There were only a handful of times in Canada's relatively short life (compared to the other nations at least) where he could honestly and without embarrassment say he was shit-your-pants scared.
The first was when he was but a little colony, and America (of course) decided it would be a super cool idea to go down Niagara Falls in an old pickle barrel England had brought over on his last visit. Needless to say, he limped away with a mild concussion, a broken arm, a fractured shin, and a soiled pair of trousers.
The next was sometime not long after WWII had ended. England had mistaken him for America (of course), and accidentally let loose his arsenal of Halloween thrills and chills on him rather than his brother. Now-a-days Canada stayed as far away from those two come October as nationally possible.
The next notable incident was the morning after a Christmas party some time in the early 80's. It involved way too much wine, a conveniently placed mistletoe, a Santa hat and Prussia.
He didn't want to think about that one.
The most recent was this past winter's hockey game between he and America. Not that he wasn't completely confident that he could win of course, but damnit, that had come a little too close for comfort. At least he could pretty confidently say that America's pants suffered a similar fate.
Yes, just a hand-full of times when Canada was shit-your-pants scared.
This was quickly becoming one of those times.
"WHY ARE YOU IN MY ROOM?" The heavily accented voice of Belarus cut through the nation's skin, causing them to recoil behind one another. America somehow found himself at the front of the pack, and after a fearful glance at the cowering nations behind him, he slowly turned to Belarus and smiled weakly.
"So this is your room, huh?" He gulped. "I like your curtains."
The light flashed dangerously off of her knife as she leaned forward. "You have three seconds to tell me why you are in my room."
"Um…well, funny story, that. See, we were at this bar and-"
America paled, obviously having no idea what she had just said, but assuming it was some kind of number due to context. He quickly jumped to the back of the pack, sending Canada (of fucking course) to the front.
"Uh…" He mumbled intelligently.
Belarus had now slipped from the bed, and was slowly creeping closer to the small group of nations, the knife continuing to glint treacherously in the light from the hallway. "два."
"Fucking eh, guys! Help me out here!" He shrieked.
"Belarus? Is something the matter little sister? I heard a sound." Aaand cue the mentally unstable Russian. Canada fought the urge to bend over and kiss his ass goodbye. From the corner of his eye, Belarus instantly perked.
"Big Brother!" She cooed, clasping her hands together adoringly. "In here! America and his stupid lackeys are trying to take advantage of me!"
America popped out of the cluster long enough to shoot her a shocked glare. "Dude! What the fuck? Don't pin this all on me!"
"And we are certainly not this moron's lackeys, thank you very much!" England snapped. Their protests were easily ignored as heavy footsteps in the hallway made their way closer and Belarus shot each of them a rather intimidating smirk.
"Russia will destroy you."
On cue, America leapt from the pack and pumped his fist into the air. "Well! This has certainly been fun!" He grinned, extending his hand for a firm handshake with the leering girl. "We'll have to do it again sometime. Don't call us, we'll call you, hasta la vista and all that jazz…Ready guys? …Guys?"
Canada blinked and glanced behind him. Sure enough, England and France were nowhere to be found. With a gulp, he turned back o America.
Or, he would have, had America not been currently screaming and running from the room. Fucking asshole.
Belarus turned her attention (and knife, he noted) back to him.
Luckily, Russia took this opportunity to peak his head into the room (and Canada briefly considered how screwed up his life was when Russia appearing was considered lucky), instantly gaining the girl's attention.
"Big brother!" She cried, dropping the knife and leaping into his arms. "They were after me, but you came to my rescue!" Her nails began digging harder and harder into his arms as her grip on him began to tighten. "I am eternally grateful, I pledge myself to you forever."
"T-that's unnecessary, Belarus…" Russia stuttered, trying and failing to pry himself from her grasp. "I just heard some noises and I wanted to check them out. It really, really was not that big of a deal…"
"Oh, but it was," she hissed. "And the only way to fully show my appreciation is to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me…marry me…marry me…marry meee…"
The color drained from Russia's face as he began to forcefully attempt to push Belarus away. "No Belarus! It wasn't! это пиздец! Get away! GET AWAY!"
Canada managed to sneak from the room amongst the screams of terror, giving the poor man a silent salute because, well…goddamn.
He thought he had family issues.
And he was quickly reminded that he did once he made his way outside and France and America were giggling, hovered over something pink and frilly.
"Bro! Bro, look at what I snagged before I got out of there!"
Canada crossed his arms and pursed his lips. "Why did you guys just leave me in there? Do you have any idea what I just saw?"
America ignored him. "Dude, look! I snuck into Russia's room on my way out and took these!" He wiggled the pink, frilly panties in Canada's face as France continued to giggle. "Can you believe he wears girl's underwear? You were totally right by the way, it was in the top drawer."
"How do you know those aren't Ukraine's?" Canada asked, retching and pushing the offending item away.
America rolled his eyes. "Duh, the room was, like, radiating vodka, sunflowers and torment. There was a guillotine next to the closet. Estonia was bound and gagged on the bed. Unless Ukraine is somehow hiding a side to her I sure as hell have never seen, I think I'm good."
"That's weird…." Ukraine mumbled, a perplexed crease on her forehead as she dug through her delicates. "I could have sworn those panties were right here."
Canada sighed. "Fine, fine. Let's just grab England and get out of here." France and America ceased their chuckles to quickly shoot each other worried glances. Canada narrowed his eyes threateningly. "Guys…Where is England?"
"He was here," America murmured, and France took advantage of his distracted state to stuff the panties in his coat pocket. "And then he mumbled something about the fires of Mordor and took off somewhere."
"Fires of Mor-what?"
France shrugged and shook his head. "He was like a man possessed, mon ami. He attacked that shrub." Canada sent a pitying look at the unfortunate foliage. "You would think the near death experience would have sobered him, non?"
America ran a hand through his hair. "Avada Kedavraed the thing to high hell and took off down the road. It was hilarious, actually."
"And a bit, how you say, freaky."
"Oh yeah, totally freaky."
"Yeah, definitely arous-wait! No!"
"Hon hon hon!"
Canada rolled his eyes. "Come on guys, enough. We have to go find England before he gets himself into some kind of-"
"You gotta be shitting me."
England, completely naked with a mailbox slung casually over his shoulder, came strutting down the street, a devious little smile gracing his lips. "What's with all the clothes?" He asked easily. "Are we gettin' naked or not?"
"Oh my god, England! What the hell?"
"Wot? Wasn't this the blasted plan in the first place?" He placed a hand on his hip. "Don't tell me you're all chickening out now."
America stomped forward, clenching his fists. "Heroes are never chicken!" He stepped back and cocked his head to the side. "But seriously, what's with the mailbox?"
"Jesus, dude! That's stealing!"
"Oi! If they wanted the bloody thing so bad they shouldn't have left it by the street."
"That's where you put mailboxes!"
Canada put his head into his hands with an agonized sigh. France smiled in sympathy and placed a comforting hand on the younger nation's shoulder. "He will snap out of pirate mode soon, mon ami. Do not let him get to you." Canada smiled weakly.
"Yeah, but what comes after pirate mode?"
"…Let your brother be the one to worry about that."
Within a moment of arriving back in Washington DC, in what could only be described as complete utter chaos, Canada found himself following behind a trio of once again drunk ("Damnit England! Where the hell do you keep pulling these bottles from?"), naked nations running amok through a small neighborhood of moderately sized houses.
"For the love of-stop stealing mailboxes, England! They belong there!" Canada cried, watching helplessly as England laughed maniacally, running down the street with a mailbox held triumphantly above his head. "America, do something!"
His only answer was a giggle as America was far too preoccupied with the automatic sprinklers in one of the mailbox-less yards to pay him any sort of attention. And he would have asked France to help, but the man was currently doing very…inappropriate things to a streetlight and Canada had given up trying to get him to stop after the sixth time his ass had been fondled.
You know what?
And as England literally came crawling back to America, sobbing about how cute he used to be and "just say England like you used to one more time, please!" that Canada picked up one of the fallen bottles of hard liquor (seriously where was England keeping these things?) and took a long, well disserved, burning swig.
Which, of course, was precisely when the police showed up.
Of fucking course.
"And there you have it!" Canada exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. "They handcuffed us, stuffed us in the back of a police car, drove us to the station, preformed an extremely uncomfortable cavity search despite the fact that I wasn't even naked, and here we are! Satisfied?"
The group blinked at the panting, flustered Canada owlishly, finally breaking their perplexed gawk as America laughed loudly.
"Oh Canada, you and your imagination!"
England nodded. "There was no reason to make up such a preposterous story, lad."
"Oui," France agreed with a shrug, "If you wanted a little attention all you had to do was ask." He winked.
Canada's jaw dropped. He turned to the president desperately, begging the man with big violet-blue eyes to just please, please believe him. The president simply shook his head tiredly, checked his watch and stood up.
"Well, it's four-thirty in the morning, and that is about as accurate as we're going to get, so let's just get you boys out of here, you can stay at my place." He motioned to the guards who unlocked the cell with a clank. "I need some fucking sleep," he mumbled, dragging his feet to retrieve the nation's belongings.
"About bloody time, if I had to stay here one more moment, I would have-Oi! Get your hands off my arse, you twat!"
"I will admit I will miss this view, Angleterre."
"I don't know about you guys, but I could sure so for some grub right now. What do you say boss? Stop by Mickey D's on the way back?"
"I hate all of you."
Prussia grinned as the president, America, France, England and still pouting Canada walked by. "Right! So, the awesome me will just chill here and wait for you guys to tell someone to bail me out! Haha! Sure is gonna be better with all of you guys gone. That's right, I sure do love being alone! Haha…ha…"
The guard sent him an amused glance. Prussia pouted, plopping himself on the bench with a huff.
"Oh, shut up."
This chapter would have been up a long time ago if it wasn't for the fact that it came at, like, the worst possible time ever. Between cross country, internships, it being my senior year of college, a spontaneous visit from my boyfriend, my trip back home for the next weekend, midterms, papers, interviews, etc. This would have been golden.
Buut, I got it up somehow! And while that may be the end of the FACE (+President) shenanigans, we get to learn about how little Prussia got himself put in jail next time! Yay! Hopefully life will slow the fuck down so I'll get it up soon. :|
Have a good day!