My Blood, Your Heart, an AmeriCanada fic.
Pairings: AmeriCanada, FrUk (sorta)
Warnings: Rated M for: yaoi, cutting, France, and unrequited love.
Summary: America is depressed-wait, what? THE WORLD IS GOING TO END! Kesesese! Looks like a job for his awesomeful twin brother to make him happy again! But why is America sad?
A/N: Don't ask. This was inspired by the song "A Wish" by Gregory and the Hawk, abbreviated as GaTH. The line in question was "My blood won't stick to the confines of my veins, and your heart is gonna tear mine away." I thought of this when I was having a spazz attack at midnight. To illustrate my insanity, I shall give you a sample dialogue that took place (this really happened, I swear):
Me: I can't sleep! My brain is buzzing like-
Me: A rabbit?
Me: What the fuck?
Me: *giggles* Prussia… *squee*
Me: Uhm…
Me: Heheh! Ooh, imagine a fic where America is depressed. And then he and Canada-*gets hit over head with globe*
Me: And that, children, is why you should always keep a globe in your room~!
I realize America is so OOC, but I'm assuming his hero phase is over. Maybe the recession and everything sobered him up. I don't know! Just go along with it, and if you don't like it, don't read it.
Uh…onwards with the story~!
EDIT: This is reeeaaaaally old crap I found festering in the back of my folder on my computer. It's…I was like, whoa, old crack! So I posted it. Whatever.
If anyone gets high off of this shit and dies in a car crash, I'm not responsible. It's at your own risk.
Another world summit dissolved into chaos.
"France, you bloody frog, get off me!" Once again, France had attempted to grope the Englishman, and then pulled him into his lap.
"Pastaaaa~" And of course, North Italy wanted pasta.
"Spaaaain! You bastard!" How typical of Romano to scream at Spain when he was spotted leaning out the window to talk to Prussia. (who had been banned from the meetings)
Germany was being exasperated, which came as no great shock.
And Greece was snoring on Japan's shoulder.
No, the only surprise to Canada was the fact that his brother was completely silent.
"Are you okay, Ameri-" Said nation lifted his head from his arms and stared back at his twin brother.
"Ah…I'm fine, Mattie. Just political conflict, war, recession, y'know…No need to worry about me." He flashed a weary smile at him, but he couldn't hide the fact that there were bags under his eyes, which lacked their usual glow.
Still worried, Canada returned his attention to the pandemonium that was the meeting.
"Alright!" Germany bellowed over the rumpus [A/N: Always wanted to use that word. XD]. "Meeting over!" He ran a hand through his neatly gelled hair and began to pry Italy off his arm.
Rising from his chair, Canada came to stand next to America, who remained in his seat. "Are you sure you're alright?" America looked up balefully, and sighed.
"That was a fail of a meeting, wasn't it, Matt?" He headdesked and groaned.
"Would you like some help with that, America?" He raised his pipe in what should have been a helpful gesture. America jerked his head up, and banged his head against the pipe.
"Russia, you just knocked my brother out-!" The withering insult he was about to deliver died on his tongue as Russia smiled cutely again. Sighing in defeat, Canada took the empty chair beside his brother and waited.
"Mattie…"
"America? Are you awake?" But America didn't respond. He must still be knocked out. Canada smiled and ruffled his brother's hair, watching as Nantucket sprung back up. He can be cute sometimes.
England walked back into the room and sputtered. "Why is Alfred lying on the table half dead?"
Canada sighed. "Russia knocked him out by accident." He nodded and retreated.
America slowly lifted his head. "Ow…"
Canada looked at him strangely. "Are you okay?" His puzzled expression made America laugh. "It makes me think of things I'd rather not at a world meeting."
"But it's over!"
"Never mind, then." He picked up his things. "Thanks for waiting for me, Matt." He gave him a hug and picked up his things before following him out.
America dropped his things at his desk and continued walking up the stairs to his room. After locking the door securely, he shed his jacket, pulled up his sleeve, and pulled out a red and white towel.
It was almost finished.
The knife split his skin open and his blood spilled out like an overripe berry. It drenched the towel, cotton soaking up the liquid greedily. He was careful to rub his bloody arms against the towel, not smearing a single drop.
He had spilt too much, he knew. But it was finished, finally finished.
"America?" A voice called from the downstairs. He sat up with great effort, and swayed dizzily, but remained silent.
He could hear quiet footsteps come up the stairs and press the doorknob gently. "America?" He heard him say in a soft voice.
He remained still, folding the newly soaked towel, placed it inside the drawer, and waited.
The lock jiggled slightly. Canada burst in, and took in the sight of his brother collapsed on his bed. "America?"
He smiled faintly, the words reaching his ears slowly, as if through deep water. "Mattie," he whispered.
His brother walked towards the edge of his bed, seeing his delirious grin and blood covered arms. "What…did you do?" America continued to smile.
"Mattie," he repeated, "I'm glad you're here. It makes me happy."
Canada ignored his ramblings and opened a drawer full of towels. Pulling out the first one, he fluffed it out and admired the pattern. It was a flag. He took out some more. England, France, Italy, Germany, Russia, Japan, Ukraine, Belarus, Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, China, Korea, Norway, Denmark, Iceland, Sweden, Finland, even Prussia, all in dark reds and burgundies, almost black. He drew the last one out.
He smiled. It was his own. The red stood out vivid and bright. He pressed his hand to the leaf in the middle, only to recoil and stare in shock. Red liquid clung to his hand, standing out against his skin, which was suddenly pale as all of the blood drained from his skin.
"America…" he threatened in a deathly low voice.
America turned to face him. "That's not my name." He said in an almost singsong voice.
He groaned. "Alfred. Fine. But-"
"I know you want to punch me. Go ahead." He leaned his head forward, and didn't flinch at all when Canada mustered as much anger as he could and slammed his fist into his face. Still smiling, he let the blood dribble down his face and watched as Canada sat on the edge of his mattress.
"You idiot. Why?" Canada stared at America, flinching when he met his steady gaze.
He began to sway dizzily. "Because I love the world so much, is it so wrong to give the world my gift? My life, and painted into your flags. Poetic, isn't it?" He grinned again before collapsing.
…
What the hell that was, I'm not even sure anymore. It was supposed to be serious, but I think my food was tainted and I was high when I wrote it. 0.o
If you liked the fucked up angsty crack, go ahead and do your reviewing or favoriting, et cetera.
*is listening to Ke$ha*