Disclaimer: I own nothing. At all.

Title: Through the Looking Glass

Background Information: Set and geared towards psychological trauma, "Through the Looking Glass" is a fanfiction that focuses on AmericaxCanada, but whether you see it as more than brotherly, as well as if you see USxUK is up to you. It follows the events of WWI, along with some twists in the timeline which will be explained the more these chapters progress. It also alternately switches points of view between the two characters to be able to provide further insight for their actions. This will be confusing at first with all the "time skips", but you'll get used to it.

The characters are of course, canons, in that I don't use their real human names and stick, basically, to what they are called in the anime/manga. Since no one seems to use their nation names any more, I thought, why not be a rebel and be shot?~ Their personalities and how they are acted out are the same as well, but their inner thoughts may differ due to my different interpretation of them.

More summary information will be added as more chapters are added. Thanks for reading!~

"I'm home."

Nibbling on his lower lip in blatant nervousness, the platinum blonde shuffled into the bright home that had housed him for a few decades now. A white polar bear in one hand – so named Kumajiro from a children's fairy tale he'd happened to pick up – he clutched it to his chest as though it was a lifeline, as though it was the only thing keeping him afloat in the metaphorical sea of dread he found himself wallowing in. Indigo eyes darted to and fro as he peeked shyly over the corner, his tiny mind listing all the possibilities as to the sheer silence of the place. Had… there been some sort of mishap? No, no, there couldn't have been. Not only was the house spotless, but Britain – his caretaker – was one of the most admirable, sturdy, strongest men he had ever had the pleasure of meeting, so categorizing him as someone who would have gone down without a fight was highly unlikely.

What then, pray tell, was the reason for the lack of noise in the finely decorated mansion?

Little Canada ventured on forward, his pale flesh tapping subtly against the intricately woven patterned carpets that heralded the path into the spacious living room. It was exactly as he had left it, with two crimson loveseats facing off against each other in parallels, an ornately carved wooden coffee table situated in between them. A myriad of colourful flowers adorned the center within an equally expensive looking vase, brown to match the tint of the desk. A chandelier hung above the entire scenario, sparkling as the glass crystal reflected the light that sparsely entered the room, hooded through musky curtains. The body-sized windows glittered dully, far from outshining the minute bulbs that were screwed into the chandelier. At night, these would twinkle so beautifully that whenever he would be spared a fairy tale from his caretaker, it would remind him of his star-gazing treks with the blonde and his twin brother.

But speaking of the former, where were they?

The male embraced his polar bear closer to his chest, a nibbling sensation in his heart that he couldn't quite identify, despite it being a feeling that he felt almost all the time – paranoia, one could even call it, although this was unbeknownst to him at that time. He had checked the living room first, because this was where the two would have most likely assembled, after studiously ignoring him as he had left the house that day for some fresh air. Honestly, even within his undeveloped little mind, he could tell that it was not what one could call "recommended" for a parent to leave their child undefended for themselves, but Britain seemed to have no problem whatsoever with that, bidding him only a quick "good luck" before chuckling at something Canada's brother had said.

But… if he thought about it, he didn't mind. Sure, in the beginning, it made him squirm to know that there would be someone else under the blonde's care. What if it was someone mean? What if it was a bully? What if he hated his very guts? What if…?

All were thoughts that should have been unhealthy and particularly unwell for such a tender age, but to Canada, it was all normal. Of course they would be, why wouldn't they be? It was to his knowledge that everyone acted accordingly to their own specifications, with Britain being a cook of lousy proportions (of course, this he would never have the courage to say for fear of being abandoned), and with his brother being a loud-mouthed kid who sometimes, was just a little to brash for his liking. But brothers were brothers, and he was glad to have a companion around his age, even if sometimes, said companion didn't always pay attention to him.

But that was normal sibling stuff, right?

Despite their fighting, Canada was still insanely worried as to the absences of his charge and fellow sibling. Kumajiro remained glued to his side as the clumsy body clambered up the stairs, desperately feeling a thudding pain in his chest as, room after room, he noted with disappointment the lack of his family. After checking four rooms, he finally made his way towards the largest, grandest frame in the entire house – Britain's room. They – America and himself – were not forbidden to enter the room, but they were instructed to at least have express permission before bursting in (which of course, his brother dutifully ignored). Here, the child bowed his head, nibbling on his lip, eyes darting sideways in uncertainty. Would it be wrong to check? Thoughts of possible (paranoid) punishment entered his thoughts, and he squeezed his eyes shut, his whole frame visibly shaking.

'N-no… I don't want Britain to get m-mad at me…'

Although he knew his caretaker was not one to resort to (much) violence, he still felt… uneasy. He couldn't enter… but he had to. To check, yes, to check is all. And if, by any chance, Britain did happen to be inside, he would sincerely apologize and take his leave like a good child, hoping against all odds that he would not be yelled at for breaking the rules.

He hoped, gulping.

Taking a deep breath and hugging the bear to his chest (which, at this point, had it been a real creature, would have died from suffocation), Canada groaned in effort as tiny, chubby fingers reached out to the golden doorknob, his toes and feet extended to their possible maximum – but to no avail. His fingers twiddled uselessly, the object of his desire literally out of his grasp, but in a last ditch effort, he propelled his small body upwards with a jump… only to fail and land on his tiny behind.

'O-ow…'

It hated him, didn't it? That was the only explanation for it. The door knob hated him, and ignored him the same way Britain sometimes did when America was around, screaming his little butt off. It just… didn't like him.

Normal thoughts, right? Right.

Sniffles came to him suddenly, and Canada sucked in a deep breath before letting salty tears stream down his chubby cheeks. A blown-out wail emerged from his voice box, and the polar bear he had so firmly grasped now rolled on over to his side facedown, his hands finding solace in another location. Curled fists systematically wiped away the water droplets that streamed down his face, his little mind frustrated at why he had so suddenly cried. He couldn't… understand. America never cried – well, maybe he did, but he tried not to show it, as compared to some people – but he… he was the crybaby of the bunch. He was so easy to tease and frankly, he didn't know why the tears came to him so much more easily than they did to his twin. That, coupled with the possibility that he would never again see his family was too much of a heavy burden on him, and he had sunk into the only other place that a normal child's mind would retreat to: depression.

He didn't know how long he'd sat there, bawling his eyes out thinking 'I'm alone, I'm alone, but I don't want to be alone!'', before the male found slender arms wrapped in a white fabric – long sleeves – snaking around his torso, and he jolted, head swivelling in a panic. 'Oh no, oh no, it might be the people who took brother and Britain!' Muscles tensed and flailed uselessly, all the while screaming, "N-no, l-leave me a-alone! Wh-when brother and Br-britain come back, y-you're going to b-be in tr-trouble!" But the arms around him showed no sign of relinquishing him, and his screams grew louder in decibel, squirming and squirming until finally…

Hic.

Hic.

Hic.

A chuckle came from the culprit behind him, and upon hearing the familiar, heart-warming tone, he immediately ceased his fruitless attempts at liberty. "Calm down, Canada, and take a deep breath. You have the hiccups now, pet." Canada sniffled, palms of his hand wiping away the gross snot that clung to his face, before he was turned around to face the "culprit". In all his blonde glory, Britain grinned at him with that smile of his that always calmed the child down. With a sigh of relief at the familiar figure, a bed of platinum blonde hair buried itself in the adult's chest, (indiscreetly) wiping the boogers on his face, miniscule hands fisting tufts of the blonde's shirt, hiccupping sobs only slightly muffled by the human contact. Slender digits danced through the child's hair, followed by a soothing voice, laced with confusion. "There, there. What's gotten into you? Why are you here by yourself?"

The words were questioning, but the male felt his muscles relax quickly, feeling a sense of drowsiness accompany the newfound calm. Pale eyelids slowly flickered shut, his brain barely adding two and two together to form coherent words. "I-I thought y-you were t-taken away… I-I was s-so sc-scared…" Those were his last words before a feeling of floating on clouds descended upon him, followed by a chuckle from his caretaker. The sounds of "Silly goose, I wouldn't leave just like that!" reached his ears, before unconsciousness took him away.

Who cared, as long as he had these strong arms of comfort and love around him? Who cared about anything else as long as they would always be a family, as long as there was love?

When he awoke, Canada felt… disoriented, to put it lightly. Black spots danced in his vision, and for a second, he thought that bugs had somehow invaded his brain by crawling into his ears and had now somehow made their way into his eyes. He absolutely jumped in fright, running around wildly while screaming and waving his arms like a madman in an attempt to pry out the heinous bugs from his body system.

"Canada!"

Even the familiar voice didn't stop the panic that was rising in the child's frame. "I can't s-see, I c-can't see!" Hysterical, on the verge of tears, the male stomped on his bed in circles, before he felt himself fly – 'I-I can f-fly…?' – off the surface of the earth, his stomach dropping to the ground as gravity attempted its hold on him. Accustomed arms pulled him into an embrace, a soft lullaby being hummed from the owner's lips, as his fingers strayed through his platinum blonde locks, cradling him back and forth for a few minutes until his hysterics subsided. "Shh, shh, you just stood up too fast. Calm down."

He was highly doubtful of that, but sure enough, the bugs skittered away, and blinking rapidly, uncertainly, Canada found himself with a clear line of vision once more, a wide smile scattering on his features in amusement and amazement at the feat. However, this happiness was short-lived as he felt a tugging feeling from his chest, his young mind reeling back to the few hours before when he'd just about collapsed in his caretaker's arms. Shyly, he drew idle circles with a shaky finger on the blonde's chest, shaking his head in rejection of what he was about to ask, thinking it was much too stupid now. Of course they hadn't just disappeared like that; they wouldn't do that to him.

However, the sudden silence alarmed the blonde for a different purpose, as he now slowly lifted the child's chin, indigo hues now meeting emerald ones. "Canada, pet, what's the matter? Are you feeling sick?" "Mmmf…" he muttered, shaking his head and clamping his lips shut. If Britain knew what was wrong with him, he'd hate him, or maybe even laugh at him… or maybe even both. No, not now, not especially when he was in such a good mood! He couldn't – wouldn't – ruin it for them by bugging him with inane thoughts like some wannabe kidnapper who'd taken the two most important people in his life.

A sigh left the blonde's lips, before Canada felt himself being set down on the blue and purple quilted mattress, a king-sized for both him and his brother to share. He could still remember the day when Britain had it specially imported from France (he always wondered why the man would flinch and have that rather odd look on his face whenever he or America would praise him for having the handiwork done so finely), and both siblings had positively pounced on it in delight. It adhered to both of their not-so-classy classiness; the blue side, being America's, had the picture of a brown teddy bear, while his, being the purple side, depicted a polar bear splayed out in a white winter in that it was almost invisible. His head tilted sideways, a questioning, pouting look in his eyes at the sudden leave of embrace. Oh, but had that been so warm…

Britain kneeled down next to him, so that they were eye-to-eye, a stern look in his eyes that was usually reserved for when his twin broke something in the house (which honestly, occurred just about every day for at least two objects), and the child cringed, arms instinctively shielded over his arms, as he curled inwardly into his own body. No, no, he hadn't entered the forbidden room, he could swear it! He couldn't even reach the door knob, for Pete's sake, and he'd fallen before he could accomplish the feat! What would he do to him…? He didn't… he hadn't… he couldn't have…

He was dead. He would be disowned, kicked out of the house and forced to watch the family in shame.

For shame.

"Listen, pet, you haven't done anything wrong, so relax, will you? I won't yell at you, you know… actually, hell, I don't even know what I would yell at you for. Just relax, yes? Always remember, pet, that I lo-"

An obnoxious, ear-shattering scream pierced the flimsy silence between them, and the two absolutely jumped in their skins, before a white streak burst through into the room, screaming shrilly with wild abandon. There was something in his little five-year-old mind that thought of the logic: if someone screams, scream… which he had proceeded to do. Now with two toddlers shouting their butts off in the enclosed space, the blonde looked like he was about to blow a conniption. Reaching out, he deftly caught the white streak with practiced arms, cradling it in his arms with a mixture of resignation and irritation on his features. "America! What are you doing?"

The quiet voice somehow cut straight through the piercing cries, and the platinum blonde with dazzling blue eyes grinned impishly at the older gentleman, waving his teddy bear around and smacking the Briton in the face… repeatedly. "Ouch, ouch, America, calm down!" "Neh, neh, Britain, come play hide-and-seek with me!" The male frowned, before sighing and massing the bridge of his nose in exasperation; this was a scene he'd experienced far too many times to really give it a second thought. "Fine, but would you kindly explain to me why it is you were screaming for?" "'Coz I felt like it!" The child's face was one of pure innocence, with not so much as a hint of guilt for his actions that had just about given the two former residents in the room respective heart attacks.

But that was how he always was.

"America, you do not just go around screaming your bloody head off when you so choose!" the male grumbled, slowly walking out of the room with the child in tow. "I ought to let you know, you remind me of this one time way back when…-"

His voice faded as the two left the room, leaving the indigo-eyed infant to his lonesome, face expressionless as he watched the departure of the two. He stood still, a statue, devoid of emotions from the outside. His thoughts swirled within his mind like a violent storm, eyes unblinking.

Britain was about to say something, something even his little mind could deem important. It was something he had probably needed to hear, but did not. They were about to have a father-son moment, but did not. They were about to share words of wisdom, but did not.

And he knew it was all America's fault.

Wasn't it always?

Canada's head bowed down as though in prayer, his eyes scrunched up as he prepared himself for the onslaught of tears, which slowly trickled down his puffy cheeks, reddening his eyes. His arms wrapped themselves in a vice-like grip around Kumajiro, just about squeezing the stuff out of the bear. His whole frame shook. 'B-but why…?', he would ask to himself and anyone and no one in particular. He didn't know why, but every time America came bursting in like that (and no, this hadn't been the first time, far from it) and took the emerald eyes' gaze from him, he felt fire within his stomach and chest, a burning feeling that would cause him to see crimson and throw a tantrum… which he usually did. It made him want to yell and scream and just punch something, made him want to tear out a certain someone's hair out and break a few porcelain vases here and there. It made him want to just squeeze his fist so hard until something happened.

Something, anything to rid himself of the squirming worm in his stomach when these occurrences played by.

But he never did. Never would.

Never could.

For a simple reason. For a simple reason that came in the form of the elder blonde gentleman. He could never show such an ugly side to him, could never show him that he could be as violent as those war history books that were often told to them at night as fairy tales, as bedtime stories. He could never disappoint that patient man whom he undoubtedly loved and cared for deeply like a father, the only father he would ever had. But most importantly, he would never show him that he could be as chaotic as America could be.

A playful scream from downstairs trespassed in his incomprehensible, confused, muddled thoughts.

But sometimes, it was just so dang hard not to be.

A smile played on his lips before he took a deep breath, jumping off the bed and chasing after the two.

"So… before we were so rudely interrupted", the Briton started tiredly, before taking a glance at the smirking blue-eyed angel, "I wanted to tell you, we had a surprise for you!"

"A-a s-surprise…?" A sense of elation filled him, and the smile on his face grew into a genuine grin, laced with nervousness that came with anything that had to do with, well, America. "Wh-what f-for?"

"You'll see! Now come here, you little bugger, and close your eyes."

Nodding obediently, his insatiable curiosity befitting of a five-year-old, he was overwhelmed by the possibility of having something to himself. Usually, when he was bestowed upon with a gift, it was reserved for both of them – both of the brothers all in one go. But now… could it really be? Was it a gift that would be solely meant only for himself? The feeling of greed flooded him, but it was normal, only normal, of course. It wasn't bad or anything that he wanted something – anything – for himself, even just this one time. Finally, maybe, he would have something America did not have!

… But then again, if his brother wanted it, wanted one as well, there was no doubt that Britain would purchase a similar trinket for the twin. He bit his lip; would there really be nothing unique to him, unique for him? Was he really just… a second fiddle now?

No, no, he mustn't think that way. Shaking his head clear of the heinous thoughts, instead focusing on whatever shiny new toy it was that his caretaker had procured for him, Canada shone a bright white smile at the elder man, before blinking his eyes shut and feeling a warmth from his tiny curled right fist as the gentleman took hold of him, leading him towards wherever the said "surprise" would be. He gladly followed along without any hesitation; if there was anywhere he could go with anyone without feeling even one percent insecure, it was Britain. Despite some earlier misgivings after having adopted someone else who seemed to greedily hound the man's attention, there was still no doubt that he always had a warm and fuzzy feeling whenever the other was around. He was sure it was a feeling that would never change. His feelings for his brother on the other hand…

A spark of electricity – or at least, that's what it felt like – short-circuited his body for a second as another warmth enveloped his other free hand. Blackened sight wasn't particularly helpful in investigating the culprit, but he needn't disobey Britain this time, for the presence had announced itself before he could so much as open his mouth to ask who it was. From his left came the bright-eyed beauty's cry of, "Let's go, Canada! Oh man, you're gonna love this!"

The boy's smile faded a tad, slipping from its not-so-façade. Immediately, a wave of regret and just… something bad washed over him. He was just so… innocent, so nice, and so happy all the time, something he wished he could be. Maybe then, if he imitated his loud brother more, Britain would also pay him more attention. But if he looked at it, there had been numerous times when he'd attempted to do so, each attempt only ending in a failure that was so embarrassing that he would need Kumajiro's help in order for him to go to sleep at nght. Still, regardless of his own catastrophes, he really shouldn't have taken it out on his brother – at least, that's what he thought. After all, America had always been the louder, more dominant one, while he was the quiet, more reserved one. He wouldn't – honestly, couldn't – change that, and in the end, his sibling meant well.

It was just so disconcerting to be overshadowed sometimes… or most of the time.

Nevertheless, it was obvious that this time, even America was excited for him, so he would go along with it. After all, who could resist a surprise?

All the child could hear from then on were footsteps that echoed softly beside him; one set heavier than the ones on his left, which were more erratic and excited. He felt like that Alice in one of the rarer bedtime stories that they would be graced with, Alice in Wonderland, or something like that. Beyond the door, there would be something for him, something new and exciting, something… his. What adventures would await him?

… Well, as long as they weren't too dangerous or too confusing. He disliked puzzles, always throwing away jigsaw pieces without stealing a glance at them. But even as he did this, Britain would always comment on his "wasted potential", to which he had absolutely no clue what the man was talking about. True, if he actually tried, he could put together a 100-piece jigsaw puzzle in ten minutes, but everyone could do that. It was just one of the more inane things that again, as if he needed any more reminding, proved him to be no more than normal, a quiet background presence. Something like that was nothing, nothing compared to how America could easily kick a ball about fifty feet in the air until it was invisible; they had probably had to buy about fifty balls by now, much to the man's chagrin.

But at least this surprise would break him free of those thoughts, at least if only for a short while. How exciting.

It was about five minutes before the two by his side ceased, relinquishing their grasps on his chubby fists, which immediately sent him spiralling into slight panic. However, a heavily accented voice came just at the right time before he started hyperventilating. "Here we are, Canada. Open your eyes, love."

Purple eyes widened in disbelief as it towered over him, all meter and a half high of a masterpiece. Cake, frosted with white icing was ceremoniously dotted here and there with crimson dots. The base was the largest circular piece, erecting above itself a smaller, circular piece, and so on and so forth, making up about five layers. At the very top was a miniature statue of himself, just about the palm of his hand, in his baptismal robes. However, it was neither the size nor the magnitude that caught his attention. It was what was decorated around the entire piece.

He could remember it with clarity, that memory that was jogged due to the image that now lay before him. It had been a brief outing in the park; America had strongly insisted on leaving the house because the weather had been quite decent. Somewhat grumbling, the Briton had agreed to do so, but only under the condition that he bake some more of his rather wonderful scones. When they'd arrived at the park, said scones were dutifully ignored, as America pulled his brother away for a game of soccer – or football, as the male would insist stubbornly – and needless to say, it resulted in a rather large black-eye that was so dark in colour that it should not have existed in that world, as well as a broken arm… both on the Canadian's side. After some grievous fits, Britain had successfully extricated the child from his sibling's grasp (who, at this point, insisted that it was a pretty shade of purple and would make for an excellent bulls-eye target) and brought him to his side, wrapping a makeshift cast around his arm. In fairness, Canada had dismissed it as an accident; they were only having some good, clean (painful) fun, after all! Still, it was an experience he would rather not repeat. Soon enough, thoughts of the incident were forgotten as he lay curled in Britain's arms, whose emerald eyes were carefully watching his brother, who had now thought that trees made for excellent soccer partners and was knocking them down one by one. Just as he was about to drift off into dream world with nothing more than the homey presence around him and a throbbing in his arm, the child felt a slick something cling to his forehead. Sleepily, he reached out his arm to remove the alien, before his eyes widened.

"Br-Britain, what is th-this?"

The male glanced down, a small smile echoing on his features. "That, my pet, is a maple leaf. I'm actually a tad surprised there's one around here. It must be an omen, or a sign." Whatever it was, it was magnificent. The shape was just so perfect, even and symmetrical. "Though, it's rather odd. I've never seen that shade of red on that species before." It was crimson, almost blood-red, in contrast to the green or slightly yellowed leaves around them. Nevertheless, to the child, it was pretty. A smile was cast in the direction of the object.

"Pretty", he murmured, hugging it close to himself before drifting into something that felt like a euthanasia-induced sleep.

Now, the same shape and color was painted magnificently on the cake, much to the boy's elation. A shriek escaped from his lips, and he just about launched himself at his caretaker's legs, who laughed and matted his hair playfully. "I take it you like it, then. America and I worked on it all night last night." Canada nodded viciously, all of his five-year-old self jumping up and down in excitement and sheer thrill. "Th-thank you, Britain, v-very m-much! But… wh-why did you m-make it?" There was a short pause, making him wonder if he had asked the wrong thing. His grasp around the man's legs loosened slightly, feeling as though he had just insulted him and getting himself ready to grovel for forgiveness. Why, oh why, must he always say the wrong things?

Manners had been something engraved into his memory (which America obviously lacked, but he wouldn't judge), and so his mouth opened instinctively to mutter an apology (something he was accustomed to… even when the committed crime was often times, in fact, his brother's fault, but could he really stand up to him? did he have another choice?), before a chuckle interrupted him. A confused look crossed his features as he gazed at the blonde questioningly. "No worries, pet. This is to celebrate your birthday." "B-birthday?" A loud voice piped up at that moment, the presence of the other whom he'd forgotten was even there for the silence of it all (it was no wonder it felt like something was missing). "Well, to be more specific, Britain said he got it for ya to celebrate when he adopted you! So, yeah, happy-adoption-into-Britain's-tasteless-and-really-tacky-mansion day, Canada!" The blonde rolled his eyes, waving a finger, chastising him. "Now, now, let's not ruin today."

Canada was absolutely gobsmacked. Despite the bickering exchange, he realized that Britain loved him. Of course he did. Otherwise, he would have already been shoved out of the house by now. All his thoughts of insecurity left him at that moment, and he shook his head to himself in disbelief. How he had ever thought that America would always take the spotlight was absolutely wrong. Sure, he did most of the time, but even he had it some of the time… like now! And although it was particularly rare, he would take it. Grinning and turning back to the bickering pair, he once again launched himself at the man's legs. Already distracted by America, the Briton found himself sprawled on the ground from the unbalancing impact. "Ow…", he muttered. But before he had a chance to reprimand the culprit, he found on his chest a small figure of Canada, tears streaming down his cheeks. Harsh words froze on his lips, and he propped himself up on his elbows, a frown burrowing on his face. "Cana-?"

The little boy crawled on further up, wrapping his arms around the male's neck, sniffling. "Th-thank you, Br-Britain. Brother…" "… for not making me feel so alone", he wanted to continue, but something clogged up his throat at that moment, and decided against it. Courage, courage… oh, how he lacked it, but this moment… was irreplaceable. He was perfectly content with it, he thought to himself, snuggling and cuddling closer to his caretaker. Slender fingers snaked through his hair comfortingly, followed by a chuckle. "S'fine, love. Today's your day!" Again, the obnoxious voice piped up. "Canada's a crybaby, haha!" "America, be quiet!" "Fine, fine. Say, can we eat it now?" "Let's ask Canada."

The child looked up, his sense of presence having floated in and out from the sheer euphoria of the situation. "Mmm?", he asked questioningly. "Are we allowed to eat some cake now?" "O-oh! Y-yes, of c-course!" he answered, somewhat embarrassed for his spaciness. "C-can I cut i-it?" "Sure thing, love! Now let me just find the- AMERICA!"

A booming voice from the accented male caused him to jump on the man's chest, eliciting a soft "ooph!" from his lips. He had been so engrossed in the moment that he had again neglected the absence of sound in the room, until it was too late. Canada's indigo eyes directed themselves towards where the Briton's own were – towards his cake. Eyes widened in surprise and horror as he glimpsed his twin climbing said cake, making it teeter unbelievably unsteadily.

No. NO.

As though watching a film strip play before his very own eyes, he grimaced as the cake swayed back and forth like a drunkard, to and fro repeatedly, a playful trick by fate. There and back, it went, before finally, gravity won out. In slow motion, he watched it lean over too much on one end – too much, even he could tell – before it collapsed, splashing against the clean carpet and staining it with white and red blood. It felt as though a hole had appeared below him at that moment, dropping him into it, because his stomach felt as though it was screaming in agony. Frozen in place, he hadn't even contemplated it when Britain had lifted him up and placed him on a nearby velvet chair, muscles too stunned to move, eyes too rigid to notice that his twin was now bathed in icing, in the remnants of his cake. His cake.

The blonde made his way over to the child, who had an impish grin on his face, licking his fingers that were now caked with icing. "America, look what you did. You've ruined the cake, and to mention, you're a bloody mess. Come then, we'll give you a shower." He sighed in resignation, picking up the sticky figure who giggled like a madman at his job well done. Clearly, he was amused by the whole situation, still giggling as Britain ushered him out of the room, but not before he waved to his brother, a cheesy smile on his face, caked (no pun intended) with chocolate as he said, "Haha, happy birthday again, Canada! I hope that we can always have fun like this forever!"

But clearly, he was not amused. The child sat still on his spot, eyes glazed over as he surveyed the fallen remnants of his cake. Red coloured his vision, red tinted hate geared towards his twin.

Another year, another moment that should have been his ceremoniously stolen.

Another year, another moment with Britain forcefully pulled away by his twin.

Another year, another moment where he wished he could say something for himself.

Another year, another moment where he wished that he was an only child.

Still in a stupor, his neck gave way, his head bowed down as though in reverence as frozen eyes stared at intricate patterns of the pillow of where he now sat. Forever like this? He'd rather not.

But what choice did he have?

Forever.

SO, this here is going to be my first chaptered fic. This chapter was… fluff, no other way to say it, but it's important to read it because it'll serve as a basis for the future *ahem* events that will occur later on. I portrayed Canada here as… a jealous type who still can't say what he wants to, and if you can't see, his self-esteem has basically gone to the gutters (thanks America!), something he brings on later. But yeah, hope you guys liked this. *.*

Reviews and comments are appreciated.~ Need some feedback for the later chaps. 8D