Canada doesn't like it. Not one little bit. Every single word shouted from the other room makes him flinch, makes him want to curl into a ball and bury his face in Kumajiro's fur and block out the sound of his brothers being so angry at one another.

He can hear the lighter yet thicker accented voice of France spitting insults with an almost practiced grace, although Canada can just see his gritted teeth and reddening cheeks as his resolve slowly crumbles. On the other side is Britain, his words less thought out and more sputtering, but he never backs down, letting out whatever insult crosses his mind in a torrent of jumbled slang.

"I can't stand it anymore!" Britain shrieks. "We need to settle this, once and for all."

France chuckles, although the sound is biting instead of light. "Oh hon, and how do you think we should do that? Perhaps we should ask little Canada what he wants?"

"The boy is too young and innocent to make a decision like that! This is between us, France, and us only."

"You know what? I agree with you for once! Let's settle this like men, Britain."

Canada peeks around the corner into the parlour, where France and Britain are standing at a shockingly close proximity to one another in relation to how wrathful they're both feeling. France keeps his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw clenched and his blue eyes sparkling with a sort of angered mischief, while Britain is as Canada predicted; flustered, red-faced, but unable to back down due to sheer stubbornness.

"I'll have you know, I've been speaking to Austria lately," France says. "He said Prussia was giving him...how do you say, trouble?"

"So?" Britain hisses, although his green eyes seem to flicker with uncertainty.

The slightly taller man flips one hand through his hair rather gracefully. "So I've decided to help defend him. Does that bother you, Angleterre?"

Britain grits his teeth so hard that Canada swears that he can hear them grinding. The Englishman doesn't say a word, but Canada knows exactly what's got him so frustrated. He's allied with Prussia, so if France is choosing to help defend against one of Britain's allies...

"As if I'd believe that!" Britain laughs, making France's smirk flicker away. "You can hardly support these colonies as is! As if you'll have the extra resources to help them!"

Canada hugs Kumajiro tighter, holding back a whimper at the idea. He looks over his shoulder, where he can see Québec and Newfoundland sleeping next to the warmth of the fire, their faces peaceful and soothing. Canada's glad they aren't awake to hear their big brothers fighting, much less that France is slowly losing the ability to support them.

"You know nothing, you punk!" France argues. "I've already been talking to Spain and Russia too, seems they like the idea of kicking you down a few notches."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Oui, I think I am!"

"Fine! Then from now on, we're at war!" Britain snaps. His large eyebrows narrow. "And by the end of this, we'll know who will have sovereignty over little Canada. Savvy?"

France's face takes on an expression of worry for a split second, the man's mind no doubt wandering to the possibilities of what could happen. Still, he nods as a stony look eradicates his handsome face.

"Oui, we are at war," he says lowly.

"Then I'll see you on the battlefield, my friend," Britain spits, the word "friend" sounding more like "enemy" than it ever has.

Canada flinches as the Englishman storms out of the house and slams the door. France's expression turns from stony to miserable in a second, his shoulders slumping as he sinks into the nearest chair and buries his face in his hands.

"Mon dieu, what have I agreed to?" he mumbles.

Canada watches him for a moment, casting a quick glance over his shoulder to see that Québec and Newfoundland have stayed asleep throughout the ordeal. The young nation takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and tries to put on a brave face as he walks out of his hiding spot.

"Monsieur France?" he calls, his voice betraying his attempted bravery when it comes out soft and worried. France doesn't look up at him, his shoulders quivering and his hands shaking. Canada moves closer, setting Kumajiro down and touching his distraught brother's leg. "Big brother?"

France parts his fingers a little bit, showing Canada that his eyes are red-rimmed simply from the effort of trying to hold back his tears. He stares at the little nation, the boy's body no bigger than a human nine-year-old's.

"Non, mon garçon, I don't deserve such a title at this moment," he says, his voice choked.

Canada crawls up into his lap and wraps his arms around the older country's middle, nuzzling his head under France's chin. France hesitates for a moment before returning the hug, taking in a few shaky breaths.

"I have put you and your brothers in danger," France whispers, making Canada grip his dark blue coat tighter. "But, never fear, I will fight to keep what is mine," he adds, forcing a smile as he pulls back and meets his little brother's gaze for a brief second.

Canada looks down, unable to keep his expression from falling. "I don't want you to fight."

"Ah, Mathieu," he murmurs, ruffling the boy's hair. "Countries fight with one another. Sadly, I think that's the way the world works." When Canada doesn't offer any response, France leans forwards and kisses his forehead gently. "This battle won't last long. Britain and I once fought for one hundred years, but I'm sure this one will be over before you know it."

"Promise?" Canada whispers, his violet eyes reaching up to France's face again.

The older country's face floods with knowing, a sad smile flickering across his lips. "Promises made in war are very rarely kept, Canada."

No response comes from the young nation. He can only hope that his big brother knows what he's doing.

----------

France takes a deep breath, moving to the door of the elegant longhouse and lifting his hand. He knocks a few times, careful not to disturb the still quiet of the night.

There's silence on the other side for a moment, then, the door creaks open. First Nation stands in the opening, her long black hair draped across one of her tired eyes. France feels his stomach twist with worry the instant he sees her; she looks tired...weak.

She takes on a shocked countenance upon seeing the European nation, casting a quick glance behind her at her sleeping Métis daughter before slipping outside and shutting the door behind her. She presses her back against the wood door, the sounds of the night adding tension to the scenario.

"Bonjour," France greets, tone soft and free of the playful vigour she'd come to notice in a man like him.

"Good evening," she responds, trying to keep her tone from wavering. She crosses her arms across her chest, eyeing him. "Is everything okay?"

"It is...less than good, if you must know," he admits, making sure to keep his voice soft. "I have to ask you for a favour."

"Oh?" She arches an eyebrow. "What sort of favour?"

He smiles, but shows no teeth. "I...have gone to war with Britain. It will decide who Canada's big brother will be."

First Nation's mouth falls open in a tiny gasp. "France, why...why would you do that? You have colonies to look out for, and if Britain wins, who knows what he could do—"

"Ah, mon coeur, do not fret," he murmurs, making her face flush with heat. He steps closer, a pleading look in his sparkling blue eyes. "I need your help to fight. If I'm going to keep my land, I can't do it without your people."

She shuts her eyes, taking a deep breath. She pushes herself off the door and rests her hand over his heart, brushing her fingertips along the material of his clothes. He doesn't take his eyes off of her face.

"My people are not as strong as we once were, do you realize that?" she asks.

His expression turns grave. "I have noticed a thing or two."

She watches him for a second, noting that there's the hardly noticeable trace of fear residing in his blue eyes. She sighs, her shoulders sagging as though a weight has suddenly been placed upon them.

"I can't ask all of my people to fight, but...I will gather my chieftains. We'll speak on the matter and decide," she says. When his face lightens with hope, she can't help but smile just a little bit. "I'm sure there are some that will help you."

He exhales in relief, grasping her hand and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "Merci, ma che'rie."

"You're welcome, Francis," she whispers, hardly realizing that she called him by his human name.

Spoiler alert; the Aboriginal people did side with France on the battlefield, hence why another name for this war is the French and Indian War.

The war was rather short by France and Britain's standards, that is if you compare it to the Hundred Years' War. On one side was Britain and Prussia, on the other was France, Austria, Sweden, Russia, and Spain. There was also Hanover and Saxony on opposing sides, but who knows about those two?

The final battle of the Seven Years' War took place on the Plains of Abraham, September 13, 1759. For those of you who have watched all the anime episodes, you saw how that turned out. Fifteen to thirty minutes into the battle, both the British and French generals were either fatally wounded or dead, and Québec was surrendered to Britain. The entirety of Canada followed.

What that meant for the fate of Canada is a society forever changed, a moment that, had it been different, could have led to a very different Canada.