Love You Forever
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairings: Canada, England
Rating: PG
Summary/Notes: Kink meme deanon. Prompt was "England may usually forget Canada. But one day Canada gives him the most ultimate gift a child can give to a parent figure: 'Love you Forever' by Robert Munsch."
I. 1763
England is not France. And English is not French. Canada has only learned enough English to tell America, “Get off of my land!” (and he only learned this much because if he asked in French or Cree America wouldn't even try to understand him), so when his France gives him to this Angleterre he can't say anything at all.
He bites his lip and tries, tries, tries to be brave. He was brave before, fighting alongside France, though he was so little he wasn't much help. But at least then, when he was with France and his people, he could understand the languages all around him. At least he knew what they were saying. Now he doesn't have any idea what's going on and he's barely five years old, so even though he's trying his best, his attempts not to cry are doomed from the start.
England looks taken aback and just a little unsure what to do. “There, there, Canada,” he says kindly, patting the boy on his head. Canada is confused (he knows what the words mean, he knows he's Canada and he knows he's there, but why is England saying it like that?) and only starts to cry harder.
“Hush now,” he says as he picks him up and holds him in his arms. “Don't cry, Canada. It'll be okay.” He repeats the last sentence in badly-butchered French, so mangled that Canada forgets to keep crying while he tries to understand it. When he finally does, it's too much effort to start crying again.
He wipes his nose on England's sleeve as he continues to comfort him, singing an old rhyme someone once taught him.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be.”
II. 1774
“For heaven's sake, can't you do something about your Canadiens?” England snaps.
“They're my people too!” Canada shoots back. Normally this discussion would fizzle out into nothing, but he is sick of playing second fiddle to America. It's bad enough he's only nine years old, especially when his 'twin' is well into his teens, without England treating him like a complete child. “All they want is to stay as French as they can!”
“They're British!”
“I know!” he whines, wishing his voice would drop just a little so he wouldn't sound so young, so England would treat him like he was an adult. He pauses, takes a deep breath, and tries to speak more calmly. “I know they're British. They're not after independence or anything like that. All they want - er, all I want is to keep living they way I have been.”
England mutters something that sounds like “Catholics.” Then he says, “All right, fine. Follow your own rules, just as long as you keep following mine. And if you like, you can even stay papist.”
Canada forgets he's playing grown-up and grins widely, showing his missing front baby tooth. Then a nearby crash attracts his attention. “Kumajiro!” he cries as he jumps off his chair and runs into the other room.
England chuckles and remembers just why he's so fond of the boy.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be,” he sings to himself.
III. 1814
Canada burns down Washington, D.C. Since he's just a colony, the books will say the British did it, but he knows he did it himself. He grins nastily at America, a trait he picked up from England that he rarely gets to show off. Only America gets to see it whenever Canada beats him (he doesn't have to ask in broken English anymore, since whenever America pushes he can push back harder).
This time, though, he's not just smiling because he won. He's smiling because he's realized who he is, or rather, who he will be. Canada. Not “the British colony of,” just “Canada.”
But this is who he will be, once the rest of him catches up to his lanky arms and legs. For now, he still swears allegiance to the crown and is still small enough to want England to tell him a story that night as he drifts to sleep.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be,” England finishes the story, as he has finished every story. He kisses the sleeping boy on the forehead, blows out the lamp, and closes the door quietly as he leaves.
IV. 1837
“This isn't fair!” Canada shouts. “A bedtime? I'm not a child!”
“You're only fifteen,” England replies, “so you technically are. And it's not a bedtime, it's a curfew.”
“I'm so sick of you treating me like a little kid!”
England wants to let this slide, take back the curfew and try again later. But he remembers all too clearly how well that didn't work with Canada's brother, so he instead grabs his wrist. “Listen to me, Canada,” he says quietly, dangerously. “The curfew will remain in effect until you are mature enough for me to lift it, do I make myself clear?”
The words shatter any respect Canada might still have had for England. “Until I'm 'mature enough'?” he all-out snarls, not breaking eye contact with him. “I've been trying my whole life to be 'mature enough'. What more could you possibly want from me that will prove I'm 'mature enough'?” He yanks his wrist from England's grip and storms off.
He's more like his brother than he wants to admit, England realizes. Even he is growing up far too fast.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be,” he tries to convince himself.
V. 1903
He gave away British Colombia.
He gave away British Colombia to America.
Canada should be angry right now. And he will soon. At the moment, though, he's simply stunned.
“It's just a thin line,” England had said casually as he left the arbitration meeting. “You'll hardly miss it.” Then America had tried the nasty grin, but it didn't have the same effect when his eyes were shining with real happiness.
Canada had hardly said a word at the meeting. He'd always known England liked America better, but he'd never been truly ignored like this. Yes, most people didn't even know he existed, and the few that did usually overlooked him, but he'd always counted on England to remember him. It's his job as a seventeen-year-old to shut England out, not the other way around.
Fine then. He mutters a few choice swears in French. Québécois French, to be precise.
England supposes he should feel bad about ignoring Canada like that. Still, he knows America is more important.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be,” the fairies remind him. He tries to dismiss them with a wave of his hand, but they won't leave.
VI. 1919
“I'm joining the League of Nations,” Canada announces.
“Of course you are,” England replies, not looking up from his paperwork. “Seeing as you are part of the British Empire-”
“As Canada.”
England lifts his head now and looks at Canada, really looks at him for the first time in years. He's eighteen now, nearly the same age as his brother, and England can't keep him forever. “As you wish,” he says.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be,” he does not say. He doesn't think he can call Canada his baby anymore.
VII. 1931
He receives the summon to London in early December and is there a few days later. England is a little more tired and a little thinner than the last time Canada saw him (and he knows he looks the same way). There is little ceremony as he takes the envelope England offers him, though he knows what's inside is life-changing.
“Independence,” he barely reads aloud.
“Not entirely. You'll still be a part of the Commonwealth and have George V as your monarch-”
Whatever speech he's trying to make as Canada impulsively hugs England. “Th-thank you,” he manages to say. England doesn't think he's ever seen his colony - no, his dominion - so happy before.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be,” he says as he returns the hug, and neither of them care that England called Canada his baby.
VIII. 1940
Canada is in London almost before the bombings stop. He's too sensible to be optimistic, expecting England beaten senseless or even almost dead, so it's a surprise and relief when he finds him standing. Leaning heavily against one of the few walls still upright, but standing nonetheless. “England!” he calls.
England doesn't react to Canada's call (Can he really not hear me, even now? he wonders), instead coughing into his sleeve. Canada can see spots of red on the green uniform, can see England wavering despite the walls support, can put two and two together quickly, and so is able to run and catch him before he falls. “E-England!”
“I'm all right,” England says and tries to smile, though it comes out a grimace. “It's going to take more than that to finish me off.”
“England, you're coughing up blood.”
“Look around you. After what London's been through, can you honestly say you're surprised?” Canada has no answer. England coughs weakly. “And have you heard any news from your brother about when he plans on joining us in this damned war?”
“No, I haven't.” He takes out his medical kit and unbuttons England's jacket. He manages to wince only slightly at the gashes in England's arms and across his chest, most of them scabbed over, some fresh. “Has anybody been taking care of you?” he wonders aloud.
“Of course not. Who is there to?”
“I'm here,” Canada says softly, wrapping a dressing around the oozing cut on his shoulder.
“I know, love. And I'm grateful for it,” he admits. He closes his eyes, and Canada is afraid he's passed out, but he starts speaking.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always...” he begins quietly, though he can't continue. Canada holds him steady as he coughs up specks of blood, then breathes quickly and shallowly, trying to get enough air.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
my papa you'll be,” Canada replies, wiping the drops of blood and cold sweat from England's face.
(That night, England cries for only the second time.)
IX. 1999
When Nunavut becomes her own territory, almost no one cares.
America doesn't know or care to know that there's more to Canada than Toronto and those Frenchies. For all his claims of being a wonderful father, France hasn't visited since he stayed with Quebec back in 1967. Even his own provinces couldn't be bothered except to learn a thirteenth name and face.
Despite the fact that he shouldn't care either, England lets himself into Canada's home to offer congratulations. He is about to call out when he hears singing from upstairs. Quietly, he follows the sound to a nursery decorated with polar bears and snowflakes.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be,” Canada is singing to the dark-haired baby in his arms.
England decides to mail a letter instead. Nunavut falls asleep as Canada cradles her and England slips out the door he came in.
Characters/Pairings: Canada, England
Rating: PG
Summary/Notes: Kink meme deanon. Prompt was "England may usually forget Canada. But one day Canada gives him the most ultimate gift a child can give to a parent figure: 'Love you Forever' by Robert Munsch."
I. 1763
England is not France. And English is not French. Canada has only learned enough English to tell America, “Get off of my land!” (and he only learned this much because if he asked in French or Cree America wouldn't even try to understand him), so when his France gives him to this Angleterre he can't say anything at all.
He bites his lip and tries, tries, tries to be brave. He was brave before, fighting alongside France, though he was so little he wasn't much help. But at least then, when he was with France and his people, he could understand the languages all around him. At least he knew what they were saying. Now he doesn't have any idea what's going on and he's barely five years old, so even though he's trying his best, his attempts not to cry are doomed from the start.
England looks taken aback and just a little unsure what to do. “There, there, Canada,” he says kindly, patting the boy on his head. Canada is confused (he knows what the words mean, he knows he's Canada and he knows he's there, but why is England saying it like that?) and only starts to cry harder.
“Hush now,” he says as he picks him up and holds him in his arms. “Don't cry, Canada. It'll be okay.” He repeats the last sentence in badly-butchered French, so mangled that Canada forgets to keep crying while he tries to understand it. When he finally does, it's too much effort to start crying again.
He wipes his nose on England's sleeve as he continues to comfort him, singing an old rhyme someone once taught him.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be.”
II. 1774
“For heaven's sake, can't you do something about your Canadiens?” England snaps.
“They're my people too!” Canada shoots back. Normally this discussion would fizzle out into nothing, but he is sick of playing second fiddle to America. It's bad enough he's only nine years old, especially when his 'twin' is well into his teens, without England treating him like a complete child. “All they want is to stay as French as they can!”
“They're British!”
“I know!” he whines, wishing his voice would drop just a little so he wouldn't sound so young, so England would treat him like he was an adult. He pauses, takes a deep breath, and tries to speak more calmly. “I know they're British. They're not after independence or anything like that. All they want - er, all I want is to keep living they way I have been.”
England mutters something that sounds like “Catholics.” Then he says, “All right, fine. Follow your own rules, just as long as you keep following mine. And if you like, you can even stay papist.”
Canada forgets he's playing grown-up and grins widely, showing his missing front baby tooth. Then a nearby crash attracts his attention. “Kumajiro!” he cries as he jumps off his chair and runs into the other room.
England chuckles and remembers just why he's so fond of the boy.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be,” he sings to himself.
III. 1814
Canada burns down Washington, D.C. Since he's just a colony, the books will say the British did it, but he knows he did it himself. He grins nastily at America, a trait he picked up from England that he rarely gets to show off. Only America gets to see it whenever Canada beats him (he doesn't have to ask in broken English anymore, since whenever America pushes he can push back harder).
This time, though, he's not just smiling because he won. He's smiling because he's realized who he is, or rather, who he will be. Canada. Not “the British colony of,” just “Canada.”
But this is who he will be, once the rest of him catches up to his lanky arms and legs. For now, he still swears allegiance to the crown and is still small enough to want England to tell him a story that night as he drifts to sleep.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be,” England finishes the story, as he has finished every story. He kisses the sleeping boy on the forehead, blows out the lamp, and closes the door quietly as he leaves.
IV. 1837
“This isn't fair!” Canada shouts. “A bedtime? I'm not a child!”
“You're only fifteen,” England replies, “so you technically are. And it's not a bedtime, it's a curfew.”
“I'm so sick of you treating me like a little kid!”
England wants to let this slide, take back the curfew and try again later. But he remembers all too clearly how well that didn't work with Canada's brother, so he instead grabs his wrist. “Listen to me, Canada,” he says quietly, dangerously. “The curfew will remain in effect until you are mature enough for me to lift it, do I make myself clear?”
The words shatter any respect Canada might still have had for England. “Until I'm 'mature enough'?” he all-out snarls, not breaking eye contact with him. “I've been trying my whole life to be 'mature enough'. What more could you possibly want from me that will prove I'm 'mature enough'?” He yanks his wrist from England's grip and storms off.
He's more like his brother than he wants to admit, England realizes. Even he is growing up far too fast.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be,” he tries to convince himself.
V. 1903
He gave away British Colombia.
He gave away British Colombia to America.
Canada should be angry right now. And he will soon. At the moment, though, he's simply stunned.
“It's just a thin line,” England had said casually as he left the arbitration meeting. “You'll hardly miss it.” Then America had tried the nasty grin, but it didn't have the same effect when his eyes were shining with real happiness.
Canada had hardly said a word at the meeting. He'd always known England liked America better, but he'd never been truly ignored like this. Yes, most people didn't even know he existed, and the few that did usually overlooked him, but he'd always counted on England to remember him. It's his job as a seventeen-year-old to shut England out, not the other way around.
Fine then. He mutters a few choice swears in French. Québécois French, to be precise.
England supposes he should feel bad about ignoring Canada like that. Still, he knows America is more important.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be,” the fairies remind him. He tries to dismiss them with a wave of his hand, but they won't leave.
VI. 1919
“I'm joining the League of Nations,” Canada announces.
“Of course you are,” England replies, not looking up from his paperwork. “Seeing as you are part of the British Empire-”
“As Canada.”
England lifts his head now and looks at Canada, really looks at him for the first time in years. He's eighteen now, nearly the same age as his brother, and England can't keep him forever. “As you wish,” he says.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be,” he does not say. He doesn't think he can call Canada his baby anymore.
VII. 1931
He receives the summon to London in early December and is there a few days later. England is a little more tired and a little thinner than the last time Canada saw him (and he knows he looks the same way). There is little ceremony as he takes the envelope England offers him, though he knows what's inside is life-changing.
“Independence,” he barely reads aloud.
“Not entirely. You'll still be a part of the Commonwealth and have George V as your monarch-”
Whatever speech he's trying to make as Canada impulsively hugs England. “Th-thank you,” he manages to say. England doesn't think he's ever seen his colony - no, his dominion - so happy before.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be,” he says as he returns the hug, and neither of them care that England called Canada his baby.
VIII. 1940
Canada is in London almost before the bombings stop. He's too sensible to be optimistic, expecting England beaten senseless or even almost dead, so it's a surprise and relief when he finds him standing. Leaning heavily against one of the few walls still upright, but standing nonetheless. “England!” he calls.
England doesn't react to Canada's call (Can he really not hear me, even now? he wonders), instead coughing into his sleeve. Canada can see spots of red on the green uniform, can see England wavering despite the walls support, can put two and two together quickly, and so is able to run and catch him before he falls. “E-England!”
“I'm all right,” England says and tries to smile, though it comes out a grimace. “It's going to take more than that to finish me off.”
“England, you're coughing up blood.”
“Look around you. After what London's been through, can you honestly say you're surprised?” Canada has no answer. England coughs weakly. “And have you heard any news from your brother about when he plans on joining us in this damned war?”
“No, I haven't.” He takes out his medical kit and unbuttons England's jacket. He manages to wince only slightly at the gashes in England's arms and across his chest, most of them scabbed over, some fresh. “Has anybody been taking care of you?” he wonders aloud.
“Of course not. Who is there to?”
“I'm here,” Canada says softly, wrapping a dressing around the oozing cut on his shoulder.
“I know, love. And I'm grateful for it,” he admits. He closes his eyes, and Canada is afraid he's passed out, but he starts speaking.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always...” he begins quietly, though he can't continue. Canada holds him steady as he coughs up specks of blood, then breathes quickly and shallowly, trying to get enough air.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
my papa you'll be,” Canada replies, wiping the drops of blood and cold sweat from England's face.
(That night, England cries for only the second time.)
IX. 1999
When Nunavut becomes her own territory, almost no one cares.
America doesn't know or care to know that there's more to Canada than Toronto and those Frenchies. For all his claims of being a wonderful father, France hasn't visited since he stayed with Quebec back in 1967. Even his own provinces couldn't be bothered except to learn a thirteenth name and face.
Despite the fact that he shouldn't care either, England lets himself into Canada's home to offer congratulations. He is about to call out when he hears singing from upstairs. Quietly, he follows the sound to a nursery decorated with polar bears and snowflakes.
“I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be,” Canada is singing to the dark-haired baby in his arms.
England decides to mail a letter instead. Nunavut falls asleep as Canada cradles her and England slips out the door he came in.