A/N: I'm just going to say this now, this is supposed to be sad! I don't know if it actually is or not, but it's supposed to be!

Ok, usually I have like fifty things that I want to say before starting this, but this time I can't think of much. There's a little bit I want to say that will have to be saved until the end, so I will put another quick A/N down there.

I didn't have a Beta reader for this, so if there are mistakes please tell me in a review, and I will fix them ASAP. Another thing, please watch the names. I don't know why, but I'm worried I got some names wrong/mixed up, so if I did, again please tell me in a review so I can fix it. I also enjoy getting reviews in general, so I would appreciate it if you feel up to it. :3

Other than that, I can't think of anything, so disclaimer? Hetalia does not belong to me.

The radio was playing quietly in the car when the next song came on. America reached over and turned the volume up, and began nodding his head to the new song, as well as humming a bit.

Part of his focus was on driving of course, the hero couldn't cause any accidents, but he liked this song. He was in a good mood too, having bought some new movies to watch and now heading home. A couple of them were horror movies, so he would have to watch them with a friend.

Not that he was scared or anything, it was just more fun that way! He could watch the others with friends too, but he had a feeling they were busy. Besides, none of the other countries were close enough by to visit right now.

His phone started ringing beside him, giving America new hope of hanging out with someone. He was able to pull over and park his car in enough time to answer the phone. His caller ID read Canada.

"Dude, great timing! I was just thinking I could use a movie buddy," America answered.

"America…?" came a quiet response.

"Yeah, dude! This is the hero speaking," America replied. He wasn't sure why his brother wouldn't know it was him. Did he dial the wrong number?

"Could you… Just listen please?" he requested.

"What? You don't want to watch a movie? We could do other things," America rambled on. Canada had always been quiet, but he couldn't help but feel like his voice was especially soft spoken today.

"Just listen, please?" Canada repeated his request. America felt a little confused, and realized his brother might need something from him.

"I'm all ears."

"Thanks… I'm not sure how to do this," Canada told him.

"What, do you need me to help you?"

"No, not like that. Just listening, ok?"

America laughed a little.

"Right."

"This is, um… I wanted to say good bye. I wrote you a letter with most of it, but I just wanted to hear you one last time."

America felt a sense of dread growing inside of him. His nerves were making him listen very carefully, but he couldn't understand the end of what Mathew had said.

"W-where are you going?" He asked, an empty laugh working its way into his sentence. His brain started coming up with explanations for what he heard. Maybe Mathew was going someplace he couldn't get cell phone reception, or Internet, or send letter, or leave to visit people. Someplace like that might exist.

"I'm not exactly going someplace," Mathew started to explain. "It's… kind of hard to say."

"You can tell me anything Mattie."

"Yeah. That's why it's kind of hard... I'm going to kill myself."

America had dreaded those words. That was why it hadn't made sense what Mathew had said before. He couldn't dare to believe that his brother wanted that. America felt scared inside, but his mind pushed him to move. He got back in the car.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm going to kill myself. I'm going to die. I don't… want to live anymore," Mathew paused. "Sorry, it's… in the letter, ok?"

"Mattie, where are you right now?" America asked him. He put the phone in a cup holder nearby once he put it on speakerphone. He was already buckled and starting the car. America couldn't do nothing when Mathew was talking like this.

"I'm on top of a building, a skyscraper with roof access," Mathew carefully explained. "You can't stop me Alfred."

"I just want to know where you are, does the building have a name, or can you see a street sign somewhere?" America encouraged him. After a moment Mathew complied and gave up his location.

He was close. America was on it, and drove as fast as he could, while thinking of what the quickest route would be to Mathew's location. This was an emergency, so he considered breaking the speed limit when he could, but painfully decided he couldn't risk getting stopped by cops for speeding.

"You can't stop me," Mathew repeated, "I just wanted to say goodbye."

"You said you wrote me a letter," America remembered.

"Yes, I have it with me. You should be able to find it after-"

"Could you read it to me? Please?"

"Alfred…"

"C'mon, please? Mattie, please?"

"I'm not sure…"

"Please?" America begged him. He was sure he could reach Mattie, but he needed more time.

"It would mean a lot to me if you read it."

"Ok, if it means that much to you."

America realized that although he had bought them more time, he would have to listen to his brother's final words to him. He was sure he wasn't prepared for that, but had to listen and focus on driving at the same time.

"The first thing I want to say to you is that I'm sorry," Mathew began. "You must be confused about what I did. I don't know if you care, but I'll try my best to explain it to you. I also want you to know none of this means I didn't care about you.

"I've always been quiet, and hard to notice, but it's more than that. I'm invisible. Literally that's not possible, but it's true. I'm so non-existent I might as well be. Maybe that doesn't sound like a big enough problem to kill myself for, but it's so much worse than people make it out to be.

"It's so hard to make people notice me. I have to call out multiple times, or raise my voice louder than I can, or try and tap someone on the shoulder, or a lot of little things like that, and it's exhausting. Sometimes it doesn't even work, and I end up being ignored.

"On the street, people bump into me without noticing, or walk right into me because they didn't realize I was there. No one means to do it, but it hurts. It makes me feel like I'm not there. I'm so insignificant that no one notices me.

"It even happens with my friends, and my family. You don't mean to do it, but even if you hear me you don't always listen to me. Hardly anyone remembers who I am. I have to repeat myself over and over again, I'm Canada, I'm Canada, I'm Canada!"

America began to wonder if Mathew was only reading what he had wrote, or if what he was saying was coming to him on the spot because of what he felt. He felt horribly guilty that he let his brother hurt like this.

He wanted to interrupt him, and tell him how wrong he was, and tell him how much Mathew Williams was needed, and cared about, but it had to wait. For now America needed him to keep talking, so he didn't dare stop Mathew to interrupt. Besides, he was almost there…

"I don't know what to do. I've tried to fix it. I tried making myself more memorable, and noticeable, but nothing works. I'm so tired of this. I know why this happens too. I can't forget because I keep telling myself why. I am so unimportant, irrelevant, unnecessary."

America parked the car, and threw the drivers door open. He grabbed the phone and ran into the building. He couldn't understand why no one had called for the police, or help. Couldn't anyone see his brother up there with his legs hanging over the edge of the building?

He ran inside, ignoring any attention he got for his rushed behavior, and pushed the button for the elevator. He quickly became uncertain that the phone would keep connection inside the device, and it was too slow for his taste anyway.

"It doesn't matter if I'm here or not, because no one will notice me. It's like I don't even exist, so there's no reason not to end it. I can't keep doing this, living like this. I don't have the will to carry on anymore. Maybe if I'm lucky, people will even notice me because of what I did. It's my last chance to be seen, and remembered."

He was breathing hard as he climbed each flight of stairs. Each one was another floor closer to Canada, to Mattie, to his brother. America had to make it in time; he was so close. He could save him.

America saw the doors a second before they were flung open, and he ran out onto the roof. Cool air hit him with the change from indoors to outdoors. The wind felt like it was blowing too hard, as if it might endanger Mattie.

He was standing on the edge now. He looked fragile like anything could push him over, and end his existence. Mathew had been looking at the doors America had come through, like he had known he would come. Maybe he had.

"Mattie! Let's talk," America pleaded with him.

"You won't change my mind Alfred," Mathew replied. His voice wasn't just that foreboding quiet anymore. It was sad, and breaking.

"Come over here. You don't want to do this. We can talk about it."

"I'm actually really glad I got to see one last time. I thought it would be too painful."

Mattie was crying. America could see the tears streaming down his brother's cheeks. That had to be a sign. There was some hope that Mathew didn't really want to do this, that he could change his mind.

"It won't be the last time if you just come down."

"I won't Alfred. You're not listening to me again."

"I am listening. Look, this won't even work. You're a country Mattie."

"I know. Our health depends on the state of our country, but what if we kill ourselves? No one ever told us what happens then."

"It'll be the same Mattie! Why would it matter how we die?"

"You don't know that Alfred. I have to try."

"No you don't. We can fix this. Let me help you."

"How Alfred?"

"You can come to me, whenever you need someone to listen to you, and I'll make the others listen too! I'll make them remember you! I'm the hero."

America wasn't crying, but that didn't mean he wasn't upset. His brother was trying to kill himself, and he was partly at fault. He didn't show it much on his face, but Mattie could hear it in his voice, couldn't he? He could see it in his eyes, right? America certainly wasn't smiling at a time like this.

"It won't work Alfred," Mathew replied, looking down at the street so far below. Then Alfred saw it; that Mattie was going to move. He was done talking.

"No!"

"Goodbye."

Alfred charged ahead, a mad sprint to stop him. Mattie turned and swiftly lifted one foot up, then leaned forward. His weight shifted to the other foot, the one with no ground beneath it. Mattie was falling, too late to stop now.

Alfred's momentum carried him fast. He had known he wouldn't reach his brother in time. He hadn't meant to save any momentum to stop. Mattie was falling off the edge, but Alfred was just in time to fall right after him.

He grabbed a hold of Mathew, whose eyes had once been hopeless and lifeless, but had now grown wide with shock. Alfred held him close, working to make sure his head was just above Mathew's, and cradled it.

"Alfred!" Mattie whisper shouted, so characteristic of him. Alfred smiled faintly, and looked down at Mattie with unreadable eyes. He wasn't just cradling Mathew; he was holding him protectively, sheltering him for the collision to come.

"I'm the hero. I'm protecting you, ok?" he whispered. He didn't know exactly how much time it would take reach the ground from this height, but he knew enough to know it would happen fast.

"You have to live for both of us, so you can't take your own life anymore, ok? You have to keep living. Promise?"

"Alfred, no!" Mattie protested. He was pushing on Alfred's chest, but his shaky arms were not enough to shove the other nation away. Alfred looked down just for a second to make sure that he would be taking the brunt of the fall away from Mattie, and give him any chance he had to survive.

"I love you bro," Alfred told Mattie. He tucked his head in so it touched the top of Mathew's, and squeezed his arms even tighter around his brother.

And then they hit the pavement.

It shouldn't be aloud to be sunny, it was too… happy. Bright yet cool days shouldn't be aloud to happen when people were gathered around wearing all black, when there was a coffin about to be buried, at the time of a funeral.

The funeral had been scheduled for after Canada was out of the hospital. He hadn't been able to escape injury after the incident, but he was alive. Honestly he hated that. He couldn't do anything about it though, not after what Alfred did for him last time.

He could never take it for granted after that, but he was left with so many questions. Canada couldn't believe that Alfred had only jumped to save him. He didn't doubt how much they meant to each other, but it made him wonder about how much Alfred had valued his own life.

To be faced with your brother attempting suicide, and looking for an answer to save him after hearing what drove him to it, and to come up with the answer of sacrificing himself, Canada wondered what made Alfred think that.

He felt so stupid. Had Alfred been suffering too? He couldn't think of any problems Alfred would have, but he'd never really looked. Could Alfred have been hiding pain behind that big goofy smile of his?

Canada had long since begun to believe that Alfred had. He looked back on the time he had spent with Alfred, and started to see little things that had slipped by him. They didn't necessarily mean anything, but there were reasons.

The insults for one thing, that was an obvious one, and America was having problems right now, which Alfred was often reminded of. He had been growing fed up with life too. He was sure that was why Alfred did it.

Why didn't I just go with him? Canada criticized himself again. He had been pushed to the end of his limits, but admittedly he had had his doubts. He should have given in, and gone with Alfred. Then they would be together right now.

"Is that him? The one America died for?"

Canada could hear them. A lot of people had been talking like that, although they didn't mean any harm. They were just curious, that's all. They needed an answer to why America had died, and they had got it. Now people couldn't take their eyes off of him.

It was exactly what he had wanted. After today everyone would remember him, Canada, Mathew Williams. They didn't blame him for what Alfred did, he didn't think. They didn't even know he had tried to end his life.

Lots of people came over to talk with him, to console him and tell him how sorry they were, but he sent them away. Right now he just wanted to be alone. Even Kumajibi was at home. He still couldn't remember who Canada was, but that was fine.

There were tears streaming down his face again, just like when he had stood all the way up on that roof. He had been so afraid then, but this was so much worse. Canada approached the coffin. It was open, with the American flag draped over it.

This would be the last time he would see his brother's face. It was too pale, and lifeless. He missed Alfred's smile already. He wished he could take it all back, but he knew that was impossible. If only he had been wrong about nations being able to take their own life… but he hadn't.

He reached into the pocket of his black coat, and pulled out a letter. He'd managed to keep it even through all the chaos in the wake of their fall. Canada would never need it now, and he'd never try that again.

He gently placed it in the coffin with Alfred. He had debated over whether or not he should. It wasn't really suiting to place his suicide letter in with his brother after he had given his life to save him, but he had another reason.

It was like Alfred was taking his thoughts of suicide into the ground with him. Canada pulled his hand away and wiped the tears streaming down his face. He was crying harder now, but he only had a few moments left for the last thing he had to say to Alfred.

"I promise," he said quietly, replying to some of Alfred's last words. He would live for both of them, and he would find a way to be happy again.

"I love you too."

Not long after, they finally lowered Alfred into the ground and began to bury him. It was hard for Canada to tear himself away from it, but with help from a friend he was eventually able to leave. He told himself it wouldn't be the last time he saw Alfred. He could always come back and visit his grave. It wouldn't be the same, nothing would be the same anymore, but it would be enough. He would keep living.

A/N: I'm not really sure about the ending, so if anyone has anything to say about that I'd appreciate hearing it. :c I'm sorry for killing him by the way. It's not like I wanted to kill him, I just had the idea and I wanted to make something that could get these kinds of sad emotions. I'm still not sure if I succeeded or not... I felt sad when I was writing it.

Really quickly I want to explain that there was a reason why Canada was in America (because that's where they were in case you missed that). It's pretty simple actually, I imagined that when Canada was considering everything for his suicide, he just couldn't bring himself to do it in his own country. Does that make sense? Hopefully yes.