec noticed the change immediately. Once they caught a whiff of
the sweet air, both of their faces lit up and they began babbling excitedly at
the unknown wonder. America eventually left to make breakfast and the three
enjoyed it in the sitting room, not wanting to move Quebec and Ontario for the
moment. Once empty plates of eggs and toast crowded the coffee table, the focus
of the conversation returned again to the provinces.
“I should really teach you how to carry them in a sling.” America said,
motioning to the two situated in Canada’s lap, “I think you’d really like it,
and that way you can carry one of them with you wherever you go.”
His brother nodded. “Yeah, that would be nice. I’ve been so jealous of you for
the past few months, you know, always carrying Nebraska wherever you want…” he
trailed off, looking down at his sons, love in his eyes. Even after a month and
a half, it was difficult to believe that the babies were a part of him, in a
way. He felt an amazing connection with them at that thought.
Suddenly, Canada gasped. “Oliver, no. That’s not nice…” he muttered, stoking
Quebec’s cheek. Ontario had lifted up his little fist and brought it down onto
his brother’s face. The strike hadn’t been very hard, of course, but it was
enough to make Quebec jump in surprise. “You okay, Jean?” Canada asked, leaning
down to look at his other son. The baby, obviously, did not reply, but seemed
no worse for wear. The dominion looked up to find the two nations gazing at him
and his children, concern and slight amusement on their faces. He smiled to
them, assured that everything was fine, and then looked back down to his sons.
While Ontario was distracted, looking elsewhere in the room, Quebec lifted up
his own hand and brought it down across Ontario’s cheek. The two already
understood the concept of fighting, it seemed. Both America and England snorted
at the provinces’ antics, and Canada couldn’t help but smile. Ontario reacted
similarly to Quebec, staring at his brother in confusion while his father
stroked his cheek in comfort. Ontario, however, did not just let the strike
go—within seconds, he burst into tears.
Both Canada and Quebec winced at the loud wail the little boy emitted while
America and England clapped their hands over their ears. For a premature baby,
Ontario sure could cry; and loud. Passing Quebec off to his brother, Canada
picked up Ontario and kissed his head.
“Oh, it’s alright, baby. Jean didn’t really mean it…” he said, stroking his
son’s back, but to no avail. He was unsure if the child could even hear him
with how loud he was crying. All other attempts to soothe his son failed, but
suddenly England stood and made his way over to Canada.
“Let me try, perhaps?” he offered, and Canada shrugged. England held his son
often; perhaps the child’s other father would have a calming effect on him. He
handed Ontario up to England, who immediately cradled him close to his chest.
America and Canada glanced at each other briefly, wondering if the older nation
could calm the child, but then they began to hear a soft noise. Canada furrowed
his brows, asking his brother silently if he heard the sound, and America
looked up to England. The noise—a humming—gradually grew louder until they
realized that England was attempting to soothe the boy with a song. Ontario’s
cries had lessened substantially, and now only soft grunts could be heard as
England began to sway from side to side to comfort the baby farther. As the
boys crying tapered off, the nation used his other hand to wipe away the tears
that remained on his chubby, reddened cheeks.
“There, that’s much better, hm?” he crooned to Ontario, now laying contently in
his arms. The brothers seemed to return to normal, because within minutes
Quebec became distressed that his brother was being kept away from him. With a
chuckle America handed Quebec up to England and went to check on Nebraska, the
other nation taking the spot next to Canada that he had vacated.
“Well, that went better than I expected.” England said to Canada with a smile.
The dominion cocked his head.
“You thought that wouldn’t work?” he questioned.
England shrugged. “I wasn’t really sure if it would. Had it not, I would have
had no idea what to do.” Canada hummed and looked over to the two babies in
England’s arms. Content again, they were both just lying there, feet tangling
together and gumming their own fingers.
“By the way, Arthur,” Canada said, attracting the nation’s attention, “I’ve
been wondering…did you ever tell Francis and Scott about the babies?” he asked,
looking up to the other with hopeful eyes. He knew that England didn’t want
anything to do with the other two nations, much less allow them to see the new
babies, and America wasn’t so keen on Scotland, either. France, he thought, had
a better chance of visiting, because America liked him and wanted him to se
Nebraska.
“Yes, we have—Alfred and I have, that is. The day after they were born I went
into town and sent a telegram to both of them. We have received no reply from
either of them, so I suppose all we can do is see if they will show up.” He
explained, keeping his gaze on the babies. Canada sighed.
“I see…” They sent the message six weeks ago—how long could a reply take? His
disappointment was obvious.
“Matthew…don’t discount them just yet, or at least don’t discount Francis. I
admit that I am…unsure about them seeing the children, but Alfred supports the
idea fully.” He assured, “And they might just be taking their time. It could
have taken them a week to get the telegram, and even if they did leave soon
after that it would still take at least a month and a half to journey across
the Atlantic. It is as Alfred says so often—all you have to do is wait.”
Canada let out a dry laugh, but nodded. It was almost cruel, his situation. The
four provinces were some of the most exciting things to ever come into his
life, but he could do nothing but feed them and wait for them to grow. Now, the
prospect of seeing the other two fathers of his children was partially
squashed—they might have not even wanted to venture across the ocean to see the
babies, much less even cared about them. The only answer was a never ending
waiting game.
“This is so difficult…” he said, putting his head in his hands.
“I know…”
-----
The day France came knocking at America’s door, the quadruplets turned exactly
nine weeks old.
“Amérique! Please open up, I would love to see ma fille!” he called, disrupting
the quiet of the house at eleven in the morning. America smiled and immediately
dashed to the front door, leaving Nebraska in Canada’s arms. England sighed and
put a hand to his eyes.
“Well, it seems that you got what you wanted, Matthew…”
As soon as the door was open, France was inside and sweeping America into a
hug. It turned out to be more than a hug, though, as he dipped the younger
nation down for a kiss. Beside him, Canada heard England’s breath hitch.
From behind France Scotland entered, having hung back from the nation’s
cheerful greeting. He invited himself in, stepping around the two entangled
nations and joining England and Canada.
“ ‘ello.” He drawled, seeming uninterested in the two of them. England gave a
slight nod, but Canada said nothing, only glancing sideways at him for a
moment.
France lifted America back up, all red faced and grinning, before turning and
noticing Canada himself and, more importantly, the child in his arms.
“Oh, Mattieu! How nice it is to see you again.” He said, gliding over from the
door, but only embracing the dominion. France may have been France, but he was
not so stupid as to kiss Canada while England was acting like a mother bear.
“And it is a pleasure, Angleterre.” He gave England a curt nod. The other
nation returned the gesture.
“So, Francis, this,” America said, appearing beside Canada and lifting his
daughter out of his arms to show her to France, “is Nebraska. Renee, actually,
Renee Jones.”
France’s smile could have split his face in half. “Well, hello, mon petit
ange.” he said, reaching up to take her tiny hands and press kisses to both of
them, “I am so glad to finally see you.” Nebraska giggled at all the attention
and reached out to the Frenchman. “Oh! She even knows who her father is,
doesn’t she? Might I hold her?” America nodded eagerly, passing the child into
France’s arms.
Meanwhile, Canada stood next to England, feeling a bit rejected. He knew that
France was happy to finally see Nebraska after so long, but hadn’t he been told
about Quebec and New Brunswick? He wanted to interrupt, but couldn’t bring
himself to do anything. That would have been rude, anyway.
“You alright, Matthew?” England asked beside him, his arms crossed and glaring
at the other nations. Canada glanced up at him, but then back at France.
“…yeah. I guess so…” he said quietly, playing with his own fingers. These past
few months had been very different for him—he had been the center of attention.
It felt strange to be pushed to the sidelines again.
“Well, I can’t say I didn’t warn you, but…” England hesitated for a moment,
biting his lip, “Just give him a few minutes. Francis is not, in my opinion,
the most sincere person, but I know you think differently of him, so…just give
him a moment.”
England turned out to be right, because a minute later France turned to Canada
with Nebraska still in his arms, looking apprehensive. “So, how are you and
the, uh, children doing?” he asked, a definite falter to his voice. Scotland
also stepped forward, looking a bit more interested. Canada thought they both
must have been nervous.
“They’re growing well,” he replied with a small smile, “Two of them are yours,
actually, and Scotland you have one…would you like to see them?” France’s
eyebrows rose.
“Oh, I…I hadn’t known.” He said, breaking eye contact with the dominion for a
moment. Scotland’s expression was pensive, but he didn’t react in any other
way, “But, ah, yes. I would very much like to see them.” Canada’s smile widened
a bit and he moved towards the stairs, motioning for the two to follow. America
proceeded after France and Scotland, and England rounded up the group as they
ascended the staircase to the second floor.
To the right and three doors down, Canada placed a hand on the knob of a closed
door and turned to France. “They’re in here…maybe you should give Renee back to
Al?” he suggested. France nodded, turning back to the other nation to hand over
the child, and then facing Canada again. The dominion gave a slight nod,
assuring himself more than anything, and then turned the door knob.
The room, this time, was not dark and quiet, but lit by sunshine streaming in
the window. Soft noises filled the room—the grunts and coos and babbling of
four healthy babies. France didn’t enter the room at first, only glancing
inside before Canada took the first step. Once Canada was completely across the
threshold, France followed. Scotland hung back for a moment, unsure if he
should follow, but when neither America nor England made a move forward, he
took a few steps towards the cribs.
The dominion arrived at the cribs before France did, looking down lovingly into
them. The quadruplets sensed the presence of another being, and all looked up
curiously to find their father standing above them. France then came into view,
also peering down into the cribs, but the children ignored him, only interested
in getting their father’s attention so that they might be picked up and loved.
France couldn’t prevent the gasp from escaping his lips.
“Oh, Mattieu…”he muttered, placing his hand over top of Canada’s, “They’re
beautiful.”
“Yeah,” Canada replied, “I know.”
The two remained like that for a few moments, just gazing at the tiny,
wriggling babies in front of them. Scotland could hear the babies now, and his
breath hitched just the slightest bit when he creeped close enough to spot a
shock of red hair over the edge of the crib. America and England lurked in the
doorway, but did not interrupt.
Eventually, France muttered, “If I may ask—which two are mine?”
“Which two do you think are yours?” Canada countered almost immediately, taking
the Frenchman by surprise. He looked back down into the cradles.
“Well…” he scanned the provinces over once more, “Your little girl…she has such
soft blonde hair.” He said, stroking the crown of New Brunswick’s head, “And I
think the only the two of us would produce someone so perfect.” He threw a
dashing smile at Canada, “So for my son…he could not have red hair. So, it’s
just between these two.” Scotland finally moved to the side of the cribs at the
mention of red hair. France shifted his gaze into the other crib where Ontario
was reaching his arms up towards Canada while Quebec lay beside him contently,
staring up at the two above him. France put a finger to his chin, considering
the two carefully.
“This first boy,” he said, holding a finger out to Ontario’s reaching hands,
which the baby eagerly took hold of, “is very charismatic, but there’s just
something about the other one that I can’t put my finger on. If I may?” he
questioned, motioning to Quebec. Canada nodded and France lifted the baby out
of the crib. His brother whined, upset that the attention was not being paid to
him, but then Canada set a hand on his son’s stomach and chest, giving the
child something to grab at and hold. Still on the side, Scotland did not touch
any of the children, even though he could tell the one closest to him was
obviously his.
In France’s arms, Quebec seemed a bit miffed about being lifted so suddenly,
especially by a strange person, but did not protest vocally. France gazed into
his eyes, like he was looking for something, but the province only laid back,
looking bored. With a chuckle, France pressed a kiss to Quebec’s forehead and
opened his mouth to speak, but was met with resistance when he tried to pull
back.
“Eh…?” he tried to turn his head, but whatever had caught a hold of him was not
giving in. Suddenly, he heard Canada giggle. “What? What is it?”
“It seems that he’s taken a liking to your hair.” The dominion answered,
holding back a laugh as Quebec—lock of blonde in hand—rubbed the hair on his
cheek. He seemed fascinated by it, and soon grabbed onto the silky strands with
his other hand. After much inspecting, the baby finally decided to open his
little mouth and see what the hair tasted like.
This time Canada couldn’t hold back, laughing as France’s expression morphed
into one of horror. He had heard the tiny ‘Ahhh’ Quebec let out before starting
to gnaw on his hair, but didn’t know what happened.
“Matthieu? Matthieu! What happened? This isn’t funny!” he exclaimed as Quebec
continued to mull over his silky locks. Eventually, though, Canada reached up
to Quebec and wiggled a finger into his mouth, forcing him to release the hair.
As soon as France was free he pulled back right away.
“Well,” he said, flustered by the experience and running his free hand through
his hair to smooth it down, “He obviously appreciates my beautiful, wavy, silky
French hair. Only a Frenchman—or, as close as one can get—could do that. He
must be mine.”
Canada’s giggles died down and he nodded. “Yep, you’re right, with both of
them, actually. That’s Quebec that you’re holding, and my girl is New
Brunswick.” France smiled at the boy in his arms and nodded.
“Hello to you, too, then, Quebec, and my beautiful little blonde, New
Brunswick.” He reached down again to stoke her hair, and grinned at her when
she smiled. “What are their names?” he asked.
“Quebec is Jean, and New Brunswick is Bonnie.”
“Did you name them yourself?” Canada nodded, lifting New Brunswick out of her
crib. Ontario whined more, and Canada sighed.
“Arthur, can you come hold him?” he asked, looking towards the two nations
still in the doorway. England, as if he was caught hiding, stumbled a bit over
the threshold, but then walked over to the crib, lifting his son who then let
out a delighted squeal.
“I think they’re very nice names.” France remarked, watching England smile and
coo at the other baby. “That boy is his?”
“Yeah, that’s Ontario, or Oliver. Arthur suggested his name.” said Canada,
turning around then to face Scotland. The nation was still focused on the
remaining baby in the crib, “And this is Nova Scotia—Alistair.” Scotland looked
up at him for a moment, but then back down at the baby.
Canada furrowed his brows, unsure what to do. He didn’t speak to the nation
often as England would never let him near him, but he was surprised by his
silence.
“Would you like to hold him?” he offered awkwardly, trying to smile for the
nation. Scotland looked up again, and nodded.
“Yes I…I would but I don’t know how to, exactly.” Canada could feel England
bristle behind him. Well, it wasn’t like he himself wasn’t concerned for his
children. He didn’t want them to be dropped either.
“That’s alright; I can show you.” He set New Brunswick back down and scooped up
her brother instead, giving the other a warm smile. “Just hold your arms like
mine and…” Scotland obeyed, and soon the dominion was gently placing Nova
Scotia in the arms of his other father. “Yeah, just make sure you support his
head and you should be fine.” Scotland nodded and shifted the baby up a bit,
gazing down to get a better look at him. Nova Scotia’s eyes were closed and he
looked content in the nation’s arms; like he was meant to be there.
Meanwhile, Ontario had grown bored of England’s coddling and was wiggling from
side to side in the nation’s arms. “You could take them down stairs if you
like.” both France and England looked up at Canada’s suggestion. “Both Jean and
Oliver, I mean. They tend to like to be close to each other all the time, so…”
he trailed off, hoping the nations would understand his point. He felt like
Scotland had something to say to him, but he knew the other man wouldn’t say it
with England in the room.
France was the one who seemed to catch on. “I would love to, Matthieu, thank
you. Though, I find it quite ironic that these two are so eager to be
together.” He said with a chuckle as he kissed New Brunswick’s cheek, “Perhaps
you would like your princesse back, non?” Canada nodded in thanks, accepting
his daughter as England turned to leave, followed by France. America, still
near the doorway, lurked for a moment, throwing Scotland a glare for just a
half second, but then closing the door.
Silence sat heavily in the room for a few moments when the nation and dominion
were left alone. Nova Scotia had opened his eyes, blinking sleepily up at the
strange man holding him. New Brunswick, however, was already awake from
France’s greeting. Canada chuckled, rubbing his nose into his daughter’s belly
just to make her giggle. His youngest boy had always been a sleeper, anyway.
“What?” Scotland asked, his accented question hanging in the thick air for a
few moments.
“Nothing, it’s…it’s nothing. Just thinking about them, is all.” Canada
answered, nodding his head towards his babies.
“Well, I wouldn’t call them nothing, then. Because they certainly are
something.”
The dominion chuckled again. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
The silence persisted for a few more moments before Canada grew tired of
waiting. He had been waiting for months; it was about time that something
happened quicker.
“Did you come because of the letter, or because Francis made you come?” he
asked bluntly.
Scotland looked up at him. “I came of my own volition—I only happened to spot
Francis in Albany after I arrived. I was lucky, too; I had no idea where
America lived.” He didn’t sound offended, Canada decided. Perhaps he had been
expecting such questions.
“So you honestly wanted to see Nova Scotia? You really cared about him?” Canada
wasn’t dumb or oblivious. Perhaps he didn’t know Scotland personally, but if
England felt strongly enough about the other nation to keep him away from
Canada, than there must have been a reason.
Scotland shifted Nova Scotia again, looking down into his face, features
scrunched up to block the morning sunlight. “I don’t know what I felt for him.
Well, I didn’t know he was a boy, either. It’s difficult to feel for someone
you’ve never seen, I think.” The dominion tilted his head to the side a little.
He could relate to that. “But I wanted to take this chance to…start new, I
suppose you would say. Arthur has kept you away from everyone these past years.
The only nations you know personally are America, Arthur himself, and Francis.”
Canada’s eyes narrowed. “Where are you going with this?”
“You’re growing up, Matthew.” He said, looking out the window, “And Arthur
can’t rule the world forever. All this territory north of America—who do you
think it will be given to? If I know my brother—and I think I do—he’s not going
to just sell it off to the highest bidder. From what I understand these four
gave you quite the hassle.” Canada nodded, a small smile slipping onto his
face. It had been very frustrating, but very worth it. “But do you think they
will be the only ones? That would be as if America had gained independence, but
never moved past the river. Anyone who thinks you will remain a dominion on
this eastern coast is a fool. Arthur wants you to stay that way, but it’s not
going to happen.”
Canada cocked his head, growing more confused by the moment. “I still don’t
know where you’re going with this.”
“You’re getting bigger, Canada, and someone needs to be here to tell it to you.
Francis won’t because he feels he has no authority over you. America won’t
because he still fears England’s power. And Arthur certainly won’t tell you a
thing.” He looked Canada right in the eyes, “So I will. I can’t do anything
more because Arthur would have my head if I did, but I thought you would just
like to know.” Scotland closed the distance between himself and Canada, placing
Nova Scotia into his other arm.
“You take care of them well, alright? They’re your future, and I think you’ll
need them dearly in it.” Canada watched the nation as he then turned away,
walking towards the closed door. His footsteps sounded almost ominous against
the wood paneling, but also strangely comforting. The door was opened with a
small squeak, and Scotland looked back at him once more before exiting, the
sounds of lively chatter drifting up from the floor below.
Canada was left with his children, gazing at the open door in front of him.
Chapter End Notes
     -The treatment for viral pnemonia in babies is indeed only fluids and
     rest. Also, blue lips or finger tips are one of the symptoms.
     -Ontario and Quebec grew faster because they (the provinces) have
     been a part of Canada for much longer. Also, the people of those
     provincs were much more eager to join the confederation.
     -The lullaby England was humming was 'Lavender Blue', and English
     lullaby from the late 1600s.
     -With the Trans-Atlantic cable, telegrams could be transferred across
     the Atlantic in a matter of hours. Transporting the telegram from
     Albany,NY, to somewhere in Newfoundland and then from Ireland, to
     London to France or Scotland would have taken longer, though. Also, a
     trip across the Atlantic took 1 1/2 to 2 months by ship in those
     days.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!