Chapter Text
The Cotton Candy Man scratched behind his ear, making Flying Mint Bunny mewl in delight. It's not his real name, but he always smells of candies and sweets, and he thought it was more appropriate. It's not often that he sees this man, his friend's cheerful (and much more colourful) reflection, but he appreciates the visit. The last time he had gone to this world to pick up some of England's cooking was forty years ago.
"You seem a little grumpy, Arthur," the Cotton Candy Man observed. "What's the matter?"
England grunted as he shoved the tray of dough into the oven. He switched the appliance on. "The same as it was the other time we met."
At this, the Cotton Candy Man's smile diminished. "Oh. France again."
"Bloody frog. I wish he'd just fucking disappear."
"Arthur! Language!" the other gasped.
"Sorry," England muttered, still sour. Well, Flying Mint Bunny could understand why he was so sour. Yesterday, France had come over to the house, handing a marriage proposal to his friend. Needless to say, England wasn't happy about it--particularly because what France was proposing was a marriage of convenience, a convenience that serves him. "All he does is come here and bother me and insult my cooking. This world would be a lot better if he just vanished."
Cotton Candy Man stayed quiet. Flying Mint Bunny looked up at him, seeing the other man with a slight frown.
"Do you ever have the same troubles with the France back in your world?" England asked off-handedly.
The visitor's face became hard and unreadable. "I brought you cupcakes," he said, tapping the large box he had brought with him on the table. Then he lifted the lid and took out a pink one. "I brought you different flavoured ones. I thought you might like some."
"Oh, thank you," England said walking over to him and taking the cupcake from his hand.
"This one is a new recipe," Cotton Candy Man said excitedly. "I mixed it up a little bit."
"You're having fun with cupcakes, aren't you?" England said with a snort and took a bite. "Pomegranate."
"Yes!" Cotton Candy Man squealed. "Do you like it?"
"It's quite delicious," England said with a nod and a smile. He lifted the lid to peer inside the box. "All the colours of the rainbow. How lovely."
"I'm glad you like them," Cotton Candy Man said with a big smile. "You're the first one to try them!"
England raised a gigantic brow at him. "Why haven't you given them to the others back home?"
Cotton Candy Man pouted. "Alfred always thinks all the food that isn't his own are poisoned so he throws them away. Matthew locked himself up in his cabin these last few years so I can't talk to him either. The rest...well...they don't really like me."
England nodded and took another bite. "More for me then," he said with a kind smile.
At this, Cotton Candy Man instantly brightened. "Would you like the recipe? You can incorporate them with your scones!"
"That sounds lovely," England said, going over to one of his drawers and procuring a notepad and a pen. He tossed them to Cotton Candy Man.
Cotton Candy Man removed his hand from Flying Mint Bunny to catch the items.
"You just make yourself at home, Oliver," England said, taking two more cupcakes, a powder blue one and an orange one with him. "I'll just be upstairs for a bit. Paperwork and all that, you know?"
"Oh of course!" Cotton Candy Man said, nodding.
"I'll keep him company!" Flying Mint Bunny piped up.
England nodded and climbed up the stairs.
A tipsy France sat at the curb and leaned against the lamp post, bottle of wine in hand. It was probably already midnight since the streets were empty. Or maybe it was three in the morning? He really didn't feel like lifting his arm to look at his watch.
It must be time to go home. Well, he should have gone home yesterday after his proposal was rejected, but instead, he got wasted on bottles of cheap wine and started roaming the streets. He doesn't really feel like going back home just yet to think about a new solution to fix his impending economic collapse (no thanks to rosbif). He wasn't all that sure what to do next, really. He wasn't even sure if the bottle in his hand is still wine. Come to think of it, he's not sure how nobody's tried to put him in jail yet for roaming the streets drunk.
France lifted the bottle to his lips and drank, spilling a little on his shirt.
"France?" he heard a very familiar voice say from his left.
He looked to his left and saw England looking at him with what seemed like a pout, a sack of whatever hauled behind his back.
Magnifique. "Bonsoir Angleterre," he sneered drunkenly.
"How did you follow me here?" England said, clutching the sack, apprehensive.
Follow? "Q-Quoi?"
"If you've come here t-to apologise, I-I-I'm not forgiving you," he said in a childlike petulance that was England for sure but not quite.
"Why should I apologise?" France asked, scowling. "You're the one who rejected me and threw me out of your house, rosbif. To think I even bought you a ring too. You should be apologising to me." The nerve of this uncultured brute.
At this, England's eyes widened and he visibly relaxed.
France looked at him warily--or as warily as a man with swimming vision could.
England walked towards him and crouched down to his level. He pushed the hair gently away from France's eyes.
France flinched at the touch. He wasn't used to England being like this.
England sighed in relief. "Oh thank god," he muttered. "You're the other France."
"Q-Quoi?" France asked again. For some reason, England's eyes were teal.
"Well, I must be off. I have to look for Flying Chocolate Bunny, you see," he said, standing up. "You should find a hotel soon! It looks like it's going to rain. Toodles!"
France scrunched up his face. Something was terribly wrong with England tonight. He stood up and wobbled his way towards him. "A-Attends!"
England turned around and caught him. He smelled oddly of cotton candy. "Dear me, you drink just as much as him, don't you?"
"W-Who are you talking about?" France slurred.
England looked away. "Just someone I know."
France clutched at his sleeve. "Why are you--why are you up so late?"
"Hmmmm shouldn't I be asking you that?" England asked, giggling.
France furrowed his brows. Something was definitely wrong. "Who are you and what've you done to Angleterre?"
England chuckled at him. "Oh don't worry, dear, the England here is safe. He's sleeping at his study in fact."
"Q-Quoi?" France asked for the third time, feeling stupider by the second.
"I'm England from another world," England explained. "I just came here to pick up a few things."
France laughed out loud. It sounded louder in the empty street. "Are you drunk? Or is that the opium talking?"
"Oh I don't drink, or consume opium," England said, blinking at him innocently.
He laughed some more. Whatever it was that England's doing, France likes him better this way. "I like you better this way," he said, trying to wink at him. "Cheerful Angleterre. Much cuter."
England giggled. "Really now? I'm not really who you think I am, but thank you! As much as I'd like to stay in your company, I really must go."
He decided to go along with the ride. England was obviously just as drunk. How many times would he actually have an opportunity like this? "Vraiment? And where are you going, alien Angleterre?"
"Well, I was going to go back home but Flying Chocolate Bunny wandered off so I can't really leave--"
Something brown and fluffy hit France in the face square on, causing him to fall on his arse and cracking his head against the asphalt.
"Flying Chocolate Bunny!" cried England.
"What's that filth doing here?" whatever it was snarled.
"He's the France from this world, dear," England explained.
"Gldkjfgleurkeljdh," France gurgled, disoriented.
"I'm so sorry," England said, hoisting him up. "Flying Chocolate Bunny thought you were someone else."
"Flying what now?"
"A France is a France regardless of dimension. I don't trust him."
"Who's talking?" France said, turning his head around, trying to find the other speaker, causing him to get even more nauseated.
"I'm terribly sorry, France, but we must go."
"Go?" France asked, clutching tightly at England's sleeve, lest he fall. "Go where?"
"Go back home, of course!"
France only tightened his grip, vision still swimming. "Take me with you."
"I beg your pardon?"
"We're not taking him with us."
"S'il te plait, take me with you," France said, resting his head on England's shoulder. He needed a roof over his head soon or else he was going to vomit and pass out.
"Oh but, can't he come with us? He seems nice," England said, embracing him back.
"No! Why would you want to take him? You just fought with the one back home!"
"But I don't think he's like France at all! Please? It would be doing Arthur a favour! Please? I'll make sure he won't get into trouble!"
"We don't have enough magic to carry all three of us!"
"We can go to the Henge! I'm sure it will have enough to--"
"No. Stop wasting time, England. It's almost midnight!"
"Please? I'll make sure he doesn't bother you. He's only going to stay for a short while, I promise. Please?"
"No, and don't give me that look!"
"Pleeeeaaaaaaasssssee?"
England stroked his hair gently and France moaned as the tender part of his head was touched, embracing the other tighter. "Please?"
He heard an exasperated sigh. "Fine. But keep your promise."
"Thank you!" England squealed and then France blacked out.