It was an odd place around him, Canada observed. Things were at first not in complete focus, seeming as if he were standing in a white mist that clouded his vision. The first thing he could make out in the dull world was a light gray figure of a man in the distance. Somehow, it felt like he had seen the landscape before. Looking down at himself, Matthew noticed he was wearing his military uniform from the second World War. In the back of his mind, a fading and almost forgotten thought formed.

So it was this one again then. The dream of the past.

Looking up with serious violet eyes at the figure before him, Matthew stepped forward, ready for battle.

That must be Alfred, he thought. The ambush is supposed to be not too far from here.

He smiled at his brother as the fog cleared and he was able to completely recognize him. Matthew greeted Alfred with a warm "Hey" as he rushed up to the American with bright admiring eyes.

"Who..."

So careless.

"...Are you?"

"You're kidding right? You know me."

"I do not. I shall repeat myself. Who are you? Answer quickly or I will shoot you."

Canada's eyes widened and felt tears beginning to tease at his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away. This was Alfred. Surely he was joking right? Right? He looked into his brother's eyes, attempting to confirm his hopes. The American's blue eyes were empty and indifferent, as if saying 'You're a waste of my time'. Matthew despised that look. The look that everyone had always given him. "Y-you don't remember m-me?," he finally managed to ask. America tilted his head slightly. "Remember you? I don't understand. Have we met before?"

No. It... It couldn't be. Did he really... Forget?N-no...

Not him. No.

No!

"NOOO!"

Canada let out loud, angry, tormented shriek, one that was so unnaturally loud for him it not only caught his brother off guard but shook him to the core with fear. What was wrong with this person? Alfred attempted to calm the Canadian, who was now on one knee, crying into his hands.

"Uh... I'm sorry? L-look, if we have met before then I apologize, but I don't recall meeting you. Where and when did we meet?"

Matthew looked up at Alfred with a tear stained face.

"W-what? You've never forgotten that! We... We grew up together! We're brothers!"

America had a look of shock and confusion on his face, and then it instantly turned to anger.

"You liar! Bastard! You're a spy aren't you! I should shoot you where you stand!"

What?!

"N-no it's true! How could you forget that?"

A gun was pointed merely inches away from Canada's face.

"I shall give you one more chance! Who the hell are you?!"

That's it.

In a split-second, Matthew had pulled out two pistols and jammed them harshly against each of Alfred's cheeks.

"I'M FUCKING CANADA!"

The fearful look he got was priceless. The Canadian's fingers tightened around both gun triggers, but after a moment, he lowered the weapons and instead used them to bash the American's head. The attack sent the blonde to the ground, glasses breaking apart and bright red blood staining the snow. At first glance he seemed unconscious, but a pained groan and an attempt to get up proved otherwise. Canada saw this, kicking the man back down.

"No running brother. Stay still so I can kill you."

A heavy boot grinded forcefully into the blond's back as he tried to escape again.

"Actually... I think I'll torture you instead. Yes, you'll never forget the name Matthew Williams for as long as you live. How does that sound Alfred?"

A shiver went down Germany's spine. He didn't understand. He had never met this man before! Why should he pay the price for honesty? And why did he just get called Alfred? Wasn't that America's human name? Yes, German blood ran through the younger country's veins and resembled himself a bit, but surely they did not look that much alike. If anything, the nation that stood before him was much closer to America in appearance than him. The boy was obviously seeing things. He was Germany! Not America! But if he was against America, did that mean he was a part of the Axis? Perhaps if he explained this to the...uh...um...Ca...nadi...an? He attempted to speak between gasps, as the other nation was still stepping on him. "Plea... please! I...a-am...Germany-AAGH!" Canada pulled the blond up to eye level by his now messy and blood-soaked hair. "Oh really? Because I see a pathetic, arrogant America in front of me. And even if you were Germany, I would still hurt you. This was an ambush on his country, have you forgotten that too?"

I see, the German nation thought. So he vas a spy. Und a crazy vun at that. What kind of person would attack their own allies? At any rate, he had not taken out his legs. If he was clever, he could retreat and come back with reinforcements. For now, he would play along with this crazy man. "Y-you're right I forgot. I am so sorry. V-vill you forgive me, mein bruder?" The blond now stood straight over him, creating a terrifying illusion of him being eight feet tall. He scoffed silently and brought another heavy winter boot down upon a hand that was twitching towards the shotgun lying in the snow. Germany released a loud yell of distress before quickly biting down on his lip to try and bear the pain. The Canadian spoke to the beaten man with an eerily calm voice.

"Not this time. I've forgiven you too many times, for too many things."

A knife was pulled out from Canada's right sleeve, driven into Germany's left calf, and then dragged down to his ankle. A blood-curdling screech and skin-crawling laugh broke the still of the chilled winter dawn. More cuts appeared on the German's arms, legs, and backside. For an added measure, the twisted nation snapped the other man's right arm with bliss to make sure that he couldn't get to his trusty weapon, which was slowly being covered up by falling snow. After screams were no longer heard from his victim (who was still very much alive but unconscious and breathing shakily), Matthew had decided to count the cuts he had created. He hummed a distorted version of his own national anthem and finally giggled loudly. He had counted three cuts on each shoulder, eight on the backside, seven on the left arm, three on the right forearm, four on the left leg, and ten on the right.

Thirty-eight in total.

The world had once again fallen silent, allowing Canada to fully take in the wonders of the early snow-covered morning. The sun had risen, which brought a slight warmth on the land. The sunlight had caused the snow to glisten in a rather majestic peaceful manner. Matthew admired the way the white and red blended together, and was thankful for the morning that could show him in full detail what he had done.

What he had done.

Oh God, he thought as tears began to stream down his face. What have I done?

Another cry pierced the air that crimson morning as Canada dropped to his knees in front of the man he had attacked, a scream that was tormented and ashamed and begged for forgiveness.

Purple eyes snapped open and Matthew awoke with a gasp of breath. The air around him felt dense as he heaved heavy breaths and tried to calm himself. It was late in the morning, almost noon, and light streamed brightly through a window without curtains in his room. A small polar bear was seen sleeping on the foot of the bed but looked up at his owner when he sat up wincing slightly. Canada heard a small whine come from his companion and looked over to see the animal jump off the bed and begin to claw at the door impatiently.

"Food. Gimme food."

"Alright Kumataki, just a moment," he sighed wearily.

Canada stood and stretched, or at least tried to. He had stretched out his cuts that had scabbed over during the night, which had caused most to reopen with fresh blood pouring out. The blond yelped in pain, pulled off his dark nightshirt, and quickly went over to the bathroom to wash away the red liquid that was seeping through his clothes. He got a hand towel from a cabinet below the sink, got it damp with warm water, and began to dab at the wounds on his right shoulder. It stung, which caused Matt to curse or hiss a bit every once in while, but was already used to this kind of pain, so he didn't mind very much.

A knock came from the floor below, and a loud voice called from outside.

"Bro! Dude, I brought you breakfast, or lunch... I dunno. Ah, whatever. Food! I brought you food!"

A slight smirk formed on Matthew's face at the sound of his brother. He had always known how to make his presence heard. The faint smile quickly disappeared however when Canada realized that the cuts on his back were still dripping with blood. Alfred would definitely notice the red stains again. That's when he rapidly tore off the rest of his clothes and turned on the shower, gritting his teeth and trying his best not to scream out at the excruciating pain coming from his gashes. An impatient American was heard even over the blasting noise of the shower.

"Duuuuuude! I'm freezing my ass off! Get yer lazy Canadian butt out here! Don't keep the Hero waiting!"

"J-just a second!" he called back, although he knew he wouldn't be heard with his quiet voice. Alfred grew more and more restless until he shouted at the front door.

"Bro, if you don't answer the door right now I'll let myself in!"

Canada didn't like the sound of that. America 'letting himself in' meant breaking down the door, and he didn't want to have to buy a replacement. Again. He turned off the water as soon as he heard that and rushed back into his bedroom to find a pair of underwear, some jeans, a red T-shirt and a black jacket. Matthew put on the clothes rapidly, leaving the jacket open because the zipper kept getting stuck. Stupid zipper. He pulled back his hair into a loose ponytail (something he did when his hair was drying) and rushed downstairs to let his brother in, who was still threatening to tear open the door.

"A-alright Mattie, it's too cold! I'm l-letting myself in-"

"Don't. Touch. That. Door." Matthew warned loudly.

He unlatched the lock and opened the door to see America holding two coffees and a box of Shipley's donuts in one arm and the other raised in a fist, ready to punch down the door. It was too cold for him to wear his trademark Hero jacket. Instead, he wore a thick maroon winter coat, a rich cream-colored fur lining the hood. Dark blue jeans covered the main part of some cowboy boots. As much as he tried to hide it, Alfred couldn't handle Canada's frigid winters (heck, Al couldn't handle his own), and he was shivering violently.

"Hahaha! B-bout time you let m-me in, dude!" America stuttered out as he shuffled quickly inside. "Here!" He shoved one of the coffees in Canada's hands, which he then took back, and set both drinks and the box of donuts on the nearby dining room table. Matthew shut the front door and took a look the thermostat on the wall, turning it up a few notches. The Canadian liked cold weather, but always tried to make sure that his home was nice and warm for company. He looked over to his brother sitting at the table, noticing that his hands were red and shaking uncontrollably from the cold. His face was also red, and the American's teeth were chattering between bites of chocolate-glazed donut.

"Hey Al, I can get you a blanket if you want."

"I don't really n-need it, but s-sure! Kn-knock yourself out dude!"

Canada let out an amused snuff of air. His brother was always the kind to never admit to a weakness, even if it ending up hurting him in some way. Then again, Matthew was the same way. He supposed that was just another one of the many traits that both nations shared. The blonde made his way to a hallway leading into the living room, stopping at a closet on the right side of the corridor. Inside were stacks upon stacks of sheets and blankets, all varying in color, pattern, and thickness. He grabbed a thick and down-like blue comforter from the top of the furthest left pile and turned to go back to the dining room.

When he had walked back, Alfred had somehow, in the few moments that Matthew was gone, dozed off in the simple wooden chair, his head hung down and off to the left. Another talent that America had: Falling asleep out of nowhere. And no one understood it. He was mumbling numbers and political phrases in his sleep, every once in a while nodding or shaking his head at someone.

"46... thousand... d-deficit... gotta... more money... no more... debt... yeah... Obama... 's fine... but still... dunno... need money..."

Canada gave his sleeping brother a sad worried look and carefully draped the blanket over him, then sat in a chair across the table and began to eat his breakfast/lunch quietly. America tossed a bit and said something in his slumber, though Matthew could not make out what it was. He took a sip of the coffee left out for him, realized that it was now cold and went to the kitchen to warm it back up in the microwave, taking one of the donuts with him in his mouth. Good donuts. Al made a good call for breakfast. This time.

Looks like Alfred's having some worries over his government, Canada thought to himself. Come to think of it, he's been looking a little under the weather lately. I hope he hasn't gotten sick.

He looked back into the dining room to see his sibling facing him, still asleep, but now looking rather discomforted and almost seeming ready to either cry or punch something. His breaths had become hitched and unsteady, and his voice rose louder with fear.

"N-no! M-ma... Nn! D-don... don't! No! C-come back! M-matt! MATTHEW!"

He stretched his right arm outwards and the chair began to tip backwards.

By the time Alfred had fallen out of his seat, Matthew had already run over to catch him, knees buckling under the weight of his brother. The chair crashed to the floor in the opposite direction, creating a deafening sound that made the nation snap awake, but still without a sense of reality, as he was still reaching out towards an invisible figure and was desperate to catch it.

"Ah! Aah! Matt! MATT!" he yelled out. Alfred scream made Matthew flinch.

"Alfred, it's okay! I'm right here!"

"Hah, M-ma...nngh!"

Tears began to form in America's scared blue eyes, and Canada tried his best to help his brother get a grip of reality.

"Al!" He gripped his older brother's shoulders carefully and turned him to face him. The blond tried to tear himself free of his sibling's grasp, but Canada stayed firm.

"It's me! Brother!"

America stopped struggling and locked blue eyes with his brother's amethyst eyes.

"M-mattie?"

"Yes, it's Mattie. It's okay, you're okay."

"Oh thank God."

Alfred pulled his brother into a tight hug, face buried into Matthew's shoulder and arms wrapped around his middle and lower back. Canada cringed at the burning sensation coming from his once again reopening wounds. He could feel the blood dripping down his back, then smearing into his clothes. By instinct, he pushed his brother away from him and clutched his side where one of his cuts were, head down and not noticing the hurt but worried look on Alfred's face. Thinking that he had hugged Matthew too hard, Al reached a hand out towards his brother, never touching him, but reaching out nonetheless.

"M-matthew?"

Shit, Canada thought. Now he's suspicious. What's worse, I've hurt his feelings.

He knew that he couldn't tell his brother the truth about the cuts (or that he had even gotten more of them since they had last met), it would kill him. But it was killing Matthew to not tell Alfred about it. The Canadian kept his head bowed down, unable to bring himself to meet his brother's concerned gaze. He couldn't believe himself. He was lying to his own brother, the one he could always trust, always turn to in times of need.

He could depend on Alfred right?

He always had. Maybe he would understand. Perhaps it was time to stop spinning the web of deceit for his brother and give him the truth.

But no, Al would do the worst.

Knowing his brother, he'd not listen to the whole story and take the most unnecessary measures possible. He'd tell the world of Matthew's problem, and he'd then get unnecessary "help" from the friends that remembered him. Yes, he'd keep it a secret for longer. But knowing America better than anyone, he knew it would tear apart his brother's heart to find out that his little brother had been hurting himself. He didn't want to see his big and strong brother cry. He didn't want to make him cry. That was the real reason Canada kept it a secret.

America called out once again to him, a hand now barely touching the edges of Canada's black jacket.

"Matthe-"

Canada had pulled him into a tight but gentle embrace, keeping his brother's arms wrapped in his own so that he could not hug back and agitate his wounds yet again. The guilt was eating him, and couldn't hold back the apology that was itching at his throat.

"I'm sorry, Brother."

His head gave into the guilt and weeped loudly into America's shoulder. Alfred was at a loss. Sure he was a little surprised by being pushed away from, but Mattie didn't have to apologize. And... why was he crying? Why would Matthew have any reason to be sorry?

Was...

Was his little brother hiding something?

Blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. What could he be keeping a secret? Matthew had been keeping his older brother at arm's length lately, not only refusing the usual hugs, but also conversations. What used to be "How are things in your country" and "Do you remember this one time" to "How are things" with a simple reply of "... Fine." Fine, huh? That word was too vague for Canada. He was the type of guy that would, around certain company, talk your ear off about an animal he saw on his hiking route. "Fine" was not a word Matthew just threw around like some angsty teenager. Something was definitely eating at him.

America didn't try to get anything out of him though. It wasn't a good idea to pry for answers when someone was weeping uncontrollably. No, it would be best to wait. If you wanted something from Canada, it would take patience. And believe it or not, Alfred had plenty. But that didn't mean he couldn't do a little snooping. So after Matthew calmed down, America would pull his infamous, Spontaneous Overnight Horror Marathon on him. Hell, maybe they could do a little bro-bonding in the process. Something the two brothers shared in common: ghosts and demonic possession scared them shit-less.

In the meantime, all he could do was hold his brother close, silently praying that Matthew would never be taken away from him.

"It's alright Matt," whispered Alfred. Matthew grip loosened, allowing for America to raise his left arm to stroke the weeping Canadian's hair in a comforting gesture.

"It's... Alright."