Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

AN: Oh look, I'm - I'm ALIVE. Yes, that's right readers, I'm here. I've just been very busy since August. I'll let you guess why. But look - a story! I know, you wish I had updated instead. Maybe I will. Soon. Hopefully. Just enjoy this story. It's a lot darker than what I normally right, besides my HetaOni fic. Flames will be given to Hong Kong to light his fireworks. Also, one-shot, and no pairings, as much as it may scream 'Nichu'.

Warnings: Self-harm, swearing, attempt at suicide, and no given translations for Japanese and Chinese. Also, I used Google Translate, so don't kill me if they're wrong. Don't kill me if anyone's OOC either, this was my first time writing some of the characters.

...

China had waited. And waited. And waited even more. Shadows now painted the lonely house dark, even though all of the lights were on, showing how late it was. What time was it? Ten, eleven at night? He didn't care anymore.

He looked at himself in the reflective surface of mirror above his sink. When people saw him, they saw the dark hair and warm eyes, and also his smooth, pale skin. But some people had seen further. Some people knew the vast amount of scars he held on his body.

Many attributed it to his age, he had been around for longer than practically anyone, and had fought numerous battles. Well, for the most part, that was true. He had sustained many from wars. But some shamed him. Some he had inflicted on himself.

In fact, he was holding the sharp kitchen knife in his hands now. His hair was loose, falling about his face as he stared at it, turning it over and over in his slender fingers, devoid of emotions.

What had he done to deserve this, he asked himself. He had tried so hard, he had taken such good care of all of his little brothers and sisters, even though that was not typically a one-man job. Why had they all left him? Had they not cared for him? No, he told himself. No, it had to be his fault. He must have done something to push them all away… even Japan.

Tears stung his coffee-colored eyes at the thought. Japan had been the first. The first to have been found. The first to be raised. The first to be loved.

But still, the first to leave. The first to renounce him. The first to break his heart.

Before he knew it, the blade cut a slit in his wrist. He winced at the blood welling up, trickling. But he was so used to this; he didn't feel the pain like before.

So he did it, again, and again. His right hand quickly sliding the knife down a centimeter, cutting, and then repeating the process, until there were fifteen little blood lines.

This was most certainly not the first time. And people never seemed to wonder why he wore such long sleeves…

He threw the knife down, alarmed at his actions. He turned the sink's water on, holding his damaged wrist under it. He watched the red swirl into the clear liquid, it always happened like this. He'd briefly lose control of himself, and start hurting himself for it. Then he'd come to his senses, and try and remedy the wrongdoing. It always happened, and it never lasted long enough.

Blood still dripping from his arm, he wandered upstairs. He was tired. Tired of going through the same day, lonely and bored. Tired of wondering if he was even allowed to call a sibling and just talk. Tired of living like this.

He walked into his bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. He didn't know this beaten down man. He looked pitiful, shameful. He hated himself. For everything.

But cutting wasn't permanent. He wanted to stop this, stop it all now. His eyes drifted to the medicine cabinet. Was he really…?

He opened it, taking out a capsule. Dozens of tiny little pills were inside.

Without a second thought, he opened it, pouring several into his hand. He brought his hand up to his mouth, and, mind devoid of all else, tipped the pills into his mouth, and swallowed.

Everything went dizzy. He clutched the ledge of the sink, stomach flipping in an urge for him to be sick, to get rid of the toxic amount of pills he had swallowed. His head felt as if it had been set on fire, splitting open. He couldn't see. He felt himself dropping.

The last thing he heard was someone screaming.

"Teacher!"

…

South Korea almost smacked himself. Dammit, it was October first! He couldn't believe he'd forgotten earlier. How could he forget Teacher's birthday?

So he went over. Sure, it was really late – Yao would probably be asleep – but he'd still go. It was only right of him.

When he arrived at the house, he was almost surprised. Was the door unlocked? That was odd. Perhaps the others had already come by earlier to wish him a happy day. Or perhaps he'd just forgotten again, that wouldn't be surprising.

He walked in, calling out "I'm here!" He looked around. Weird… the lights were all on. He looked around. That wasn't any fun, no one was downstairs? The sound of running water caught his attention. He went over to the kitchen, locating the sink. He turned off the faucet, and then froze. Was that…

He looked at the knife, alarmed. It was – it was covered in blood!

"Teacher?" He called again. "China, where the hell are you?" He now doubted that the older man was asleep. All of the lights on carelessly, the sink running – a bloody kitchen knife?

He ran up the steps, trying to find him. He could've sworn he heard a noise, and he turned to go to the bathroom.

Upon opening door he saw him. He watched as Yao convulsed, one hand gripping the ledge of a sink while the other was wrapped tightly around his chest, as if he was restricted or couldn't breathe. His face was contorted in pain, and though the man was facing him, Im Yong Soo could tell that Yao couldn't see him.

He unfroze. "Teacher!" he screamed, rushing forward and catching the small man as he suddenly dropped. The elder cringed in his arms, pale as snow, and went still.

To say South Korea was freaking out would've been an understatement. He had enough sense, however, to call the ambulance.

He just hoped it wasn't too late.

…

The room was in silence except for the small beep that sounded every so often. Thanks to Im Yong Soo's mass texting abilities, many of them had arrived at the hospital within an hour. More than he had expected, actually. Taiwan and Hong Kong were both standing with him next to China, who was laying prone in the hospital bed, attached to wires, tubes, and the monitor, barely breathing. Vietnam and Thailand were speaking in low voices across the room. Even his twin brother, North Korea, stood motionless in the corner. He hadn't spoken to anyone since he had arrived, and his face was completely blank.

The only one missing was Japan.

A man wearing a pristine white coat pushed into the room, and suddenly he had six pairs of eyes on him. The doctor sighed, turning to South Korea.

"If you had gotten him here any later, he would be dead right now. As it is, we're still not sure if he'll pull through."

"What do you fucking mean by that!" South Korea shouted angrily. The doctor held up a hand. "If you'll allow me to continue. There are indications that he has been preforming self-harm," he gestured to the bandaged left arm that lay limply on the bed, "and there is a possibility that this has not been the first time."

"Not been the first time?" Taiwan echoed, looking horrified. The doctor nodded simply. "In his suicidal attempt he had overdosed on a rather dangerous variation of medicine. He seems remarkably strong, most people that attempt such potent ways of death die within a few seconds. He is very lucky. Of course, we don't know if this strength will last. He was in frail condition from the self-harm before this; it seems his body has been damaged besides his arm. He's being very unresponsive to stimuli as well. I have to assume that he has very little time left, unless of course…"

"Of course what?" Hong Kong asked, tone blank. "Unless something happened to wake him up. Sometimes people react to family, though I'm seeing that isn't working. If you know of anyone he's close to outside of the family, perhaps a friend or neighbor, then it may help."

He then left.

Vietnam spoke up. "Not all of us are here, though. Where the hell is Japan?"

"Japan!" South Korea said sharply. "Japan would help! China knew him better than any of us, he was the first one China took in! He was probably even his favorite, why didn't he answer my text?"

"We should all text him!" Taiwan offered. They all did so, taking out their phones.

Please, Japan, South Korea thought, please answer. Our aniki needs you…

…

Japan looked at his house phone as it rung. It was late, and he was currently unable to sleep. What time was it now, one in the morning?

He looked at who was calling him. The name read 'Heracles Karpusi'. He picked it up.

"Hello, this is Honda Kiku…" "Hello Kiku. Have you been getting any texts?" "From you? No…" "Not from me. From South Korea or any of your brothers and sisters."

Japan grew confused. "Well, yes, I have… but I didn't read them. I saw one said something about Yao, it was probably about me missing his birthday or something. I didn't feel like going over, I was going to apologize when I felt like dealing with my 'family'."

Nothing for a while, but slowly the calm voice returned. "Kiku, I think you should really open those…" "Why?" "Well, Im Yong Soo called me because he couldn't reach you. He said it was an emergency." "South Korea declaring an emergency? Probably good that I didn't answer, then."

This time there was a slightly annoyed tic to the Greek's voice. "He was calling from the hospital, Kiku."

Japan paused, nodding to himself. "Alright. Thank you for telling me, Heracles." He hung up.

What has happened now?

…

The Asian family was very tense and antsy in the far-too-quiet room. Im Yong Soo had finally managed to reach Greece, after the failed attempts of texting Japan had piled up. The Greek had said that he would try to do something about it, but had he–

He was jolted out of his thoughts as the door opened. They turned to see the small Japanese man pushing in.

"Kiku!" South Korea rushed the man, as did Taiwan.

"We had tried to reach you so many times, but you wouldn't answer!" Taiwan said worriedly.

"What's wrong, what happened?" Japan asked, pushing past them. His eyes fell on the dying man, in turn causing them to widen in shock. "Y-Yao! What happened!" he repeated.

South Korea hurriedly explained. "I was just going over to his house because I remembered it was his birthday, so I went even though it was really late already. I walked in and found the sink on and there was a really bloody knife, he had been cutting himself Kiku! So I ran upstairs and he was in pain and getting sick because he had tried to commit suicide by overdosing on deadly pills! Apparently if I had been any later, he would've died!" Japan grew alarmed at the retelling, and because South Korea actually had tears in his eyes. He was crying.

"He might… he might still die, Kiku… if he doesn't wake up…"

He walked to the white bed numbly. He ran his hand down the sleek, long dark hair, his breath taken away. This was not the China he knew. This was simply the hollow shell.

"Why did you do it Yao? China…" he whispered. He was afraid of the answer. He pressed his knuckled gently against the pale cheek, shivering at how cold they were. There was no life here.

He felt his own eyes mist as he was hit with the seriousness of everything going on. "Why…?"

He sat down in the chair next to the bed, a sudden weight coming over him. He moved his hand down still, gently gripping the fingers of the undamaged arm. He ran his thumb over the cold, slight fingers. His voice was too quiet for the others to hear.

"Why would you do this to yourself, Yao? We're all worried about you now… your family is worried about you, aniki…" He felt tears leak from his eyes, trailing down his cheeks, and he pressed his other hand up in an attempt to stop them. "You can't leave us, aniki… we still need you… I'm sorry… I'm sorry that this happened… if you hadn't been alone… this wouldn't have… this wouldn't have happened in the first place… I ignored you… I ignored all of you… Gomen'nasai…" his voice broke as he switched from his own language to his rough Chinese. "Duìbùqǐ…"

He gently kissed the smooth hand, breaking down. "I'm sorry, aniki. I love you. Don't leave us. Please…"

He barely reacted when the slender fingers curled, gripping his hand back. A soft, pained voice crashed into Kiku's ears.

"Xiǎodì… don't cry… I'm the one that should be sorry."

This only made Kiku cry harder. "No, how can you say that! It's my fault, I should've been there! Just because our countries are separate, it doesn't mean that I have to sever all ties so thoroughly!" He looked over into the now open mocha eyes, which were staring at him, full of pain and exhaustion.

Another voice chimed in at Kiku's outburst. "He's right, Teacher!" Taiwan said, voice relieved at his awakening, "We all should've been there. We're all sorry."

Yao smiled faintly at the apology. His eyes went back to Japan. "Stop crying… it's okay…"

"No, it's not!" Kiku said sharply. "I know why you've been doing this to yourself Yao! And I'm sorry for the part that I've played in it… I wouldn't be surprised if you could never forgive me…"

Yao took the hand being held by Kiku's and reached up, thumbing away his tears. His voice was peaceful, and patient, as if dealing with a much younger child.

"I forgave you the day you left."

...

AN: All's well that ends well, right? Please review, lovelies!