Work Text:
Canada's Six Seasons
Matthew jumped at the sound of his front door slamming shut.
"Brrr, it's freezing out there! Jeez, you'd think with global warming your place would get a little milder."
Putting down his book – though not before placing a bookmark; he was at the spot where the story was just starting to pick up – Matthew rolled his eyes. "Hi to you too, Al."
Suppressing a shiver, Alfred quickly divested himself of his winter apparel in favor of joining the Canadian's side by the fire. "Why is it that every time I'm here it's as cold as an ice box? It's as if all your country's ever known is Winter. You'd think the other three seasons didn't exist." He proceeded to sit next to Matthew on the sofa, wriggling his feet under the latter's thighs in hopes of warming his toes.
Canada grimaced at the action but said nothing, choosing instead to correct, "Actually, I have six seasons, I'll have you know."
Cocking a brow, the superpower intelligently responded, "Huh?"
Winter, and Summer, and Spring, and Autumn, and…?
America's eyes suddenly widened in realization. "Oh oh oh, wait. I think I know what you mean by those two extra seasons. You're talking about that frigid-as-all-hell moment of the year that's at the end of Fall, but that can't be considered Winter yet since it's still before December 21st, right? And your sixth season must be that moment right at the beginning of Spring but that actually feels like Winter since it's still so friggin' cold."
Now mildly exasperated, Canada nevertheless could not help but smile at his brother's enthusiasm. "Nope. Not it. They don't strictly have to do with weather, although that is a big component for both."
Scratching his head, Alfred frowned as he threw his hands aloft. "Then I give up. I can't think of anything else beside maybe moose hunting season or something. That's a thing in Canada, right? Like how your people club baby seals." At that, the American shook his head. "Never understood how you folks could stand killing something so cute, but hey, I try not to judge. Besides, I've seen you Canucks do worse."
Matthew felt his eye twitch in annoyance; man, his brother could be such an ass sometimes! Willing himself to calm down – 'it's okay Matt, count down to ten, keep it cool, embrace your inner cucumber' – Canada merely sighed, softly explaining, "Le temps des sucres et la saison d'hockey. Maple season and Hockey season. Those are the other two seasons that make up a proper Canadian year."
All was silent, the crackling of logs in the fireplace the sole exception, until America burst out laughing.
"Oh my stars and stripes, you're kidding!" At seeing the frown on the Northerner's face, Alfred's laughter increased tenfold. "No way! You're actually serious? Oh, that's just priceless. And you wonder why my people have made so many stereotypes about you guys. Yeesh! Talk about typical! And just plain obvious! I can't believe I didn't figure it out." As his chuckles died down, he finally conceded, "Can't say I'm surprised, though. It makes total sense, knowing you–AAH!"
America landed face-first on the plush carpet by the couch. He blinked, once, twice, three times, before looking up at his – by this point, grumbling – Canadian counterpart.
"Jerk," Matthew accused as he suddenly got to his feet, heading towards the kitchen.
Before the Canadian could leave the room however, Alfred made himself heard, "Hey, wait. Where' you goin'?"
Matthew turned toward his interlocutor, violet eyes unreadable behind glasses and lower lip stuck between straight white teeth. Voice a balance of gruff and contrite, he admitted, "M'gonna prepare us some hot cocoa. My way of making amends for pushing you off the couch. Be right back."
At the sound of his best bro's receding footsteps, Alfred laughed quietly under his breath. Then, fondness lacing his words, he whispered, "Yup. That's Canada for you."
A near-fleeting moment later, sitting under a shared blanket, his previously-chilled hands now comfortably warm from the mug he held, Alfred's lips stretched into a teasing smirk. Resting his cup down on the small coffee table at his side, he then nudged the other North American. "Y'know, I still think moose hunting would make a fitting seventh season."
…
'Heh. Yup. That's Canada for you,' he thought as face met carpet for the second time that evening.