Somewhere In Between (0/4)
Title: Somewhere In Between
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: America, Canada, France/England
Warning: AU, Slash, Human & Country Names
Summary: America finds himself struggling to come to terms with his relationship with France. (Sequel to Wonderful Complications)
Prologue
Everything was starting to get brighter, warmer. A gentle hum drifted into his ears and a pair of soft hands were cradling him. He opened his eyes, his lids still felt heavy and his vision a bit hazy and the steady tune being hummed inches from his ear certainly wasn't helping matters. Someone was holding him tightly. His head was pillowed against a shoulder and a cheek was pressed against his hair.
He'd been crying, he could tell from the wetness on his own cheeks and in his lashes and his nose soon gave out a gentle sniff as he raised a hand in order to wipe away the rest of the tears.
"Where's Daddy?" he heard himself ask, his voice more awkward and childish than he could remember it being. "Why did he go away?"
He didn't get an answer and instead one of the hands gently crawled up his back before rubbing steady circles against him. A firm kiss was pressed into his hair and it was only then that he realized that this must be his mother, because only a mother could make him feel this safe and warm inside.
"Daddy had to go away because..." his mother tried to explain, but he could tell that the answer was difficult even for her to grasp. "Because there is something very important that he must do, but he will come back soon. He will come back."
He believed her. He couldn't not believe her, because this was his mother and everything she said was true.
Somewhere nearby he could hear someone else sobbing, but he didn't give it much thought. He closed his eyes and allowed the gentle hum to sooth him to sleep once again.
--
America opened his eyes, only to be greeted by darkness. The candle that had been lit on his bedside table had burned out some time ago and the only light within the small bedroom came from the full moon and the stars lurking just outside the window. The book that England had been reading to them was resting upon the now vacant chair that he had sat in and America knew that England himself had left the room some time ago.
To his right Canada was sleeping soundly, face buried deep into the pillow beneath his head with his arms wrapped tightly around a nest of blankets. America shivered as he looked down at his own blanket-less body and he realized then what had interrupted his sleep. He knew that Canada only hogged the sheets because he was used to sleeping with that bear of his, but America still found it annoying. He tugged gently at the edge of the blanket until Canada's sleepy fingers finally relented, allowing America to have a bit more of the covers.
He sighed, wrapping the sheets over his shoulders before settling back down to sleep. There were still several hours before sunrise and America hoped he would be able to pick up his dream where he had left it.
--
"Hey Mattie, guess what?" America all but gasped as he scrambled into the dining room and to his brother's side.
Canada looked at him, taking a moment from his current task of chewing at the boiled oats that at times had the texture of boiled leather. It was only then that America became aware of his surroundings. He glanced into the kitchen and saw England standing not far away gazing out the window towards the still rising sun. England didn't seem to be paying attention, but he was certainly close enough to hear them, so America was careful to soften his tone and watch his wording.
"I had that dream again last night," America whispered as he climbed into the chair beside Canada.
"What dream?" Canada asked after swallowing -- with some difficulty -- his breakfast.
"The one about..." He looked back at the kitchen one last time and saw that England had moved on from staring and was now busy cleaning something. "About our mother," he whispered finally, lowering his head and his voice in order to hide his words.
Canada's reaction wasn't at all what America had been hoping for. Instead of his eyes widening with excitement, he gave a soft groan and turned his attention back to his porridge.
"Al..." he began, but quickly stopped in order to start again, "America we don't have a... uh, one of those."
"We do, too!" America countered because he had that dream every time Canada came to see him -- always during the summer in early July -- and he was certain that it meant something. "I saw her in my dream. She was pretty and blonde and... and... and real!"
"You don't even know what a mother is."
"I do," he pouted. "She... she's... um, she sings to you."
"Sings?"
"Yeah, that's what our mom does in my dream."
"It was only a dream," Canada said, just as England emerged from the kitchen holding a bowl of porridge in his hands.
"What's all this talk about dreams?" he asked as he placed the bowl down in front of America.
"Um, nothing," America lied as he grabbed a spoon off of the table and began swirling it around the dish. He knew that England wouldn't like him talking about such things, especially since he always got so angry whenever the twins called each other by their other names. "I just had a weird dream about... moon people."
"Moon people?" England repeated with a condescending laugh. "Really America, where do you get such strange notions?" He shook his head and then turned his attention towards Canada. "Hurry up and finish your breakfast, Canada. France will likely be along shortly to collect you."
Canada gave a quick nod as he continued to shovel the last bits of food into his mouth. By the time the last spoonful had reached his lips, a knock had sounded at the front door.
"Well, that's probably him," England announced with a sigh. He gave Canada's shoulder a quick pat before leaning in to study the contents of his bowl. "Your plate is clean so why don't you go gather your things?"
"I'll get the door," America suggested as he began to push his chair away from the table.
"No, no," England said quickly as he placed a firm hand on the back of America's seat in order to stop him from slipping away. "You stay here and finish your breakfast. I'll go see to the door."
Canada slipped away in order to retrieve his belongings from America's room and England walked briskly towards the door and America soon found himself alone with his breakfast. He tapped his spoon gently against the rim of his bowl in order to pretend that he was eating his porridge as he strained his ears to listen to the conversation between England and France near the front of the house. Their words were tense and brief and America was relieved that they didn't seem like they were going to start an argument today. The conversation stopped and America soon heard the sound of England walking towards the other end of the house.
America waited a moment and then slipped from his seat and gently made his way towards the front door. He saw France standing in the entry way. France was fairly tall and handsome and if he were a regular human like the ones in the village, America imagined that he would probably be around ninteen or so, but America knew that he was much older. America had always thought that France was strange, not only because his hair was always so nice and his clothes were always clean and nobody else ever seemed so... What was the word England always used? Polished. It was because whenever France saw him, he looked at him funny. His eyes would always get big and glossy and he always looked as if he were going to burst into tears at any moment. Then he would always try to give America food or clothes or toys and England would always take them away, saying that they wouldn't be good for him. America didn't want to say that he disliked France, but he was just more comfortable when he wasn't around.
Today was different, because he wanted to talk to someone and he had a feeling that France would tell him what he wanted to hear. He tried to sneak up beside France, but he forgot about the loose floor board that always squeaked when stepped on and France was able to spot him right away.
He watched as France smiled that wide smile of his and his eyes went all wobbly at the sight of him. "Alfred," he breathed as he bent down in order to lower himself to America's eye level. "It is so good to see you."
America didn't know how France knew his other name or why he always used it when they met, but he almost never called him America and America thought that was kind of weird. "France, can I ask you a question?" he asked when he was standing beside him. France gave a nod and motioned for America to come closer. He did. "What's a mother?"
France's eyes widened, not in that wobbly sort of way, but as if America had just picked up a knife and jabbed it into his hand. The look lasted for only a second before disappearing and America watched as France's shoulders slumped and a sad laugh escaped him.
"What is a mother," France repeated to himself. He hummed, looked around the empty hall and then stared at him in a careful sort of way. "Well a mother ... A mother is someone who misses you when you are gone, who cries for you when you are hurt, and..." His words trailed off as he gently reached out in order to pull America closer. America stiffened, but allowed himself to be held against France's chest. France smelled funny, not in the gross way that England liked to say, but a familiar way that America couldn't quite figure out. He stared at America, his eyes soft and sad and his gaze seemed as if he wanted to insert a thought into America's head, but just couldn't figure out how to do it. "A mother is someone who loves you very, very much no matter how big you get or how far you are from one another."
"So... a mother..." America began thoughtfully, because this wasn't exactly the answer he had been expecting. "A mother is... sorta like England?"
France's face fell and his lips pressed down into a narrow little line and America should have known better than to say that. France didn't like seeing England, so it was kind of obvious that he wouldn't like anyone mentioning him either. "No, America," he said gently. "Not like England. England is more like..."
"A brother?" America ventured, because for as far back as he could remember England had been calling himself America's big brother.
"No," he said instantly, almost angrily, then stopped himself as if he suddenly remembered something. He sighed, a heavy sound that America could feel in his own chest as France pressed him closer to his side. "Well... I suppose so."
The sound of England's footsteps reached his ears and America knew that it was loud enough for France to hear, but he didn't bother to end the embrace. "America," England chided lightly upon returning to the entry with Canada just a few steps away. "Have you finished your breakfast yet?"
"I'm almost done," America lied.
"Well then, I suggest you go finish."
"Can't I say goodbye first?"
England opened his mouth to speak, but France was quick to cut in. "Oh, do not be so heartless, England," France said in a scolding sort of way. He had already stood in order to glare at England with his full height, but America noticed the way he was standing quite close to his side. "Let the children have one more moment together. They see each other so rarely, after all."
"Heartless?" England repeated, stiffening at the word. His face turned red and his fingers curled into fists, but France only continued to stare at him. "I am not heartless! I am anything but heartless! And it just shows how little you know, because I was just about to let the boys say their goodbyes." England gave one final huff, before turning his attention towards America and Canada, who was hugging his bag of things close to his chest and trying desperately to disappear. "Go ahead boys," England said, his tone softening significantly. "Say goodbye."
America blushed and Canada squirmed because England and France were watching them and they felt like trained bears who were suddenly expected to dance. "Goodbye America," Canada said after a while, his voice slightly muffled by the folds of his bag.
"Goodbye Canada," America said, stepping closer in order to offer his brother a brief hug. "I'll see you next summer."
"Oh, so sweet," France crooned as he crouched down in order to study their embrace and comb his fingers through Canada's hair. "Perhaps you will not have to wait all the way until next summer to see Mathieu again. After all, there is Christmas..."
Those last words had been spoken very pointedly as France's gaze shifted towards England, who stiffened uncomfortably in response. "Well, perhaps Canada could come visit for Christmas."
"Or," France put in, still staring up at England, "perhaps Alfred could come visit us."
"Canada will come visit us," England nearly growled from between his tightly clenched teeth. "Or there will be no Christmas visits at all."
"We will discuss it," France announced in his "you did not win this argument, I am just choosing to put it on hold" tone of voice. He stood then, grabbing Canada's hand in his as he moved towards the door. "Goodbye Alfred," he said with a fond smile and a small wave. "We will see you in a few months."
America watched the two leave, knowing already that he would not be seeing them for another year at best.
Chapter 1
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: America, Canada, France/England
Warning: AU, Slash, Human & Country Names
Summary: America finds himself struggling to come to terms with his relationship with France. (Sequel to Wonderful Complications)
Prologue
Everything was starting to get brighter, warmer. A gentle hum drifted into his ears and a pair of soft hands were cradling him. He opened his eyes, his lids still felt heavy and his vision a bit hazy and the steady tune being hummed inches from his ear certainly wasn't helping matters. Someone was holding him tightly. His head was pillowed against a shoulder and a cheek was pressed against his hair.
He'd been crying, he could tell from the wetness on his own cheeks and in his lashes and his nose soon gave out a gentle sniff as he raised a hand in order to wipe away the rest of the tears.
"Where's Daddy?" he heard himself ask, his voice more awkward and childish than he could remember it being. "Why did he go away?"
He didn't get an answer and instead one of the hands gently crawled up his back before rubbing steady circles against him. A firm kiss was pressed into his hair and it was only then that he realized that this must be his mother, because only a mother could make him feel this safe and warm inside.
"Daddy had to go away because..." his mother tried to explain, but he could tell that the answer was difficult even for her to grasp. "Because there is something very important that he must do, but he will come back soon. He will come back."
He believed her. He couldn't not believe her, because this was his mother and everything she said was true.
Somewhere nearby he could hear someone else sobbing, but he didn't give it much thought. He closed his eyes and allowed the gentle hum to sooth him to sleep once again.
--
America opened his eyes, only to be greeted by darkness. The candle that had been lit on his bedside table had burned out some time ago and the only light within the small bedroom came from the full moon and the stars lurking just outside the window. The book that England had been reading to them was resting upon the now vacant chair that he had sat in and America knew that England himself had left the room some time ago.
To his right Canada was sleeping soundly, face buried deep into the pillow beneath his head with his arms wrapped tightly around a nest of blankets. America shivered as he looked down at his own blanket-less body and he realized then what had interrupted his sleep. He knew that Canada only hogged the sheets because he was used to sleeping with that bear of his, but America still found it annoying. He tugged gently at the edge of the blanket until Canada's sleepy fingers finally relented, allowing America to have a bit more of the covers.
He sighed, wrapping the sheets over his shoulders before settling back down to sleep. There were still several hours before sunrise and America hoped he would be able to pick up his dream where he had left it.
--
"Hey Mattie, guess what?" America all but gasped as he scrambled into the dining room and to his brother's side.
Canada looked at him, taking a moment from his current task of chewing at the boiled oats that at times had the texture of boiled leather. It was only then that America became aware of his surroundings. He glanced into the kitchen and saw England standing not far away gazing out the window towards the still rising sun. England didn't seem to be paying attention, but he was certainly close enough to hear them, so America was careful to soften his tone and watch his wording.
"I had that dream again last night," America whispered as he climbed into the chair beside Canada.
"What dream?" Canada asked after swallowing -- with some difficulty -- his breakfast.
"The one about..." He looked back at the kitchen one last time and saw that England had moved on from staring and was now busy cleaning something. "About our mother," he whispered finally, lowering his head and his voice in order to hide his words.
Canada's reaction wasn't at all what America had been hoping for. Instead of his eyes widening with excitement, he gave a soft groan and turned his attention back to his porridge.
"Al..." he began, but quickly stopped in order to start again, "America we don't have a... uh, one of those."
"We do, too!" America countered because he had that dream every time Canada came to see him -- always during the summer in early July -- and he was certain that it meant something. "I saw her in my dream. She was pretty and blonde and... and... and real!"
"You don't even know what a mother is."
"I do," he pouted. "She... she's... um, she sings to you."
"Sings?"
"Yeah, that's what our mom does in my dream."
"It was only a dream," Canada said, just as England emerged from the kitchen holding a bowl of porridge in his hands.
"What's all this talk about dreams?" he asked as he placed the bowl down in front of America.
"Um, nothing," America lied as he grabbed a spoon off of the table and began swirling it around the dish. He knew that England wouldn't like him talking about such things, especially since he always got so angry whenever the twins called each other by their other names. "I just had a weird dream about... moon people."
"Moon people?" England repeated with a condescending laugh. "Really America, where do you get such strange notions?" He shook his head and then turned his attention towards Canada. "Hurry up and finish your breakfast, Canada. France will likely be along shortly to collect you."
Canada gave a quick nod as he continued to shovel the last bits of food into his mouth. By the time the last spoonful had reached his lips, a knock had sounded at the front door.
"Well, that's probably him," England announced with a sigh. He gave Canada's shoulder a quick pat before leaning in to study the contents of his bowl. "Your plate is clean so why don't you go gather your things?"
"I'll get the door," America suggested as he began to push his chair away from the table.
"No, no," England said quickly as he placed a firm hand on the back of America's seat in order to stop him from slipping away. "You stay here and finish your breakfast. I'll go see to the door."
Canada slipped away in order to retrieve his belongings from America's room and England walked briskly towards the door and America soon found himself alone with his breakfast. He tapped his spoon gently against the rim of his bowl in order to pretend that he was eating his porridge as he strained his ears to listen to the conversation between England and France near the front of the house. Their words were tense and brief and America was relieved that they didn't seem like they were going to start an argument today. The conversation stopped and America soon heard the sound of England walking towards the other end of the house.
America waited a moment and then slipped from his seat and gently made his way towards the front door. He saw France standing in the entry way. France was fairly tall and handsome and if he were a regular human like the ones in the village, America imagined that he would probably be around ninteen or so, but America knew that he was much older. America had always thought that France was strange, not only because his hair was always so nice and his clothes were always clean and nobody else ever seemed so... What was the word England always used? Polished. It was because whenever France saw him, he looked at him funny. His eyes would always get big and glossy and he always looked as if he were going to burst into tears at any moment. Then he would always try to give America food or clothes or toys and England would always take them away, saying that they wouldn't be good for him. America didn't want to say that he disliked France, but he was just more comfortable when he wasn't around.
Today was different, because he wanted to talk to someone and he had a feeling that France would tell him what he wanted to hear. He tried to sneak up beside France, but he forgot about the loose floor board that always squeaked when stepped on and France was able to spot him right away.
He watched as France smiled that wide smile of his and his eyes went all wobbly at the sight of him. "Alfred," he breathed as he bent down in order to lower himself to America's eye level. "It is so good to see you."
America didn't know how France knew his other name or why he always used it when they met, but he almost never called him America and America thought that was kind of weird. "France, can I ask you a question?" he asked when he was standing beside him. France gave a nod and motioned for America to come closer. He did. "What's a mother?"
France's eyes widened, not in that wobbly sort of way, but as if America had just picked up a knife and jabbed it into his hand. The look lasted for only a second before disappearing and America watched as France's shoulders slumped and a sad laugh escaped him.
"What is a mother," France repeated to himself. He hummed, looked around the empty hall and then stared at him in a careful sort of way. "Well a mother ... A mother is someone who misses you when you are gone, who cries for you when you are hurt, and..." His words trailed off as he gently reached out in order to pull America closer. America stiffened, but allowed himself to be held against France's chest. France smelled funny, not in the gross way that England liked to say, but a familiar way that America couldn't quite figure out. He stared at America, his eyes soft and sad and his gaze seemed as if he wanted to insert a thought into America's head, but just couldn't figure out how to do it. "A mother is someone who loves you very, very much no matter how big you get or how far you are from one another."
"So... a mother..." America began thoughtfully, because this wasn't exactly the answer he had been expecting. "A mother is... sorta like England?"
France's face fell and his lips pressed down into a narrow little line and America should have known better than to say that. France didn't like seeing England, so it was kind of obvious that he wouldn't like anyone mentioning him either. "No, America," he said gently. "Not like England. England is more like..."
"A brother?" America ventured, because for as far back as he could remember England had been calling himself America's big brother.
"No," he said instantly, almost angrily, then stopped himself as if he suddenly remembered something. He sighed, a heavy sound that America could feel in his own chest as France pressed him closer to his side. "Well... I suppose so."
The sound of England's footsteps reached his ears and America knew that it was loud enough for France to hear, but he didn't bother to end the embrace. "America," England chided lightly upon returning to the entry with Canada just a few steps away. "Have you finished your breakfast yet?"
"I'm almost done," America lied.
"Well then, I suggest you go finish."
"Can't I say goodbye first?"
England opened his mouth to speak, but France was quick to cut in. "Oh, do not be so heartless, England," France said in a scolding sort of way. He had already stood in order to glare at England with his full height, but America noticed the way he was standing quite close to his side. "Let the children have one more moment together. They see each other so rarely, after all."
"Heartless?" England repeated, stiffening at the word. His face turned red and his fingers curled into fists, but France only continued to stare at him. "I am not heartless! I am anything but heartless! And it just shows how little you know, because I was just about to let the boys say their goodbyes." England gave one final huff, before turning his attention towards America and Canada, who was hugging his bag of things close to his chest and trying desperately to disappear. "Go ahead boys," England said, his tone softening significantly. "Say goodbye."
America blushed and Canada squirmed because England and France were watching them and they felt like trained bears who were suddenly expected to dance. "Goodbye America," Canada said after a while, his voice slightly muffled by the folds of his bag.
"Goodbye Canada," America said, stepping closer in order to offer his brother a brief hug. "I'll see you next summer."
"Oh, so sweet," France crooned as he crouched down in order to study their embrace and comb his fingers through Canada's hair. "Perhaps you will not have to wait all the way until next summer to see Mathieu again. After all, there is Christmas..."
Those last words had been spoken very pointedly as France's gaze shifted towards England, who stiffened uncomfortably in response. "Well, perhaps Canada could come visit for Christmas."
"Or," France put in, still staring up at England, "perhaps Alfred could come visit us."
"Canada will come visit us," England nearly growled from between his tightly clenched teeth. "Or there will be no Christmas visits at all."
"We will discuss it," France announced in his "you did not win this argument, I am just choosing to put it on hold" tone of voice. He stood then, grabbing Canada's hand in his as he moved towards the door. "Goodbye Alfred," he said with a fond smile and a small wave. "We will see you in a few months."
America watched the two leave, knowing already that he would not be seeing them for another year at best.
Chapter 1