Love of the Half Eaten Peach

There was a part of Canada that was disappointed they had skipped the introductory meetings held that morning and presentations that were being given. He’d really wanted to hear Sweden’s talk on IKEA as the wave of the future. He was also thankful they didn’t need to go through the tedious “getting to know you” nonsense since most of them never remembered him more than ten minutes after they met anyway. Of course he hardly says as much to America; he has a duty to instill a sense of responsibility in his younger brother... at least he acts like he’s younger.
“You know, these meetings are important to make sure that we always stay connected to the rest of the world. It gives us a chance to put ourselves out-”
‘Pssh, like everyone doesn’t already know who I am.” America had interrupted with a wave of his hand. “I mean c’mon, there’s a Starbucks at the Great Wall.” I was thinking more likely you don’t know more than half of them on sight, Canada had thought with annoyance as they boarded the first bus.

The entire morning had been miserable. It had started out overcast and rained in on him from the window being left open and had only gotten worse. The experience of trying to navigate the bus and train line without speaking a word of Japanese beyond a few words he used in the bedroom with Japan was harrowing to say the least. America seemed to think speaking English louder and slower would magically make everyone understand him. They’d also been stalked by several police officers eying them as if they were truant students as they explored the area around Shinjuku station. Of course all that wouldn’t be so bad if they were at least themselves instead of some freakish preteen clones.

Yeah, they’re twelve fucking years old, did he forget to mention that part?

America’s mysterious package had showed up as promised and after a western style breakfast served in their room he’d eagerly torn it open. Canada was impressed by his patience; he never lasted half this long at Christmas.
“A phaser?” were the first words out of Canada’s mouth when he eyed the mysterious device. It looked like something out of Star Trek. America had rolled his eyes at that as he fondled the dangerous looking device eagerly.
“Dude, are you kidding? The phaser Tony has is way bigger than this and they actually use the thing for cooking where he comes from. Cooking, can you believe it?” Canada had rose from where he was sitting and stood next to America to get a closer look. America had already opened a small panel on the side and was keying in a series of codes on the alien keypad. “Seriously. He told me they use these things as weapons.” And he gave you one? No wonder they exiled him all the way out here...

“Weapons?” he asked still somewhat skeptical.
“Oh and it’s a weapon alright, a weapon of awesomeness! Don’t worry, Tony gave me the series of codes for this operation last night. I got a mind like a steel trap, so we’re ready to roll, bro.” Canada had been about to ask how exactly this was going to help them”get Arthur” when America turned on him and fired..
“Nnngh!” His eyes were wide and he felt as if every molecule in his body was being squeezed until it bursted. He folded in on himself, knees buckling, breathless, unable to so much as scream while America watched him with a mixture of curiosity and geeky excitement. If he hadn’t felt as if his insides were about to twist out he’d have punched the asshole in the nuts.

“So yeah the way it works,” America started as if his brother weren’t dying on the floor in front of him, “at least according to Tony, is that it compresses everything in your body down in size, even on a molecular level. It works in reverse too though. He said the military liked to play god with the poor fuckers and realign their muscle mass, bone density, centers of gravity, all kinds of crazy shit. Haha, I could turn you into a chick if I really waned to. So I asked him why he couldn’t just make us younger instead- cause y’know we’re still gonna weigh the same- and he reminded me that our brains would be similarly affected... Whoa, you really don’t look so good.” Dude, if you’re gonna throw up, let me know, cause you know I can’t watch someone puke without getting sick too.” Canada’s only reply was a one fingered salute. “Hang in there, Mattie, you almost got it!
“Anyway,” he continued on blithely as even as Canada sank to his knees shaking. “He had no idea what that’d do to our brains so instead this is next best thing. They call it a transmogrifier.  Well in his language it’s something else but he always tells me he’d have to cut out my tongue to speak it, right? It took some serious calculations to get what I wanted, but he and I batted it around for a few minutes and it wasn’t too hard. I mean that honorary degree from MIT is really legit, you know that. I mean displacing matter? Pfft, I could do that in my sleep.”

He looked up at America panting, adding this to his ever growing list of things he never wanted to experience again. America met his expression with a rather pleased one of his own.
“Dude, you look perfect! Seriously, a pedo’s wet dream.” Canada glared at him as he shakily rose to his feet, the boxers now far too big for his body falling off his hips. He had to crane his neck to look up -God, had he really been that short when he was younger?- and then snatched the device from America’s hand, a nasty smirk on his face as he fired on his twin.

He probably took more delight than was necessary as he watched him writhe and seize but dammit, that really fucking hurt! He was also oddly fascinated as the transformation began, and he replayed his brother’s words definitely appreciating the science of what they were doing now that it wasn’t him being used as a guinea pig. It was quite brilliant to watch in a grotesque horror movie kind of way and the pain had actually stopped almost immediately. Once America was finished and stood at Canada’s own new height, he held his hand up in a high five and the other stared dumbly for a moment
“C’mon, bro, don’t leave me hanging!”Canadae sighed and reluctantly indulged him, wincing at the sharp sting. “Phase one of Operation Pedobrows complete!”

Phase two had apparently consisted of spending half the day in Shinjuku looking for a certain type of outfit. He’d never in his life more fervently wished that he had a greater Japanese population so he could at least communicate in something other than half obscene pantomime. Everyone in Japan learned english apparently, but only a few actually spoke it. He was only thankful that a few vacationing students took pity on them and led them around without asking too many questions. He was also never more thankful for their current locale because walking around like fucking Oliver Twist would definitely have drawn a lot more attention anywhere else. They’d ended up borrowing clothes from Sealand who was all too happy to get in on any plot again “jerk England”.

Canada had hoped that was the end of it but America gleefully explained that the point of the trip was to actually get more clothes like this and yes they even had their own cutesy little Japanese name too. He prays his boss doesn’t ask too many questions about trip expenses when the bill comes in for the weird, ridiculously expensive kodona clothes.

“So tell me again, Al, what exactly is the plan?” The bus ride is hardly smooth as they exit the highway and travel up the old mountain pass. America gives a long suffering sigh as once again he explains. In his mind it’s pretty straightforward but for some reason Canada just doesn’t see the brilliance yet.
“It’s a piece of cake, Mattie. First we change into these clothes here,” he shakes one of the large bags at his feet, “’Cause they’re seriously a pedo’s wet dream.” Canada ticks off yet another number in his “how many times Al says ‘pedo’” count. “And then we wait outside the dining hall for him to finish playing doctor with the fucking children of the corn.” He leans in with a naughty smile lowering his voice dramatically as if the elderly Japanese couple up front might steal his idea.

“But it’s no just gonna be any fight. You know those backyard catfights I got on DVD? It’ll so be like that. All, ‘bitch he’s mine’ and ripping each other clothes off and shit.”
“Al, you better not pull my hair or-”
“No, no. The point is to get all sweaty and half naked. Pedobrows comes out three sheets to the wind and that’s when we pounce.” Canada is still trying to figure out where the diabolical part comes in as America continues. “Y’know like ‘Oh daddy let’s go back to the room.’ Betcha dollars to donuts he’s playing grab ass before we even get to the elevator.” He claps his hands together rather fiendishly. “Dude, when we get back to the room we’ll fuck that bastard like he’s never been fucked before!”

Canada blinks a few times and then just sort of stares at him for awhile his expression completely blank.
“So… let me get this straight,” he says at last giving America the benefit of the doubt. “The plan… the brilliant “revenge on England” plan… is to seduce him, and then ride his dick til his eyes roll back into his head?” America’s bright expression doesn’t falter in the slightest as he claps Canada on the back enthusiastically.
“Bingo!”
“Ohyeahthat’llshowhim,” he mutters under his breath.

“You’re not seeing the bigger picture, Mattie,” America says his smile turning to a wicked smirk. “Just think about it. You’re a dirty old pedo who’s finally getting the hot underaged ass you’ve been dreaming about for centuries. You’re ‘pissed out of your head’ like they say, and your wrinkled little dick is up some hot American ass.” Canada raised an eyebrow in disbelief at the somewhat ludicrous picture his brother was painting. His look became far more interested however, when America looked quickly left and right before scooting over on the large seat and slowly drawing forth the snow white parchment from seemingly out of nowhere. The treaties that only their kind can use and bring forth almost always guarantee that the agreed upon terms will come true in some way or another. All they have to do is give their seal; right palm to the page. Canada feels a thrill as understanding finally dawns. Oh, Al, you’re a genius.

“You know what this is, bro,” America trills as he draws a finger across the page, a faint glow of golden script appearing as he moves it. “This is our chance to get everything he’s been cockblocking us for the last few years. Remember those Iroquois passports he refused to accept? Hell even we made an exception and you know how paranoid my government is. He still hasn’t done shit about them, has he?” He draws that in and Canada is almost thrumming now with anticipation. They've both been hammering their governments to work with them on that and this would be a huge step.
“Remember when you asked him for Turks and Cacaos?” And as America continues to add one concession after another, far from stupid, the idea begins to take on a sort of malevolent brilliance. Canada laughs softly as the bus continues its bumpy trip and draws on his a few more things he wouldn’t mind seeing from the former British Empire. Pressing their palms to the treay one after the other, both twins smile at the Canadian and American flags which glow faintly on the page. Two down, one to go.


Notes:

kodona is the male equivalent of gothic lolita clothing.

The Iroquois passports America refers to revolves around an incident in 2009 and this year as well where the Iroquois National Lacrosse team was barred from entering Britain using passports issued by their nation because of security issues insisting they get either "legitimate" US or Canadian ones. This has been hotly disputed because it's seen as an affront to their identity.

Turks and Cacaos are a British overseas territory notable in this fic because Canada has at a few points considered annexing them as part of Canada because so many Canadians vacation there.

Another brief note, there are a few things in his fic part of my own little headcannon such as the treaties drawn up by nations that are only between nations.

Thanks everyone for reading!