Whispers in the Dark
Chapter One: Bad Dreams
Pairings: Canada/America, Russia/Canada, and others as needed...
Summary: Canada has been plagued with terrible nightmares, where everyone really forgets him, and he disappears. He can't sleep, tortured by his own mind. He takes up increasingly bad habits, slipping further into depression and madness. Can America save him before it's too late?
A/N: Hello! A brand-new story! I am so glad to be writing again after such a long time! (Like, 4 months, but hey. I was in mourning...) I wish I could get my angelofdreams93 account back, but...FFN apparently hates that one... So, tell me what you think of my new dark!Canada angst!fic. Please? And, be nice...I'm still so scared of the whole angst thing... Oh, and keep a box of tissues near by! This could become quite a tear-jerker. No death, I promise, though! All right, I'll stop yapping at you, now...
Warnings: Um, darkness, alcohol consumption...eventual sex, possible abuse, dubcon...Russia being Russia...somewhat yandere!Canada, depressed!Canada...You know. Nothing too bad really...I'm too "soft" for really bad stuff, unlike some on here...*shudders*
DISCLAIMER: I seriously don't own this. If I did...Canada would NOT be so ignored, and Hetalia would be a full-blown, adults-only YAOI.
Really, I promise, I'm done now...Sorry, sorry for long notes! OTL OTL
It was never supposed to be like this...
Matthew sighed deeply, bending over his sink, rinsing out the rag he'd used to wash his face. He slid his glasses back on, then peered into the mirror.
"What's happened to you?" he whispered to his reflection, which stared back at him through tired, red-rimmed eyes, tell-tale dark circles beneath them, making his ashen skin appear even paler, almost like a corpse. He let loose another sigh. Dear God, he needed sleep. He needed to find a solution for those damn nightmares. The ones where he disappears completely. Where even Alfred doesn't know who he is any more. Where his beloved nation is taken over by America—or worse, Russia. Where Francis can no longer remember holding him, kissing his tiny head, teaching him French. Or England forgets about comforting him on those dark nights after Alfred left, when he'd wake up sobbing about the loss of his twin.
Those where he does not exist at all...
He stifled a sob, shaking his head furiously, trying to banish the memories, especially the one of the previous night. He turned the sink on, splashing more water on his face. It'll go away. Everything will be fine. He told himself, and tried to muster a brave smile. He checked his watch, showing twenty minutes to the meeting. He groaned, knowing he was most likely going to be late, as he hadn't successfully straightened himself out yet. Matthew, though, knew that his tardiness—even his presence, Hell—would go unnoticed. As usual. He shot his reflection an angry glare, as though it had betrayed him. Growling, he reached for the flask of whisky he'd made the habit of keeping on him, on those days after the particularly horrible nightmares, taking a few deep swigs of it. Just to keep his emotions locked under a pleasant, deceptive buzz of alcohol. To hold that fake smile in place through the pain. The smile that no longer touched his eyes. No, didn't even come close.
He dressed quickly, going for a plain—if expensive—black suit he'd been given by Francis for Christmas years ago, instead of his more casual suit. This was the G20, after all. He fumbled with his red tie, his vision blurry from the whisky, finally managing after minutes of struggling with the stupid thing. Once dressed, he glanced into his full-length mirror, thinking that he'd cut a pretty good profile, if it weren't for the sad state of his face. He again had to summon the will to smile weakly, and then, finally left his Ottawa home for the meeting at his consulate building.
The nations in the G20 looked around at each other nervously. There were only nineteen present, and there should be twenty. It would seem that the one missing was also their host/hostess. But, none of them really knew who the heck was missing. Of course, it was Ludwig who stood up in front of the large conference room, yelling for order in spite of the fact that tense silence had fallen over the group ages ago.
"Now, who is missing? Come, on, someone has to know!" the burly German yelled, only to be met with confused silence. "Fine! Ach, mein Gott! I'll call out roll then. Really, you're like a bunch of preschoolers. All right. Say "here" or something when I call your name. America?"
"Um, duh, the amazing me is here!" came the loud American-accented response, over the sounds of gobbling, and slurping. (He'd obviously sneaked in some McDonald's...)
"Argentina?"
"Aquí."
"Australia?"
"Yup!" came the accented voice.
"Brazil?"
" Aqui!"
"Uh...I don't know about this one...uh...C-Canada?" Germany stuttered, confused. He didn't know a Canada...he didn't think...
No response.
"Canada?" Germany asked again. He scanned the group of nations. "Well, I-I suppose that's who is missing. Does anyone know who Canada is? Where he or she is?" he said, eyebrows knitting as he tried to picture the elusive 'Canada' person.
"I-I don't know, mon ami. I think that name rings a bell...'Ow about you, Angleterre? Does that sound familiar to you?" France supplied, fixing England with a bemused stare.
"Sh-shut up, you git! I don't have a bloody clue..." England responded, folding his arms over his chest indignantly, huffing, his face turning red all the way from his chin to the tips of his ears.
"Aha. So you admit you are stupid, mes sourcils..." France jeered delightedly, yet unable to shake the feeling that he had forgotten something important.
"Well, then. Might as well carry on the meeting." said Germany stiffly, shuffling his papers. Then, the door flew open, as if by the wind, and something that could only be described as cold blew into the room, a sense of dread that was typically associated with Russia accompanying it. "Er...Ivan? Aren't you already here?" Ludwig asked, eyes searching, and landing, on the Russian. "Da. What did I do? Kolkol." came the reply from the grinning man, whom Germany was certain had been in the room the whole time... "Erm...Is someone there...?" asked the German man to seemingly thin air.
Then, a person appeared in the front of the room, a person with wavy, somewhat disheveled dirty blonde hair, one curl jutting from the centre of his forehead, watery indigo eyes, dressed in a plain black suit, white dress shirt, and red tie. He looked out at the nations with a very icy expression. "Well. Glad to see everyone showed up. Let's begin this meeting, shall we?" He said, the corners of his pale pink lips lifting in a weak smile. Really, this nation, resembled America. Then, something in everyone's respective heads clicked.
"M-Mattie? You're, like...really late dude...What the Hel-heck? I mean...Nice get-up, but... Wow. You look weird..." America piped up, foot-in-mouth style.
"Yes, well. I'm sorry for being late. I ran into some, erm, issues at home...Anyway, we're here to discuss what to do about the escalating situation in Greece. Now, I've always favoured peace myself, but with the scale of this problem, I think we ought to consider military action...What, Alfred?" he began, only to see America fidgeting, looking desperate to speak.
"D-Dude...Are you okay? You seem...different. Like, you don't seem like my little Mattie..." America stated, giving his brother an uncharacteristic scrutinising look.
"I'm fine. Long night. Now, can we get to the issue at hand? I'd like to have time left in my day after this, you know. As I'm sure we all would." Canada replied.
"Now, we should all take turns to speak. Let's go around the table, hmm? What do you think we should do about this?" Canada posed the question to the nation nearest him, Australia. The group went round, giving their thoughts, and soon enough, it was two in the afternoon, and time to call it a day. Everyone shuffled out, save for Canada, who stayed to collect papers. Once the room had cleared enough, both France and England circled back to the Northern nation.
"Ah, mon cher Matthieu...What is the matter? You seem off today. So commanding and loud... You know you can tell Papa anything, mon lapin." France spoke first, his face worried.
"Don't pressure the boy, frog! He looks tired enough as is! Now, when you are feeling up to it, you are welcome to come to me. I will always be available to talk, or to help you, if you need me. Okay, lad? I'll take these, and do the paperwork. You go home and get some sleep." England said, trying to hide his own worry, which still showed itself in his knit eyebrows. He took the papers out of Canada's glacial hands, and stacked them neatly. "I will give these to my boss. Don't worry." he said, awkwardly patting Canada on the shoulder, and making his way out of the room, dragging a spluttering France with him.
"B-But, 'e is my son..." France's voice whined down the hallway. Canada gave a weak little smile, and quiet laugh, as he listened to the receding sounds of his family's arguing. He turned to go, locking the door behind him. His thoughts soon became filled with the idea of holing up in a little bar until last call...Just so he wouldn't have to face his silent, lonely home until at least two in the morning...
A/N, part 2: Could you, ah...please review? I like to get feedback...constructive criticism is very appreciated...Help me improve my writing? Please and thank you...