Okay, so a little bit of a different type of story here. I just found the Hetalia fandom on Saturday, and as i delve more into it, I read a story about Canada trying to kill himself that resonated with me. Having dealt with similar issues in the past, it just...clicked. I hoped that it would break my writer's block so I could continue on my other stories, and I believe that it has. No promises, but I hope to have an update on at least one of my other stories too.

I apologize for how dark this story is. But as I got into it, I remembered how it felt, and I try to get as close as I can to make the writing seem more real. If you don't like it, don't read it.

I am new to the Hetalia fandom, so if there are any huge canonical issues, I apologize. Just consider them part of this universe. I do plan on writing more in this fandom, but nothing as dark as this.

I dedicate this story to all those who have depression and mental illness, and have considered, or tried, to take their life. I am eternally grateful I haven't, and have been struggling with depression for 14 years, about 3/4 of my life. There is hope. Just survive. If you can't live, just hang on long enough to wait for something better. Nothing lasts forever, not even this type of darkness.

Anyway, onto the story. No, I do not own Hetalia, and no, I am not making any money from this.

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

The cutting had started a long time ago. He was invisible; nobody cared. It helped, a little, to have the hurt transferred onto the skin- it lessened the hurt inside. Lately he had stopped caring about much of anything; he didn't shower, didn't eat much, and rarely slept. If he did sleep, it was riddled with nightmares.

At first, he was meticulous. He was careful, he had rules. Don't draw blood was the first to go. Never more than once a week became never more than once a week on the same limb. This soon morphed to only once a day, which quickly led to dissolution of all rules.

As the days had gone on, he started to become increasingly numb. No one would listen. He hated the loud way America would talk, and refused to do so. The fact that nobody cared about what Canada had to say even in his quite voice hurt.

I am one of the largest countries in the world. Rich in resources. A first world country. How can I be so completely overlooked? If noticed at all, others believed him to be America, which annoyed him to no end!

Do I have no identity? Does anybody care? If they don't, should I care? I'm obviously not significant enough to be important, so why should I care?

He stopped sleeping. He stopped showering. He only went into the kitchen to get food for Kumajirou. Not even the one I live with remembers me. He never left his house anymore, but no one came to check on him. The only thing that allowed him to feel was the knife, as it pressed into his skin, trailing a line of liquid red behind it. Cutting had a sensation like no other, the blood from the pain-fueled adrenalin rushes to the head, and a buzzing noise, not too loud, blocks out all other sound so it is finally quiet and he is alone, everything fading into the background. It is a brief sensation of peace that ends far too quickly, the initial sting quickly fades with his special healing…capabilities.

He looks at his latest cut, and waits until it is no longer bleeding before grabbing his coat, sighing, and walking out the door. Why do we even have these stupid meetings?

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When he arrived at the meeting, he saw Arthur out front, hands on his hips, a scowl on his face. Now what!? The nation thinks.

"America! When are you going to start taking your responsibilities seriously?! These meetings are important, and you are not only showing the other nations how irresponsible you are, you are also disrespecting them! How do you expect to make any alliances if you are seen to be too untrustworthy and irresponsible to even keep a timetable!"

Arthur's tirade continues as the younger nation draws closer. He feels yet another tear in his heart, that his own foster-father doesn't even care enough to tell him apart from his brother.

"Furthermore…Canada? What are you doing here? I thought you were America, and that you were inside!"

"Yeah, I saw that," he whispers, in his quiet voice.

"Wait, what are you doing late? You're never late! Oh, there's America. I am going to go yell at him." After saying this, he starts to walk towards Alfred, but then pauses and turns to look back at Canada. "And Matthew? Do not be late again. Just because I am not yelling at you does not give you an excuse to be late. I am not making this into a bigger issue because it is the first time, and I expect it to be the last. It is just as important for you to be on time as it is for your brother. I expect this to be a one-time thing, understand?"

Matthew nods in understanding, and Arthur inclines his head in acknowledgement before turning back towards Alfred.

The conversation left Matthew with mixed feelings, but mostly increased bitterness. Arthur didn't even notice that he was gone, just assumed that he was inside! It is bad enough to be mistaken for America, but to be completely ignored…But you weren't completely ignored, a little voice inside whispers. He admonished you too.

Yes, but he didn't apologize for forgetting about me or mistaking me for America, the louder inner voice replied. Like I wasn't worth apologizing to. I am practically still a colony, an independent colony, sure, but a colony nonetheless. I still respond to his boss, Her Majesty the Queen. Why didn't he notice me!? With this thought, he walks into the meeting, the admonishing Arthur and Alfred's responses ringing behind him. As he takes his seat, the other countries yell out,

"Ha, hey America! Late again?"

"Huh, providing us with our introductory entertainment, as usual. But where is Arthur? He is usually right behind you, berating!"

"Seriously, America? Are you NEVER on time?"

"No, as usual, thinking of no one except himself."

At this point, Alfred and Arthur can be heard, Arthur finishing up his scolding as they come closer.

"¡Caray!" says Spain, "England seems to be on fire today! But who is he talking to?"

Everyone turns to look at the two coming through the door, and then turn back to look at Canada, who has his head down.

"Do not do it again, America!" Is loudly proclaimed into the empty silence. At hearing the unusual lack of noise, Arthur looks around while he takes his seat, as Alfred does as well, in addition to his customary eye roll. Now seeing many of the older countries now looking at him, Arthur asks, irritably, "What?"

"Both of your little countries late today, Arthur?" asks Norway, mildly.

"Oui, very unusual," added France, looking intently at Matthew. Canada, sensing his original father's gaze, lowers his head even further, bushing a deeper shade of red.

"It would appear so," grunted Arthur. "But now that we are all here, can we please commence the meeting?"

"Wow, Mattie, you were late too? Look at that! Never knew you had it in you!"

"Alfred! Would you please leave your brother alone? He, unlike some, is not late every single time!"

"Okay, everyone, calm down. Let us begin the meeting," stated Germany.

As he, along with all the other nations, took his seat, Matthew's thoughts were swirling. None of the other countries remembered either. His presence went completely unnoticed. Other such instances started flying through his head, and it took Arthur calling him our several times before he noticed it was his turn to report.

"And Canada? Canada!" As Matthew looks up at him, Arthur gentles his voice, seeing the look on the younger nations face.

"Matthew, it's your turn." America, next to him, scoffs, smirks, and says,

"Ha, bet you don't have much to report, do ya lil' bro? Everyone knows I'm the cooler of the two of us." Matthew looks at him, and then looks down, and whispers,

"No. Nothing to report." And America, next to him, replies,

"Yep, that's what I thought. I on the other hand, have a lot to say, starting with the fact that we are advancing in the World Cup…" as he continues to blather, Matthew again sinks into despair, oblivious to the looks that both France and England were leveling at him. Not even England asked me if I was sure. I am unimportant. The meeting continues, and Matthew does not say another word.

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After the meeting, Matthew went home. He was upset, as he always was after a meeting. It went deeper this time, though. There was no point. He was, once again, ignored. In the past, if he was addressed, it was an insult about how little his country did, or was, or had to offer. He just didn't care anymore. Putting his stuff down and taking out the knife, he started to cut. First they were shallow, but as he started thinking of some of the things that people had said about him today, he unconsciously put more and more pressure on the knife. His thoughts soon spiraled, until he was remembering the worst things that had been said to him, or more about him, at these meetings.

Canada doesn't get any attacks, because there is nothing there for people to attack!

Ha, even I, a nation the size of its smallest providence could conquer Canada!

What a stupid people! They are always asking for things to be repeated, constantly saying "eh"!

Should we ask Canada's perspective? Pshaw, no need. Canada is next to worthless. Why would he have an opinion?

His mind remembers, and gets lost in the harsh memories.

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Francis suddenly froze, almost dropping the dish he was cooking. He had the feeling he had not felt in many years, the sixth sense every parent has concerning their child. Matthieu. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong. Since given to Arthur, the sense had diminished, and, as with his other relinquished colonies, he only felt this feeling when something was deathly wrong- he had the sense one that every parent gets when his child is in danger.

He knew something was bothering him at the meeting, but Matthew so often can deal with things himself, and rarely goes to others for help. If he does, he usually goes to Arthur. He has had several conversations with Matthew, letting him know that just because he was no longer France's colony did not mean that France did not care about him. He knew to ask for help if he really needed it. But it looks like that lesson will have to be repeated, France thinks, grimly. Because my little Matthieu is most definitely in danger.

Panicked, he rushed to the phone to call, gods forbid, England. He knew that Arthur had gone to visit America with Alfred after the last meeting, and cared for Canada just as much as he did. He prayed that they got there in time to stop…whatever was happening.

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Arthur hung up the phone and went running out the door. Thankfully, he and Alfred, the little scamp, were visiting New York, and with his special strengths he could quickly run to where Matthew lived. He hadn't noticed it at first; the bond between him and Matthew was never as strong as it as was with Alfred. Matthew was his adopted son, and once a country came into power in his own right, the parental/protective sense was diminished even more. But for the last hour or so he had been agitated, knowing something was wrong, somewhere, with one of his children. It wasn't until the call from Francis that he too recognized the feeling, and the intensity of that feeling. He needed to get to Matthew, NOW. While not as strong as he once was, he was still a powerful nation, fueled by a parent's panicked adrenalin when a child is in danger, further spurred by the near-tears Francis.

As he runs, he wonders-what could possibly hurt a nation so much that he could be in such danger? He had not mentioned any threats of terrorism, or any huge civil unrest, and Canada was under no greater threat than any other nation at the time…so what could it be? I knew something was wrong at the meeting, but he didn't look worried, like he was in danger. Unless…no. He wouldn't dare. The thought makes his face look even more grim, and the speeds to even greater lengths.

If you are doing what I think you are doing, Matthew F. Williams, you will never sit again.

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Alfred also felt something. This was the brotherly sense. They were close, having grown up together for most of their childhood, and living next to each other. Alfred cared a whole lot for his brother, but couldn't stand teasing him. But he also felt the danger his brother is in.

All nations can tell when another nation dies. Permanently dies. All the times he did something stupid growing up didn't count. It so rarely happens, that when it does, everyone immediately feels the absence. If it occurs, it happens when a country is dissolved, and the nation has nothing to represent. Normally. He had heard that Germania killed Old Rome.

Countries can be dissolved, but the personified nations do no die, such as the case with Prussia. Normally these countries join other countries to represent an area of the new country. This allows them to stay around with friends and family. The land no longer belongs to him, but Prussia, as Gilbert, still exists. Some, when their countries dissolve, do end up killing themselves, but most stay to help advise their family and friends, and to help take care of their siblings and children. Close family members can always tell when one is close to death.

So, Alfred is running. He goes to his home to find Arthur first, but seeing, him gone, heads strait to the border and beyond. Like Matthew and Arthur, he knows all of hidden ways to pass between the countries. He hopes he isn't too late. He also knows that if Matthew knew about anything that was this dangerous to him before it happened, he was in a huge amount of trouble. Both he and Matthew had felt the dreaded hand, slipper, and cane of one Arthur Kirkland growing up, and Alfred had heard rumors of Francis's martinet. While they were relatively immortal, they always got in trouble for doing something dangerous, even after gaining independence. He and Arthur had often struggled over his reluctance to ask for help when he needed it. Alfred grimaced; he has several scars from refusing to ask for help, and always, always, got in trouble for it. His hand drifts down to the one caused by 9/11. It still pained him at times. Remembering the spanking he got after that episode, he winced again. He didn't want to even think about the situation in the 1860's.

For your sake, little brother, I hope you didn't know about this, he thinks to himself grimly. If you did, well, good luck to you.

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France was also getting off the phone, finishing making his travel arrangements. He knew England would be expecting him. He just had one more thing he had to get. Like Arthur, Francis also had an idea of just why Matthieu was in so much danger. He rarely used it, but when Matthieu was particularly stubborn, and caused himself great harm, he did. Regardless of what Arthur did. As much as they fought, they both cared about the younger nation. And if his suspicions were true… Well, then, Matthieu, you will have the experience of fouet d'enfant, the martinet, yet again. He grabs his bags, and walks out the door.

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Matthew finally breaks from his thoughts, and looks down at his arms. They are completely covered in blood, the liquid continuing to gush from his wrists.

Well, may as well finish the job. It's not like anyone will care. They will actually celebrate- all that land up for the taking. How to make sure I don't come back from this…I have never heard of anyone coming back from their head being cut off. It's as good an idea as any. He raises the knife to his neck, then pauses. Should I leave a note? No, it's not like anyone will care, and it will be fairly obvious I did this. Who else would even care enough about me to kill me? He again places the knife on his neck, and is just about to take the final plunge when he jumps in surprise as his door bursts open, and who of all people come in, but Arthur, yelling. "Matthew Francis Williams, if I find even one speck of self-inflicted blood on yo-" he sees Matthew, lying on the ground, blood collecting in pools around the younger nation as it pumps steadily out of his body. Arthur's eyes go wide, and his face adopts an expression of horror. When startled, the younger nation had plunged the knife into his neck and severed the carotid artery. The eyes of the dying nation are peaceful, although he recognizes the irony of the last words addressed to him as everything goes dark.

Tbc...