World Conference

"Shut up, you frog! How'd you end up here in the first place!"

"Excusez-moi, Germany put me in this car."

"Germany, you wanker!"

"Just shut up!"

Somehow... Somehow, in a way that Canada didn't know, he'd ended up in Germany's car as they all went to the World Conference. He didn't know how he'd ended up smushed against the window, with France next to him and England on the other side of France. Germany was driving, naturally, and Canada couldn't figure out why France and England had been put in the same car. It was a disaster waiting to happen. And with little Italy in the front seat, it wasn't as if things were going to calm down anytime soon.

"Germany! Look!"

Canada didn't really know how he'd ended up here.

Wait. Yes, he did. He was invisible.

He'd snuck into the car because there was the empty seat, and he was almost wishing that he would have gone with America, Japan, Greece, and China. But America drove funny, so Canada opted out. He hadn't felt wonderful before they left and the almost constant arguing didn't help his headache.

Now, he was subjected to the endless bickering of the rival countries. Even when Germany yelled at them to stop, silence would descend for a few moments before Italy would make a comment on a passing object, and the cacophony would begin anew. He should have just stayed home.

Oh, maple.

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When Canada opened his eyes again, it was quiet. He had fallen asleep with his head slumped against the window. Now, his glasses were slightly stuck to his face and, as he lifted his head, he fixed them from their askewed state. The bickering had left the vehicle, but there was a sense of tension in the air so thick that it could have been cut with a knife. Canada looked towards France and England; the latter was staring out his respective window while France was looking from window to window every so often. It was then that Canada realized that the car wasn't moving.

He looked out his own window, finding that there was thick string of traffic on either side of them keeping them pinned. He would have asked what had happened, but, chances were, they wouldn't have heard him anyway. He slumped his head back against the window, sighing quietly. His pounding headache hadn't been eased and the cool window calmed the raging, if only for a moment.

To his side, France shifted.

"Excusez-moi, but could you open your door, Angleterre?"

"What for, frog."

At least they weren't arguing.

"Pourquoi?" France repeated, sounding incredulous. "I have to take a leak."

"You wanker, we're up to our bumpers in traffic! What the bloody hell are you gonna do?" England shot back, voice growing irate.

"Nature calls when She does."

"There is no way in Hell that I am opening this door for you! You can piss yourself for all I care, you stupid Frenchman!"

"Surely, Angleterre, you must have to go as well. With all that degradable tea you drink in one sitting..."

"I most certainly do not!"

Canada felt his cheeks flushing as he listened to them, never moving. Why were they even discussing this?

"You two..." came the warning growl from the front seat, a sure sign that Germany was in an even fouler mood than before.

"Oui, mon ami?"

"Shut up."

"It is not my fault that this bastard is being the usual disgusting person he always is."

"How is it 'disgusting'?"

"Now!"

Both fell silent at Germany's command, France sighing softly at Canada's side. Canada mimicked the action, letting his eyes close. He felt chilly, even though the heat was on in the car. And he rarely felt chilly, because he was Canadian. He was used to long sleeves, hoodies, snow, and frigid temperatures. But even as he thought that, he shivered.

"Mon ami?"

No one responded to France's voice, but Canada was hardly concerned at this point. Maybe the less talking there was, the more likely he could fall asleep again.

"Mathieu?"

He jumped, raising his head again to look towards France. Did he just really...?

"Are you feeling alright, mon ami?"

Canada found it hard to believe that France was talking to him. So, he mouthed "Me?" in return.

"Oui, you. I don't believe anyone else in this car is named Mathieu, non?"

So, he really was. He had noticed him. France had really noticed his lowly, boring, invisible self.

"Mathieu?"

"Eh? Oh no, France, I'm okay." He offered a weak smile.

"Really? Because you look quite pale."

Canada looked towards his reflection in the window. He did not look well, but there was no need to bring unwanted attention to himself. "I'm really-" A warm hand was suddenly pressed against his forehead and Canada froze, bright crimson flooding into his cheeks.

"Eh bien... You're very warm. Take off your hoodie."

"Francis!"

"You disgusting wanker!"

"Comment? Mathieu has a fever."

"U-Um, France, I'm okay," he squeaked, still almost at a loss for words.

"Non, you're sick. Your body is too hot." Those words coming from France had a double-meaning, and Canada wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Oi! If he doesn't want to take it off, leave him alone!" England snapped.

"But, I'm cold..." Canada muttered under his breath.

"Oui. All the more proof that you are sick, all the more reason to take off your sweatshirt!"

Sighing in defeat, Canada pushed his way out of the little corner of the car that he occupied, pulling his sweatshirt off. A new rush of cold air hit him instantaneously, causing his shivering to redouble.

"Très bien. Now, roll down the window."

"Are you kidding me? It's almost snowing outside and you want to open the window!" England hissed.

France only sighed. "C'est des conneries."

"What? What are you saying?"

"You two! Stop talking right now!" Even Italy flinched at Germany's blatant order. "Canada, the most I can say for you is go back to sleep. We'll pick up some medicine for you when we get there. Now everyone just shut up so Canada can sleep."

There was something underlying there, that made Canada wonder if Germany really had his best intentions at heart.

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When Canada awoke again, the first thing he became aware of was that he was no longer in the car. He was stretched out on something soft and warm, and upon opening his eyes, found it was a bed. But it wasn't his bed, so where was he?

"Ah, mon petit Mathieu! You are awake!"

The memories of the car ride, of England and France, and being absolutely frigid and somehow falling asleep all came rushing back to him. Those were memories he probably would have been better off not remembering, even if they were unimportant.

"U-Um... Where are we, France?"

"Someplace, Dubai, I think. You are feeling better, non?"

So, the World Conference wasn't over yet. Canada wondered briefly if it had even begun. He supposed it didn't matter in any case. "Yeah..."

"C'est magnifique! You did have me worried for a short time there."

"W-Why was that?"

"You were asleep. And you wouldn't wake up. The Conference is half over."

"Half over?"

"Oui. Trois heures."

"I've... really been asleep that long?" Canada rubbed at his eyes sleepily, sitting up. The world swayed sickeningly for a moment and he clutched tightly at the blankets. Next thing he knew, there was a hand on his shoulder keeping him steady, and Canada looked up at the blonde Frenchman with an awkward smile. "I'm okay now, France..." How did he handle this? He wasn't used to all of the attention.

"Don't worry about the Conference, Mathieu. Angleterre has been taking notes, non? I'm sure you can borrow them."

"I wasn't too worried... actually..." he muttered in return, stiffening a bit when the Frenchman crawled into the bed. "U-Um, F-France... François..." he murmured. "Qu'est-ce que tu fais...?"

"I'm not worried about the meeting either."

"Oh..."

Canada was pulled back into France's arms just then, a small yelp escaping his lips. It didn't hurt- he was just surprised.

"You've cooled down a bit. Maybe it was a temporary bug, non? I would suggest going back to sleep, though."

How can I sleep in this awkward position? Canada wanted to say, but France wasn't such a bad pillow. And he was warm, oh, so warm. How could he argue with that? He relaxed, somewhat, back against France's chest. It occured to him that he couldn't have moved anyway; France's arms were restraints as much as they were comforts.

Canada was drifting again, and that annoyed him a bit since he'd only woken up. Through the fog that was seeping into his vision and the haze covering his brain, he thought he heard France's voice again, although he wasn't too sure of the words. It sounded like three simple words that he knew too well, but, no... He really must have heard him wrong as he was falling asleep.

"Dors, mon amour..."


Translation notes:

Excusez-moi = Excuse me

Angleterre = England

Pourquoi? = Why?

Oui = Yes

Mon ami = My friend

Mathieu = (French equivalent to) Matthew

Non = No

Eh bien = Oh, well... (Kind of the equivalent to "Um...")

Comment? = What?

Très bien = Very good

C'est des conneries = This is bullshit

Mon petit = My little

C'est magnifique = That's magnificent

Trois heures = Three hours

François = (French equivalent to) Francis

Qu'est-ce que tu fais...? = What are you doing...?

Dors, mon amour = Sleep, my love (If this isn't correct, tell me. I'm not sure if it's correct o-o)


Author Notes:

I fail to see if I have them in character the first time I try out new characters, so someone enlighten me if I wrote them well enough.

I can't find decent stories where Francis and Matthew are just starting out. Most of the stories are like -kisskisssmoochsmoochI'malreadyinlovewithyou- and I don't like it... So, I tried something subtle.

Francis is being not so Francis-y because he cares about Matthew.

Matthew is just like ":O Someone talked to me!"

Cute fluff ensues.

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