Warnings: This contains descriptions of injury and self harm.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters unless otherwise specified. This story is not for monetary gain.

Enjoy!

~o-o-o~

The ice is smooth; it has the appearance of polished glass, before Canada's skate cuts across the surface, marring it with lines from the blade. The rink itself is actually a frozen pond, or lake, Canada isn't sure of the depth. It's not large, but it doesn't need to be. He's the only one out here enjoying the freezing weather as he skirts across the plane. Skating is second nature, to Canada. The young nation often finds it easier than walking. His movements are fluid, natural and practiced. The surrounding woods are a cluster of evergreen and leafless deciduous trees. Frost clings to the bark and branches while snow blankets the ground. It's snowing softly, slowly, and when the small flakes touch his skin, they melt upon contact. There are footprints, signs that wildlife is here. Much of Canada's north is undeveloped land. He takes pride in the vast expanse of forests he has.

Canada bristles at the thought, and suddenly he's falling. His ankle snaps, a sick sound, a mix between a twig breaking and a foot crushing freshly fallen snow. He lands hard on his knee, but pays little mind to the pain. His ankle is on fire, pulsing hotly, twisted at an odd angle. The nation only sighs and drops his hands to the ice. It's dark, but his reflection is still visible. He looks tired and pale. His hair is a mess, and his t-shirt clings to his sweaty body. Canada's glasses begin to fog from the contrast of his hot face and the cool air, so he removes them. Before he can help himself, he throws them violently, a loud snarl erupting from him. The glasses land harmlessly in a dome of snow. The nation screams.

"Why?!" He shouts to the skies, a harsh, pained cry. "…Why?" His voice has dipped down, and the shout is little more than a dismayed whimper. "I try…so hard. I just…want to help." Canada gasps. "I stayed loyal. I was good! I was good!" His fingers press harshly on the ice, and he hopes this is a lake, not a pond. If it is, maybe he'll fall through and the cold waters will lull him to a dreamless sleep. He starts beating the ice, but the hard substance doesn't give under his force, merely groans, as Canada breaks his knuckles. By the time he's done, there's blood dripping from his hands. The ice is too thick. It wasn't going to give way to his fists. Canada sighs heavily and shifts from his knees to his bottom. The pain in his ankle is renewed and the nation groans softly. He stretches out his leg, and with a swift motion, resets his ankle with snap. The sound doesn't bother the nation as he lies back and waits for his wounds to mend. He rests his bleeding hands on the frozen sheet. The cold helps dull the throbbing. The sound of footsteps tears his attention from his thoughts. Canada's violet eyes are wide as he turns his head. A breath of relief leaves him. Kumajiro has a fish in his mouth and is chewing thoughtfully.

"Who?" The bear asks.

"Je m'appelle Canada." The nation replies, despite him knowing the polar bear won't remember. There's a certain amount of mockery in knowing someone won't remember him. Canada feels a bitterness settle in his gut but as passive as usual, he does nothing. He wants to, but something he hates more than being ignored is being alone. Kumajiro provides companionship Canada desires so he takes the forgetfulness with a smile as rage burns beneath his skin. Kumajiro continues to eat his fish while Canada lies on the ice. His injuries have healed some, but he doesn't want to move. What was the point, anyway? He goes to meetings and even when he does speak, either he's not heard, or people ask why America has gone soft. "I'm not soft." Canada grunts. "I win battles. My people are strong." Canada looks at Kumajiro, but the bear has wandered off north, his paw prints giving away his location. Canada sighs and turns his head to the stars. He can see a lot from here, the lack of light pollution helps. Canada smiles sadly. He's not helping the environment, he knows that. "I could be worse." Canada mutters bitterly.

I could be better, too.

Canada pushes the thought quickly from his head. He's just tired. He shouldn't be, he's too young, but he is. The nation takes a deep breath and stands. His ankle sends a flash of pain up his leg, but the nation ignores it and goes back to skating. He spins and twirls on the ice, motions deliberate. The nation can't see particularly well without his glasses but he doesn't really need to at the moment and he continues to skate mindlessly. The cool air brings a flush to his face and he basks in it; his ankle is still pulsing hotly. The nation smiles, but its short lived as he crashes again. He ends up face first in the snow bank, and an embarrassed snort leaves him before the nation can help himself. Canada turns and finds the cause of his fall.

"Russia?" The younger nation blinks up at the largest nation. His hair is blowing softly in the cool wind. His eyes are bright, but Canada is certain the emotion isn't joy. "Why are you here?"

"You're skating alone, poorly dressed for the weather, da." It's an answer, but it doesn't give Canada any more information then he already has. The younger nation is annoyed by the response. He glares, but the broadening smile on Russia's face tells Canada he's not being taken seriously. Canada arches a brow when Russia holds out his glasses. The smaller male doesn't protest the gesture and accepts the specks, replacing them on his head. The younger nation arches a brow when Russia leans down and touches the blood on the ice.

"You should be dressed better, da. It's cold." Russia wasn't wrong. Canada is only in his skates, a T-shirt and jeans, and the temperature was at least minus twenty. Canada doesn't feel the cold really, not at the moment anyway. His body is too heated from pain and activity.

"I'm fine, eh." Canada mutters lowly. He blinks up at the larger nation in surprise when Russia sloughs off his jacket and drapes it across his shoulders. "I said-"

"I know." Canada glares but again his anger is brushed off with a smile. The larger nation has an oddly pleasant smile, when he doesn't look like he wants to murder. Beneath the long coat is a warm knit sweater and wool slacks. Canada shifts when Russia steps closer. "Why did you hurt yourself, da?" Canada doesn't answer. Russia didn't answer his question so why should he? "Self-harm is dangerous." Canada snorts after the larger nation speaks. He may as well have said snow is cold. "You are too good for this, da." The smaller nation blinks. Russia's tone had softened some and Canada wasn't sure but he thought the male sounded worried. Canada finds he's at a loss for words. When Russia moves closer, the younger nation flinches.

"Don't."

"Are you afraid, da?"

"Can you go, please, eh?" Canada knows he sounds like he's pleading but he finds he doesn't care. He wants Russia to leave him to wallow in self-loathing.

"No." The largest nation answers immediately, his tone sharp and somewhat scolding. Canada blinks in surprise, and then fear grips him. Why was Russia here? Did he want something? The nation wasn't particularly stable at the moment and a flood of panic fills Canada. He's on his feet and running before he realizes. Unfortunately, the younger nation hadn't been thinking, and running in skates is nearly impossible. Canada falls after five steps but is unharmed as the snow cushions his fall. The younger nation is lifted gently; a warm arm hugs him around his waist against a firm chest. Canada lets out a few shuddered gasps and curls up. "I won't hurt you, da. You do not deserve it."

"What…what do you want, eh?" Canada asks, because despite Russia's reassuring words, he can't help feel panicked.

"I am only here because you need someone, da." The younger nation relaxes and lets Russia hold him. He leans into the older male and takes deep, even breaths. A serene calm falls over Canada. The air is cold, carrying a weak scent of pine and ice. Russia's jacket blocks the wind and Canada realizes just how cold he was. He didn't need to smash through the ice and fall through it to be swept away by a cold induced sleep; the brisk weather would have done a fine job in no time. It clicks then that Russia really does care and the younger nation is confused as to why. He's never been on great terms with the largest nation; if anything they were normally on bad terms, considering Canada's closeness to America. Yet here he was offering clothing and a shoulder to lean on. Russia's hold shifts and Canada's panic returns. The younger nation yelps pathetically and flails uselessly in the older male's arms. Russia sits in the snow, Canada cradled in his lap. They're not any closer but there's a certain amount of intimacy in the hold that flusters the Canadian. "You are a beautiful skater, da." The smaller nation blushes faintly and keeps his gaze on his knees.

"Thanks eh…"

"It would be such a shame to see that talent disappear." Canada frowns. The younger nation looks up slowly. Russia's eyes are fixed on him, gaze soft yet commanding.

"I guess." Canada offers, his tone sharp and bitter. "It wouldn't take too long for everyone to get over it though." The larger male frowns. "You don't get it eh? Imagine for one second walking into a room full of people you know, people who raised you, and they all stare blankly because they're not quite sure who you are. Or people mistake you for your obnoxious older brother who's an ass that beats you up!" A string of curses follows: a mix between French and English. Russia hugs the younger nation closer, despite the Canadian's struggles to free himself.

"You're looking at it the wrong way."

"Then please, enlighten me eh?"

"When they don't see you, they don't see you coming. Isn't that part of the reason behind your success at Vimy Ridge?" Canada said nothing. "You have contributed inventions and innovations to the world. Stop selling yourself short."

"Tell me why you're here, Russia." Canada's tone was sharp and demanding. He wasn't going to put up with Russia toying with him. The older nation's hands move, shifting Canada from his lap to the ground. The younger nation glares up at the older male when he leans over him. The brightness is back in the largest nation's eyes. Canada protested him. The fear is back as well and the smaller nation just wants to go.

"You are too sweet, too precious to harm, da." Russia leans in; his breath ghosting over the smaller male's skin. "America does not appreciate you, da, but I would, I will." His sinister intention was suddenly brought to light. "Join me." Canada wasn't entirely sure if Russia spoke the words or not, but it didn't matter. The younger nation thrashes violently and breaks free. The Canadian wasn't the strongest nation, but he had enough to keep anyone he needed to at bay where necessary. He bolts for the ice and skates across it. Russia is grinning from his place on the ground. Canada rapidly removes his skates, eyes never leaving the other nation. Canada had thrown off Russia's coat. "Is he really so much better?" The words were shouted as Canada ran. The nation caught his polar bear and scoops Kumajiro up, his legs never stopping. The bear protested initially, but that was short lived. Maybe Kumajiro did know who Canada was and just pretended he didn't. Russia's words stung though. The younger nation had been foolish to believe Russia actually cared out of the goodness if his heart. No, the older nation merely wanted to acquire land. Canada's lungs burn when he finally stops. His socks are wet and freezing cold. Hot tears streak his cheeks. His mind is plagued. Was America better than Russia? His older brother had tried to annex him once, when he was still a colony of England's. That had ended in failure. Then there was the whole ordeal with England letting him go. The once great empire was quite happy to have Canada split off. Of course, this was all before oil…the only thing that ever really got anyone's attention nowadays.

"Who?" Kumajiro whispers. Canada grits his teeth.

"Not now!" He cries. His ankle and knuckles still hurt. He's burning from the cold.

"Who hurt you?" The nation snaps his eyes open. Kumajiro is looking up at him, head quirked slightly.

"They all do." Canada mutters bitterly. He takes a few more deep breaths. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. Canada just needed to keep going. He would nod and smile, import and export. They would ignore him when they didn't want something. A soft sigh fell from Canada's lips as he started home. Wallowing would accomplish nothing. The young nation plastered on a false smile. He had to practice for the next meeting after all.

~o-o-o~

AN: Translations - Je m'appelle Canada: I'm Canada

Da: Yes

When I first saw Hetalia stories on this site, I was like WTF who would watch something like that? Then I read some of the comics and it's actually really funny. Anyway, this Canada is a pretty self-destructive little guy, and anyone who's seen/read Russia knows that guy is evil to the core in the series. These characterizations are just interpretations of Hetalia, not real life.

Fun fact: Canada's head of state is the Queen of England. If you didn't know that don't worry, most Canadians don't know it either.

HM