The Hetalia Global Warming Crisis; Get Out Alive

Arc #1: The Game

01—Matthew Williams

Clear, cold early morning sunshine filtered through the dark curtains and dimly lighted the room as the digital alarm clock rang with loud, repetitive short beeps. A groan of protest rose from the lump under the thick, winter blanket. The young man rolled over, throwing the blanket off as he reached towards his nightstand and smacked the off button hard. He lay in bed, relishing the glorious warmth of pleasure that rests in one's barely conscious mind at waking hours. Then he grudgingly pushed his long, brown hair from his face with one hand, reaching to the nightstand with the other to grab his glasses. After inspecting the clear lenses, the man propped himself up on his pillow with his elbows and pushed his glasses into place on the bridge of his nose.

Looking over to the wall on his right he spotted the calendar and sighed. It was the second Monday in October; Thanksgiving Day for Canadians. But the poor young man had to work, while others had the pleasure of sleeping in on a Monday.

He had to go to the world conference today.

Of course, the other countries wouldn't care about his holiday. They wouldn't even notice him. He was Canada, after all. Why would they need to notice him? Not for the first time he silently brooded over the fact that his brother got to celebrate his Thanksgiving, but not Canada. Huh. Go figure.

Matthew swung his legs over the side of his bed and inserted his feet into his furry house slippers. He yawned, rubbing the back of his neck as he got out of bed, trying to straighten out his bright red-and-white pyjamas, made cozy especially for the freezing, Canadian winters. The young country headed downstairs into the kitchen, eyes crusted, hair rumpled.

A polar bear was already waiting, sitting at the table, the lights in the dining room blinding the half-asleep country. Making his way blindly from the kitchen to the dining room, Matthew stood in the threshold between the two connected rooms, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses and blinking blearily at the polar bear.

"'Morning, Kumajiro..." Matthew mumbled. "It's quite cold today, eh?"

"Who're you?" queried the polar bear in a high, inquisitive voice.

Matthew sighed and made his way to the table. "I'm Canada, your owner."

"Kanata?" Kumajiro pressed innocently, "as in the word for village?"

The young man chuckled softly to himself as memories from his childhood came back to him. Ah, yes. It was France who found him; who named him. Matthew felt proud of his background.

He sat down in the chair closest to his friend. There were six chairs in all, for his family, if they ever did visit. But presently Canada and Kumajiro kept each other quite company. A plate of hot pancakes sat between the two accompanied by a mug of hot chocolate, but Matthew could see that Kumajiro had been eating only the maple syrup by the amount of it on his paws and face. Hoping it wasn't empty; the country reached for the bottle and poured the remainder of the sweet, sticky contents onto his breakfast.

Matthew ate ravenously, and then sipped up the quickly cooling drink. Wiping his mouth with a sleeve, he stood up and shoved his dirty dishes to Kumajiro.

"Could you clean this up?" Matthew asked gently, and then pointed at the white bear's syrup-coated fur. "And clean your fur up too. I don't want you looking like that at the conference."

Without waiting to see if the bear had moved, Matthew turned and ran up the stairs back to his bed room. Then, after quickly washing up and combing his long hair, the young man dressed neatly, looking in the mirror to make any necessary adjustments. Turning, he passed his closet on the way to the door, grabbing his light-brown fur coat and pulling it on without stopping. He snuggled against the warm, white fur lining and smoothed the brown leather exterior while stepping lightly down the stairs. Adjusting the buttons and the straps, Matthew paused in front of a storage cabinet in the main hallway by the main door. He pulled out a pair of brown mittens and heavy, winter boots. After pulling those on, he straightened and called for Kumajiro. Then he froze.

Mounted on the wall above the cabinet was a gleaming, unstrung maple wood bow, polished to a gleaming perfection. The strings were lying rejected on the cabinet and the arrow-filled quiver leaned forgotten against the cabinet's side. Matthew had bought the bow just to look cool and stand out, but found it pretty useless otherwise. He practiced rarely—but even so his aim was always on-target—and had kept it for display. Since he was going to a world conference, why not take the bow with him? Somebody might even notice him! Or so he hoped.

Kumajiro had appeared behind him and watched as the young country carefully lifted the bow and sheathed it in a flashy red-and-white cloth before swinging it over his shoulder. The quiver he hesitantly but confidently strapped securely to his back so that the arrow shafts protruded over his right shoulder, ready to be drawn in an instant. Out of impulse more than of need, Matthew finally gathered the strings—one main string and two spares—onto his mittens and shoved them deep into his coat pocket. He turned to his patient polar bear friend and smiled warmly.

"Are you ready to go, Kumajiro?" Canada whispered.

"Who are you?"

Matthew ignored the repetitive question and swung open the front door, Kumajiro right behind.

Cold, crisp Canadian air hit his nose and he breathed deeply, relishing the musky scents of dying leaves and the sharp scent of frost. He closed the door and locked it, then strayed slowly away from the driveway of his mansion and into the forest, looking around and taking his time, enjoying the sight of the colourful trees around his lonely house. The wind rippled through the forest, making deep green fir trees sway, blue-green pines shiver, and light green spruce trees wave. The other trees whispered to each other quietly, much like Canada's light, whispery voice. There was bright orange oak, pale yellow birch, golden-yellow yew, roan red sassafras, browning silver maple, and, of course, rich red sugar maple.

After spending a half-hour crunching through the dead leaves, Canada returned to his driveway and got into his car. Kumajiro hopped in after him and scrambled over him and into the passenger seat. Matthew backed out of the driveway and headed for the border between his territory and America's. He wasn't looking forward to the (most likely chaotic) meeting, but he was sure eager to see his older brother again.


Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya

Roughly based on HetaOni, although the plot is very different, with Canada as the main character.

I know this is a short introduction and a quite boring one, but it will get better I promise.

Can anyone guess which song inspired me to create this? (LOL COOKIE FOR YOU IF YOU CAN GUESS!)

Please review! And I've got twenty-two more chapters ready and waiting to be posted if I feel like it! XD