Work Text:
America had been staring at his laptop screen for what had almost been forever.
The dark circles under his eyes are illuminated by the artificial glow. It was 3 AM, the dark abyss enveloping the sky, visible from the window. And the impossible piles of snow characterized by the iconic Canadian winter.
His eyes are glued to another document; literally right after his long, long flight from down south in Texas all the way to Montreal his boss gives him double the paperwork.
Alfred wants to tear all of his hair out. He doesn’t. (Not while Mattie is there, anyways. He knows he'll chastise him again.)
His stomach grumbles. Finally, America breaks his gaze from the screen, and walks to the kitchen. His current goal: eat a proper meal that would kick ass from the shitty airplane food he was forced to stomach for 5 hours. And then coffee. Maybe 2. Or 3.
He reaches into the cabinets and all he sees are: pancake mix, pancake mix but chocolate chip, pancake mix, pancake mix, gallon jug maple syrup, pancake mix, oh, and most importantly, pancake mix. (He knows he’s exaggerating, but still. This is not a sane amount of pancake mix.)
Alfred sighs. Krusteaz pancakes are leagues better than any airplane food anyways. He can’t complain. He oh so desperately wants Mattie to make his delicious homemade pancakes, but he’s asleep and America will take what he can get.
Right. Pancakes. Reading the instructions on the box, he quietly (well not really but. He tries) gets the measuring cup, and measures the water to 2/3s of a cup. It’s not perfect but oh well. He reaches for the butter from the fridge. Alfred awkwardly tries to reach for the pans, those pans clank, he stares at Mattie’s door half-praying that he doesn’t awaken, and tries to reach until he finally gets a pan.
Alfred reaches for the pantry for the instant packets of coffee. Arguably it tastes bad, but America is too lazy to put in more effort into his ‘midnight snack’ (which really resembles more of a cheapskate breakfast rather than just a snack). Nevertheless, he still has to answer the calls of his hunger.
He pours the water from the measuring cup into the bowl, then the pancake mix, and (not really) gingerly mixes it, until it is fully incorporated. He sets the stove on, and puts his hands on the stove.
The overwhelming flames engulf his hand. It is, oddly, a pretty shade of orange.
Alfred stares dumbly at the flame. He doesn’t register the heat. He is caught up, tiredly, staring at the fire.
Belatedly, he flinches from the pain. The pure sting overwhelms his hands. Finally, after his insomnia-induced mind realizes, he quickly takes his hand off from the stove. Even with his best efforts of not waking up his brother, his quiet (read: loud) spiel of curses awakened the canadian.
The doorknob from his room shakes, and with a big yawn, Mattie stares at Alfred.
This is what Matties must’ve witnessed:
- Alfred.
- His dark eyebags.
- Him holding his right hand.
- His palms were red and swollen.
- His pained expression.
- The horrible stench of burning flesh.
- The randomly scattered ingredients and utensils for pancakes and an instant pack of coffee.
- The stove was on.
Canada splutters in shock, seeing his brother standing sheepishly, with arguably the worst case of overworked american with no sleep being very hungry and stupidly harms himself in the kitchen (emphasis on: overworked american with no sleep), and sighs.
“What the hell happened Al?”
Alfred looks dumbly at Mattie. Canada pictures a loading icon atop his brother’s head, when he struggles to fully process the question. Again, the worst case of overworked american with no sleep he has seen. He sighs again.
“Let’s get that hand of yours wrapped up, eh?” America slowly nods. Weird, Al is usually more talkative. It may be his paperwork again. It’s definitely his paperwork again. Mattie, for the third time, sighs. (at this point, Alfred thinks Mattie won’t be an “eh?” machine but a sigh machine.)
Mattie leads Alfred into the sink and turns on the tap to cool down his hand for 10 minutes (we all know it's not going to be 10 minutes). He leaves Alfred alone to grab the first aid kit.
He comes back with lotion and bandages. Alfred cringes at the aloe vera lotion. Mattie catches a look of Alfred’s expression, grumbles softly, and states, “No Alfred, you will not avoid the aloe vera. Yes you hate the smell but your hand would be worse without it.”
“Fine.”
Alfred tries to make an annoyed face. He looks mildly constipated, and Mattie snickers at his expressions. He scowls. “Sorry Al, but you look like a hungry panda with a grudge, eh?” Canada snickers lightly.
America decides to let it go. He swears to get his revenge later. (The face he made reminds Mattie of a familiar petulant child, the same child as this grown man, centuries ago.)
Right now, Mattie is applying the disgusting lotion, which admittedly, was a nice cooling feeling, then wrapping the bandages around his hand. It’ll probably take 20 minutes to fully heal, with rapid nation healing. Alfred seems to relax a little.
Kumananao peeks his head from Canada’s door. “Hi Kumajirou.” Alfred, albeit tiredly, greets. Kumaijajar waves at the american. He then turns his head to Mattie, and says, “Who are you?”. Mattie, not wanting to deal with this, just says “I’m Mattie.” He knows that in a brief period of time, Kumajisha would forget him again.
“Go rest on the chesterfield, Al.” With America’s confused look, he points to the couch. Ah, so that's what Mattie meant.
Mattie started where Alfred left off with the pancakes, and eats it alongside Alfred. Alfred (briefly) swears off his revenge, and with hunger, eats the pancakes. Mattie confiscates the coffee from him. Alfred quietly swears his revenge again.
Canada joins Alfred on the couch, picks to watch David Wilcox (the wonderful poet and guitarist he was), and notices both him and Kumaeda slowly dozing off from the pleasant strumming of David’s guitar. Kumanana snores first. Alfred watches the video for longer, and slowly but surely, he sleeps on Mattie’s shoulder. He smiles, finally, how serene Alfred looks while innocently asleep. He misses this.
Mattie accepts his fate as a pillow, and slowly, all three of them fall asleep on the couch.