It was a brisk September day, with a wind designed to cut to the bone. Gold and red leaves danced in the crown of the trees and not a cloud darkened the day. A young Canada sat at the window reading a book; every now and then he glanced out the window. It was a habit he had picked up over the seven long, lonely years that France had gone to war. He wasn't expecting to see France coming up the road, but he always hoped. He had received letters, but nothing was as good as having France home again.

Canada had grown in the time that France was gone; he would be turning fourteen soon, almost a man. He had learned a few languages and taught himself to read. There were many other things that he had learned to do, but Canada was still a reclusive child, about the only person he associated with was that loud, rude boy next door. Although most of those encounters were often initiated by America.

Canada pushed his glasses up onto his nose as he returned to his book. The book was a history book that France had left him; oh how he missed the flower language. He had tried speaking French to America, but the other boy laughed at him and called him a sissy. Canada sighed and looked out the window again. He was really distracted today. Then he noticed something that caused his heart to race.

There was a figure on the horizon. Canada sat his book down and was outside the door before his brain had even recognized the vague shape of the Frenchman. It was France. It had to be. Canada jumped off the porch and ran as fast as he could toward his older brother.

Except it wasn't just his older brother, England was there too. Canada came to a screeching halt and almost tripped over himself in confusion. It appeared as if England was dragging France to the house. France himself had obviously been roughed up; his uniform, which he took such good care of, was wrinkled, dirty, and even ripped in a few places; his left eye was so swollen that it made it almost impossible to see the eye; and he was bleeding in a few places.

"France!" Canada yelled and ran to take the nation away from England. "What happened? Are you alright?" The moment felt surreal to Canada, even as he laid hands on France. This wasn't supposed to be his return. He was supposed to return at the crack of dawn, sauntering down the road with a seductive smile, boasting of how wonderful he was for beating the pulp out of England.

France smiled pathetically at Canada as he was taken into the boy's arms. "I have missed you," he said in the flowery language that Canada had so longed to hear. It almost brought the young nation to tears.

"I've missed you too," he replied automatically as he pulled his jacket off. It took him a few tries before he was able to rip off a few strips, and he instantly turned to binding up France's wounds. "What happened to you?"

"You're adorable as always," France chuckled. "The best brother a nation could ask for."

"It's not funny," Canada protested. "You're hurt." France put his hand behind Canada's head and pulled him close to his chest and wrapped his other arm about him. Canada muttered weak protests, but couldn't find the will to push the older nation away.

"You don't have to worry about me," France said. "It's nothing that will kill me." Then he kissed the top of Canada's head. Canada wasn't certain, but he thought he felt tears drop onto his hair.

"Hurry up you bloody wanker," England interrupted. The sudden change in languages being spoken was jarring to poor Canada.

"Show some respect English bastard," France shot back. "He'll be yours in a few moments; don't ruin the time I have left." Canada pushed away from France, eyes wide in confused horror.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, not really sure if he wanted to hear the answer, eyes shifting from one nation to the other. England seemed indifferent to whatever was going on; France, on the other hand, had traces of tears in his eyes. "This has something to do with the war doesn't it?" A look of shame crossed France's eyes, and Canada's heart froze in his chest. "No," he whispered.

"I lost," France said in his native language. "I'm sorry. I did my best, I just wasn't strong enough."

"What I'm sure that French dog is trying to tell you is that he is no longer your guardian and you'll have to come live with me from now on," England said bluntly. The world collapsed in on Canada, and the chilled air turned to ice in his lungs.

It wasn't possible, it couldn't be. This was some kind of sick joke that the older nations were playing. He did not wait for seven years for France to return home just to be ripped away from him. It wasn't fair and just couldn't be true.

But the look on France's face said otherwise.

"No," Canada whispered; his voice shaking. He grabbed France's shoulders, as if to gain some form of control over the situation. "No France, tell me it's a lie, tell me it's a trick. But don't tell me that this is the end. I don't want to say goodbye, I don't want you to go. You can't leave me, not now, not ever." The further along Canada got the more frantic he became, voice constantly cracking and almost in full out tears by the time he was done. France's face darkened as his head sunk towards his chest.

"I did the best I could," France mumbled, as if that could change anything.

At this moment England, who decided that the two nations had been given enough time to say their goodbyes, grabbed Canada by the arm and dragged the boy southward. Canada struggled with all of his might against the older European nation. But it was in vain.

"France!" Canada screamed. "Please don't let him take me! I don't want to leave you! Please, France! Don't you want me to stay with you, forever by your side? Fight for me!" Then the tears swallowed Canada's ability speak.

France sat unmoving from where Canada had left him and a lone tear ran down his cheek. "I can't."

Time for the disclaimer: Characters not mine, situation inspired by the French-Indian war (Seven year war). Oddly enough this fic was not inspired by a picture like my other two, I got the idea for this story while working on my last story. I have plans for making this longer than a one shot and America will be making an appearance next chapter. Reviews are always enjoyed and will inspire me to write faster. (I wish I could have written the exchange between Canada and France in French, but the only foreign language I know is German. So please forgive me on this fact.