APH: The Best Kind of Therapy
Title: The Best Kind of Therapy
Author: grosse_averse
Characters: England, Canada
Rated: G
Summary: For prompt #50, "Murmur". Canada needs some comfort that only comes from one person.
Canada is tired. He is so, so tired, and his room is the right temperature of cold, and it is a dark night in Ottawa but he cannot sleep. His limbs ache when he lies down, and his eyelids sag, but the restless buzzing in his mind and joints does not let him be. He has tried warm milk; watching infomercials; midnight cooking and snacking until his stomach is making noises of protests. Kumajirou dozes on an easy chair nearby, his growling snores audible over the quiet flicker of the television. Canada rubs his temples, heaves a sigh. Across from him, the phone sits on the side table. This was really his last resort, and it wasn't like England was the type to make fun of someone when they had a peculiar request.
The phone rang once. Twice. Canada chews absently on a hang nail, eyes blurring as he stares at the fuzzy TV. England answers, voice gruff and low from sleep.
"Hullo?"
"Ah, hi. England?"
"Canada? What's wrong? It's - " a brief fumble on the other line. "It's three o'clock, your time."
"I can't sleep." Canada answers nervously. "I'm sorry if I woke you..."
"No, no. I was just getting up, it's no trouble." England's voice is soft, carries that tone that he only used with Canada - never with America, or Australia, or New Zealand, or any others in the Commonwealth. Canada almost feels grateful.
"It's just...it's kind of embarrassing." he admits. He can practically hear the annoyance on the other end of the line.
"Well, spit it out, lad." England sighs. "You've gotten this far."
"I was just thinking," Canada explains. "I always got to sleep when I was a child because you used to...to sing to me. So I was wondering if you could, er - "
"If I would sing to you?" England confirms, a note of incredulity in his voice. Canada blushes, even though England can't see him.
"I know it's stupid..." he attempts to explain, but England cuts him off.
"America always said that I sounded like I was gargling rocks." the elder points out, almost bashfully, as if seeking confirmation. Canada smiles.
"I always loved your singing." he assures. "Please, England. I wouldn't be asking you this if I didn't think it would help - "
"All right, all right." England sounds flustered. There was rustling on the other end of the line. "I'll try it. Are you...sitting down or something?"
Canada laughs, pushes his back into the couch cushions. "I am. Thank you, England."
"Well, don't thank me yet." England mutters. Then he coughs awkwardly, and starts singing:
"Deo Gratias Anglia redde pro victoria!
Our King went forth to Normandy
With grace and might of chivalry
Their God for him wrought marvelously;
Wherefore England may call and cry
Deo gratias:
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria."
It was a song England used to sing to Canada and America when they were little; England was obviously embarrassed to be singing over the phone to his former colony, and the way he was murmuring the lyrics to the song was making Canada's eyes heavy, soothing the buzzing and anxiety that had been fluttering behind his eyes.
The northern nation stretches out on the couch, feeling relaxed and sleepy. England finishes singing and there is a pregnant pause.
"Well?" England sounds apprehensive. "Did it work?"
"Mm." Canada sighs. "Thank you England. I think I'll be fine now."
"G-good! You...you are 142 years old, after all. I should think you'd be able to get to sleep by yourself after this!" England's words are harsh but Canada can hear the softness behind him and it brings a sleepy smile to his face.
"I'll try harder to act my age." he promises, interrupting himself with a jaw-cracking yawn. "Good night - er - good morning, England."
"Good night." England grumbles - and as Canada drifts off into sleep, he distinctly hears the island nation murmur, "Sleep well, lad. I miss you."
Next week America asks Canada why England is "giving him such weird looks".
"You in trouble?" America asks. Canada shakes his head, smiles back at England.
"I'm not in trouble at all."
Notes: The song England sings is an English folk song called the Agincourt Carol. It's a song about the Battle of Agincourt in 1415. It figures that England would sing baby!Canada a song that's about him thrashing France. "It's never too early to start some good ol' propaganda!"
Author: grosse_averse
Characters: England, Canada
Rated: G
Summary: For prompt #50, "Murmur". Canada needs some comfort that only comes from one person.
Canada is tired. He is so, so tired, and his room is the right temperature of cold, and it is a dark night in Ottawa but he cannot sleep. His limbs ache when he lies down, and his eyelids sag, but the restless buzzing in his mind and joints does not let him be. He has tried warm milk; watching infomercials; midnight cooking and snacking until his stomach is making noises of protests. Kumajirou dozes on an easy chair nearby, his growling snores audible over the quiet flicker of the television. Canada rubs his temples, heaves a sigh. Across from him, the phone sits on the side table. This was really his last resort, and it wasn't like England was the type to make fun of someone when they had a peculiar request.
The phone rang once. Twice. Canada chews absently on a hang nail, eyes blurring as he stares at the fuzzy TV. England answers, voice gruff and low from sleep.
"Hullo?"
"Ah, hi. England?"
"Canada? What's wrong? It's - " a brief fumble on the other line. "It's three o'clock, your time."
"I can't sleep." Canada answers nervously. "I'm sorry if I woke you..."
"No, no. I was just getting up, it's no trouble." England's voice is soft, carries that tone that he only used with Canada - never with America, or Australia, or New Zealand, or any others in the Commonwealth. Canada almost feels grateful.
"It's just...it's kind of embarrassing." he admits. He can practically hear the annoyance on the other end of the line.
"Well, spit it out, lad." England sighs. "You've gotten this far."
"I was just thinking," Canada explains. "I always got to sleep when I was a child because you used to...to sing to me. So I was wondering if you could, er - "
"If I would sing to you?" England confirms, a note of incredulity in his voice. Canada blushes, even though England can't see him.
"I know it's stupid..." he attempts to explain, but England cuts him off.
"America always said that I sounded like I was gargling rocks." the elder points out, almost bashfully, as if seeking confirmation. Canada smiles.
"I always loved your singing." he assures. "Please, England. I wouldn't be asking you this if I didn't think it would help - "
"All right, all right." England sounds flustered. There was rustling on the other end of the line. "I'll try it. Are you...sitting down or something?"
Canada laughs, pushes his back into the couch cushions. "I am. Thank you, England."
"Well, don't thank me yet." England mutters. Then he coughs awkwardly, and starts singing:
"Deo Gratias Anglia redde pro victoria!
Our King went forth to Normandy
With grace and might of chivalry
Their God for him wrought marvelously;
Wherefore England may call and cry
Deo gratias:
Deo gratias Anglia redde pro victoria."
It was a song England used to sing to Canada and America when they were little; England was obviously embarrassed to be singing over the phone to his former colony, and the way he was murmuring the lyrics to the song was making Canada's eyes heavy, soothing the buzzing and anxiety that had been fluttering behind his eyes.
The northern nation stretches out on the couch, feeling relaxed and sleepy. England finishes singing and there is a pregnant pause.
"Well?" England sounds apprehensive. "Did it work?"
"Mm." Canada sighs. "Thank you England. I think I'll be fine now."
"G-good! You...you are 142 years old, after all. I should think you'd be able to get to sleep by yourself after this!" England's words are harsh but Canada can hear the softness behind him and it brings a sleepy smile to his face.
"I'll try harder to act my age." he promises, interrupting himself with a jaw-cracking yawn. "Good night - er - good morning, England."
"Good night." England grumbles - and as Canada drifts off into sleep, he distinctly hears the island nation murmur, "Sleep well, lad. I miss you."
Next week America asks Canada why England is "giving him such weird looks".
"You in trouble?" America asks. Canada shakes his head, smiles back at England.
"I'm not in trouble at all."
Notes: The song England sings is an English folk song called the Agincourt Carol. It's a song about the Battle of Agincourt in 1415. It figures that England would sing baby!Canada a song that's about him thrashing France. "It's never too early to start some good ol' propaganda!"