Second Hand

By; Chibi Ra Chan

Chapter Four

Rating; K+

"It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons."

-Johann Schiller

Sweden was a quiet man by nature, but that didn't mean he did not have ideas and wants. He was every bit astute as the other nations, probably more so in fact. He saw the neon green sign hanging haphazardly in the hotel lobby and he had been curious to see what it was about.

It was a tiny would be nation, Sealand, who was auctioning himself off. There was something very sad about the situation and after some intense thought Berwald decided to place a bid.

It wasn't much at all, in fact he could afford it with his own personal money, but that wasn't his reasoning. Things between him and Finland had been dull as off late. Maybe having something, or someone rather, to bring hem together would help it.

The large Nordic nation says nothing about this to his quote on quote wife though, he decides to wait until it was certain. So silently he waits as the days of the auction slip away like grains of sand in an hourglass.

Then a week before the auction is to end there is another bidder.

Berwald isn't sure how to take this, who else would be interested in a tiny, speck on the map, island?

He is fully prepared to make another bid, but surprisingly enough it is Tino who inadvertently stops him when they are making dinner.

"-So I heard this interesting story today. Apparently France has taken a liking to England's little brother, you know the one that sits outsides the meeting all the time?" Sweden pauses in chopping the vegetables for a moment, silently telling the shorter man that he is listening.

"Rumor has it that the kid put himself up for auction. Isn't that odd? Anyways Francis put in a bid for the boy, Sealand I think his name is. Isn't that sweet? "

Berwald send him a look that was only translatable as 'Are you crazy?' by centuries of familiarity. Finland laughs and it makes the once Vikings cheeks bleed red. He quickly returns to his chopping.

"You weren't there for when England and France found baby America. He loves children, it's always made him more reasonable to deal with." He shrugs and places four plates on the table; one for both of them and for Latvia and Estonia as well. "Besides can you imagine how lonely life must be with no one around for more then a few nights? We're lucky we have Eduard and Ravis, but poor Francis has no one."

"Mmmmph, I see."

Sweden smiles inwardly. Tino was right, they still had Estonia and Latvia to look after; Denmark as well, despite the fact that he was grown that man always go himself into trouble. They still had a family.

He decides that he doesn't need anymore than that, and lets Francis have the winning bid. Everyone deserved to be a least a bit as happy as they were after all.

Peter doesn't have very much to bring with him.

He has two small suitcases; one filled with his clothing his usual outfit, socks, underwear, his favorite pair of pajamas, his sole pair of dress pants and the various hats he's collected over the years.

The second suitcase isn't very full; but it contains the few things that made England's house feel slightly like home; a couple of drawings he had placed on the refrigerator, the yellow embroidered blanket that Arthur had made for him when he was five, a few knick-knacks and his laptop.

Sealand thought it sad that his entire life could fit into these small boxes.

The morning is like any other though, mute sunlight streams into the flat as Peter quietly walks down the stairs. He is careful to skip the third step from the bottom because it is squeaky and waking up his brother was the last thing he needed right now.

He sets his suitcases by the door and roams the house for what maybe the last time. He had never particularly liked the house he and Arthur shared, it was old and got horrible wifi, but it was the only home he had ever known.

Suddenly, he felt bad about leaving it. 'This makes no sense.' he tells himself, 'I hate it here, I can't wait to leave. So why do I feel so sad?'

He walks into the kitchen, lost in thought, when a slight cough jolts him from his reverie. 'Crap! Stupid England is awake.'

Said stupid Englishmen looks at him suspiciously from over his cup of tea. "What are you doing up so early?"

Peter's heart races. He hasn't told Arthur about the adoption, he didn't want him to somehow stop it before it was completely official. And if he knew his older brother as well as he thought he did, he would never let him go if he told him now. Especially not to France of all places.

So he blinks and wills himself to speak. "Nothing. I'm going out." It's not exactly a lie, but it isn't the truth either.

Arthur gives him an odd look, as if he isn't sure what to say to him.

The pair of brothers, so alike yet so utterly different, simply stare at each other, mint green meeting cerulean blue. The elder of the two opens his mouth and Sealand can practically hear him asking 'Where? How long? With who?'

And in truth he almost wants him to ask.

For the longest time that was all the small island nation wanted, for his brother to notice him, to care about him. He could live if the rest of the world didn't acknowledge him, he just wanted one person to want him.

Northern Cypress had Turkey, Wy had Australia, even shy Seborga had the Italy brothers.

And he has no one.

Not here anyways because instead of asking, England's mouth snaps shut and he nods briskly. "Don't make a mess and expect me to pick it up." He mutters irritably and turns back to his newspaper.

Sealand clenches his jaw. 'He'll never change, we'll never see eye to eye. But that's fine, I'll change. I'll find my own family, one without jerk England.' he reassures himself as he leaves the kitchen, dons his light blue jacket and opens the front door, suitcases in hand.

"Bye Arthur." he whispers dejectedly to the large, yet empty, living room before stepping out and shutting the door for the last time.

Arthur hears the door quiet shut with a barely audible klink and cradles his head in his hands, a loud sigh escaping his lips.

He had wanted to ask him where he was going, to make sure he wasn't doing anything unsafe, to protect him. Even if they didn't get a long he was still his little brother. He never wished for anything to happen to the brat.

Yet he couldn't say it.

He couldn't bring himself to call out for the child and he doesn't know why. It pains him to no end that he can't talk to this tiny little scrap of land. He can't keep putting it off like this. Peter was behaving weirder as each day passed. The odd exchange between them on the ride home last month was still fresh in his mind.

Sealand wasn't happy. And neither was England for that matter.

'I'll ask when he gets home.' He thinks to himself with resolve. 'I'll ask him about where he was when he comes home.'

He really would have this time.

The week left since his bid goes by faster than Francis would like them too.

Despite the pep-talk from his best friends (and kinda from Lovino) he is still nervous about the entire ordeal. Chiefly what Arthur would do when he found out.

The blonde man cringes and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

Somehow he didn't think that his almost-lover-almost-enemy would be very happy with him; about this. If Francis knew Arthur as well as he thought he did then the British man would take him buying Peter as a stab at him. He would see it as him ripping his only baby brother from his arms, even if he didn't particularly like Sealand in the first place.

This could possibly ruin their almost civil relationship, but the deed was done, the euros were spent and all that was left was too pick up his newly acquired 'son'.

"Stop shuffling like that, you look like you have to piss." Prussia says brashly while adjusting his sunglasses. The white haired man didn't seem to care that they were inside a train terminal in Paris on a cloudy day and there was absolutely no need for the eyewear.

"Classy as always Gil." Spain sighs.

"You know it." He replies obviously not catching the sarcasm in the Spaniards' voice. "So when's the brat supposed to show up?"

"Don't call him a brat. Anyway his train should be pulling in any moment now." France intones absently. He is still thinking about the various way that Arthur could murder him for this.

Antonio watches as the Frenchmen fiddles with the black scarf wrapped around his neck and he hears the telltale tapping of his foot against the marble floor of the train station. He knows that despite his assurances that he was fine and that he was ready, he was a nervous wreck.

In a comforting way Spain smiles and takes his friends hand in his own. "It'll be fine. Don't be so nervous." France squeezes his hand tightly.

"I can't help it. It has been a long time and Arthur will….." He trails off and looks at the terminal gate, not really seeing anything.

"Pfft, Arty will get over it, from what you've told us, he barely remembers the kid is there. Hell, I didn't even know he existed until last month." Gilbert chimes in. He too can tell that France was super bummed about how Mr. caterpillar eyebrows would take this. "Dude, get it together. You wanna wear my bad ass shades, will that make you feel better?" The white haired man asks in an odd gesture of kindness.

France doesn't respond, but his foot tapping has gotten louder and more panicked.

"Train 37B Route 4, Shuttle Anglais to Paris has docked. Please allow time for passengers to disembark. Train 37B Route 4, Shu-" the intercom blares loudly overhead.

Numbly the blonde nation pulls the paper with Sealand's train information out of his pocket.

Train 37B

Route 4

From English Shuttle Station to Paris

Estimated time of arrival: 1:17 pm

The other two members of the so called 'Bad Touch Trio' looked nervously at each other when France's eye began to twitch.

"Do you think he's okay?" Spain asks cautiously, watching his friends have a mild panic attack.

Prussia shakes his head and whispers back. "Nah, just look at him; he's clearly trippin balls."

"What should we do?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"You really aren't helping Gilbert."

"Oh yeah, cuz you're doing so much."

"I am trying to be comforting!"

France breaks their argument by abruptly turning to face them. "I can't do this." He says gravely and makes a run for the exit of the train station.

Antonio and Gilbert immediately grab his arms, stopping his would be fleeing.

"Francis, querido, you can't run away."

"Not running, it's a tactical retreat mon cher."

"But Piedro is on his way right now!"

"I've reconsidered. I'm too old for this. I can't deal with another child right now, I can barely deal with myself."

Prussia has had enough of this. If there is one thing that the white haired man can not stand, it is cowardice.

He steels his stance and takes both of France's shoulders holding him steady. "Jesus Francis, this is why everyone thinks the French are pansies! France stills his squirming for a moment. "You need to calm your ass down, the brat is almost here."

Once again, Francis's navy blue eyes panic and he makes another run for the door, but Gilbert will have none of that. So he slaps him.

"Ow!"

"Get a hold of yourself man! Look you're responsible for this kid now. It is going to be hard. You're going to have to stop being so sleazy and selfish. Which just may kill you. I'm not going to lie, it's going to suck, trust me. But you've got me and you have Spain, and we'll be there to make sure you don't screw this kid up beyond repair. Alright?"

The blond nation nods a bit shakily. And looks toward Spain. Said nation smiles widely and places a hand on his shoulder. "Between the three of us, we've raised more kids than anyone since Tio Roma. We'll be fine."

"Mon amis…" France intones, a tear forming in his eye. He slings his arms around each of their necks. "I don't know what I would do without out you two." And the statement is truly heartfelt.

"Man hug?" Prussia asks.

"Man hug." The blond and brunette reply instantly.

If Romano were here, he would roll his eyes at the sight of them; standing in the middle of a train terminal crying and engaging in what Prussia had so elegantly called a 'man hug'.

"I'm almost afraid to ask which one of you adopted me." Comes a small, sarcastic voice behind them.

There stands Sealand, in a light blue peacoat, a sailors hat trying in vain to contain his wild sandy blonde hair and two small brown suitcases clutched in his hands.

France smiles and turns around, before kneeling at the child's height. "That would be me Souris."

The simply stare at keep other for a tense moment. Child and adult, once empire and tiniest of nations, suddenly family members. It is a lot for both to take in.

Tentatively, France reaches out and readjusts the hat on the child's head. Sealand eyes him skittishly, but does not turn him away.

The little boy, no older than eleven reminds him so much of Arthur at this age that it is almost painful. 'But a little pain is good non?' he thinks to himself while smiling lightly. 'If only to remind us that good things can still happen.' Adjusting finished, France's fingers stay splayed in his hair running circles in a comforting manner.

"I have adopted you." He mummers the obvious. "That makes us family now."

The word 'family' seems to create mixed feelings in the boy as his eyes brighten up, but his muscles tense nervously. "I guess so. Does that mean I have to call you dad?"

France grins and laughs heartily. "Not if you don't want to. But your elder siblings still do sometimes."

"Yeah right. England would sooner play the banjo before calling you dad. Do you know how weird that sound by the way, because you guys are all touchy feely with each other?"

"The kids' got you there Franny!" Prussia cackles somewhere behind him.

"Not Angleterre. Although I will have you know that on more than one occasion Arthur has called me that-" Peter sticks out his tongue in revulsion. "But that is neither here nor there. I was talking about your other siblings."

The young island gives him a blank look.

"Have you really not met the others? America, Canada, Australia?"

"I've seen Alfred once." He says with a shrug and Francis is reminded that the only memories he had of America were of Arthur passing him over for the American. He truly didn't have anyone!

"That will not do! I will make sure you meet them, as well as your new big sisters as well."

"Really?" Peter tries his hardest to keep a smile from forming on his lips, but it is in vain. He had always wanted siblings, but he had never thought to consider England's other once colonies as people who would want to be around him. The thought of suddenly having a large family made his head spin.

France's heart melts a bit as he watches the smile work it's way onto the irritable child's face. So much so that he can not stop himself from hugging the boy. "Hey! What are you doing?" Sealand squeaks. His cheeks bleed red as the Frenchmen envelops his completely in his arms.

Francis can't help but cry a bit, his earlier worries completely forgotten now that the boy was actually here. His heart nearly flies when after a fair amount of struggling Peter's own tiny arms wrap round him as well. "D-don't cry stupid." he mutters weakly.

"I'm very happy you are here Peter." Francis whispers into the child's hair soothingly. "So very, very happy."

He almost swears that he hears a 'Me too.' in the middle of Sealand's barely contained hiccups and tiny fingers knot in the fabric of his shirt.

It is a beautiful moment, the beginning of a strange new chapter in both nation's lives.

"Isn't that sweet Gilbert?" Antonio sighs contentedly at the sight in front of him.

Gilbert shrugs, but he is grinning slightly. "Yeah, yeah it's cute. Whatever. Can we go? I'm hungry."

Spain elbows his white haired friend in the ribs good naturedly. "You mean you miss Hungary don't you Gil?"

The one nation laughs nervously, the sound is loud and nasally. "W-what? That's stupid I don't miss that violent chick at all. Wha-why would you say that?"

By this time, Francis and Peter are paused in their hug and are now watching Gilbert trying to convince them, and himself most likely, that he didn't have a crush on Elizaveta.

It is Antonio's turn to grin. "Prussia and Hungary sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…"

"Shut the hell up! I'll murder your face for saying that!" the German's face is redder than any of them have ever seen it.

Sealand tilts his head to the side and looks seriously at France. "They're not living with us, are they?"

"Non, they are not."

"Thank god."

"Well, they are your unofficial uncles now." France says thoughtfully.

Peter cringes. "Do they have to be?"

The Frenchmen laughs and stands. He picks up both of Peter's suitcases with ease. "Yes. They are my best friends, you'll get used to them and their fighting. They're idiots, but they are my idiots. Our idiots really."

"I was afraid of that."

"Shall we go home." He hold out his hand and surprisingly enough Sealand takes it.

"Yeah, lets go. Maybe we can ditch tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum on the way."

Spain stops calling Prussia a 'stuck up albino cupcake head' in order to giggle. "Aw~! Isn't he cute/ He's just like Romanito at that age!"

Gilbert too stops trying to give the Spaniard a noogie in order to retort. "Take that back you brat! You have to address me as 'The great and awesome uncle Gilbert!"

"Fat chance of that happening old man. I don't take orders from cupcake heads!" He taunts back, easily slipping into this strange family of sorts.

"Cupcake head! Who are you calling a cupcake head brat? Wait, what the hell does that even mean?"

France smiles, because Sealand is laughing and for the first time in years they are both truly happy.

Notes;

I can not believe how long this took me to write. I think I just forgot about it for six months. My deepest apologies for the super long wait. There is only a little bit more serious stuff, before it's back to being 95% lulz. Thanks so much for reading!

Forever and Eternally,

-Ra