Let's get the credits done with, shall we? 8)

Hetlia is not mine (why am I writing on a fanfiction site if it was?)

The entire thing for this was originally four pages long. If this was the real one, it'd've been longer than four pages, I'm sure |D Anyways, onto the story~

Gilbert opened and shut the door quickly. It was damn cold, and when we he realized it wasn't getting any warmer he swore. The Prussian ran around, crazily slamming windows shut and turning on the heater.

"MATTIE! The house is FREEZING!" He screamed, hoping to get a response from his small Canadian friend. No reply. Gilbert went upstairs, finding open windows and closing them as he went. The house was trashed, and he wondered why because normally it could be found spotless until he arrived. Snow was tracked across the floor.

"Who?" A weak voice came from Matt's one upstairs room. Gilbert rushed in, thinking maybe Canada had been asleep and simply hadn't realized that maybe somehow Kumajirou had opened all his windows, but he saw nobody. "W-who?"

"Kumajirou?" The Prussian stepped into a blood-splattered bathroom. He barely saw the bear, and might not have if not for Gilbird. The small yellow bird flew off his silver nest to land on a red splattered fluffy thing. Gilbert rushed over to the bear to see what looked like messy bite and claw marks over his body.

"Holy shit, Kumajirou! Kuma, stay with me you fat-ass! What happened?" Gilbert picked up the bear gently, but demanded an answer. The polar bear turned his fluffy head slowly and blinked his eyes. Gilbert swore he saw tears leaking from the bear's face.

"Matthew," He sighed, "Wolves… Got… Matthew…" Gilbert would've been thrilled that the bear remembered Canada's human name if not for the obvious problems. "Wolves got Mattie? What the fuck?" Gilbert was about to ask Kumajirou to elaborate when the bear opened his mouth and began a pathetic, keening, high-pitched wail.

"Matthew! Matthew!" The bear cried.

"Kuma, do you know where he went?" Gilbert demandingly asked the bear. He got no answer from the wailing beast so he carefully stood up. Noticing blood strips he hadn't seen before new worry sent adrenaline once again washing through his veins. He followed the trail, finding fur and pieces of Mattie's tan, fluffy jacket. The blood suddenly increased and Gilbert saw a body not far away. Panic flared through him before he realized it was a wolf.

The Prussian walked over to the bloody gray body. Its jaw hung open and its eyes seemed to glare at something beyond him. Its throat was crudely slit, and in its teeth pieces of Matthew's favorite jacket could be seen. Gilbert stumbled back in shock when he felt Kumajirou move. The small polar bear stumbled over to the body. He sniffed its mouth for a moment, and then set back on his haunches and lifted his head.

"Matthew! Matthew!" His weak voice called out again. The only answer the pair got was the chilling, blowing wind. Gilbert didn't notice the wind as he picked up the weeping bear and followed the blood trails again. They came across five more bodies, a couple missing limbs. The severed limbs were found thrown away from the wolves, roughly hacked off. It was clear to Gilbert that Matthew wasn't using a hunting knife, or any strong knife that would've made cleaner marks. Or maybe he wasn't paying attention? But the Canadian always paid attention, even when he was spaced out. More jacket fuzz could be found on every body, on paws, teeth… Somewhere. With each new body, Gilbert felt another rush of blood go through him, could feel his heart beat faster in worry, could smell the blood stronger than before. Finally, in the distance, he saw tan-jacketed, blood-splattered body moving. Gilbert breathed a sigh of relief.

"Mattie!" He called out, "You okay?" The figure didn't move, didn't make a noise. Even Kumajirou had silenced his weeping. "Hey! Mattie! Matt! Matty-boy! Matthew Williams? You suddenly deaf Canada? Do you have any idea how worried I was about you? It's so not awesome to-"

A blurred gray shape came out of the surrounding trees, though in Gilbert's mind it appeared out of thin air. It leaped straight for the motionless Canadian.

"MATTIE!" Gilbert screamed. He had stepped forward, ready to run to his friend who was sure to die, when time slowed. The Prussian heard a low, dull sound along with feeling a steady, rhythmic, fast-moving bmp-bmp-bmp-bmp. His little Canadian friend was turning, and for the first time Gilbert saw the 8-inch knife in the other man's hand. Every inch of the Canadian was enraged, and as he turned Gilbert realized that the dull sound was a roar. And the roar was not from the wolf. It was from his timid, quiet Canadian. Gilbert was startled to find out several things them.

Matthew-calm, quiet, collected Matthew-was out to finish this. His normally wide, expressive violet-blue eyes were narrowed dangerously in rage. His teeth seemed sharper somehow, and his normally pale skin was flushed. Matthew's nostrils were flared in the act of catching more scent, his mouth pulled back in the angry battle roar, and his blond hair was covered in a perverted mix of stark blood and delicate snowflakes. It was clear to Gilbert that Matthew was out for blood. He had felt the call many times himself. But from Matthew…. Gilbert was almost scared to know his friend had the blood-lust.

Even from where he stood, at least 50 yards away, Gilbert could see the wolf had no chance. Gilbert had gone up against an enraged Matthew wielding a hockey stick after he had accidentally tripped over a wire, unplugging the TV and-more importantly-shutting off Matthew's hockey game. Right in the most important part of the game, as Matt's team was about to go for the point that would either have them win or lose the game. Gilbert tried to steer clear of the TV during hockey season after that.

Gilbert watched in amazed horror as Matthew's knife met the wolf's throat in an eerie, sudden silence. The wolf, barely alive, still managed to fasten its teeth into Matthew's arm. The pair tumbled over into the snow, blood spraying out to christen the pure white into something much more horrifying. The blond and gray blur that was Matthew and what must've been the alpha of the pack sprayed blood and snow everywhere. Gilbert moved closer cautiously.

As they fell, time resumed its too-fast state. Matthew switched hands easily, from right to left, as the tumbled back. Matt landed beneath the wolf and began to stab the wolf in the side. From his mouth the enraged roar once again found its way out. Gilbert had heard the roar from those of his men who had gone berserk in the heat of battle. He knew the great slaughter that could happen if it was left unchecked. Even after it was dead, Matthew continued to stab it. Gilbert approached with caution. The blonde's shoulders shook as he finally quit. Shakily, as the Prussian moved toward him, the Canadian got up. He roughly, rudely, pushed the wolf body off of him and howled. Gilbert would be lying if he said that the hoarse sound and crazed eyes Matthew then set on him didn't send a shiver up and down his spine. He wasn't sure if it was fear or something else.

"M-matt? You okay?" Gilbert asked. The smaller Canadian raised the knife shakily, right arm hanging down in pretty-much uselessness. Without any warning he rushed his Prussian friend. Gilbert quickly threw Kumajirou away, turning for just an instant. He felt the knife cut open his jacket, barely catching on his abdomen. He kept his turn, going full-circle and returning to face Matt head on. "Sorry kid." He said as he engaged in a brief battle with the Canadian. It ended with Matthew going limp before him, and Gilbert looking down in remorse.