When the world comes crashing down {WIP} |COUNTRY HUMANS|

Canada.

DISCLAIMER. THIS IS NOT A REAL HISTORICAL EVENT, MOST OF THEM AREN'T BUT LET'S PRETEND. I DON'T WANT PEOPLE LOOKING FOR WHEN A CANADIAN AND A RUSSIAN BURNT DOWN AN AMERICAN TOWN-

"Darling, are you alright?" England rested her hand on her grandson's head. Her smile was innocent, yet she had the air of someone who was ready to kill. She picked up small strands of his brown, highlighted orange hair, admiring its silky properties. A greed bubbled in her stomach for money as she thought of how she could sell it, a habit gained through the growth of her colonies but she stopped herself as she knew he was already hers. The sun rested and glistened on her crown, and reflected its light into her right eye. She looked to the priest, Vatican City. He spoke every word with such passion as he continued with the mass. She grasped her grandson's chin gently, and turned his head to look at her. His blue eyes soaked in the light, just like her own. Australia didn't attend mass, he was of the opinion that religion was stupid. His father hit him, as that bratty, ungrateful child deserved. Her sweet New Zealand was out with her allies, so there was her cute, innocent Canada left. She accepted all religions, and was the first country to do so, but she wanted Canada to understand her favoured one. He stood silently, lifting himself from the kneeling position at his grandmother's feet to look down at her.

"Can I spend the night with you?" England nodded, pressing a finger to her thin lips and tip toeing from the mass, before fixing his cross necklace when they reached the cold marble steps leading to the cathedral. They walked home through cobblestone and concrete streets, gas lamps flickering and emitting gas as they walked through a cold night in 1862. England walked with small, precise steps, while Canada took long strides, both keeping up with each other. England opened the door where they saw Ireland, Scotland and Wales sitting on plush chairs as they discussed current politics. England tucked her green velvet dress under herself as she sat and joined into the conversation, while Canada went upstairs and changed from his religious garments to his normal clothes. He kept the cross on, and tucked it under his white shirt. "Grandma, I'm going out to... hunt. Is that alright?"

"Of course, be quick." He left in his flannel shirt and jeans and made his way through leafy paths on the forest floor, what was left of the sun and moonlight seeped through the thick growth of green leaves above his head, guiding the way to exactly what he wanted to see. A small bead of sweat trickled down his forehead as he crept up behind the small child and raised his axe. He was ready to strike when he heard a sound further away. He turned his head in the direction of the source and dropped his weapon to the side of the child, where it ran away, scared. He scoffed, and walked away swiftly, bumping into Russia.

"Woah, calm down. What is your name?" His accent thick and hard for Canada to decipher, yet he still managed to respond.

"Canada, you're Russia, yes?" He asked nervously.

"Hmph, one of Britain's children." He said with a smirk.

"Have you heard of me?" He replied like he had practiced for hours.

"Who hasn't. You're hunting bears?" Russia's smirk grew as his eyes twinkled in the shadows of the trees.

"You could say that." Russia moved out of the dark. His icy-blonde hair, fair skin and cold blue eyes pierced Canada's vision in contrast to their dark surroundings, but he stayed still. He noticed blood on his gloved hands, and winter coat. His face was only inches from his own, his eyes studying and scanning Canada before moving backwards.

"So am I. Hunting bears. It helps clear my mind."

"Yeah, I only hunt American bears." Russia got the code, and guided him through the thick foliage into a clearing, where the moon was visibly resting in the sky now.