Chapter Text
Canada is independent, he has been for decades now, after both Wars—he isn't alone, not like how America had described to him Independence, he still sees England and the other colonies, his trust and loyalty in England has helped him achieved the feat his brother nearly never got the privilege to at his greatest leisure.
England smiles at him and reassures him he can come over any time he wants and Matthew smiles back, happy.
He's a part of the British Commonwealth and the world is in the midst of the cold war.
Everything is okay.
But he feels it again, the creeping, chilling fear that had plagued him as a child, when his brother was torn away from him by force. He can feel it again, the tension in the air, the anticipation for something to go wrong and he wonders what is it that's causing this?
There is a storm coming.
But Canada doesn't know that.
Prussia's care packages stop when the German nation was divided into West and East and now America brings over a young, Ludwig, called West Germany—the young German has blond hair and blue eyes, different from his older brother's red eyes and white hair.
Ludwig is shy at first, but he learns to answer questions and help deliver messages to the other side. However, he cries when his brother's name is mentioned and Austria has to comfort him with his shiny, expensive piano.
England's home becomes loud once again and—
The Cold War continues.
Russia has stopped talking to America and Matthew is forced to take over, the Soviet Union looks at him like he's an annoying, yet tolerable fly and he has to make do with whatever he's given.
It's not the best, but it's not the worst either, and Matthew is okay with it, even if it's a bit nerve-wracking to deal with the other countries.
His brother comes over with a stack of files and he talks about his President's plan on making the world safe for democracy, and Matthew asks how his relationship with Russia is, and America says that Russia is just being a little bitch and he's sure everything will work out soon.
It doesn't.
Matthew feels it more acutely than ever before, the threat of another War, the threat of nuclear weapons. The threat of losing someone else to something beyond his control.
He doesn't want to lose anymore.
America assures him it will all be okay.
America is not okay.
Matthew knows his brother is stubborn and will push through and get what he wants, even if he has to
sacrifice things along the way, like his dignity, but the war has left him tired and his people are suffering and he feels the strain.
The Cold War is not a war, not in the physical sense, but the effects are very real.
America can't come over anymore, his president doesn't allow it and neither does the Soviet Union, the Soviet Union who has become paranoid and distrustful of Matthew, who watches him as if he is a spy, waiting for his moment to strike, but Matthew is just trying to do his job, so he doesn't pay much attention to the paranoia.
Ludwig is older, no longer a little boy, but a teenager, a man, who wears black suits and talks business. He has become less shy and more stoic and he speaks about his brother in hushed tones, wondering what has become of him.
It breaks Matthew's heart.
America is tired and he can't visit, and Matthew is left alone once again.
England and France call him on the phone more often than not, Bermuda insists on inviting him over for dinner—but he is too busy, and that is the truth, halfway, anyway.
because he is afraid.
He is afraid, and it's a stupid reason, because what will happen? The worst that can happen is that someone will win, and the other will lose, and the victor will gloat, and then what?
The Cuban Missile crisis cuts Canada's strained friendship with Cuba, and his brother's President, John F. Kennedy is assassinated a year later by Lee Harvey Oswald, who is also shot by the police chief of Dallas, Texas, in front of millions of television viewers.
Matthew can't sleep for a month.
America, his own brother, has gone mildly insane in an effort to keep up with the Space Race.
In 1969, on the 20th of July, his brother’s nation lands the first man on the moon.
He can hear his brother shout, scream and cry at the Soviet Union from the other room.
It is 1978 and it is the first time in many decades—America makes himself comfortable on England's couch, throwing himself into the loose blankets with a loud 'oompf!' and making himself comfy amidst the other pillows.
Canada holds back a laugh as he joins his brother on the couch, sitting down with much more grace than his American brother had. He pulls one of the blankets up to his chin, tucking his feet under himself and getting ready to watch the television that is currently hooked up to their VCR. The video cassette recorder was a special item England had gifted them both as a gift for Christmas, its something Canada treasures a lot.
"What's this one about again?" Canada asks his brother, looking at him from the corner of his eye.
"It's about a woman who murders people with a giant needle," America says, his face serious. "I read a book once about how it's supposed to be based off true events, but I dunno man, it's really trippy."
"How so?"
"Well, there was this girl who was adopted and she found out that the woman who was taking care of her was actually her real mom. She was a doctor, and the daughter, Mary, thought she was doing her mother's work. And when the cops showed up, her mother, like, freaked out and killed them."
"She sounds crazy," Canada says with a small shiver.
"Oh, man, you don't even know. Apparently her mother used to lock her in the closet for days and feed her bread and water, and that's why she did all the stuff that she did."
Canada is quiet for a moment before speaking. "That's... That's really awful."
"Yeah," America says, "that's what makes this movie so great."
"So, are they going to be in the closet the whole time?" England asks from the right chair, France hums from the left, sipping on a glass of wine.
"Nah, just for a little bit. It gets really weird from there, but it's a really good movie."
Canada nods, "Well, if you like it, I'm sure it'll be good."
America huffs and the movie starts playing.
It isn’t long before someone falls asleep and the room is plunged into darkness.
It is Christmas Eve of 1980, it is the first time the London Estate is full of life, that is not meek or panicked like four decades earlier.
Canada is sitting on a kitchen stool, Bermuda busies herself with the cooking right across from him—she is herding Australia and America away with a large spatula. The Canadian nation spots Isle of Man, Wales and Scotland hauling a large Christmas tree into the living room, there is a box near the fireplace—unlit, thankfully—that is full of Christmas decorations. Cayman Islands is holding up a string of fairy lights, green, red and white in color.
New Zealand sits on the floor with multiple red stockings, Montserrat sits cross legged on the couch with picture of England in her arms as she wipes it with a cloth. Northern Ireland busies himself by wrapping presents in the corner.
Later that evening, He eats dinner surrounded by the relaxing sounds of family arguments.
He blinks, eyes blurring.
Matthew shuffles from beneath his covers, straining his head to hear—“WAKE UP DAD ITS FUCKING CHRISTMAS!”
“SHUT UP YOU GIT!” England’s shout is even louder.
He groans, alongside the mass of blankets shuffling against his back—his brother has woken up as well, no doubt by the sounds of Australian chaos at six in the morning.
Matthew’s eyes flicker to the window, it is still dark, and he wants to go back to sleep. He yawns, reaching over to grab his glasses, bumping his head against the headboard. “What time is it?” Alfred grumbles form somewhere behind him.
He rubs his eyes in response and stares at the clock, glasses tilting further down his nose bridge. “Five thirty.” Matthew coughs from the rapid cold air that enters his lungs.
Alfred mutters, still half-asleep, “Five-thirty…who in their right mind gets up this early?”
“Apparently, we do,” Matthew mumbles back, his voice muffled as he hides under the covers, hoping to get a few more minutes of sleep. But the door suddenly bursts open, and Australia barges in, still in his pajamas, eyes bright and wild with excitement.
“Oi! You two gonna sleep all day or are we actually celebrating Christmas?”
“Five minutes,” Alfred whines, curling further under the blankets, but Australia yanks at his foot.
“Nope! Breakfast is already cooking, and the tree’s waiting! C’mon, it’s Christmas!”
“Weren’t you the one who woke up England?”
“Yeah what bout it mates?” He and his brother groan at the same time.
He hears the sound of England walking past the door, his words barely audible over the excited yelling, "Bloody git, why don't you let them sleep for a few more hours?"
"Why are you still wearing your pajamas?" Australia asks the two brothers.
Alfred responds with, "Because I just woke up, why are you even dressed?"
"Because it's Christmas," Australia says as if it was obvious.
"But it's not even sunrise," Matthew adds.
Australia shrugs, "I can't sleep."
"That explains the noise."
Australia smiles, "C'mon, get dressed and get to the tree. If we don't get there now, you're going to miss breakfast.” Canada raises his eyebrow,
“… and presents.” Australia surrenders, and backs out the door.
The presents are opened after a bit,
Christmas this year, Canada receives a new pair of socks, a pair of boots, a pair of mittens, a hockey jersey of his favorite team (Thanks Scotland), a pair of jeans, a new hockey stick, a large barrel of maple syrup and a shirt with a beaver on it.
It is 1985, and it is the year where Canada is launched into work underneath piles of paperwork—half of them sent by his brother’s government, and the other half is regional affairs.
He breathes—and tilts his head to the side. Finland sits across from him, they share the same UN office space, which Canada doesn’t question.
The Cold War is still ongoing, and Canada doesn’t know how much his brother can take. America’s office is across the hall, the door is locked, the only person allowed in is his boss and the branch secretary.
West Germany—Ludwig, sits right behind Canada, the young man works on intelligence, and technology, he is good at it too. Because the German is bent over and writing on a piece of document paper, in a language Canada can’t quite read, but he knows it is German.
Matthew sometimes wonders about Gilbert, it was no easy feat to live under Soviet occupation. The last time he’d seen the albino man was in 1973, as he was the man who delivered a letter to the Soviet Union.
A letter sent from the leader of Canada, which was meant for the Soviet Union. It was a plea of peace, a plea of a united world.
The letter was not answered, nor was it returned.
Canada had no idea how Gilbert was faring in Soviet Russia, he hadn’t seen him since 1973, nor has he heard any news.
His mind drifts back to his current reality, the cold war, and the nuclear threat, and how Matthew doesn't really have a say in it.
He looks over his work, and the amount is just so little—the man feels that the numbers are growing.
Canada glances over his shoulder, the American door is still locked. He wonders if his brother will be able to make it out alive.
The thought alone terrifies him.
His brother terrifies the world.
Canada sighs and picks up his pen, he dips it in the ink bottle and he starts to write.
It is a new decade, and the paperwork never stops.
It is 1988, Canada can feel something shift, it isn’t the first time—of course, he has seen many things shift and warp, events in time where no one had predicted them.
He can hear, he can feel, the voices of the unrest. The restless people. Even though they are not his people. He knows, but they are someone else’s.
This year, Canada holds the first inaugural Winter Olympics in Calgary.
This year, is also the launch of CNN—his people rejoice, no longer will they be in the dark of the world’s happening. The station runs all day and everyday, and he feels happy—he turns on the TV for the first time in a while.
It is 1988—he repeats, and that is when America begins to speak of the Soviet Union, that is the year where they are all told that the Soviets are evil. It is the year of the Berlin Wall, where his people are told to fear and hate.
But there are so many things happening in the world, the voice of America cannot be heard by every person. Not over the sounds of the news reporting on the famine and war in the USSR. Or the sound of his own people talking, or the sounds of the television.
Canada is glad that America is not his leader, because his people would be too divided. He doesn't want that.
There is another reason for this—there is a voice that has been calling him for a long time, the same one that had called him in 1919. But now, he has a better idea of what to do. Because his brother relapsed, and his brother has forgotten about him all over again. Not just in 1919, or 1892—or 1789 or 1812—stop. Stop. His head stops himself, he doesn’t panic, not really. He should be, but he doesn’t.
So, Canada packs his things, and takes the trip across the border. He goes through the streets, and looks up to see the sign. It is a bar, and he opens the door.
And there he is.
The same face, with different hair and different clothes. But he still wears that stupid bomber jacket.
The other man looks at him, and then smiles. It is the same smile, the same blue eyes. Canada can feel a weight off his shoulders.
And the other man—the other personification, who is not the America of this time, says,
"Canada, it's nice to see you. You look good."
"Thank you," he says, sitting down beside the other. He knows, deep inside, that he can trust this man. The man who was once his brother.
"It's been a while," America says, "how have you been?"
"Fine, thanks." He says, "I like your hair."
America smiles again, and he laughs. Canada finds himself laughing too, and it is good.
They don't speak of the past. Not yet. They talk about the present. They talk about their people, and their country.
"So," America asks, "are you here to visit? Or for a reason?"
"Both," Canada says.
"Well, I have a meeting tomorrow," America says, "with some people. It's going to be big, so I'd really like if you came.”
“Sure.” Canada replies smoothly, far too smoothly for his own liking. I need to make you remember me, again. Don’t relapse too far.
It is also the first time Canada has heard back from Prussia—or East Germany now, the letter is short and boring, and Matthew knows it is forced; Prussia does not write formal letters to the man he’d met during Wartime, nor does he use the official seal—he uses his own seal, a signature of the Prussian Eagle, but the kingdom does not exist anymore.
Canada burns the letter in his apartment’s fireplace, and the old burgundy seal goes up in flames. He does not grin, nor does he look worried.
America calls him in the phone to alert him of the arrival of the letter, and he replies by saying he’d already burnt the thing—his brother explodes into cheerful laughter.
He feels it is the first time he’d heard the American do so in two decades.
It is a good sign, his brother is healing, and he hopes he is more sane this time.
The feeling of unrest returns, but it was never gone, he can hear there voices.
The Wall is coming down.
An Era, is coming to an end.
And after all this time, he is glad his sanity is still intact.