So this is an old fic I wrote, being reposted as it’s own because it used to be part of a compilation (“Bloody”, if any are interested in the rest; warning though, it’s incredibly dark). Because I’m lazy! Yaaaaayyy!
Seriously I really want to elaborate on these two but I can’t come up with any at this moment. Except for maybe like one fic.
It probably, hopefully, still holds up, though it’s the most mid of the compilation.
First thing I’d like to note; this is semi-AU. The characters act kind of differently. England here is hardly the tsundere he is in canon, he’s more an unflappable kuudere with consummate Stiff Upper Lip.
Second; TW, there’s Blood. Also bombing and war. While this fic is relatively lighthearted, it is somewhat dark humor.
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The Battle of Britain had been raging for days; and Canada was growing worried.
The bombing had just begun and it was bad; quite bad. He had finished ushering another contingent of civilians into bunkers and tunnels, following the signs that now covered the city, hopefully safe from the fire and fury that rained upon what used to be their homes.
And there his father was.
His head, a good part of of his face, and neck covered in blood.
Matthew just barely held back a scream.
“Father, your head is covered in blood, can you not see that?! Please take it easy!”
“Ah, this?” He was terribly serene, but that was punctuated with a cough.
“Terribly irritating, I must say-“ more hacking coughs “-Jerry, that nuisance. The blood is stinging my eyes-“
And with an especially painful-sounding cough, he hacked up an unmistakable red liquid.
Canada’s face paled as it stained his uniform.
“Ah, sorry for your uniform-“
“GOOD GOD! …Sorry at the outburst, but how can you call that ‘terribly irritating’?!”
The Blitz had indeed been affecting him; however, his face, as usual, was calm, as if he had a somewhat annoying cold.
More bombs fell, and again he coughed red, making Canada flinch.
He had never seen his father this hurt; the cliffs of Dover had protected him since the time of the Norman Conquest, and he probably hadn’t experienced this much damage, especially in his capital city, in that long a time.
“A mere few square kilometers destroyed, is all…”
“We are nations, Canada. And can you not shout? I’m quite fine, thank you.”
He took off his scarf, compressing his wound.
“I shall get back in the air in two hours now. You need to take flight soon too, lad. Chop-chop.”
Matthew, the personification of the Dominion of Canada, sighed loudly.
“I’m not a ‘lad’ anymore father.”
“You are finally growing up, Canada.”
Even after all these centuries, his father’s ability to seemingly be unfettered by anything always never ceased to surprise him.
“I could use an ale now, however.”
As he had been outside, guiding the citizens to their bunkers, many had been just like him.
Maybe, the best way to spite the enemy was this after all; to show that you wouldn’t be affected by their attempts to break them, that no matter what, they would always remain as they always had been.
After all, his father hadn’t become the largest empire the world had ever seen for no reason.
Canada might have wanted more autonomy, but he still values his father and his approval a lot, let’s say that.
I really love writing Alt-England sometimes because of how much of an unflappable gentleman he can be. It can be funny. But yet when some things happen or he’s drunk he reverts to his more canon-adjacent self.
Also look, Canada inherited the tendency to say “sorry” a lot! How cute.
