A/N - Just a quick note: there is some French dialogue in this fic, but a very basic knowledge of French should be enough to get you through. A link to a completely English version of this fic is available on my profile.

"Look at him!"

Matthew pauses as he walks past the tiny room Arthur is staying in. The voice is familiar, but Matthew can't imagine what its owner is doing here.

"He's here of his own free will," Arthur replies, his voice low. "As his boss has assured mine multiple times."

"But that's not true," the other person hisses, angry. "You still have power over him, even if you say he's independent. He's in this war because of you, you fool."

"The only Canadians here are volunteers," Arthur says, his voice clipped.

There's a crash and Matthew is pretty sure the small table in Arthur's room has just been thrown against the wall. Arthur lets out a startled shout, but Matthew is straining to hear the other man's words.

"You know as well as I do that he can't possibly let his men come here without him. He had no choice. This is our war, Arthur, not his."

There are a few moments of silence, during which Matthew imagines the two nations to be glaring at each other. Then there is an impatient sigh and the sound of footsteps. Matthew is too shocked to do anything other than stare at the door as the doorknob turns.

"This isn't over," Francis says over his shoulder as he flings the door open. He takes a step into the hall and sees Matthew. A look of surprise crosses his face, quickly replaced by an old and bitter smile that Matthew had wished he would never see again.

"F-France …" Matthew whispers, unsure what else to say.

Francis's smile grows in its bitterness. "T'as déjà oublié mon nom, Mathieu?"

Matthew is in the process of stuttering an apology when France cups his face in his hands and forces him to look up.

"Tu es encore si jeune, Mathieu ... Je regrette que je ne puisse jamais te protèger comme il faut." Francis places a gentle kiss on Matthew's forehead before walking off down the hall.

Matthew watches him go, old feelings stirring within him as he tries to figure out what just happened. He looks into the room and sees Arthur staring at him, an immeasurably weary look on his face.

Matthew turns and runs down the hall, his hands wiping away the tears that mirrored the ones in Francis's eyes.

Matthew is still Arthur's, just as Canada is still England's. The majority of his people swear loyalty to the English crown, just as Matthew himself swears loyalty to Arthur.

He's no America, and he knows. America is much more ambitious, much more sure of whom he is. Matthew is just another one of England's shadows, unrecognized by the others unless they were specifically reminded. He has no voice on the international stage.

Mais tu es canadien, pas brittanique, mon cher.

America refuses to join the war.

After his first battle, Matthew happens to be pacing in his room when Arthur finds him. There's a hard look in Arthur's eyes, and Matthew feels young and foolish and inexperienced.

England clasps him on the shoulder and says grimly, "Welcome to war, my boy."

Matthew doesn't ask if some of England's bruises and cuts are from France in retaliation for sending him to war.

Matthew watches as France's men fall and die, an invisible enemy creeping around them until they are surrounded and their bodies are being eaten away. Soldiers are scrambling out of the trenches in a desperate attempt to escape the gas, only to be shot down by German fire. The few survivors flee, screaming as death nips at their heels.

His heart beats a little faster in terror as he realizes it's up to him and his men now to plug the gap that France's men have left behind. His grip tightens on the gun as he wonders how to fight this new enemy, so potent that even the Germans seem hesitant to exploit the gap.

"Sir," someone gasps behind him, and it takes him a few moments before he figures out that it's him who's being addressed.

"Yes?" Matthew turns and sees some of his soldiers clutching cloths to their faces. Others are apparently in the process of urinating onto their own makeshift masks and it takes Matthew another few seconds to understand what he's seeing.

"Piss seems to make the gas useless," the man offers helpfully.

Matthew's about to groan, but something clicks as he looks at the determined and frightened faces around him. If these men are willing to fight to the death for England, why shouldn't he be willing to do the same?

He uses a handkerchief Arthur had given him and holds back a strangled laugh at what he would think if he could see him now.

"Matthew."

Matthew starts at the light touch on his soldier and spins around quickly, his hand flying to his bayonet. He sees Arthur standing there, an indecipherable look on his face, with his hand still up.

"Sorry," Matthew mumbles, dropping his gun.

"No," Arthur replies, his voice heavy with something that sounds almost like regret, but he doesn't say anything else. Matthew doesn't expect him to.

They stand there in silence, the muted voices of Canadian soldiers all around them. Matthew begins to wonder what exactly it is that England wants. Matthew has his own men to take care of; most of the soldiers are wounded from the gas or German fire and morale needs raising after the second gas attack and their failure to hold the line. There's one commander, Currie, who needs a pat on the back for his leadership during the battle.

Matthew is so tired.

Arthur clears his throat, his voice tight. "France has been asking for you."

Matthew frowns. For Arthur to be passing on the message that Francis wanted to see him, there had to have been some sort of …

And he remembers men as they fall, acid burning them from inside out.

Matthew takes off running, leaving Arthur's startled shout behind him.

"France," Matthew says tearfully as he approaches Francis. He's lying on a cot, bandages wrapped all around his head. Matthew barely sees the other injured soldiers around him as he makes his way to his former guardian.

"Papa," he whispers, taking Francis's bandaged hand carefully. Francis stirs slightly and mumbles something in quick French.

"Francis," Arthur grunts impatiently from behind Matthew. "He's here. Don't waste our time …" But he trails off and Matthew can tell that he's worried, even though he's trying to hide it.

"His eyes …" This body, hastily wrapped in bandages, doesn't seem like Francis. Doesn't seem like France, who used to be an empire and so, so big. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Of course he'll be okay," Arthur snaps, pacing behind Matthew. "It takes more than this to kill one of us, even a nation as pathetic as France."

"Mathieu," Francis mutters.

Matthew squeezes the hand in his gently. "France."

"François," Francis corrects him. He squeezes back feebly and Matthew doesn't try holding back the tears of relief.

"Je suis ici," Matthew reassures him. "Je serais toujours ici quand tu m'as besoin."

"Mathieu … Je ne peux pas voir ton visage, Mathieu."

Matthew fights back a sob. "Je suis ici, François." He lifts Francis's hand in his own and presses it against his cheek. Francis moves his hand to cradle Matthew's face and Matthew leans into it, finding comfort in the warmth.

"Comment aimes-tu la guerre?" Francis's lips quirk upwards into a bitter smile.

Matthew doesn't answer.

France whispers, "I wished you would never have to see war."

Matthew wonders why he spoke in English when Arthur lets out a displeased hiss behind him.

"There are only volunteers here," Matthew says hastily, before Arthur can do anything unwelcome in the field hospital.

Francis keeps the smile on his face. Matthew and Arthur watch him as his breathing gets heavier and just when they think he has drifted off to sleep, he speaks again.

"Les amants, sont-ils des volontaires aussi?"

Matthew celebrates his birthday as Allied forces are massacred brutally. He wipes blood off of his face and charges into battle with his men again and again at England's insistence.

Arthur doesn't remember his birthday, and France is busy at Verdun.

Matthew is covered in red and as he leaps over fallen soldiers, he thinks that at least he's being patriotic.

England is furious at the failure. He paces before Matthew, limping slightly; the two of them have been left alone for the moment. Matthew watches him wearily, his entire body aching with pain, and wonders how England still has the energy to move.

"This is simply unacceptable," England hisses, coming to a stop in front of Matthew. "How is it that while my men have failed in every possible aspect, the bloody French have surpassed expectations? He's the one who left this battle to fight elsewhere. This one is supposed to be mine."

Matthew closes his eyes as England keeps on yelling about the number of dead and the lack of proper equipment and how none of this was my fault and if we keep on trying, we'll make it and voluntary evacuation of the trenches? The enemy should have to carve his way over heaps of corpses …

Two pieces of mail arrive for Matthew nearly a month later. Both of them are dated July 1st, and Matthew knows that birthday cards are hardly a priority, so he doesn't complain.

He reads Alfred's first.

Hey Mattie,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I hope you're doing okay over there; I know war's a bit rough sometimes.

Stay strong, okay? I'll be waiting for you to come back. Maybe you'll even return a hero, like me!

Love,

Alfred

Matthew rips up Alfred's letter and burns it. His brother knows nothing of war or heroes.

Mathieu,

Bonne fête, mon cher. Je suis fier de toi. Tu as démontré que tu es puissant, même dans la guerre. Reste sain et sauf.

Je t'aime,

François

He keeps Francis's letter and tucks it away in his uniform.

England doesn't call on Matthew until a few months later. In the meantime, Matthew spends his time avoiding England and France, whenever he comes to visit and gloat about his successes.

He knows France is probably looking for him, but Matthew also knows that if he talks to France now, England will throw a fit and the two will be at each other's throats yet again, something that no one needs right now. Instead, he spends his time trying to clean himself of the blood and grime that is everywhere.

Matthew is keeping a grim vigil at England's bedside when France staggers into the hospital. France looks like he's been dragged through hell and back nine times. Matthew doubt he looks much better, but England has suffered the most out of the three of them. He had stayed standing until the very end, when he had finally collapsed from his wounds.

France closes the distance between them quickly and has his arms around Matthew before the latter can form any coherent thoughts and ask France how his own battle went. Matthew winces at the pressure on his wounds but soon relaxes into Francis's hold.

"Je pensais que je t'avais perdu." Francis's voice is warm against Matthew's ear, and he shivers.

"Jamais."

"Je n'étais pas là pour te protèger."

"C'est rien. Je n'avais pas besoin."

They stay like that, loosely intertwined, as memories of a simpler time and less painful embraces overflow.

"Get your filthy hands off of him," Arthur grumbles, having apparently woken up.

Matthew laughs and cries and holds Francis a little bit tighter.

Matthew trails grimly after Arthur, doing his best to look strong while really trying not to fall face first into the mud. They have just left a private meeting with Byng and Currie, and there's an unidentifiable feeling that's blossoming in Matthew's chest.

Currie had this gleam in his eye when they had been introduced. Matthew noticed the nearly imperceptible way he straightened up just a little more and the absentminded way he fiddled with the tiny pin of the Canadian flag on his uniform.

It takes a while for him to put a name to the feeling, but when he does -

Pride. He's proud of Currie, of his ideas and his successes, and perhaps more importantly, Currie is proud to meet him, proud to be Canadian. It means a lot to Matthew, much more than he would dare tell England.

Arthur's scowling fiercely now as he stomps off in search of someone that he needs to yell at. Matthew keeps quiet behind him but increases his pace a little until he's almost touching shoulders with England.

Matthew fights right along with his men, running through hastily dug tunnels to begin their assault as close as possible to the Germans. He watches as his comrades were struck down around him and winces in pain as bullets tear into him, but he swears to himself and his people that he will make all their sacrifices worth it.

Their plans unfold smoothly for the most part and the first three divisions are all successful by the end of the second day, and Matthew is left to fret and worry with the rest about the fourth division. He nearly runs off to go help, but then a message from England appears seemingly out of nowhere commanding him not to move.

Like a good colony, he obeys, and England fights with the fourth division instead.

About four days later, the unified four divisions of the Canadian Corps have secured Vimy Ridge and the feeling returns. That overwhelming feeling of accomplishment, of happiness, of success, of pride.

Later, amidst the ceremonies and the congratulations for Vimy, Canada holds his head a bit taller and shakes everyone's hands with a new confidence. For once, no one forgets who he is or doubts his right to be in the room with the rest of the nations and their bosses.

Matthew's boss promised no conscription, no forcing anyone to go to war for a country that isn't theirs.

Matthew listened to his speeches and declarations and was on his way to Europe with the first wave of volunteers, a little voice that sounded so much like Francis whispering in his mind even as he joked with the English Canadians about how they're going to send the Germans running back home with their tails between their legs.

Ce n'est pas notre guerre.

This is not our war.

It has been three years since the war started and Matthew's boss breaks his promise.

Matthew feels like he's being ripped apart.

The Entente are failing. England growls with frustration and is constantly irritable as failure after failure is presented to him. France's troops are falling apart. Russia is suffering from a civil war.

Canada has never been more tired or more cold as he lies alone at night, a sky full of nightmares whispering in his ear.

"Mon dieu." Francis stares at him in surprise. "C'est toi, Mathieu?"

Canada brushes a few stray strands of hair out of his eyes and gives Francis a once-over. He's no longer shocked by the brutal condition the nation is in, covered in bruises and blood and barely managing to stand.

"France. Je ne savais pas ... ton condition …" He mumbles weakly, at a lost for what to say. He's tired, so tired, and it feels like he's being torn in two by the parts of him that are French and English, Québec and the rest.

Francis shrugs with a lopsided smirk. "Je ne serai pas battu si facilement."

"J'essaie mon mieux pour t'aider,"Canada tells him, watching him for an answer.

"Non,"Francis smiles, a much softer, gentler one than usual. "T'es ici pour aider l'Angleterre; je le sais."

Canada scowls a little bit. He's more than just England's puppet to command, and he knows it now. Thousands of people have died, thousands of his people have died for him to realize this, but now that he knows, it's lodged firmly in his heart.

"No," he says forcefully, and Francis looks taken back. "I'm not his anymore."

"Mathieu …" Francis's voice trails off uncertainly. "Quand es-tu devenu si grand?"

"C'est la guerre," Canada replies with a harsh smile.

Francis looks like he's about to say something else, but Canada cuts him off.

"Je ne suis plus à toi non plus, France. Je suis le Canada."

Canada walks away.

America is joining the war.

Matthew pretends he doesn't see how Arthur's eyes light up despite his scowl when he hears Alfred is coming to the Western Front.

Canada gives a brief nod to a battered Australia as he takes over their position at Ypres. He sits with Currie and a few other men as they begin to discuss their plans for Passchendaele.

England promises support and advice. He reads Canada's plan and rejects it, emphasizing a need for a quicker attack. Canada grits his teeth and moves the attack ahead by a couple of days.

England leaves him to deal with the battle with a brief pat on the back and a distracted, "You're doing well, Matthew."

Canada's becoming numb to all the sounds and horrors of war and he's beginning to wonder if it will ever end. His men make good progress, they fight hard and with pride, and yet he's denied his victory as England and France both back out of the battle to send support to Italy instead.

Matthew doesn't go with Arthur to greet his brother when Alfred finally arrives, months after some of his troops.

Later, though, he's forced to watch as Francis and Arthur get drunk and start leaping up on tables, proclaiming that victory will soon come to the Allies. They go so far as to tearfully apologize to each other for past wrongs and promise a strong, unified attack on Germany.

Alfred comes up to him and grabs him in a hug, laughing cheerfully and tousling his hair.

Canada can't even find the strength to nod the next day as England tells him he's going to be spearheading the attacks.

Canada collapses on the ground at Mons upon hearing that the armistice has been declared. There are tears pouring down his face as he looks up at the sky and realizes he can finally go home.

Francis and Arthur find him a few hours later, Alfred trailing behind them. All three of them are bloody and injured and have similar tear tracks down their faces as they surround him, and Matthew breaks into laughter with tears still flowing and they cling onto each other until he can't tell his joy from his sorrow.

Francis presses a kiss to Matthew's forehead as he prepares to go back across the Atlantic, back to his home that he hasn't seen in years. Alfred is with him and drapes an arm loosely across Matthew's shoulders.

"It almost seems too good to be true, doesn't it?" Alfred laughs, jabbing him in the chest. "All you guys needed was a hero to end the war!"

Matthew hides a smile as Arthur rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Even if there's a part of him that hates Alfred for what he did, he has to admit that the American troops were much needed and essential to their victory.

"I'm proud of you two," Arthur tells them, patting Matthew awkwardly on the arm. Matthew ducks his head to hide a shy grin as Francis winks at him.

Alfred punches Arthur jovially in the arm. "Guess you needed my help after all, huh, old man?"

Arthur snarls and leaps at Alfred, but Francis and Matthew hold him back.

As the other two are briefly distracted, Francis leans over and whispers into Matthew's ear, "Je suis vraiment fier de toi, Canada. Tu as grandi avec l'honneur et le courage. N'oublie jamais que je t'aime."

Canada gave Francis a brilliant smile.

"Merci," he replies quietly as Arthur continues to shout and Alfred continues to laugh. He doesn't tell Francis how much it means to him to hear that name coming from him. "J-Je t'aime aussi."

"Come on, Matthew!" Alfred calls out, interrupting them. He yanks on Matthew's arm, pulling him away from Francis. "Let's go!"

Startled, Matthew follows and nearly stumbles as Alfred pulls him along all the way onto the deck of their boat. Alfred and Arthur shout some more insults at each other, but Matthew doesn't miss the smile on both of their faces.

Francis waves at him and cries out, "Bon voyage!" Matthew flushes slightly as he winks again and blows him a kiss.

"Hey Mattie, do you want to see my new scars?" Alfred asks eagerly once they're well on their way. He starts rolling up his sleeves before Matthew can respond.

Matthew grabs onto his brother's arm and stops him. "Not now," he says firmly. "This isn't the time."

Alfred looks astonished, mouth gaping slightly open. After a few tries, he manages to splutter indignantly, "You never say no to me!"

Matthew considers this for a few minutes before shrugging.

"Wow, Mattie." Alfred's expression has changed to one that's slightly impressed. "You've changed."

Matthew fumbles for something to say when Alfred laughs and hits him on the back of the head.

Alfred grins at him as Matthew rubs his head ruefully. "Maybe you'll even be as amazing as me one day!"

With a slight snort, Matthew decides his brother is useless. He focuses his attention on the water in front of them instead, and images he can see their destination.

Canada is going home, proud of who he is.

O Canada!

Our home and native land!
True patriot love in all thy sons command.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The True North strong and free!
From far and wide,
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
God keep our land glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

Ô Canada!

Terre de nos aïeux,
Ton front est ceint de fleurons glorieux!
Car ton bras sait porter l'épée,
Il sait porter la croix!
Ton histoire est une épopée
Des plus brillants exploits.
Et ta valeur, de foi trempée,
Protégera nos foyers et nos droits.
Protégera nos foyers et nos droits.

A/N - And thus ends my first Hetalia fanfiction!

Notes:

Canada is a tiny bit taller than France in canon - but I made him shorter in the beginning, and gave him a growth spurt in the middle to symbolize the growth of Canada as a nation during WWI.

Quebec and the French Canadians were mostly represented in this fic by France (which is actually very historically inaccurate, as France had nothing against the Canadians being in Europe).

The link to the English version of this fic (with all the French translated) can be found on my profile.

The song at the end is O Canada, the national anthem of Canada, which didn't become official until 1980 (I think .. feel free to tell me if I'm wrong!)

There are a lot of more serious topics that I brushed upon in this fic, but I chose not to go into further detail because I wanted it to end on a happy note ^^'

I've taken French courses ever since I've been in school and I've been in Immersion since grade 4 - nevertheless, my French is far, far from perfect (and I barely know where the distinguishing line between Québecois and French French is - I've learned both in school, and so ...) I welcome any helpful corrections!

Super condensed but still very long history lesson:

Canada was entered into WWI automatically with the rest of the British Empire on August 4, 1914. They had no choice in the matter, but Borden, the Prime Minister, promised that only volunteers would be sent overseas. America, on the other hand, didn't enter the war until April 6, 1917, as they believed the war in Europe had nothing to do with them (until Germany decided to start sinking all the ships crossing the Atlantic, including American ones, anyway).

2nd Battle of Ypres - notable for the use of gases. The French battalion broke apart in the first gas wave and the Canadians were left to fill in the gap. The Germans had apparently under-estimated the potency of the gas, and they didn't have sufficient troops to make a significant breakthrough. Using makeshift masks into which they urinated to counter-act the gas, Canadians fought against the Germans but ultimately dropped back a few kilometers.

The chlorine gas turns into chlorine acid when it comes into contact with liquid (the eyes, the lungs, etc.); many soldiers were blinded or died slowly from internal injuries. The gas was also heavier than air, so it sank into the trenches, forcing the men above ground where they were easy targets for German fire.

Arthur Currie, who is mentioned a few times, is somewhat of a Canadian hero for his leadership during WWI. He first became of note at Ypres, and later became a Canadian commander of the first division of the Canadian Corps.

Battle of the Somme - lasted from July to November of 1915 and is considered one of the bloodiest battles in history. The Battle of Beaumont-Hammel, which took place on July 1, 1915, involved the near complete massacre of the troops from Newfoundland (which, at that time, was not yet part of Canada). The Somme was meant to distract the German troops from the ongoing Battle of Verdun, although it ended up being much longer and bloodier than foreseen (more or less a British fail, anyway).

England's line about the enemy carving his way over heaps of corpses was actually said by Haig, I believe (but feel free to correct me!)

Divisions of the Canadian Corps arrived at Somme in September to help the British.

Battle of Vimy Ridge - lasted April 9 to 12, 1917 and is often considered to be the birth of Canada as a nation. It was the first time the unified four divisions of the Canadian Corps fought together. Byng and Currie worked together to develop an extensive strategy that allowed the Canadians to capture the ridge quickly and with minimal casualties, despite claims (mostly by the British and French) that it couldn't be done. The fourth division, however, struggled to achieve its objectives due to its failure to capture "the Pimple", and eventually British reinforcements came from the north to help them out.

Conscription Crisis of 1917 - Despite Borden's promise that only volunteers would go overseas, conscription started being discussed in 1917. Canada had promised Great Britain a certain number of men, and the number had not yet been met. The number of volunteers had quickly dried up after the first year or so, when casualty rates and the living conditions in the trenches became public. After a 1917 election that Borden and his newly formed coalition government had won, conscription was put into place in Canada. Most men sought exemptions and were granted them, to the point that Borden was forced to ban exemptions altogether in 1918. In the end though, very few conscripted men actually served overseas.

This was, in many ways, the final straw for the French Canadians. They saw it as a deep betrayal by the overly English Canadian government, and the outrage lead to several small protests and the Quebec Easter Riot, which involved military mobilizing from Ontario and a few deaths. Throughout the entire war (actually, pretty much just throughout all of Canadian history), the French Canadians were opposed to the English Canadians. They did not believe Canadians should have to go to war for Great Britain, and claimed that it was the men who volunteered that were unpatriotic, not them. (It is interesting to note that while English Canadians were mostly loyal to Great Britain, French Canadians usually felt no loyalty whatsoever to France and suggestions that the French Canadians go to war to help France were quickly and brutally shot down.) It was during/after WWI that the Quebec separatist movement really gained ground, and it's still ongoing today.

1917 was, overall, a terrible year for the Triple Entente. The British were criticized with being extremely slow in learning and adapting new battle strategies, which often lead to much more bloodshed than necessary. The French were suffering from massive mutinies within their forces. The Russian Revolution was in full swing and Russia withdrew from the war at the beginning of 1918. However, it was also the year the Americans joined the war.

3rd Battle of Ypres - July to November 1917. The Canadians were once more left to prove their worth during the Battle of Passchendaele. Currie once again helped plan out an elaborate strategy, but the British opposed and criticized it. This battle was not as successful as Vimy, and the Canadians didn't succeed in capturing their final objectives, as the support from both Great Britain and France was withdrawn to send to Italy instead, although they did gain ground.

The declaration of war by America was on April 6, 1917, but I haven't been able to find any information on the dates that American troops started arriving in Europe, so I left it really vague. Although they didn't actually do that much, American troops were pouring in by 1918. The waves of fresh soldiers sent the Germans into a panic and they launched their final strike at the beginning of 1918. The Entente lost a lot of ground and fell horribly behind until August, when the British finally organized a counter-attack spearheaded by the Canadians and the Australians (the Canadians, by this time, were known as excellent shock forces and their involvement was kept secret - if the Germans saw the Canadians approaching, they would raise their defenses). In one day, they gained back a tremendous amount of ground, effectively convincing the Germans that they couldn't win the war.

The Canadians were criticized for their attack on Mons, which occurred right before the armistice on November 11, 1918. Mons was the first town invaded by Germany and the last one reclaimed by the Allies during the war.

Canada was present at the Paris Conference, which started in January, 1919, to negotiate peace treaties, so it doesn't actually make that much sense for him to be going home ^^' The Paris Conference was not very pleasant in terms of the Canadians attempting to differentiate themselves from Great Britain and whatnot, but I won't get into that as it's not in the fic =)

Whew, that was long. I would be so impressed if anyone actually read all of that XD Sources are Wikipedia, my notes taken during history class, and my trusty Canadian History textbook!

Reviews please, anyone?