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For the dominion of Canada- Justin Erable, it had begun in the liberation of the Netherlands.
There, he found the personification of the Dutch country. Of course, he didn’t know that then. “Victor Neue” was an injured Dutch soldier, no different from any of the other people, the ones who were starved for days on end. That's what Justin convinced himself at first when he was hurriedly passing out rations, at least. There was a job to be done, and thus he had to move on from the man with a red stained bandage.
Though the moment that Justin was allowed a break, he hurried back to that street, only to find that the soldier hadn't eaten. Instead, he was feeding the children seen earlier. The man narrowed his eyes upon noticing Justin, but the “go away” effect was lost by how he was surrounded by kids, and also the fact that he was thin with skin absent of even the slightest healthy tinge.
"Here," Canada said, and hoped that the soldier understood English, "let me help you."
It takes a moment before the Dutchman lets up, and scoots to make room for Justin.
There they were: a Canadian and Dutch soldier feeding starving kids in the street.
Neither knew the other was a country yet. Well… one would very soon.
Justin realized the man was the personification of the Netherlands the moment he felt the familiar tinge of charisma from him.
CHARISMA
The inherent power of every country's representative to influence, command, or manipulate their people. It was agreed upon some code of honour to not abuse it. Unfortunately, that left everybody at a complete loss when the Third Reich simply ignored that code of honour and practiced the ability to such terrifying extent that even people who were not his citizen could be seduced by him. Nobody ever achieved his level of persuasion after that.
"You again? Why?" Vic asked. It would have demanded an answer from any Dutch person, but Justin was not Dutch. The Canadian answered anyway, however.
"I'm changing your bandage." Canada pulled out a first aid kit. "Your arm seems, uh, shit, and I'm pretty sure I'm actually certified."
The Netherlands snorted, apparently accepting that explanation, and rolled up his sleeve so Canada could have easier access. Canada continued. "Um, so, where can I touch that would hurt you the least? Or if that doesn't matter to you, I can just go ahead…" Justin asked this every time before treating someone in a non-crisis situation, and he was surprised that some people didn't actually like being asked that because it sounded like he was looking down on them or something, so now he gave options.
"Justin…" Vic's jaw tightened, "I will pay you if you can make this thing hurt less."
Many tools, small talk, and a bottle of maple syrup later...
"…I suppose I have to pay you now." Vic said, looking at his arm. Justin laughed, waving him off.
"Please don't.”
“I insist-”
“Just owe me a favour." Canada cut Vic off before he could propose anything. Vic blinked, then smiled with a sigh.
"Sure."
At first, Canada had spent time with the Netherlands because he was another country, and one that was supposed to have… simply stopped existing or lost contact.
Aside from that, if he reported that the representative was still alive, it would be the first time he'd done something impactful on his own, individual terms, away from everyone else who was older and wiser. He could finally be useful, be seen as someone more than USA's brother, Britain's second kid, or France's cousin-son.
USA went by Samwell Rook, and he was an American soldier. Britain went by Edward Britney Chapman, and he was in the British air force. France went by Jean-Frances Renaud, and was in the French resistance.
Yet even within his own country, he was always referred to as “that guy with an American brother”, and whenever he accomplished anything, “his father’s in the British air force”, or whenever his French slipped out “he’s the guy with a French cousin, what can you expect”? His entire identity seemed to be built on who he was related to, and how he compared to them. So, if he did something that mattered for real, if he found someone that actually mattered, maybe someone would remember his name for once. Maybe he could stop being compared.
Then by the time Justin had finished changing Vic's bandage for the second time, Justin suddenly realized that he didn't want any of that anymore. It wasn’t. Right. That, and Vic treated him like a normal person, not like anybody in relation to anybody.
With him, Justin was simply Justin.
Just another Canadian soldier.
“Thanks, Justin.”
“It’s Canada.” Justin found himself blurting in spite of his big revelation seconds ago, and he wanted to kick himself.
The Netherlands laughed, slapping him on the back.
“I knew you had to be special!”
“Hey, don’t mess up the wrapping I JUST FINISHED !”
While the United States, Great Britain, France, and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics battled more to the South and East, Canada waited until the Netherlands had healed before leaving.
He went back in 1945.
~
When it came time to celebrate the end of the war, Justin declined the group celebration in lieu of taking Vic out for dinner. He deserved it, and Justin even said he was welcome to pick whatever he wanted and however many things he wanted.
It was candlelit, a restaurant with almost nobody, only couples in it. They got a lot of weird glances, but all Vic had to do was say "nothing is wrong" and thus, nothing was wrong. At least, to Dutch people.
"This place… it's quite romantic, Justin. Something you have to tell me?"
At this point in time, Justin did not know that he had been falling for Vic. It was just that this place felt right, and seeing Vic's face smiling across from him, however mischievously, made him happy. Even then, deep down Justin's heart- subconscious, whatever you would call it- knew what he felt, and so he flustered, looking away.
"Nothing like that!" He protested. Then, his voice grew softer, brushing just above the volume of the other chatter. “I just wanted to try giving you something good at the end of this all." The general consensus was that war sucked, so...
“Oh.” Vic did not think of that.
…
You’ve done enough good. I still owe you for those bandage changes.
Justin stayed silent, anxious at the non-reaction. It felt like he had just poured his heart out.
“I suppose. By the way, is this that favour?” He asked absentmindedly.
Just like that, Vic had taken his heart, and broken it, and with it, shattered Justin's entire memory of the time they had together.
"Was this all… just a favour to you?" It didn’t even make sense.
Disregard his unrealized feelings, even this friendship they thought they had, every smile and laugh and every conversation, was Vic just trying to pay an imaginary debt? Was the sole reason he stayed around Justin simply that: the fact he owed him something?
If he… if he was just a debt-
Oh God. Was he just a burden this whole time?
"I'm sorry," he apologized, “I just remembered something important-” he lied, “silly me, double booking myself-! Feel free to stay, I’ll pay as I go out.”
He ran, like a coward, with emotions getting the better of him.
What a fool he was, of course nobody would willingly stay around him- he wasn't anything special. He'd even thought it himself, didn’t he? That with Vic, he was just another Canadian soldier. Nothing special.
How did he come to even consider that he could be?
Vic reached out to the retreating figure of a man, a fruitless gesture.
That's it.
That ray of sunshine, a happy influence in his life, and what had he done to him?
What had he done to his reassuring expression on days when his injury decided to be a bitch, what had he done to his calm presence on nights they couldn't sleep, and what had they done to his vulnerability as he confessed, not romantic, but equally important to his heart?
Vic hurt him.
He could see it in his face, the apprehensive vulnerability shifting, the shock at first and then a realization and pain, like utter sadness and more than that, grief, even.
"Was this all… just a favour to you?"
What was most horrible was the acceptance.
Vic expected anger at that point. He really did. He was prepared to let Justin take it out on him, and then he'd apologize because he really did fuck up, he didn't think before speaking, but instead Justin accepted it and left him, still paying, still worried.
He left, and Vic realized he had taken his kindness and friendship for granted.
When he first met Justin, it was watching him hand out rations.
The second time, he helped him feed the children, too weak to do it themselves, and he made jokes along the way, trying to cheer the kids up. Vic asked him why.
"The adults will have to remember all this pain and suffering. Perhaps the new generation can live without it." He was painfully optimistic, almost ridiculous (really, a few jokes to erase the memories of starvation?), and Vic hadn't realized it was something he needed.
The third doesn't really count, but Vic had stumbled upon sparring with a few soldiers, and remembered that such a soft person indeed was a soldier, somehow, and was a strong one. He watched as Justin downed a man.
"Sacre! Here, let me help you up." Justin was kicked in the face for his concern. Then, he brushed it off like it was something he was used to, and Vic had seen red.
Now, his hypocrisy stared at him from cooling plates and an empty, tucked in seat.
Justin was leaving in a week. For Vic, he might as well have left early.
The food was given to the kids in portions to take home. It was all very hearty, and Vic even found out that Justin had left home-baked cookies and small cakes next to the seat, distinctly Canadian in their maple themes, with a small note:
"Thank you for all you've done: you were the only friend I've ever made."
His only…
His only…?
How lonely could that have been?
"-so I don't really have a family." Vic had said in a conversation before the identity reveal, "what about you?"
Justin sighed.
"I mean, I’ve got everybody. My parents are still looking after me- one's British and the other is French. They're both in their respective armies, though. I have a brother too, and he’s an American soldier. He's more important, so I'm just left in his shadow most of the time. Oh, hey, what do you think about..." In Vic’s opinion, two parents in different armies sounded more like "parentless", and one favoured brother sounded like "nobody cares about me".
Canada… was truly lonely, wasn’t he?
Vic spent the days searching.
~
Vic found him at last on a train platform, a splash of red hair in the crowd.
The train whistled and the conductor called. Can stood, taking up his luggage. You'll never see him again. You'll never find him in the world out there- Canada's a big country, and there's no guarantee he'll even be there most of the time.
You'll be a passing memory. A heartbreak. Somebody he met in the Netherlands back in who knows where. An anecdote.
It might've been selfish of him, but for some reason, he didn't want to let that man go. He didn't want their time together, however short, fade into obscurity and nothing.
Flowers, tulips specifically, came easy to him, blooming in every shade, of which he hastily wrapped in newspaper (Allies Win!) into a rushed but fresh bouquet and hoped that he wasn't too late.
"Justin!"
Too far.
"Justin!" He called again, and this time the man turned, eyes widening and sparkling bright in the sunlight, lips parting in recognition, mouthing his name and Vic took that as permission enough to present him that bouquet, reds and whites, blends of pinks and oranges at the sides, warm like him and wrapped in that war, that celebration.
"Vic? What are you…?"
"I- I'd just like to say thank you, for everything, for that dinner and for your time and for all your help, "I'm sorry- I broke your heart," the sunlight splayed across the platform, tulips in broad daylight, uncaring for bystanders now, "yet I just couldn't… let you go." Justin watched him, stunned, and then he laughed, his auburn hair falling in front of his face and blush making his freckles pop.
One hand came up to tuck his hair behind his ear, and the other, to accept Vic's hasty bouquet.
"I can't be that important, Vic." His smile was still there, and his hair had fallen from behind his ear again.
Vic reached up and tucked it back, and like he said, his hand didn't leave him.
“But you are.” Justin's eyes watered, hand brushing up Vic's wrist to press his palm into his cheek. It was warm, the physical confirmation that indeed, he was blushing.
"Thank you."
"I should be thanking you, Justin."
The train whistled once more.
"You need to get on that train."
“Yeah.”
Justin left, with a smile this time.
Vic... he gave such mixed signals.
And yet...
He still felt the tingling warmth of the kiss of Vic's fingertips, could still trace the grooves where Vic had held the bouquet, and he wanted to hold onto that moment forever.
He met up with his family in France, waiting for him already. Their eyebrows rose upon seeing Justin carrying both his suitcase, and a decently sized bouquet of tulips.
"Fleurs, hm?" Asked Jean, in French, thankfully. The flowers were still wet at the stems too.
"J'ai… connu un homme." He answered. Jean whistled at that.
"Boyfriend?" He switched to English, because he was an ass now. Edward and Sam were onto Justin in seconds. Justin blushed, half hiding behind his fresh flowers.
“ No .” He squeaked.
"Ahh, my son's first amour! I can't believe it!"
And tulips were sent, every year, to Canada, as a thank you from the Netherlands.
This was every country's first tip off that the stranger who Justin had fallen in love with was not a human.
HISTORY ACHIEVED:
In 1945, the Dutch royal family sent 100,000 tulip bulbs to Ottawa in gratitude for Canadians having sheltered the future Queen Juliana and her family for the preceding three years during the Nazi occupation of the Netherlands in the Second World War. The most noteworthy event during their time in Canada was the birth in 1943 of Princess Margriet at the Ottawa Civic Hospital. The maternity ward was temporarily declared to be extraterritorial by the Canadian government, thereby allowing Princess Margriet's citizenship to be solely influenced by her mother's Dutch citizenship.[4][5] In 1946, Juliana sent another 20,500 bulbs requesting that a display be created for the hospital, and promised to send 10,000 more bulbs each year.
- Wikipedia