When We Were Young [pt 2/??]
anonymous
April 3 2009, 08:01:02 UTC
The two nations, still a little shocked by the fact that their former guardians were now suddenly ages 7 and 3 (again), cobbled together a crude system to deal with this unusual circumstance. To be more accurate, America had decided (without asking the other’s opinion first) that he was going to be the daddy, and since there was about an hour left before he had to be home for dinner, he would leave the two kids in Canada-mommy’s care. Canada-mommy tried to argue that it was Saturday and America-daddy did not even have a regular weekday job, lazy bum that he was, but his case fell upon deaf American ears as usual.
“Well, I’m off to the basement to work on this wand, I’ll see you in a bit, honey!”
“Don’t you dare leave me alone, you--- aaaargh…”
Canada sighed, wondering what he had done to deserve such a family, when he realized that the kids/former parental units had been suspiciously quiet during the entire conversation. To his horror, he found them drawing on the living room walls with crayons that America probably used to write his reports.
“Where did they find these? And why does that moron still keep crayons around?!”
Cursing his bad luck, Canada scrambled to take the crayons out of their hands, but it was much too late. Baby England had covered quite a large expanse of wall with scribbles of rabbits, some with swords and others with fangs, and France, that sweet little child, had drawn a very large and realistic… Oh God, oh good God… Maybe if he didn’t think the word it would go away. But the obscene drawing did not erase itself, and not knowing what else to do, Canada finally pushed a bookcase over to hide the offending spot and just hoped that America would not be moving furniture anytime soon.
With a confused look on his admittedly cute face, France tugged on Canada’s sleeve, baby England half falling out of his arms.
“Err… Sorry about that, but you really should not be drawing on the walls. That was a very bad thing to do. Umm… mal. Malus?” Canada tried, wondering if they understood anything he said.
Perhaps they did understand a little bit, because France’s big blue eyes started to fill up with tears, and his lower lip was trembling dangerously. He began to cry softly, and on cue, England looked extremely distressed as well, whimpering and rubbing at his eyes before gathering his breath for an extra loud bawl.
“Canada! I leave you alone with the kids for 30 minutes and you’re already bad-touching them?!”
“What?! No, I wasn’t doing anything like that!” Canada glared at his brother with every bit of scorn he could muster, which was quite a large amount. Just because he was that nation's colony once! “More importantly, where’s the wand, America? Have you fixed it yet?”
“Oh, I left it with Tony, he said he could fix it. Probably by tonight.”
“…I see.” That was probably not the best idea upon further consideration, but at the time, the alien living in America’s house seemed to be their only hope at returning England and France to their proper ages.
“Hey, little ones…” America cooed softly, getting to his knees before them and holding his arms out. Even though young France still seemed suspicious, he did allow America to come close enough to touch baby England's rabbit ears, apparently unable to resist such an impressive display of charisma. “What do you two want, huh? What can Daddy get you?”
It was like playing a game of extremely crude charades, but at last, America and Canada figured out they were 1) indeed potty-trained (“not house-broken, they’re not pets, America”) and 2) very hungry.
[will finish later... this is pretty epic silliness.]
France and England are so adorable in this! I literally aaaaaw'd out loud because of how cutely you portrayed them. I especially loved when France and England were hiding under the coffee table.
and France, that sweet little child, had drawn a very large and realistic… Oh God, oh good God… I like how even as a child, France is still France.
When We Were Young [pt 3/??]
anonymous
April 7 2009, 07:06:08 UTC
The following two hours were enough to kill any fatherly urges Canada might have had after being witness to England and France's spectacular attempts at raising colonies. It seemed that as soon as he managed to get baby England into his improvised high chair, France would wriggle out of his seat and run off. Then as soon as he caught France and made him sit still, England began to whine incomprehensibly at this lack of attention and start throwing anything within reach.
“It was like they planned this ahead of time!” Canada thought to himself in despair. (Why did they want to hit him, the nice one, surely it wasn’t because they mistook him for his brother… right?)
Even America admitted that he had enough of the chaos, as he searched the kitchen cupboards for any food fit for child consumption.
“This better work because I am about to pull out the duct tape,” he muttered, sticking a spoonful of peanut butter into England’s open mouth.
“Ack! What are you doing?! He might choke! Or-or get food poisoning! Remember, salmonella?!”
“Relax, bro, they survived the Black Plague. I’m sure they can handle a little salmonella, sheez.”
As it turned out, both France and England seemed to quite like peanut butter, by the fact that they were made speechless and unable to say anything. Poor Canada-mommy finally broke down and poured out two glasses of milk, anxiously watching the young nations for any signs of America’s all too frequent instances of food poisoning. There was no guarantee they had developed stomach linings of steel at this point, but it seemed that both France and England not only survived, they also miraculously calmed down to wait for the rest of the meal. Perhaps... America was not a completely brainless moron after all.
Between the two of them, Canada and America managed to find ingredients for something that they could both make and prepared an almost pleasant breakfast-for-dinner: pancakes and waffles, exceptionally greasy bacon, hashed potatoes, maple syrup, whipped cream and strawberries, seeing as leafy green vegetables have long abandoned this particular kitchen for more hospitable territories.
After the initial annoyance, America found himself absolutely enthralled with baby England, with his round pink cheeks and gap-toothed smile and completely inexplicable bunny ears. He lovingly fed England bits of pancake smothered in syrup, which he seemed to enjoy after the first few mouthfuls that ended up decorating America’s t-shirt. Canada had to show little France how to use silverware first, but he quickly got the hang of using something other than his hands to eat and of course, was not in a position to make any snobby remarks about inferior North American cooking.
How strangely adorable to see America trying so hard to take care of England, he thought as he watched his brother dab at the baby’s chin with a napkin. He had no idea if it was because England turned into a vulnerable baby that needed a hero’s help or if America was just fond of kids in general, though he figured it might be a little bit of both.
And during the course of the meal, Canada discovered that France was an impressive charmer even back then, absolutely endearing and completely aware of this. He did not even realize he had been staring fondly at his former guardian until America shook him by the shoulder and pointed out that France had knocked a bowl of strawberries into his lap ten minutes ago.
When We Were Young [pt 4/??]
anonymous
April 7 2009, 07:18:39 UTC
At last, the moment they had all been dreading… clean-up. America-daddy was half-tempted to take the kids and make a run for freedom, to go play outside and leave Canada-mommy to put up the food and wash the dishes, but… playing was always more fun with more people. He told this to Canada-mommy, who rolled his eyes.
“Is this because you want me to show you how to use your own dishwashing machine, America?”
He snorted. “I made it, of course I know how it works. I uhh… just don’t want to waste all that hot water, you know… failing economy and all that.” That was not a lie, not technically.
“Really? Okay, so which soap do I use for the machine, huh?”
A lot of hemming and hawing, no real answer. Must have had a little run-in with the wrong type of soap before.
Shaking his head but grinning despite himself, Canada-mommy made a point to clearly explain to baby England and France exactly how to use a washing machine, while America hovered behind them and asked questions, on their behalf, of course.
With everyone “helping,” they managed to get the majority of the dishes in the washer with only a few broken plates and minimal cause for floods of soap bubbles.
Eager to play, America then grabbed the kids’ hands and led them out to his backyard, where they had enough daylight time for a game of catch. Surely, he thought, France and England have played catch before in the Middle Ages? Everyone knows how to play catch as kids!
“Well, uhhh, he got the basic idea down, s’good.”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean to catch the baseball with his face,” Canada said sternly, holding a tissue to France’s bloody mouth. Though he did cry at first, France stopped whimpering after he found his missing tooth in the grass and proudly showed it to England and America, his speech now even more adorable with the added lisp. England, the bloodthirsty little toddler, giggled at the other's mishap-turned-triumph, and America could not help but smile at them both, practically radiating happiness like a particularly cheerful sun.
“Ahh, they’re so cute and fun as kids, Canada! How did they turn out all old and crotchety and totally lame?”
He buried his face into England’s hair for a nuzzle, but then made a face of disgust.
“Gross, you two smell like you haven’t bathed in a few centuries!”
Knowing exactly what was coming, Canada closed his eyes, unable to keep from praying. 'Oh God, if you’re out there and listening to me… please don’t let him think about bathing them, please don’t, please don’t…'
When We Were Young [pt 5/??]
anonymous
April 10 2009, 05:38:30 UTC
“Dammit, he’s not wanting to take a bath.” “Umm, well, it’s France, that’s his thing apparently.” “Yeah, but he doesn’t want to take off his clothes!” “…Are you serious?”
This unusual conversation was taking place in America’s shrine to (his) personal hygiene, an extremely state of the art bathroom suited to the mission of getting two smelly children clean, a mission now deemed impossible by two former smelly children. Canada was currently wrestling England into the bathtub, not expecting such a fierce struggle from the toddler.
“I am not trying to drown you for witchcraft, we just… need to… get you washed up, ow, why are you biting me you little---”
Meanwhile, America had trapped a fully dressed France in the far corner of the bathroom, attempting to drag him to the tub by his cape. France let out another wail from behind a laundry basket, hands clutching his floofy beribboned hat tightly.
Canada sighed, almost feeling sorry for him, almost but not quite.
“Hey, America, leave him alone for now, eh.” He motioned his brother over with a shake of his head. “Come and help me with England here.”
“All right, fine,” came the answering grumble.
As soon as America knelt down in front of the tub, ready to wield washrag and soap in the battle against dirt and body odor, young France apparently changed his mind in response to this perceived “invasion” of his vassal kingdom. They did not quite catch it, but he somehow took off all layers of his clothes in one motion and was now crouching in the water, holding England tightly and glaring as menacingly as he could, considering...
“Aww, look, Canada, he has little cat ears! It’s like they match! How cute! That’s so cute…” And so forth and so on.
With this delightful discovery, America began to theorize as to how such a thing could have happened, with ideas ranging from pet hair stuck on the wand to them being bitten by radioactive cat and rabbit during infancy.
Despite these distractions and the stiff resistance put up by both England and France, the two brothers managed to thoroughly scrub the child nations, wash their hair with lavender baby shampoo, and at America’s insistence, scrub them again, ears included.
It was probably the least enjoyable experience one could imagine, an unwholesome combination of washing bratty kids and hyperactive pets with a side order of America’s ever so slightly obnoxious chatter, yet Canada felt oddly content doing such domestic tasks, as if this was completely right and not, say, extremely wrong in every possible way.
He must be going mad.
Still in a state of mild disbelief, Canada helped France out of the tub after one final rinse and then dried him off with a huge fluffy towel. Carefully, he combed out the tangled blond hair, while France made squeaky contented mews every time fingers brushed his ears. Now, if Canada had ovaries, which he didn’t, being a male and also a nation, he would have been like putty in that child’s hands, but seeing as he was as tough and manly as any lumberjack hockey-player Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Canada did not melt one bit - not one bit - and only said, “Ah, that’s not going to work on me, you dirty old, err, young bastard. I do know all of your tricks.” He patted France on the head and smiled, doing his best to resist giving him a quick hug because dammit, it was almost working.
Handing him one of America’s nightshirts, one that had been outgrown some time ago, Canada left France to admire his ridiculously adorable reflection in the full-length mirror, and went over to help America.
When We Were Young [pt 6/??]
anonymous
April 10 2009, 05:44:44 UTC
They should have guessed: England, once he got into the water, now refused to get out. America could not get a firm grip on his arm before England slipped away, and even with Canada’s assistance, the little nation still eluded their grasp, giggling and splashing water everywhere the entire time.
“Canada, drain the bathtub. Now.”
“Got it.”
Unfortunately, it seemed that England caught on to their strategy, and he promptly climbed out of the bathtub himself and went streaking out the door, with France (somewhat clothed) close behind. Shocked, America and Canada tried to get up and chase after them, but they had been on their knees for so long, it took two tries and much hanging on to the other for support before the brothers could stagger out of the bathroom in pursuit.
“Ohshitohshitohshit, they’re heading for the front door!”
“Aaaaaaaugh, stop them, stop them!”
Disaster was averted by the fact that America had seven locks on his door and there was no way France could have reached the top sets of locks. All in all, America was grateful they didn’t head for the back door, he hadn’t had time to fix the lone lock there.
Even though neither would admit it to the other, America definitely sounded tired, and Canada sure as hell felt tired, after the chase around the house and the subsequent struggle to get everyone dressed and ready for bed.
“Ok, I don’t care how early it is, it’s bedtime.”
“Agreed,” America muttered gratefully, too exhausted to comment further. He gathered England into his arms and held onto France’s hand tightly, making his weary way to the bedroom that seemed like a hundred miles away. But it was all worth it, he thought, as England wrapped his arms around his neck and made happy burbling noises. He just hoped he didn’t pass out before he got there.
Canada finished mopping up the puddles in the front hall, making sure everything was in its place, and when he peeked into the bedroom, he found the three of them dozing off while a Disney movie played on the television set. Smiling to himself, he turned off the television and movie player and then tripped over Kumajirou, though America’s grip caught him before he actually hit the ground.
“Ah, thanks.”
“Come on, there’s still room, make yourself comfortable,” America whispered, motioning towards the empty space on the other side of the sleeping children.
While he personally disagreed about there being enough room, Canada shrugged and sat down on the mattress, grateful to be off of his feet.
“What a day, eh.”
“I know, right.”
He curled up underneath the blankets, one arm over England and France, and he felt America’s fingers brush his, which made him thankful that it was dark so that no one could see him blush. Closing his eyes, Canada listened as America related baby England’s delight at seeing Robin Hood performing feats of archery (which contrasted sharply with his true reaction when the movie first came out), not to mention young France’s infatuation with Maid Marian, though of course he would like the name, as long as he didn't think he was her, haha. Then he trailed off sleepily, and soon there was nothing but the sound of peaceful breathing, like music to a tired nation’s ears.
After a while, Canada felt sure the children were fast asleep, so he dared to lean over and kiss them good night.
“Good night, little - BWAAAAAARGH!” He could not scream loud enough.
“What?! What happened?!” America shouted, sitting up and feeling for his glasses.
“Th- that little pervert tried to kiss me on my mouth!” Canada sputtered, unable to keep his voice down.
“Oh, you probably just missed, he’s not like - BWAAAAHHH! WHAT THE HELL, FRANCE?!”
“SEE?!!! I don’t make this shit up!”
Now everyone was wide awake, France and England laughing somewhat more spitefully than one might have guessed from two supposedly innocent children. It took several minutes before they could calm down, Canada sobbing inside at this painfully upsetting situation, America looking more than a little traumatized, and both wondering if it was a good idea to be sleeping with France in the same room, regardless of his physical age.
When We Were Young [END]
anonymous
April 10 2009, 05:58:30 UTC
To amuse the children and hopefully lull them to sleep, America started by telling a story about a dashing young gentleman named Arthur, who once sailed across an ocean seeking adventure, and Canada continued by adding his friend and rival by the name of Francis, as depraved as he was handsome, and he was absolutely gorgeous. America then recounted their exploration of the New World, how they adopted two tiny orphans they found there, named Alfred and Matthew. And how Alfred and Matthew got kidnapped by ninja-pirates…who flew an airship… to the lost city of Atlantis, which had resurfaced of course… and Arthur summoned a dragon… they flew to rescue Alfred and Matthew on this dragon… but were attacked by alien robots… but then a giant whale ate them… who, the robots or Arthur and Francis… umm, Arthur and Francis… okay… but it was a friendly whale, so they were fine… and this whale swam all the way to Atlantis… how did they survive without any food… it was a magical whale, stop interrupting my awesome story, Canada…
The next morning, Canada woke up to the sound of a horrified yell, which caused him to fall off the bed in surprise. As soon as he put on his glasses, he was greeted with the heartwarming sight of England, returned to his normal age, attempting to smother an also normal-aged France with a pillow.
“You filthy wine-bastard, how dare you try to take advantage of me!”
France managed to kick England in the stomach, protesting, “But you fell asleep on top of me! Why are you blaming me for something you did?”
“Liar, I would never do such a thing, not even if I was drunk!”
“Hold it, England!” America interjected, trying to pull him off of France. “Look, Tony was able to fix the wand after all, and now you’re back to normal. No need for fighting, yeah?”
“Fix the wand?” France was too bewildered to continue the train of thought to its inevitable end.
“Back to normal? Wait, what the hell are you talking about?” Arthur raised an impressive eyebrow at America, impressing everyone further.
“Yeah, you were turned into kids last night. Remember?”
They stared at him, the fight momentarily forgotten. With a look of increasing confusion on his face, America looked over to Canada for support.
“Britannia-angel accidentally turned the both of you into kids and we had to take care of you… Err, you don’t remember?”
England shook his head, and suddenly realizing that he and France were wearing nothing but nightshirts, he hastily scrambled off of the other nation in disgust.
“I don’t know what you two are talking about, and I don’t know how we ended up here, but I’m leaving. As soon as I find some clothes.”
“I must agree with England, you are both too old to be making up such unbelievable stories. Now… if you’ll excuse me.” France followed England out of the room as gracefully as he could.
“What is going on? How could they not remember? They made our lives a living hell for a night and they don’t remember anything?” America muttered to himself, pouting. He did not even have the wand to show England because Tony took it to his pod and refused to give it back. Then he sighed and shook his head. “Well, at least we don’t have to take care of them anymore.”
“...I thought it was kind of fun... America-daddy."
"Haha, whatever. I think you need to get back on your pills, Canada-mommy."
Canada sighed, but then America gave him a hug and everything was all right again.
[EPILOGUE]
Little did America and Canada know, that in the next room…
“Was that as good for you as it was for me, mon ami?” The soft, sultry voice was breathless, though not from lust but more from trying to not laugh.
“Even better.” And the other’s voice was just as amused, just as satisfied.
[LOL sorry for the lame ending, but I ran out of ideas. I hope I haven't messed up too much on everyone's characters, I did my best. Thanks to the OP for such an awesome prompt~!]
Thank you so much, author-anon!! This was exactly what I wanted! It was just so cute in so many ways. I loved your characterizations of everyone and how you managed to keep everyone in character (Oh, France...)
And the little epilogue was the best. Very cute also.
“Well, I’m off to the basement to work on this wand, I’ll see you in a bit, honey!”
“Don’t you dare leave me alone, you--- aaaargh…”
Canada sighed, wondering what he had done to deserve such a family, when he realized that the kids/former parental units had been suspiciously quiet during the entire conversation. To his horror, he found them drawing on the living room walls with crayons that America probably used to write his reports.
“Where did they find these? And why does that moron still keep crayons around?!”
Cursing his bad luck, Canada scrambled to take the crayons out of their hands, but it was much too late. Baby England had covered quite a large expanse of wall with scribbles of rabbits, some with swords and others with fangs, and France, that sweet little child, had drawn a very large and realistic… Oh God, oh good God… Maybe if he didn’t think the word it would go away. But the obscene drawing did not erase itself, and not knowing what else to do, Canada finally pushed a bookcase over to hide the offending spot and just hoped that America would not be moving furniture anytime soon.
With a confused look on his admittedly cute face, France tugged on Canada’s sleeve, baby England half falling out of his arms.
“Err… Sorry about that, but you really should not be drawing on the walls. That was a very bad thing to do. Umm… mal. Malus?” Canada tried, wondering if they understood anything he said.
Perhaps they did understand a little bit, because France’s big blue eyes started to fill up with tears, and his lower lip was trembling dangerously. He began to cry softly, and on cue, England looked extremely distressed as well, whimpering and rubbing at his eyes before gathering his breath for an extra loud bawl.
“Canada! I leave you alone with the kids for 30 minutes and you’re already bad-touching them?!”
“What?! No, I wasn’t doing anything like that!” Canada glared at his brother with every bit of scorn he could muster, which was quite a large amount. Just because he was that nation's colony once! “More importantly, where’s the wand, America? Have you fixed it yet?”
“Oh, I left it with Tony, he said he could fix it. Probably by tonight.”
“…I see.” That was probably not the best idea upon further consideration, but at the time, the alien living in America’s house seemed to be their only hope at returning England and France to their proper ages.
“Hey, little ones…” America cooed softly, getting to his knees before them and holding his arms out. Even though young France still seemed suspicious, he did allow America to come close enough to touch baby England's rabbit ears, apparently unable to resist such an impressive display of charisma.
“What do you two want, huh? What can Daddy get you?”
It was like playing a game of extremely crude charades, but at last, America and Canada figured out they were 1) indeed potty-trained (“not house-broken, they’re not pets, America”) and 2) very hungry.
[will finish later... this is pretty epic silliness.]
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and France, that sweet little child, had drawn a very large and realistic… Oh God, oh good God…
I like how even as a child, France is still France.
OP loves this and can't wait to see more!
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“It was like they planned this ahead of time!” Canada thought to himself in despair. (Why did they want to hit him, the nice one, surely it wasn’t because they mistook him for his brother… right?)
Even America admitted that he had enough of the chaos, as he searched the kitchen cupboards for any food fit for child consumption.
“This better work because I am about to pull out the duct tape,” he muttered, sticking a spoonful of peanut butter into England’s open mouth.
“Ack! What are you doing?! He might choke! Or-or get food poisoning! Remember, salmonella?!”
“Relax, bro, they survived the Black Plague. I’m sure they can handle a little salmonella, sheez.”
As it turned out, both France and England seemed to quite like peanut butter, by the fact that they were made speechless and unable to say anything. Poor Canada-mommy finally broke down and poured out two glasses of milk, anxiously watching the young nations for any signs of America’s all too frequent instances of food poisoning. There was no guarantee they had developed stomach linings of steel at this point, but it seemed that both France and England not only survived, they also miraculously calmed down to wait for the rest of the meal. Perhaps... America was not a completely brainless moron after all.
Between the two of them, Canada and America managed to find ingredients for something that they could both make and prepared an almost pleasant breakfast-for-dinner: pancakes and waffles, exceptionally greasy bacon, hashed potatoes, maple syrup, whipped cream and strawberries, seeing as leafy green vegetables have long abandoned this particular kitchen for more hospitable territories.
After the initial annoyance, America found himself absolutely enthralled with baby England, with his round pink cheeks and gap-toothed smile and completely inexplicable bunny ears. He lovingly fed England bits of pancake smothered in syrup, which he seemed to enjoy after the first few mouthfuls that ended up decorating America’s t-shirt. Canada had to show little France how to use silverware first, but he quickly got the hang of using something other than his hands to eat and of course, was not in a position to make any snobby remarks about inferior North American cooking.
How strangely adorable to see America trying so hard to take care of England, he thought as he watched his brother dab at the baby’s chin with a napkin. He had no idea if it was because England turned into a vulnerable baby that needed a hero’s help or if America was just fond of kids in general, though he figured it might be a little bit of both.
And during the course of the meal, Canada discovered that France was an impressive charmer even back then, absolutely endearing and completely aware of this. He did not even realize he had been staring fondly at his former guardian until America shook him by the shoulder and pointed out that France had knocked a bowl of strawberries into his lap ten minutes ago.
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“Is this because you want me to show you how to use your own dishwashing machine, America?”
He snorted. “I made it, of course I know how it works. I uhh… just don’t want to waste all that hot water, you know… failing economy and all that.” That was not a lie, not technically.
“Really? Okay, so which soap do I use for the machine, huh?”
A lot of hemming and hawing, no real answer. Must have had a little run-in with the wrong type of soap before.
Shaking his head but grinning despite himself, Canada-mommy made a point to clearly explain to baby England and France exactly how to use a washing machine, while America hovered behind them and asked questions, on their behalf, of course.
With everyone “helping,” they managed to get the majority of the dishes in the washer with only a few broken plates and minimal cause for floods of soap bubbles.
Eager to play, America then grabbed the kids’ hands and led them out to his backyard, where they had enough daylight time for a game of catch. Surely, he thought, France and England have played catch before in the Middle Ages? Everyone knows how to play catch as kids!
“Well, uhhh, he got the basic idea down, s’good.”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean to catch the baseball with his face,” Canada said sternly, holding a tissue to France’s bloody mouth. Though he did cry at first, France stopped whimpering after he found his missing tooth in the grass and proudly showed it to England and America, his speech now even more adorable with the added lisp. England, the bloodthirsty little toddler, giggled at the other's mishap-turned-triumph, and America could not help but smile at them both, practically radiating happiness like a particularly cheerful sun.
“Ahh, they’re so cute and fun as kids, Canada! How did they turn out all old and crotchety and totally lame?”
He buried his face into England’s hair for a nuzzle, but then made a face of disgust.
“Gross, you two smell like you haven’t bathed in a few centuries!”
Knowing exactly what was coming, Canada closed his eyes, unable to keep from praying. 'Oh God, if you’re out there and listening to me… please don’t let him think about bathing them, please don’t, please don’t…'
[it keeps on going...? ORZ]
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Just let me mop up my nosebleed over here...
A-and anyway! Keep up the good work! M'always lookin' forward to the next installment!
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OH MY SO CUUUTE.
DO CONTINUE!
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“Umm, well, it’s France, that’s his thing apparently.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t want to take off his clothes!”
“…Are you serious?”
This unusual conversation was taking place in America’s shrine to (his) personal hygiene, an extremely state of the art bathroom suited to the mission of getting two smelly children clean, a mission now deemed impossible by two former smelly children. Canada was currently wrestling England into the bathtub, not expecting such a fierce struggle from the toddler.
“I am not trying to drown you for witchcraft, we just… need to… get you washed up, ow, why are you biting me you little---”
Meanwhile, America had trapped a fully dressed France in the far corner of the bathroom, attempting to drag him to the tub by his cape. France let out another wail from behind a laundry basket, hands clutching his floofy beribboned hat tightly.
Canada sighed, almost feeling sorry for him, almost but not quite.
“Hey, America, leave him alone for now, eh.” He motioned his brother over with a shake of his head. “Come and help me with England here.”
“All right, fine,” came the answering grumble.
As soon as America knelt down in front of the tub, ready to wield washrag and soap in the battle against dirt and body odor, young France apparently changed his mind in response to this perceived “invasion” of his vassal kingdom. They did not quite catch it, but he somehow took off all layers of his clothes in one motion and was now crouching in the water, holding England tightly and glaring as menacingly as he could, considering...
“Aww, look, Canada, he has little cat ears! It’s like they match! How cute! That’s so cute…” And so forth and so on.
With this delightful discovery, America began to theorize as to how such a thing could have happened, with ideas ranging from pet hair stuck on the wand to them being bitten by radioactive cat and rabbit during infancy.
Despite these distractions and the stiff resistance put up by both England and France, the two brothers managed to thoroughly scrub the child nations, wash their hair with lavender baby shampoo, and at America’s insistence, scrub them again, ears included.
It was probably the least enjoyable experience one could imagine, an unwholesome combination of washing bratty kids and hyperactive pets with a side order of America’s ever so slightly obnoxious chatter, yet Canada felt oddly content doing such domestic tasks, as if this was completely right and not, say, extremely wrong in every possible way.
He must be going mad.
Still in a state of mild disbelief, Canada helped France out of the tub after one final rinse and then dried him off with a huge fluffy towel. Carefully, he combed out the tangled blond hair, while France made squeaky contented mews every time fingers brushed his ears. Now, if Canada had ovaries, which he didn’t, being a male and also a nation, he would have been like putty in that child’s hands, but seeing as he was as tough and manly as any lumberjack hockey-player Royal Canadian Mounted Police, Canada did not melt one bit - not one bit - and only said, “Ah, that’s not going to work on me, you dirty old, err, young bastard. I do know all of your tricks.”
He patted France on the head and smiled, doing his best to resist giving him a quick hug because dammit, it was almost working.
Handing him one of America’s nightshirts, one that had been outgrown some time ago, Canada left France to admire his ridiculously adorable reflection in the full-length mirror, and went over to help America.
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“Canada, drain the bathtub. Now.”
“Got it.”
Unfortunately, it seemed that England caught on to their strategy, and he promptly climbed out of the bathtub himself and went streaking out the door, with France (somewhat clothed) close behind. Shocked, America and Canada tried to get up and chase after them, but they had been on their knees for so long, it took two tries and much hanging on to the other for support before the brothers could stagger out of the bathroom in pursuit.
“Ohshitohshitohshit, they’re heading for the front door!”
“Aaaaaaaugh, stop them, stop them!”
Disaster was averted by the fact that America had seven locks on his door and there was no way France could have reached the top sets of locks. All in all, America was grateful they didn’t head for the back door, he hadn’t had time to fix the lone lock there.
Even though neither would admit it to the other, America definitely sounded tired, and Canada sure as hell felt tired, after the chase around the house and the subsequent struggle to get everyone dressed and ready for bed.
“Ok, I don’t care how early it is, it’s bedtime.”
“Agreed,” America muttered gratefully, too exhausted to comment further. He gathered England into his arms and held onto France’s hand tightly, making his weary way to the bedroom that seemed like a hundred miles away. But it was all worth it, he thought, as England wrapped his arms around his neck and made happy burbling noises. He just hoped he didn’t pass out before he got there.
Canada finished mopping up the puddles in the front hall, making sure everything was in its place, and when he peeked into the bedroom, he found the three of them dozing off while a Disney movie played on the television set. Smiling to himself, he turned off the television and movie player and then tripped over Kumajirou, though America’s grip caught him before he actually hit the ground.
“Ah, thanks.”
“Come on, there’s still room, make yourself comfortable,” America whispered, motioning towards the empty space on the other side of the sleeping children.
While he personally disagreed about there being enough room, Canada shrugged and sat down on the mattress, grateful to be off of his feet.
“What a day, eh.”
“I know, right.”
He curled up underneath the blankets, one arm over England and France, and he felt America’s fingers brush his, which made him thankful that it was dark so that no one could see him blush. Closing his eyes, Canada listened as America related baby England’s delight at seeing Robin Hood performing feats of archery (which contrasted sharply with his true reaction when the movie first came out), not to mention young France’s infatuation with Maid Marian, though of course he would like the name, as long as he didn't think he was her, haha. Then he trailed off sleepily, and soon there was nothing but the sound of peaceful breathing, like music to a tired nation’s ears.
After a while, Canada felt sure the children were fast asleep, so he dared to lean over and kiss them good night.
“Good night, little - BWAAAAAARGH!” He could not scream loud enough.
“What?! What happened?!” America shouted, sitting up and feeling for his glasses.
“Th- that little pervert tried to kiss me on my mouth!” Canada sputtered, unable to keep his voice down.
“Oh, you probably just missed, he’s not like - BWAAAAHHH! WHAT THE HELL, FRANCE?!”
“SEE?!!! I don’t make this shit up!”
Now everyone was wide awake, France and England laughing somewhat more spitefully than one might have guessed from two supposedly innocent children. It took several minutes before they could calm down, Canada sobbing inside at this painfully upsetting situation, America looking more than a little traumatized, and both wondering if it was a good idea to be sleeping with France in the same room, regardless of his physical age.
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The next morning, Canada woke up to the sound of a horrified yell, which caused him to fall off the bed in surprise. As soon as he put on his glasses, he was greeted with the heartwarming sight of England, returned to his normal age, attempting to smother an also normal-aged France with a pillow.
“You filthy wine-bastard, how dare you try to take advantage of me!”
France managed to kick England in the stomach, protesting, “But you fell asleep on top of me! Why are you blaming me for something you did?”
“Liar, I would never do such a thing, not even if I was drunk!”
“Hold it, England!” America interjected, trying to pull him off of France. “Look, Tony was able to fix the wand after all, and now you’re back to normal. No need for fighting, yeah?”
“Fix the wand?” France was too bewildered to continue the train of thought to its inevitable end.
“Back to normal? Wait, what the hell are you talking about?” Arthur raised an impressive eyebrow at America, impressing everyone further.
“Yeah, you were turned into kids last night. Remember?”
They stared at him, the fight momentarily forgotten. With a look of increasing confusion on his face, America looked over to Canada for support.
“Britannia-angel accidentally turned the both of you into kids and we had to take care of you… Err, you don’t remember?”
England shook his head, and suddenly realizing that he and France were wearing nothing but nightshirts, he hastily scrambled off of the other nation in disgust.
“I don’t know what you two are talking about, and I don’t know how we ended up here, but I’m leaving. As soon as I find some clothes.”
“I must agree with England, you are both too old to be making up such unbelievable stories. Now… if you’ll excuse me.” France followed England out of the room as gracefully as he could.
“What is going on? How could they not remember? They made our lives a living hell for a night and they don’t remember anything?” America muttered to himself, pouting. He did not even have the wand to show England because Tony took it to his pod and refused to give it back.
Then he sighed and shook his head. “Well, at least we don’t have to take care of them anymore.”
“...I thought it was kind of fun... America-daddy."
"Haha, whatever. I think you need to get back on your pills, Canada-mommy."
Canada sighed, but then America gave him a hug and everything was all right again.
[EPILOGUE]
Little did America and Canada know, that in the next room…
“Was that as good for you as it was for me, mon ami?” The soft, sultry voice was breathless, though not from lust but more from trying to not laugh.
“Even better.” And the other’s voice was just as amused, just as satisfied.
[LOL sorry for the lame ending, but I ran out of ideas. I hope I haven't messed up too much on everyone's characters, I did my best. Thanks to the OP for such an awesome prompt~!]
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And the little epilogue was the best. Very cute also.
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