Disclaimer: I don't own anything involving Hetalia, nor do I own the Thunderbird. Enjoy.



"What the bloody hell happened to you two?!"

America and Canada shared a knowing Look as England fretted over their ruined car, America's head injury and their incredibly nonchalant attitudes about the situation.

"You two go gallivanting out into the woods for the weekend and get yourselves caught up in the bloody storm of the century!" the Briton exclaimed, his face turning a strange shade of purple with what they could only assume was worry. "And then, instead of doing something sensible and waiting until you could call for help, you try driving back in that bloody rain and flip your blasted car! You're lucky you didn't crack your skulls open!"

"Hey," America said, pointing to his bandaged-wrapped forehead. "A little close for comfort there, Iggy."

England sputtered at that, his mouth snapping closed so quickly that his teeth clattered together. He was so busy trying to come up with an excuse for his careless words that he didn't notice the odd way America's consonants slid from one to the other like the rustling wind. It was an accent he had not carried since he was a child, when he was first learning to speak English. It was an ancient accent that belonged to ancient words and sounded strange on the modern syllables of his imported tongue.

France was taking the whole thing much better than his old rival. As England ranted, raved and fussed, he had busied himself by making sure that the twins were, indeed, all in one piece and not in need of drastic measures. America, of course, would need a stop by the hospital and a few stitches to make sure his wound healed properly, but he had a hard head and was bound to be fine.

At the moment, the Frenchman's attention was on the younger twin, and it was not a gaze of concern. Rather, he seemed curious, scrutinizing, leaning close to examine Canada's face in a way that very nearly violated his personal space.

"Mathieu," he said slowly, running a finger through the mud that painted his former colony's cheek. "What is this you have tied in your hair?"

Canada glanced at the two feathers – gifts from Liberty and her mate, Freedom – that America had weaved into his hair. From there his gaze drifted up, to the make-shift nest on the low tree branch where they had laid the fish. They had salvaged the offering from the wreckage and cooked it over a campfire while waiting for their former guardians to find their location. Both twins could still taste the old words of the ancient song they had sung together clinging to their tongues like cobwebs brushed from their long-hidden memories.

It had been a long time since they'd paid tribute to their 'ancestors' – to the native tribes that had come before, the ones who had protected and cared for them when their European guardians returned across the sea – but they had not forgotten the words.

France watched them very carefully, one thin eyebrow quirking up towards his hairline. "Just what were you boys doing out here, anyway?"

As one, the twins shrugged. "Just getting back to our roots."

Somewhere high above, an eagle let out a mighty caw.