A/N This is *the cruddiest* chapter I've ever written and, from all of your perspectives it's nearly two months late. For me this is one week less late. The thing is I forgot to mention that I was going to be changing my schedule to every other week to manage school work. Also more importantly I write this on a Google Document that was previously accessible from my school chromebook (because I don't have other computers except the family one) but my school blocked all usage of other accounts so I can't really write in anymore.
...jokes on them though I transferred the google document to my school account. Now they can't escape from my RoChu angst and RusAme hentai bait! Obviously that's a joke but it is on my school account now.
Another thing, I rewrote some of my plan because I added some ✨things✨ to the AU. A/N over.
Cuba put down the flower he had been rolling over between his fingers, looking up at Canada and squinting at his face.
A few months had passed since Canada had been in Russia and there was still that curious gleam in his eyes. Cuba got along with Russia very well, even if the man who represented the country was more than a little mentaly off. He certainly knew how Canada felt about the newer editions to the city, it was both impressive and inspiring.
Canada seemed to notice Cuba staring for the first time and smiled awkwardly, "you know, it's okay that you punched me, I know that I look rather like my brother..."
Cuba bit his lip, he had nearly forgotten about that. He had come to Canada's house, it was still quite cold to him even though it was summer in the northern nation. Even though he had shown up to Canada's house he had immediately punched the blond out of reflex, thinking of course that he was his younger and way more annoying brother America.
Canada laughed, the awkwardness in his voice more intense, "Seriously, it's fine," his voice was quiet but audible over the sound of the heater running in a back room. (He had turned it on so that Cuba wouldn't, in his words, 'freeze to death'.)
It was true, Cuba hated the cold (it wasn't like it didn't get cold in his own country, he just hated the low temperatures). Warmth meant more travelers and more money and more money meant he could become more powerful and more independent. It was what all of them wanted really (or at least what he hoped everyone wanted because he didn't want to be going about becoming powerful the wrong way.)
Power was a touchy subject in their friendship.
It didn't matter how overwhelming and overbearing America was because if you dug just the tiniest bit deeper Canada was right there, a stunning 'zero wars lost' at his right and a right to use weapons on his left. Cuba wasn't... forgotten. He wasn't weak, that was for certain (in fact he had relatively won in his last little spat with the American) but he was still clearly, uncomfortably, far behind.
Thoughts strayed as he noticed that Canada was fidgeting again, he reached forward and brushed a stray hair out of his friend's pale face. Canada looked up, a small and inquisitive smile teasing his lips. At the questioning expression Cuba laughed softly, distantly sadly even, "it was in your face, did I disrupt you?"
Canada shook his head the quiet smile on his face now a much clearer (yet still soft) expression, "I was spacing out, I don't mind if you move annoying strips of hair out of my face Carlos,"
He wasn't taken about by the use of his name, in fact it was appreciated. Instead he closed his eyes, rubbing the stray curls of black hair that stuck out from the back of his neck, "except that curl, right?"
It was Mathew's turn to laugh, now nearly crossing his eyes to glance up at his hair curl. If he had been trying to hide his amusement the strand would have betrayed him as it uncurled very slightly into a looser curl, a sure sign of comfort. Instead he smiled, looking forward again with that odd and hopeful glint still gleaming in his eyes, "Except the curl,"
"Of course Mathwew," Cuba twirled a stray hair before snapping it off at the base, hoping to stop further fidgeting. Canada only just masked a giggle at the way his accent curved around the word, almost enunciating it. It wasn't funny really, just unexpected due to their very sparse use of the names that typically wouldn't be shared around. They were, after all, a very main tie to humanity in many of their people's minds. (This was, of course, because it made them more like the non-representation population, which must have been comforting to them, no matter how small the similarity.)
Cuba rolled the flower between his fingertips again before placing it on the counter, leaning against the air that backed the stool he was perched on with a yawn. Seeming surprised and fittingly worried Canada blinked, sitting up straighter, "are you tired? Should I leave you to go take a nap?"
No matter how nice a nap sounded, Cuba wanted to keep talking to his friend. Plus, he wasn't even that tired. A little jet lag wasn't much, he had endured much worse in the past. Still it was kind of the Canadian to offer him such a thing. (Though wasn't all of what the Canadian did kind?)
"I'm fine," Cuba smiled, patting Canada's hand when the blond pouted, "Seriously."
The North American blew air out of his nose, the sound coming slightly from the left in Cuba's mind. (Perhaps he was tired if he was hearing such odd specifics.) "If you say so," Canada chewed his lip thoughtfully, "if- if you are sure you aren't tired then stay here, but please don't push yourself if you want to sleep..."
"You are too caring," Cuba muttered, the tone of his voice dangerously sad, "someday someone will take advantage of that part of you,"
"Someday," Canada echoed, his words sounding forlorn and yet full of light, "though I do this because it keeps me safe,"
Cuba raised an eyebrow, not minding as his friend slid off of his chair, quickly running over to the other side of the island counter, "it keeps you safe?"
"Yes, of course it does-" Canada laughed, cutting his own statement off with a quick 'do you want some juice or something? I have water and tea too' to which Cuba gestured vaguely to the coffee machine, "it's kept me alive so far,"
His hands flew over the buttons and functions of the small machine, pausing in his speech to focus on the movement. When he was finished he turned back to his dark-haired friend, smiling sadly, "when people can't be trusted you force them to trust you. Past a mutual trust that is all you can do, right?"
Cuba nodded, cheek rested on his hand, "True, and I suppose it's worked for you?"
"If you could not dying yet as 'working' it has," Canada laughed, the tittering sound seeming out of place in their so-suddenly-sad conversation. His feet paced closer, the rubber bottoms of his converse sneakers squeaking against the (apparently) freshly cleaned floor. Cuba's head followed, neither of them speaking out of politeness.
When he was around the counter once more Canada plopped down onto his stool again, the unpleasant noise it may have made quickly covered up by more words, "even if I regret betrayal-" he sighed here, before continuing, sounding almost unrealistically poetic, "-as we resort to in the most dangerous of times- if it means living another day to be truly kind to someone, no matter how little they remember me, I think it's worth it,"
Cuba blinked with a certain agreement, the gentle hum of the coffee maker making up for his inicial silence, "A lot of words to convey the idea that being nice to people is more important than human ties,"
Canada laughed- really, truly laughed, "Well," he stuttered on air, "the two kind of go hand in hand, and being nice to people is human ties-"
Shaking his head with bemusement Cuba half-laughed-half-whispered, "You know I know that Mathew,"
"Of course," Canada smiled.
Their silence next wasn't a bother. It wasn't like there were no noises, it wasn't like they were without each other, without a friend. The coffee trickled into the cup, giving off a pungent smell that was always vaguely reminiscent of the morning time. The clinking of someone's windchimes outside, the ever present ticking of an off-time digital clock, the gentle humming of a load of laundry in the washing machine.
It was pleasant here.
It wasn't home, but it was pleasant. Homey in a way that one's own house could never seem. The way a grandmother's wallpaper felt after it faded, the brownish-oranges of carved analog clocks that had stopped decades before. A comfort that he wished he could find in his own bustling, energized, and yet constantly fearful, nation.
Friendship.
That was the word. Not allies... not comrades... not any of that. Just friends who cared for one another. The purest type of love, even beyond siblings. Just strangers who met in some forgotten past place that just got each other. No romantic attraction, just care.
Cuba felt at home here.
Softly, though louder than the sound itself, the whirring and dripping of the coffee came to a stop. Cuba watched as Canada stood calmly, though not careful, not poised as they were meant to be in dangerous times, not as they were thought to be due to their political existences.
There was a calm in his eyes now, almost like he didn't need the crushing (though welcome) hope for a new era, a better future. All he needed was the reassurance of safety. Cuba didn't even have to wonder to know that what they all needed was this. Calm. An era of calm, that was what he hoped for, even if he still fought for power.
Canada flipped the plastic covering of the machine off, peeking inside to see if there was still water. Then, just as robotically, he closed it once more, seeming to be satisfied with the amount of liquid inside. Looking back at his friend, the pale Canadian smiled, his eyes now lighting up with happiness, "I'll get you your drink, eh?"
Before Cuba knew it they were two hours in the future, laughing and talking in their respective loud (and in Canada's case still rather quiet) voices.
"...you know, I think I trust you more than I could ever trust my family," Canada was laughing, hand swirling a cup of orange juice around near the counter's edge, "though I guess that's not a surprise to you, considering your relations with Alfred..."
Cuba laughed, not even minding the reference to the other blond, "trust me friend, I trust you more than the American, or the Brit- if you are considered family?"
Canada shrugged and downed a swig of his drink, "It's complicated," he clacked the plastic cup back onto the table, "we aren't family in the way people are, but it's certainly not devoid of that type of love,"
"Brotherly love?"
"Nah," Canada shook his head laughing, "not brotherly, more like... ah, how do you say it, 'I took care of you for a long time'? Something like that?"
Cuba waved his hand in a jokingly dismissive way, "whatever, I still trust you more than him, him and his magic..."
Canada smirked before, raising his hand to his mouth and letting a gentle yawn escape through his fingers, when he put his hand down again the smirk was still there, "Magic? I thought you could teleport!"
"Hey!" Cuba exclaimed with a laugh, "Not much! He can, you know," his hands waved in big circles as if trying to draw the words he was saying. "Demons and things, it's freaking creepy!"
Canada nearly snorted into his drink, which he had picked up again in an attempt to calmly drink the rest, "Do you often see this, I don't see you around him much, do all of you people with magic meet up on Wednesdays to compare your powers?"
"Nah," Cuba shook his head, leaning his elbows against the cold counter-top, "but we totally should, I don't think anyone else can outright teleport, though I doubt Japan could easily show his powers..."
Blinking, Canada showed genuine interest and partal confusion, "Japan? What can he do?"
"Clairvoyance is kinda his thing," Cuba rolled his eyes, earring a soft 'oh you' from his friend at the sarcastic nature of his actions, "I would think you would know that?'
"I don't really talk to him much, and never about magic," Canada explained, taking only a moment to hold back a teasing giggle before he continued, "anyone else I wouldn't think about?"
"Plenty," Cuba spread his arms wide enough to lay against the counter, clunking the rubber heel of his shoe against the leg of his chair, "I- uh, you know about Moldova and Romania right?"
"That much I do know," Canada rolled his eyes and rested his cheek on his right forearm (which was now layed out on the cold counter-top), "Mind if you give me something more inconspicuous than actual vampires?"
Holding back his own soft giggle, Cuba thought a little bit harder, "how about Russia or Belerus? Did you know they could talk to ghosts?"
"I didn't," Canada shivered, "though it certainly explains some things about Russia that I have been wondering for years..."
"Well, it's mostly Belerus who does it, Russia's always focused on other things or too unfocused to pay attention to their voices,"
Remembering what Belerus was like, Canada shivered, understanding some things about the younger angry silver-blond as well. "That makes sense, but do you have anyone else? Anyone who makes less sense?"
Cuba thought for a moment, rubbing his stubbly chin with the back of his hand, "...Well," he finally started, "not less sense because of historical ties but I've heard that China's pretty good at potions,"
For a second it felt like Canada's heart had stopped beating in his chest.
So, even without knowing about his group's investigation, Cuba thought it possible that China (at least at some point) knew some basic magic. He was so terrified he almost didn't hear Cuba's next sentence.
"...but I've never seen any physical proof, and you know that proof is pretty important when determining something quite as vague as 'having magic'..."
Maybe the sentence continued, maybe it didn't. Whatever the case it didn't matter as Canada cut his friend off, trying (and succeeding) to not sound rude with the intrusion, "What potions do you think he could make?"
Clearly not minding the interruption, Cuba shrugged, seemingly having not noticed Canada's specific interest, "I'm not sure, but I'd assume some sort of healing, as that is what ties that type of magic to history after all,"
"Healing..." Canada echoed.
Did... did that count as healing? I hardly could, right?
"..though I might be wrong," Cuba was continuing, "I've never seen it before, so I wouldn't know for sure, though my second guess would be some sort of transformation potion, kinda like the one's fantasy witches use to make themselves look younger,"
Despite, or maybe because of, his slight panic and now jumbled thoughts Canada managed to smile at this, "Are you accusing China of making himself look younger using magic?"
His mind was racing, searching for possible answers, possible paths to take. In the background he heard Cuba laughing, denying that any such accusation was in place, that he just meant that-
"...functions can be changed," Cuba was laughing, "I mean, it's been documented before, you can even see it in some magical creatures like vampires and werewolves. The human body isn't bonded to what it was originally created as if you mess around with it, especially with magic,"
Functions could be changed.
Functions could be changed.
"Uh," Canada pretended to be innocently confused even though he felt like his heart was beating at twice the speed of light, "what do you mean by that?"
Cuba blinked, "Did I mix around words?" He blushed, his accent becoming the slightest, smallest detectable bit thicker with embarrassment, "I do that sometimes when I'm excited..."
"A-ah, no, no I'm just being..." Canada circled a finger around his ear, calling himself crazy instead of stupid, "I just didn't-"
"Understand?" Cuba looked relieved but tried to hide it behind a mask of sarcastic, pouty, annoyance. His expression flipped around into a friendly smile once more, "I just mean that with the right factors it's not that hard to change things about a human body, especially if it's as fleeting and oddly put together as ours,"
Canada nodded, he knew what the Cuban meant. Their bodies were recognizably human. They had all the features, all the odd limbs and quirks, bone and muscle, all of that. Still, it was not secret that their bodies could heal at a rate that humans could not. Wounds hurt still, even death, if one of them was unlucky enough to briefly experience it, still hurt. The difference was that because a physical death did not stop their actual lives (even if it cut in a brief pause where they did not experience life) their bodies would heal any wounds, no matter how serious.
Their forms were always changing, always shifting as old scars forced themselves to disappear. It was completely within the realm of possibility that something as powerful as magic could force their human features to change, internal or external.
"Interesting," the Canadian managed to choke out, his odd speech causing his friend to look worried.
"Oh," Cuba tittered, leaning forward and placing a hand on Canada's shoulder as if to steady him, "I should have warned you about 'body horror' shouldn't I?"
Canada stuttered into speech, happy but surprised by the amount of worry Cuba had in his eyes, "I-I- yes, I, um, I guess so,"
Before the Cuban could apologize Canada held up his hand, "It's fine Carlos, I just, you know, it's..." It was surprisingly difficult to lie about being afraid of things like this as he knew it was truly a serious problem for some people. Still, Cuba interpreted the embarrassed worry in his eyes as partially suppressed fear.
"I won't talk about that any more, okay?" His voice was thick and soothing and as much as Canada wanted to beg him to speak more he knew that he couldn't. He couldn't for the sake of keeping the act up.
So instead all he could do was swallow driely, "oh... I... okay,"
A/N This wasn't a very good chapter, I couldn't really focus and all the descriptions are a bit... uh... overbearing. I listened to the HTTYD 1 soundtrack while writing this, I wonder if you could tell.
....oOH MY GOD SEASON SeVEn- aAAAAa (I even made an animation meme to celebrate!) AAAAAA A/N over.