Archive of Our Own

It was not every day that the brothers of North America got to spend time together. Sure, as children they had been together always, at the hands of those who raised them despite the dysfunction they sometimes fell into. But now as grown Nations they had little time to continue being brothers. But it was around late autumn that they always carved out time to partake in a ritual all their own.

It was between their respective Thanksgivings; Matthew’s earlier on October 10, and Alfred’s coming soon enough on November 25. Always a spectacular time of year for both of them, fall in full swing. The crisp scent of the winds changing, and the trees cloaked in the burnished glory of red, orange, and gold. For many the world only grew colder. For two it grew that much warmer.

And literally, as Alfred rang the doorbell to his brother’s modest chalet up in Golden, British Columbia. He was greeted with the calm visage of his brother and best friend, and past him a roaring fire in the living room hearth. The two men heartily greeted each other with a hug and Matthew ushered the American inside.

The door was closed and Alfred rubbed his hands together to warm them up once he’d set his luggage down. “How have you been Mattie? It always feels like we never see each other often enough!” Alfred punctuated the statement with a matter-of-fact chuckle. It was true that while they might be Nation neighbors, they were often busy.

”Powers know if we saw each other too often I wouldn’t have time to do anything useful,” Matthew waved Alfred’s words away with a playful flick of the wrist. “But I have been well.” Alfred rolled his eyes with a closed smile. Matthew stalked away to his kitchen to turn the light on and Alfred opted to shuck off his thick striped sweater in the heated home. Alfred was readjusting his t-shirt underneath as Matthew came back.

Matthew clapped his hands together and spoke excitedly. “So, who wants to make some pies?” Alfred childishly raised his hand with a gleam in his eye. “Race you,” said the Canadian, and both men scrambled to beat each other to the island in Matthew’s kitchen. It was a close tie, and the brothers had a playful argument on who actually won. Neither could reasonably convince the other and they began to raid Matthew’s kitchen for the ingredients they would need.

It took a few minutes but finally they had set everything out upon the countertop. Measuring cups, flour, spices, and fresh fruits for their fillings were already permeating the air with good scents. It would be even better once they were baking and cooling. The boys could already feel their mouths watering and imagine the messes they were about to make, especially if one called for a food fight. It was always this time of year that they felt like kids again, both having lived between Arthur’s and Francis’ homes and never quite sedentary. Playing while they still could, while they were still colonies with time to spare, time to be children. With shining looks to each other, they raised hands in a high-five and dove right in.

Of course it was a mess right from the start. Before they could even begin to make the pie crust dough Matthew stopped to turn on music. The boys argued what they should play and then settled on simply hitting shuffle all. Measuring the flour covered both in powdery white splotches when they measured wrong the first time, spilled that, and had to remeasure. Like children they set out to war against each other with floury hands, trying to mark the other with chaotic white handprints. Alfred and Matthew devolved into laughter and a fake wrestling match until the latter managed to land one chalky hand across Alfred’s face and glasses.

Sputtering, Alfred frantically cleaned his glasses and the two declared it time for business. They fell into an easy rhythm as they both made their pie crusts. Cutting the butter fats into the flour until it made mealy pea-sized chunks in their bowls. Adding ice water until doughy, both Nations pulled their doughs onto Matthew’s floured counter and began to roll it together gently. Both were making double crust pies with decorative tops and so both men cut their spheres of dough in two, wrapping all of them in plastic wrap. They placed the doughs in the fridge and set a timer for at least two hours.

They moved to Matthew’s living room and moved the table, daring each other to a dance off with each new song that came over their television radio. Alfred easily won a round from “Rock-A-Beatin’ Boogie” while Matthew belted out a wonderful “Put Your Head on My Shoulder”. They continued with each song, moving to the beat or singing a ballad, or when the rock came on making their own living room air band. They were interrupted by a knock at the front door. Two pairs of socked feet shuffled to the door and whipped it open.

Two sets of green and blue eyes met the men inside. “Your music is loud enough to hear from outside. You two ought to turn it down before you right well lose your ears.” The familiar musical accent made Alfred and Matthew sweep the short Briton into a large hug. There was the expected fuss, but it was all in jest. Behind Arthur stood Francis, who was welcomed in the very same manner, albeit much more accepting of the rough embrace. If it was rare for the North American brothers to hang together, it was even rarer still that either or even both of their foster family could join them.

The new arrivals set down their bags and were asked about their journey. Arthur only complained; almost forgot his knickers, a long layover, he was almost late to another flight, and he had to meet Francis and drive him here. Francis flourished all of Arthur’s later comments away and relayed how wonderful his own trip had been, though he did say he’d had a hard time finding Arthur in the airport they were supposed to meet at. The Brit had scoffed and muttered that maybe, just maybe, that’d been on purpose. All four knew it wasn’t true, but all still laughed in easy camaraderie. After bickering about what should be playing on the TV, they all compromised with a random nature program. Next was just easy talk.

”So, what are my two birds making on this fine day? I can see that both of you and your kitchen, Mathieu, is a mess rivaling Angleterre’s.” Francis trilled jokingly.

”Well, I’m making a classic apple pie. I’m going to decorate the top with little leaves. Alfred almost copied me but—“

”I conceded; much as I like a good old apple pie, I’m going cherry! Haven’t decided what I’ll do to the top, though.”

“We can make some biscuits if you like.” Arthur rolled up his sleeves with a small smile.

”Never Artur! All kitchens should have you banned.” Francis chimed. Giggles sounded from the brothers sitting next to him.

”Oh sod off, frog. I know how to bake, contrary to your popular belief!”

”I shiver to imagine you cooking normally Angleterre.”

Arthur rolled his eyes so hard the others were afraid they might not come back. “Well, since your doughs are still cooling, what’ll we do in the meantime?” The older Nations could hear the gears turning in their hosts’ heads as they sieved through plans. Karaoke was thrown out, then board games, and anything that might be found in Matthew’s closet. Francis found an old Battleship box and announced a battle between two teams: himself and Matthew versus Alfred and Arthur. Before anyone could object, the competitive American told him he was on.

For what was supposed to be a board game, the four became invested quickly. Team Rock – Arthur and Alfred – had lost the first round and the Brit had vehemently demanded a rematch. Francis and Matthew, making up Team Maple, gladly accepted. It was easy to see where the younger Nations inherited their spirit of challenge from as Arthur and Francis called pointed insults to each other from across the table, alluding to past bouts in their long histories. Matthew and Alfred only spurred them on and would try to call the other team’s bluff.

After several more rounds – and several defeats for Francis – the four Nations decided to try and find something else to do. The timer on the pie dough had been long forgotten as Alfred pulled out a game console. There were enough controllers for the four of them, but Francis opted to just watch. Arthur tried to join them but fumbled with the controls. The two other men got into heated racing matches on a hot new car game.

After hours night fell and all four men worked to make a fire outside in Matthew’s backyard. Night birds twittered and an owl hooted in the distance. The fire crackled and threw red sparks in long spirals up into the sky. Marshmallows roasted over the open flame and made the air smell sweet. Amiable talk permeated the space, conversations about recent legislature and happenings. Talk of any recent adventures, were there any to be had. Recalling old stories, both painful and cheery.

”I can still remember the days that Artur and I found you two wandering in the wilderness. You were so sweet when small.” Francis recounted like some old parent. “Mhm, mhm. I remember being shocked that someone so little could belong to a country so vast. Of course, you would grow up with time. It is hard to personally remember being that young.”

”You had been so scared those first few winters after you had wandered too far north one year. Watching you encounter a polar bear for the first time was wild!” Violet eyes shone with memory and the blonde laughed.

The Frenchman cried out with indignation. ”Ach, embarrassing! I will not let you speak of it!” Arthur and Alfred were showing each other pictures of their pets across the fire ring. The Frenchman and the Canadian entered a playful bout about the polar bears.

All four settled in for the night. Matthew gave the two overseas guests the extra bedrooms, but he asked if Alfred would be willing to share the pullout couch. There was no question about it and the two sprawled out on the small mattress, over which Alfred pulled a thick blanket. Both took off their glasses and started to watch YouTube together on Alfred’s phone. At some point both passed out, leaving only the sound of their final video playing until its end.

Shafts of morning sun through the blinds brought the sleeping Nations back to the land of the living. Still on his own time, Arthur found himself up before the others and trying to quietly make breakfast in the cabin’s kitchen. Green eyes landed upon the two boys sleeping in the living room. Despite them being his equals for years now, the former empire could sometimes still only think of them as kids, curious and naïve as the day he and Francis had found them both.

The short Briton turned his head at the sound of soft footsteps coming down the stairs. Francis. It seemed he couldn’t sleep long either, head still in his old time zone. Having thought the Frenchman would join him downstairs, Arthur had gone through the trouble of brewing coffee, knowing Matthew had it in his cupboards. Ocean blue eyes captured emerald green and both men nodded a good morning to each other. They watched their sleeping companions for a few minutes before Francis moved for the fridge, opening it and searching hard. Arthur watched the taller man’s back as it stooped and moved amongst the shelves. The brunette backed away and threw a package to Arthur, who caught it with one hand, turning it over to look at the label.

”Bacon?” Thick eyebrows furrowed and met in the middle. The Brit sent a curious glance to Francis. The man was back in the fridge and currently grabbing eggs and other things – some strawberries apparently.

”We’ll make them breakfast like we used to. Bacon, eggs, and toast, and I’ll make crêpes. They cared to host us this year, we may as well do something nice.” Francis stated it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Arthur silently agreed and started to grab pans for them to use. Plus, Arthur mused, we’ll all be baking together later, they’re making us pies. Both elder Nations tried to be as quiet as they could, though they knew the two boys in the room over both slept like death. It would be their noses that woke them before the kitchen noise, if anything.

And sure as clockwork, two veritable zombies shuffled into the kitchen at the first scent of sizzling bacon and fluffy fruit-filled crepes. Both sat themselves at the kitchen island and Francis turned to serve them the coffee pot and two mugs. The earthy aroma of strong coffee mixed with the food left nothing to the hungry imagination and the two North Americans descended upon the dark beverage. Soon enough all four men were bright and talking about plans for the day. They would carry out their baking of yesterday, while it cooled they would go on a morning hike, and then they could wing the rest of the day with lunch and dinner.

With the morning meal eaten and spirits high, the agenda began. The North Americans prepared delectable pie fillings with spices and sugar. The pie crust doughs made yesterday were pulled from the fridge and rolled out. Matthew focused intently on braiding the edge of the crust and cutting perfectly shaped maple leaves from his remaining dough to lay atop the spiced apple filling. A tight plait sat proudly around the tin’s edge, looking neat even unbaked and leaving little to imagine once it was done. He began to cut his little leaf shapes with a cookie cutter and simply by free hand. There were different sizes of leaves and as he placed them they created an artistic cascade, reminiscent of the world outside the cabin walls.

Alfred was preoccupied with making a complex lattice. For one paraded as fairly lazy the others knew his focus sometimes knew no bounds. Deft fingers that could field strip a rifle in seconds worked to weave delicate strips of dough upon a bright red loom. The strips of the weft ended halfway across the top and he spiraled the remaining lengths like curled satin ribbons. And simply because he couldn’t help himself, the little dough left was made into stars that appeared to hang from the ribbons.

Two Europeans all the while had been working to make cookies alongside the younger men. Arthur fussed with his lemon rosemary shortbread rounds. Old habits died hard and before he could stop himself, he scooped a tiny bit on his finger to eat. He’d always loved cookie dough even though he wouldn’t admit it. To confirm its flavor, he made the others try it with approval all around. With those affirmations he flattened the dough out into a large mat about a half-inch thick. Shuffling for a cookie cutter he found one that caught his eye – a rounded diamond. We pressed the shapes out until there was no more space left to do so, eating the rest sheepishly. He punched tiny heart shapes into the center of each biscuit and got them prepped on a tray for baking.

Meanwhile Francis was occupied making a ridiculous amount of beignets. He chastised himself for possibly having made too much pâte á choux. Oh well, he chirped, more for tomorrow morning! While Matthew certainly didn’t have a fryer, he had several pots of the right depth. The Frenchman filled one with oil and propped a thermometer against the side. As soon as it was hot enough he began to ladle the soft squares in three at a time. It was meticulous work to watch them but Francis was a determined soul. His ending result was a cool two and a half dozen of the beautifully fluffed fritters which he dusted with confectioner’s sugar. They looked like they were covered in a fresh and fragile snow.

All the confections had been baked and set to cool off – with several photos taken for social media posting and sharing – and the four Nations bundled up to take a refreshing walk. They wondered at the natural beauty of this northern earth. Likely several hundred pictures were taken between the four of them, especially when they found a symphony of tiny streamlets and waterfalls. Stick forts propped in the dirt, pictures scratched into the rich earth, and many leaves picked up and admired. Much of it passed in silence though it was interspersed with companionable conversation and jokes. At some point a small family of white tail crossed their path and they stared after them even long after the deer walked into the deep woods.

Days passed and soon enough the rare and blissful family gathering had to come to a bittersweet end. Only crumbs were left of their treats, bags were packed full, and hugs were warmly administered all around the house. Arthur and France had left early in the morning so that they could catch their flights. Alfred and Matthew spent a few extra hours just to be brothers. But like all great things, it also had to come to a close. They would both be busy after Alfred’s Thanksgiving and leading up to the all-important Christmas.

With one final hug, Matthew sent Alfred out the door with his suitcase in tow. He watched with a calm smile as Alfred slid into the door of his old coupe and started its rumbling engine. His phone buzzed and he saw that Alfred, within his own car and sporting a dorky grin, had to have the last word. “Goodbye bro, until Xmas!” it said. The Canadian waved to his brother as he turned around in the large driveway. Violet eyes watched until the deep red Mustang melded simply into the rest of the autumn woods, disappearing for another year.