Why does this stuff always happen to me? Canada thought, as he bit his lip. Why do I always love the insane ones?
A France look-alike was standing over the small country with a frightening smirk on his face. This France didn't look completely right. He had scruff, like he hadn't shaved in a while, which for France never happened, his blue eyes which normally only glowed with love and adoration towards Canada, held darkness with a touch of insanity.
"François…?" He tried, fleetingly hoping that he could get through to the other country, to restore the one he loved.
But the hope was in vain, for this France growled menacingly at Matthew, making the Canadian shrink away even more.
Closing his eyes, and fearing for his life, Canada felt tears run down his cheek.
All of a sudden, he felt someone straddle him and a rough tongue lap the tears away. Oh, God. He thought frantically. No.
Tough hands forced him to face his attacker, where chapped lips dominated his. For a second, Canada let himself imagine it was HIS France, instead of this deranged doppelganger.
But when this stranger forced his tongue past Canada's lips, his fantasy vanished, replacing itself with the harsh reality that he was being raped. By France.
"You are mine. It doesn't matter what any other country says. You are mine." The intruder growled, his voice sounding like France's but not at the same time.
Canada let out a small whimper when he felt those hands, so very different from François' move down his body, and rest on the button to his jeans.
"No." Matthew choked out. That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because it seemed as if a fire was lit in the insane France's eyes.
"No? I was under the impression that you were mine, and that nothing would stop that." He hissed into Canada's ear, "Not even you."
His senses numbed, Canada didn't even feel it when the stranger unbuttoned his pants and pull them off with more gentleness than Canada would have imagined could come from this man.
Matthew could hear snickering at seeing his maple leaf boxers.
Don't laugh at me! They were a gift from François! He thought angrily.
Suddenly struck by an adrenaline rush, Canada kicked out at his attacker.
Hitting his target in the gut, he felt elated. This may work. He aimed another kick to the mass of dirty blonde hair, but was unsuccessful when a hand grabbed his ankle and deflected.
"Oh, a fighter, now are you? That's okay, go ahead-mmm- Struggle."
Horrified that this man was getting off on him struggling, he went limp, hoping that he could deflect anything else that decided to come his way.
The blonde man kissed him again, and he ripped Canada's shirt off. A whine escaped the Canadians throat and his attacker smirked. He started leaving bites all the way down Canada's chest, and lingered at his nipples. Canada's cock twitched at the attention. No! No! I am NOT getting turned on! This is wrong! This is nothing like how François does it!
"Ohhon, you liking this now? Bonus."
Oh my God, even his laugh is the same...
Running his hands down Canada's chest, the smaller country let out a whine, "François, please..."
Looking up, his attacker growled, "My name is Jean Luc. You need to know that for it's that name you're about to be moaning."
Wrenching down Canada's boxers, Jean seemed to be getting more excited. His eyes were darkening, and his breaths were coming out in little pants. Pulling himself out of his own jeans, he roughly shoved three fingers into Canada's mouth ordering him to suck on them. Canada did so with tears streaming down his face, knowing what these fingers were going to be used for.
When Jean deemed them sufficient, he thrust one finger past Canada's tight ring of muscle, and moved it slightly before adding the second and third. When He could fit all three of his fingers in, he postioned himself at Canada's entrance. At the first thrust, Canada screamed, but Jean Luc didn't show any signs of letting up. At the fifth and sixth thrusts, Canada was numb. Jean was moaning and had his eyes closed and his head thrown back. With Jean's speeding up, Canada knew that this man was close.
Canada could hear the french moans of "Mon cher," and "Mon amour." and Canada shuddered to think about what those things meant to this man.
Suddenly Jean stilled, and Canada could feel his hot seed filling him.
Pulling out, Jean got up and left without another word, leaving Canada a mess, both physically, and mentally. He pulled up his pants, wincing at the disgusting wet feeling, curled up into a ball, and wept.
X X X
"Canada?" The abused country started at the voice.
"Mon cher?"
Mon cher.
"NO! Get away from me!" He shrieked.
"Matthew?"
"I said, get the fuck away from me, you psycho!" The smaller country took one more look at the blonde and ran.
France narrowed his blue eyes, automatically knowing what happened.
Jean Luc had gone too far. France was used to his alternate self messing with his relationships- God knows that's the reason England refused to marry him- But Canada was his.
This had to end.
X X X
"Jean Luc! Come out here this instant!" France said, banging on the door to a sleazy apartment.
Jean stepped out wearing a wife beater, and smoking a cigarette.
The tank top outlined muscles France wasn't sure he himself even had.
"What do you want, pussy?"
Taking a deep breath, France squared his shoulders, and said, "You claimed something that wasn't yours."
Curling his lip, Jean Luc sneered out, "Yours, eh? He seemed to sure be begging for me."
"Then you are sorely mistaken, because dear Matthew loves me. He has told me that."
"Bullshit. How can anyone love you? You're a pussy of a country, and you never take anything you want. Why would anyone look at you?"
France's hand shot out and smacked his alternate self, and immediately, he felt like that was the worst thing he could have ever done.
"Shouldn't have done that, bitch. Now, you're fucking mine."
Jean grabbed France by his lapels, and dragged him into the apartment. Shutting the door, he backed the country into it. His dark blue eyes rapidly going black, and something in France's brain was thinking about how he's leaving himself open, but the part of his brain that controls him, was panicking to the max.
He didn't even see Jean Luc's fist connecting with his nose. France saw stars, and felt himself drift a little farther away from consciousness. Jean took him by the throat and he whispered in France's ear, almost intimately, "You shouldn't have done this. I never wanted to kill myself before today as much I do now."
Maybe I shouldn't have told Canada to meet me here then.
Suddenly, Jean let go of France's neck, and France slumped to the ground, coughing roughly.
"Stay there. I will be back"
Still coughing, France fleetingly wondered if he was going to live past this day. Jean came back with a glinting knife in his hand, and all hope that was kindled for living went out the window.
Closing his eyes, so he wouldn't have to look into his own eyes killing him, France steeled himself for it.
Until the door was knocked on, gently, and he knew that Canada was here, and France was somewhat glad, at least poor Matthew would know that it wasn't actual France who violated Canada so roughly.
"Who... Is it...?" Jean said, in France's voice, which was his own, only lacking all the menace that is always there.
"M-Matt."
Glancing down at the real France, with an malicious glint in his eyes, Jean Luc kept with the charade, "Why come in, mon cher! I didn't think you would come so soon!"
Roughly kicking France out of the way, Jean opened the door. He quickly grabbed Canada in the same way he grabbed France earlier, and slammed the door.
"Now that we're all here, we can get the game started."
Canada's violet eyes were wide, darting from one France to another.
"W-what's going on?" Canada stuttered.
"Mon amour, please, do not listen to anything this man says, I am not he, and I was not the one who violated you. Je t'aime." France said quickly, knowing that if he didn't say this fast, he would never get the chance to again.
"Oh well now. Isn't this a nice family gathering? Now, Canada, I really want you to see this, because I want you to know that I relish doing this with every fibre of my heart and soul." Jean Luc said nastily.
France drew in a deep breath, knowing exactly what was coming. "Je t'aime, Canada, je t'aime."
"W-why are you saying it like that? W-w-what's going on?!"
Jean smiled a toothy grin that was dripping with pleasure and insanity.
"Je dois partir."
Jean Luc rose the blade, catching the reflection of France in it. France saw that he didn't look scared. He knew what was coming, and he knew that Canada knew that it wasn't him that destroyed all that the poor little country believed in.
"You know this has to happen." Jean whispered as he pressed the sharp blade to France's neck, "You knew this was coming sooner or later, you just didn't know that it would be at the hands of me."
He drug the knife across France's neck, and he let out a muffled scream that was hindered by the blood filling his trachea and esophagus.
Watching in horror, Canada watched as the man he loved was slaughtered by someone who looked like him. What is this world coming to? He wondered. Why did this happen?
Canada never looked back, when he ran out the door. Tears were streaming down his face. Not knowing where he was, he slumped down in a back alley, hoping that Jean didn't follow him, and he let the tears consume his body, and he let sobs take him over.
X X X
Hours later, Canada was still silently sobbing. Footsteps echoed down the deserted alleyway, and he panicked, thinking it was him coming to finish the job.
"Matthew?"
Almost collapsing in on himself, Canada recognized the voice of England. Obviously England hadn't realized that Canada was crying, but what was new? Canada thought himself lucky that he was even recognized by the englishman.
"Oh, Matthew, I'm looking for that French bastard. Have you seen him?"
Canada broke into fresh tears at that simple sentence. Blinking rapidly, not knowing what just happened, England asked, "What? What did that man do to you?"
"N-n-nothing. H-he didn't d-d-do anything. Arthur, France is... d-d-d-dead..."
England's green eyes widened hugely. "What?"
Oh, God, don't make me say it again.
"Are you serious?"
Gazing up at England, Canada's eyes made it clear enough that the French country that everyone loved to hate was truly dead.
"Oh. Well. Doesn't that suck." England said, walking away.
Gaping at the receding back of the Englishman, Canada was appalled at how uncaring that was. Yes, Canada knew that France and England didn't always get along, but that was simply mean! Canada knew for a fact that before he and France got together, France and England were kind of fuck buddies. They would hate each other at the world meetings, but they would be in each others ass afterwards.
I should have known that England wouldn't have helped me out. He never cared. he only wanted to steal me away from François to spite him.
Getting up, and feeling completely hollow, Canada decided to go home, hoping that something would distract him from the crushing sadness that was threatening to overtake him.
X X X
Slowly walking into the house, he quietly called out, "I'm home." to the dead air.
This was the house that he shared with France. Walking into the living room, he slumped onto the couch, running his fingers over the fabric, thinking of how many memories he and France had shared on it. Kumajiro padded into the room, and asked his usual 'who are you?' but he also noticed that Canada was listless. Nothing affecting him anymore, so the little bear asked what was wrong.
"Do you remember François?"
Kuma nodded, and cocked his head.
"He's not going to be here anymore." That was all Canada could say before he broke out into tears.
A knock resounded throughout the house, and jumped Canada off the couch. He was hoping that Italy had come over so that he ould have someone to talk to.
He was wrong.
Jean Juc was at the door.
"What, did you expect me to leave you be?" He said nastily, backing Canada into the house, and slamming the door.
Retreiving a knife out of his back pocket, Jean held it up for Canada to see. Sickly, Canada recognized the knife that ripped his lover so harshly out of this life.
"No. Please."
"I said you were mine. Obviously him being dead won't be enough. I will not let anyone stake any claim to you. Ever. Again."
He pressed the blade into Canada's abdomen.
"Mine." Jean Luc said as he thrust the knife into his stomach.
Screaming, Canada fell to his knees, and Kumajiro came running. The little white bear stopped seeing the deranged man standing ith a dripping blade, that looked an awful lot like the person whoever was on the floor said wasn't coming anymore.
Canada looked up at the small squeak Kuma let out. He was still clutching his abdomen, but he managed to rasp out, "Run."
Canada was losing the battle, and he knew it. He wasn't planning on fighting anyway. He wanted to go home. Go see François again. Letting go, Canada closed his eyes, so that he wouldn't see the France look alike, and with his last breath he whispered, "Je rentre à la maison, mon amour."