DISCLAIMER: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia, its characters, its plot, etc.

PAIRINGS: FrancexEngland (but mostly family fluff)

PLEASE READ FIRST: Since I've had to explain this a couple times and since it is a bi-cultural (even a word?) reference, I thought I should put a note here so people can understand.

For the longest time, I was only ever aware of the American useage of the term "knocked up". (As an American, that's fairly normal, no?) It wasn't until I saw an episode on TV that featured a British actor among American ones that I learned that it meant anything else at all. I pretty much forgot about that until I was reading through the Sherlock Holmes stories and came across it again. (Do you have any idea how weird it is to read Watson saying, "And then Holmes came knocked me up in the middle of the night." Very, very weird...) By that time I had become an APH fan and just had to- had to- write out this scenario. So here's the explanation.

British usage: To be woken abruptly.

American usage: To become pregnant, usually out of wedlock.

Isn't language interesting?

Knocked Up

"Try speaking American! It's the only language I understand."

-Yugioh Abridged Series, littlekuriboh

"Good morning England," America greeted, coming into the conference room. A long yawn was his reply. Blinking in slight surprise, America took in the ruffled appearance and black crests under the eyes. "Woah! You look like crap. What happened to you?"

"Nothing," England yawned again. He rubbed at his eye and face, trying to stop the nerves from going numb. Oh, his body was so sore... "Stupid France," he whined aloud. "Came along in the middle of the night and," another yawn, "knocked me up..." As he stretched up his arms, he missed the gaping caught-fish on America's face. Nor did he notice how the other blonde more fell than sat into his chair.

"I...see..." America stammered.

England snorted, "Bloody rude of him."

"Oh yeah?" America commented absently, still trying to wrap his mind around this new piece of information. Like...wow... Suddenly a flash of excitement raced through him and he couldn't help but blurt out, "So when is the baby due?"

England's head jerked, certain he had heard wrong. "Pardon?" he stuttered. "What baby?"

America just looked England up and down critically, then frowned, confused. "You don't look pregnant," he muttered, then reach out a hand, added louder, "What do you mean 'what baby'? I mean my new little brother. Or sister, I suppose."

The other blonde nearly leaped out of his chair to get out of reach of the curious hand. "I beg your pardon, America!" he cried. "But I am most certainly not pregnant!"

America gave an annoyed look. "You just said you were!" he defended. Then, pursing his lips, he asked, "What are you and Papa gonna name it?"

England blinked, "Me and who?"

"Papa France," America answered bluntly.

England couldn't breathe, let alone respond. His mouth dropped then shut and then dropped again, choking on his own horror. America, sensing nothing out of the ordinary, continued to study his parent country's belly, still musing about his impending new sibling. He couldn't remember any other of his siblings being brought about in this way, but he also couldn't remember paying attention either. He was just nursing a new worry about how horrible it would be for the new kid to inherit England's eyebrows, Hong Kong's personality, and Canada's forgetableness, when England finally lost it.

"Why are you calling him 'papa'?" the older country shrieked.

"Hm," America's mouth twisted in distaste as he remembered. "Well, it all started last Tuesday..."

"Where is it? Where is it?" America mumbled under his breath as he rummaged around on his knees under the conference table. His stash of hamburgers that he always had reserved for snacking had been short precisely one hamburger. Since he was always triple sure to leave home with the right amount, that last one must have gotten lost somewhere. But where?

"Looking for something?" France's voice inquired, jolting up America in surprise and consequently making him bump his head on the table.

"Ow!"

Ignoring France's chortling, America pulled out from under the table and climbed to his feet. It was only after adjusting his glasses was he able to see what France held in his hand. (Carefully protected by a thick clothe napkin, of course.) "My hamburger!" America cried gleefully. He reached out to grab it when France suddenly pulled it out of reach. He tried once more only for France to pull it back again. They repeated this dance a few more times before America finally lost patience. "What do you want France?"

"Ohohohohohoho," France guffaw over his (small) victory. "Never fear my dear America; you will get your precious morsel back." He dabbed delicately at the moisture the laughter had caused to form in his eyes, and then smiled at a pouting America. Ah, sometimes it was hard not to get nostalgic. Out of all the "children", America and Canada received the most of his and England's looks. (Thank goodness the both of them had inherited his eyebrows at least. Poor Hong Kong.) And that flamboyant personality? All his. England was loud, but he couldn't hold a candle to what France was capable of. When it came to preferences, however, he far preferred Canada's quiet nature to his twin's bad attitude. (That was all England's fault.) Still, all this reminiscing had given him an idea. "You'll get it back, but you have to do something for me too."

America frowned, not liking where this was going, "I don't follow."

"All you have to do," France went on, "is call me 'papa' five- no, ten- times." He added quickly, "And you can't just say them all at once. You have to use it in a sentence."

"..." America thought about it and then said, "Papa... You're an asshole."

"Geh!" France flinched, startled. "W-what?"

Just as bluntly, "Papa, give me the burger."

"Now, wait a moment-"

"Papa, you're so slow."

"Stop it! Just stop it!"

"And he ran out of the room before I got much further," America ended his narrative. "But he did give me back the hamburger. So a deal's a deal, I guess."

"Hmm," England murmured, frowning. France was as idiotic as ever but America's behavior was little better.

"I've already did eight," the younger blonde added. "So just two left."

England sighed and rubbed his forehead. "America," he spoke up after a moment, looking at the other with open curiosity, "What made you think I was pregnant?"

America raised an eyebrow. "Was pregnant?" he restated. "What does that meant?"

"For the last time," England reiterated, "there is not baby!"

Blue eyes opened incredibly wide. "You lost the baby?" he cried, getting to his feet. The other immediately tried to pull him back down.

"I didn't lose anything!" the older country cried in his defense. "I-!" His argument became choked- literally- as two small arms reached around from behind to hug his neck tightly.

A young voice squealed behind his ear, "Papa!"

Oh no.

It couldn't be.

"I found him in the hallway," Austria explained, walking by. "You can thank me later."

England tried to show how thankful he was by reaching out to take the brunette in a choke-hold, but as he was currently being strangled himself, he couldn't reach very far.

"What's this?" inquired a familiar voice.

Double drat.

"France," England hissed, green eyes glaring at the swaggering blonde that came to stand beside him.

His arch-enemy just smirked and pulled out a rose. "Friend of yours England?" he asked, taking in the young newcomer. The child, noticing he was being stared at, released his hold on England and stepped back, looking up at him and America shyly. He looked like England, a lot like England actually. Save for the blue eyes, he looked exactly as England had when France first met him.

Quite disorienting really.

"No," England gasped out, rubbing his throat, "not quite."

"Then who is he?" France raised an eyebrow. "Certainly not a country I recognize."

That's when America chirped in, "He's your son!" He looked up from the boy to look France. "Congratulations Papa!"

"Eh?" France and the newcomer blinked. England just covered his face with his right hand.

"Boy, you guys work fast," America whistled, looking his new sibling over. Then, leaning over, he smiled. "Hi! I am the United States of America, but you can call me America. Who are you?"

The child smiled back in response. "I'm Sealand! Nice to meet'cha!" he gave an awkward salute. "Say, do you know England, mister?"

America chuckled. "He took care of me when I was small," he explained. "And France did too, I guess. Kind of."

"Ingrate," France hissed, one eye twitching.

The other country continued on, "So that would make us brothers."

Sealand's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Bro.." he stuttered, "Brothers..?"

It was as though all the world had disappeared, leaving only sparkles, glowing bubbles, and an all around warm feeling as the atmosphere. France and England felt very, very awkward as they watched America and Sealand share a moment.

The young country began to run (seemingly a very long distance despite having stood right next to the older blonde) his arms outstretched and tears streaming out behind him. "Bro~ther," he called, a soft echo repeating the last syllable.

America, still on his feet, held out his arms in an anticipating gesture. "Brother," he called back with that same strange echo.

With an amazing leap, Sealand jumped into America's arms. The older country caught him and spun him around. The two laughed and laughed.

Leaving those two alone, France turned to England, "No really. Who is he?"

Once again, England sighed. "Something I created," he admitted, then paused. "Sort of. But now it thinks it has a mind of its own!"

France looked back at America and Sealand, who were now twirling around admist flowers of glee. "I'm noticing a pattern," he noted wryly.

England just gave an unamused snort.

"Ah!" America laughed, collapsing back into his chair with Sealand on his lap. Still chuckling, he ruffled his younger brother's hair. "You are so cute..." He turned to the seat on his right. "Isn't he, Canada?"

His twin nodded and smiled, "Yes! He looks so much like England, it's funny."

'The hell?!' France and England thought at once, jolting in surprise. 'When did he show up?'

(Little did they know that Canada had been there the whole time, even before England had trudged into the conference room to sit down. He had been debating for awhile whether or not to ask the older country what was wrong before- like usual- his twin came in to crack the ice on that issue. Crack the ice... Heh... More like flamethrower the hell out of it...)

France cleared his throat, visually trying to appear nonplussed at his son's "sudden" appearance. "So England's involvement I understandable," he reason aloud. He then pointed to himself, "So where do I come in?"

"Well," Canada tried to speak up, "it's a linguistics thing really-"

But America interrupted by chipping in with, "You knocked England up!"

A pause.

"America," England breathed out slowly, his sleep deprived brain finally starting to function, "just... what do you think 'knocked up' means?"

"Not think," his son tapped his head. "Know." He wrinkled his nose. "I've already had that talk, thank you."

Before either France or England had a chance to respond, another party decided to join in.

"What's this I hear about a new sibling?" Seychelles inquired, approaching. She peered around the back of America's seat to get a better look at the wide-eyed Sealand. Upon seeing him, she let out a squeal of excitement. "He's adorable!" Turning to look over her shoulder, she beckoned, "Hong Kong! Come here!"

"The news is spreading," France noted.

England just grunted.

Sealand clambered off of America's lap to stand before the tall, stoic Asian that approached them. The two of them were quite the picture of contrasts: height, facial expressions, and coloring- each the opposite of the other. There was, however, one feature that they held in common..."

The eyebrows, the other five members noted with varying degrees of sweatdrops. England just rubbed at his eyes and sighed.

A couple moments later and it was still impossible to tell if Hong Kong liked his new little brother or not. At last Seychelles broke the awkward silence by breathing a sigh of her own. Brown eyes looked Sealand over once more. "A new brother is all well and good," she admitted slowly before turning to England with beseeching eyes, "but, Mama, I'm starting to feel a bit outnumbered! Couldn't you and Papa do something about getting me a little sister?"

England vaguely thought that he should start carrying an inhaler on him if he was going to stop breathing so often in the morning.

France rubbed thoughtfully at his beard, ignoring his partner who was starting to turn a little blue. "I didn't know our little brood was so opinionated," he chuckled. Inwardly, he reflected on the irony of life. A mix of British and French... No wonder they were all so... quirky.

"WHAT?!" England shrieked, having regained the use of his vocal cords.

"Hm?" four of five of his kids blinked back at him.

He still hadn't regained his breathing yet though. "Why-? Him-? Me-? Wha-?" he gestured helplessly from him to France and then the rest of them. Apparently, he had only regained the use of one word at a time.

It took a moment for Seycelles to understand. "Oh!" she exclaimed with dawning comprehension. "Well... I always thought it was obvious." Blushing she looked for some help. "Right, Hong Kong?"

Surprisingly, the Asian gave a solemn nod in response. "Obvious," he echoed.

"Ah!" cried Sealand, clapping his hands together. "I think I understand! 'Papa' is actually 'Mama'! ...Wait..." He furrowed his thick brows in sudden confusion.

Canada coughed noncommittally and avoided eye contact.

It was almost a blessing that France was actually not beaming superiorly at England, but then again that was because the country was too busy clutching onto the back of England's seat with one hand while holding onto his gut with the other because his ribs were starting to ache from the boisterous guffaws of laughter he was expelling.

England flushed from both embarrassment and anger. "America," he whimpered, green eyes shining with last hope. Half of him didn't want to hear what the callous brute had to say, but the other half couldn't help thinking that perhaps his closest son might do something right.

"Hm?" America blinked up from the glowing screen of his Nintendo DS. Right about the time Hong Kong (or was it China? What was the difference again?) had walked over was about when his interest had started waning. To fight off boredom, he had pulled out the DS to continue working on the new videogame Japan had given him. Consequently, he had paid no attention whatsoever to what had gone on after he had turned the light on. The sound of his name had immediately pricked his interest. "What?"

Sensing an opportunity so tempting it was nearly invigorating, France butted in, "America, who's Papa?"

America, sensing nothing more at work than the continuation of France's game, grinned back and answered, "Why, Papa France of course," before turning back to his DS.

And that made ten.

He continued to be unaware of the dark cloud hanging over England and the rancorous crowing of victory from France.

"Don't talk to me," England growled at France before stalking out into the hallway. All through the meetings he had been acting particularly prissy. The other countries had learned quickly to avoid England. Only Seychelles and Canada had watched him guiltily; Hong Kong was as unemotional as usual and America remained oblivious that anything was wrong at all. (Sealand slightly was in the same boat, having been too caught up in observing his first ever world conference to notice anything amiss with his "parents".) For France, however, this was too good an opportunity to mess with his rival to pass up. So he skipped happily after England.

"C'mon, baby, don't be like that," he crooned playfully. He then had to dodge a sudden violent swing. Blasted barbarians. Never did have an ounce of manners. "Damn darlin'. That's cold."

"This is all your fault," England snapped, turning to face him and eyes blazing. "You just had to come and knock me up in the middle of the bloody night. All because Belinda or Jessica or whatever the bloody hell her name was decided not to sleep with you!"

France honestly couldn't remember her name either. Since England had been so kind as to stop in the middle of a vacant hallway, though, France just smiled charmingly and sidled up closer. They couldn't touch quite yet. His hands might jut burn off. With a wink, he replied, "You weren't complaining soon after. In fact, the only subject you were bringing up was just how good I was ma-"

Another swing swooshed past his nose.

Ah, he could always get his Brit to blush so easily.

[Special Ending: One Week Later]

"Hello Big Brother America!"

"...Who are you?"

"Huh? I'm Sealand, remember?"

"I see... And what part of Mexico are you from?"

"What?"

And America's horrible memory strikes again!

-End

Super thanks to Erro,

For being such a great beta late at night so I could post this up.