"America, we have to talk," Canada started, taking a deep breath and even managing to raise his voice over a whisper. He used the name America as opposed to the more casual Alfred so he could at least make the point that it was a serious subject he was on. "I don't appreciate how you treat me. How you forget my name so often, or how you sometimes don't even know I'm here. I don't like how often you make Canadian jokes about me, that you could tone it down every once in a while and not take every single thing I do and make it a joke. I don't like being the fool in April Fools every year, and the endless amounts of pranks you pull on me that aren't even pranks. What you did today… that was cruel, America… But worst of all is how I do so much for you and you just…. You never even say "thank you". You just look at me and say "wait, who are you again?". I feel so… so underappreciated and sometimes I just wish I could…."
He stopped, looking at the floor, then whispered softly; "wish I could actually tell you this…"
He looked around the empty room of his home. It was cold outside and he had a thick robe wrapped around his shoulders. It was April's Fools day and Alfred had played a prank on him again. Matthew was eventually left covered in maple syrup with feathers sticking to the sticky substance, watching as America, Alfred, his brother, took a picture and sent it to every other nation.
Matthew wouldn't admit it, but he had cried in the shower, and even now there was redness around his eyes that no other nation would ever see.
Sitting on his bed, he looked down at his phone. Alfred had even sent it to him, the picture of his shocked face, surrounded by a golden liquid and white feathers, looking up at the camera. No one else bothered to text him anything else. He was used to that, though. No one ever noticed him.
He pulled his knees up, pulling them close and resting his cheek on them as he watched the dark window. The snow fell softly outside, but it was a gentle snow. A kind snow.
The feeling of something pulling itself on the bed told him Kumakichi had crawled onto the bed with him.
"Who are you?" The polar bear said, sitting next to him and looking towards him with curious black eyes. Canada sighed.
"I'm Canada…." He said half-heartedly, laying down on the bed and watching the ceiling.
"Who?" The bear repeated.
He didn't respond this time, just sighing again.
He wished there was some way… Some way to make people notice him. If he could only be a person who no one could forget. A person that everyone recognized by name. That people would notice. He imagined vaguely that he could walk into a room and people would say "Matthew! You're here!". People would dote on him and care for him, and he would be important.
Closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep, he knew nothing like that would happen.
Sitting up straight in bed, he looked around, a loud blaring in his ear that caused his heart to pound. Grabbing for his glasses that had fallen off in the night, he put them on and then located his alarm clock to shut off. Why did he ever buy such a loud thing….
Standing, shivering at the cold wooden floors, he looked at his phone. Six in the morning…. Time to head to another meeting.
While he pulled on his clothes, he vaguely wondered the importance of those meetings. They never got anything done. He didn't even think they affected anything to do with their countries. The world moved no matter how badly the meetings ended. They never made real decisions, they never had much of an effect on the international affairs. It was less like they were in charge of their lives, and more like other people were.
Did they have any meaning anyways?
Taking note of his apparent sadness, he decided then that he would get ice cream on the way to the airport, and while he still felt low afterwards, it was much better.
The meeting was to be held in Italy, so he had some time to kill on the plane ride. After spending the first hour of it reading, he had quickly opted to sleep again, his sleep the night before being fairly rocky.
His dream during his nap was strange. He felt… something… Something far away. It wasn't a voice, but resembled it. Like some force were trying to relay something, but didn't know how to tell him. It reached for him, shaking him roughly, trying to call to him but unable to do so.
He awoke when he found himself being shaken awake by a flight attendant.
"The flight's over sir," the flight attendant said, clearly annoyed by his being there. "You have to get off."
He sat up, looking outside at the setting sun. Italy… He rubbed his head and grabbed his things. A headache was already forming.
"Ah… sorry…." He said quietly. "Just fell asleep, eh?"
Shuffling awkwardly off the plane, then soon out of the airport, his things being easy to locate by his Canadian maple leaf, he wandered around town, trying desperately to find someone who knew either English or French, he somehow managed to find the hotel he was staying at.
Flopping onto the bed, he looked at the time. It was around six in the evening, and he had planned to simply order pizza or get takeout or something to that effect. That was when he got the text.
It was from America of all people.
"Hey bro!" It read. "Sorry about the other day! Wanted to make it up to you. Me and some of the others are going to dinner. You should totally come! I'm buying!"
It then showed the address of the restaurant. Canada couldn't help but snort at that. America probably couldn't even pay for himself. He could almost see his twin begging China to borrow more money, and the nation would roll his eyes and foot the bill and then get to hear the same "Don't worry, I promise I'll pay you back!"
He was going to be passive aggressive that night, he knew it, but he would still go. Alfred needed a chance at least.
Slipping on a simple semi-formal dress shirt, he headed out the door, getting a taxi whose driver, thankfully, knew French, and arrived at the restaurant.
Stepping inside, it wasn't hard to locate the loud American, but the fact that America didn't even notice him, even as he coughed somewhat loudly next to him, wasn't a good sign. It took him shaking his shoulder roughly to get some attention.
"Woah! Who are you?" He said, whipping around to see him. Not a glimmer of recognition in his eyes…
"Matthew," The Canadian said flatly, eyes narrowed as he watched him. Human names for public places. That was the rules. America looked at him in confusion for a long time, and then it clicked.
"Matthew! Oh right!" He said. "Wait, what are you doing here?"
"You invited me," Canada said. The anger was seeping into his voice, but only as much as he let it. He could hide his anger very well.
"Oh! I did?" He said, taking out his phone to check. "Oh… I did! Hey, welcome!"
Matthew kept his arms crossed over his chest as he sat down at the end of the table. By "some of the others", Alfred basically meant every other country that was even attending that meeting. The former axis and allies, except Russia, were all there, as well as the Nordics, the Latino nations, the Asian nations, all of the nations in Great Britain, and most of Europe.
Matthew was seated between England and France, neither of which paid much attention to him. Actually no one did. That initial meeting seemed to be the best he was going to get.
He was doing a pretty good job of being unimportant, until one of the other nations, who was going behind him to say hi to someone else, was accidentally pushed into him, causing him to spill his drink over England. With that moment, everyone seemed to see him, and not in a good way either. Most of them held no recognition for him, and all of them were surprised to find him even there.
"Bloody hell!" Said the Brit. "This was a new shirt!"
"A-ah… I'm so sorry!" Canada said in a whisper of a voice, doing his best to clean off the drink. It was red wine too… And it was on a white shirt…
"It's probably ruined now…" England said in a grumble, before noticing Canada, staring up at him. "Wait… who are you?"
Canada froze, closing his eyes. This question again… He opened his mouth to speak, when one of the other nations spoke up. Italy himself.
"Oh I saw a picture of him yesterday!" He said happily. "America sent it to me!"
England looked closely at him, then recognition filled his eyes. "Oh, that's right," he said. "I remember now."
"The one with all the feathers?" Asked China, who was taking out his phone to see, along with every single other nation at the table.
He… he had sent it to everyone! Canada was horrified as he stared, open-mouthed. Some chuckled at the memory, most smirked a bit as they found the pictures on their phone, but not one seemed to care that Canada was still sitting there.
He was almost going to get up and leave, but before he could, the chair he was in was pulled back and, without warning, someone very large sat right on top of him. He made a soft "oof" sound, pinned between the chair and, the scarf immediately giving him away, Russia.
"Ah, so sorry I was late," The Russian said, taking no notice to Canada. "I only just received my invitation!"
"That's weird," Laughed America sarcastically, not bothering to hide his icy hatred. "I never sent you one so I don't think you could have gotten one."
"That was just a formality, Fredka," Russia replied with a hint of his own icy hatred. "I heard from Latvia that you were going to be here so I thought I would join the fun!"
Latvia flinched at his name, and shrank in his chair as America glared at him. Soon, America was standing up, leaning across the table.
"Why would you come to a place where no one wants you?" America replied.
That was all Canada could take… When Russia stood to meet America's glare, Canada took his leave. Why had he come anyways? No one wanted him there… Not one… Brushing away his tears and walking to the hotel instead of taking a taxi, he tried to keep calm, despite the impossibility of the task. Even as the tears started to flow freely, not even one person on the streets noticed him. Not one…
He never made it to the hotel that night. It was at least sixteen miles away from the hotel, and he had given up on it after about five. Sitting on a bench overlooking a canal, he breathed deeply, trying to get a hold of himself, but it was becoming so much more difficult with each breath…
God, if he threw himself over the railing and into the water, no one would care… His nation would be fine, no one would even notice he was gone. It'd probably be years before anyone would find his body.
Something inside him caused him to shiver from the fear. Fear of himself. Why didn't he just do it… Just… jump. It would be so easy. So much less painful than the life he was living now. No one cared now, so no one would care if he died.
It was the first time he really thought about it. No one was holding him back. Not one person would be upset if he died so he had no reason to fear leaving someone alone. There was Kumakata, but the bear was pretty self-reliant. He didn't even notice when Canada was gone…
Before he knew it, he was standing on the railing, feeling… terrifyingly calm. He didn't even look at the water rushing below. He just looked up at the moon high above.
He felt the cold night air on his face, but didn't shiver from it. He didn't even give himself time to think or regret. Instead he closed his eyes, and jumped…
Canada sat straight up, like he was waking up from a nightmare. He sat in a field, barren and cold. He thought he was lying in snow for a moment, and was partially right, but the snow was also mixed heavily with ash. The sky was completely covered with a smoky overcast, and he couldn't tell if it was night, or if the smoke covering the sky was too thick to see the sun. He noticed a fence, broken and pushed almost to the ground by some past force, surrounding the destroyed remains of some farmland, and one of the tiniest, most pitiful-looking houses Canada had ever seen. Coughing into his sleeve as he stood slowly up, only one thought crossed the nation's mind;
Am I in hell..?
