It was a cold day, not like the average cold day in Ottawa, but colder. The ground outside was covered in snow. It did not leave the land looking beautiful like in pictures, but more dreary. The sky was dark and gray making the snow seem lifeless and creating a sad, lonely picture of the world. The weather reflected exactly how Matthew Williams felt.
Maybe it was because he was Canada, and he felt what the land felt. One look outside and you knew the land felt depressed, but it was not the land. Maybe the weather just affected the Canadian that way, and that is why he was inside like many others who the dreary looking day had put in a downcast mood. Maybe his favorite hockey team lost, or he ran out of maple syrup. Despite all these possibilities, none of them were right.
Matthew was depressed; he had been for a while. It would be easy for anyone to see if they took the time to notice him. Being forgotten and overlooked was really starting to take a tool on him. He had given up trying. Maybe he just wasn't real. He wasn't like the others. He knew it well. It used to bug him, but now he didn't seem to care.
He didn't care about anything anymore. He let himself sink into the depression that was long coming. It felt like he was living in a bubble watching the world pass around him. He could hear everyone talking to each other. He could see how they all acted, but everything seemed muffled slightly as if he was wearing big headphones without any music playing.
The world moved around him. They had complex relationships with each other. They fought, they made up, and they shared things with each other that they would later regret, or that would only bring them closer. He learned much by watching quietly, and couldn't help but wish that for himself. Even if they were bad feelings that some of nations seemed to carry towards each other or created sad memories, he wouldn't care. It would be better than how he lived now.
He was on the sidelines always. It was his perpetual job in the world, the observer, the one far off watching. He wished for more, but knew it would never be. He had tried for years for something different to happen, to be noticed in any way, but it never happened, and now he had stopped trying. He told himself he didn't care, but he still did.
He stopped caring about many things. He didn't care about how his depression was affecting his nation, nor did he notice the tool it was taking on his people. The weather was bad and the sun shone less and less, but he took no notice. He stopped caring about preserving his nature. He stopped caring about watching his favorite sport. He only cared about making sure he was real. It was something he had to constantly remind himself.
It had started snowing outside, but Matthew took no notice. He was inside his small Ottawa home sitting on the bathroom toilet. Even if there was a window in his small bathroom he would not see the snow because his eyes were buried in the palms of his hands. He was losing himself.
His back held a slight tremble as his palms became damp with small salty tears from his eyes. The tremble was hard to spot because of the baggy red hoodie he wore that hid his slender frame. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows revealing his pale arms that were covered in fresh bandages that were put on only minutes before. If you looked closely you could see a pale spot of red appearing through the bandage on his left arm from where one of the cuts had bled through.
On the counter next to him was the cause of his physical injuries, a small razorblade. It wasn't the blade's fault for the cuts that lined the blond boy's arms. He had done it too himself. He didn't like it, but he needed to feel. Every time he did the deed he promised himself he would never do it again, but he never kept the promise.
Matthew lifted his head from his hands revealing his deep indigo eyes, a beautiful color. Despite the breathtaking color of his eyes, they were empty and dulled. There was a veil of depression hiding the true beauty of the Canadian's eyes, eyes that were always overlooked.
Matthew put his square rimmed glasses on that were sitting on the counter and looked at the blade that gave him relief along with pain. He had mixed emotions about the object. He knew what he did with it was wrong. It was not something anyone should do. Hell, some people would even be sickened by the fact he does it. He didn't care about those people though.
They were like the other nations, the ones they once called family. They didn't know of the feelings he felt. He would always be slightly envious of that fact. They didn't know what it was like to think they're not real. They didn't know what it was like to be convinced you were a ghost stuck in the world of the living.
That is why he had started doing it. He needed to make sure. He needed to know he was real. He needed to be reminded that he was a person and that he was alive. Overtime it became a comfort to him. After a meeting of being ignored, it gave him comfort to keep going. He like how it made him feel, but it didn't make him like the act any better. He and the blade had a love hate relationship, and they always would.
He stood up slowly almost robotically, grabbed the blade, and went to the sink to clean it off. He may have convinced himself that he stopped caring, but old habits do die hard, eh? He always cleaned to blade to make sure there was no dried blood and to prevent infection. He may be suffering, but his people didn't need to because of him.
That was why he was still here living every day. He wasn't sure if a nation could die by suicide. No one had tried it before, so no one really knew. If he tried, what would happen to his people? He may hate his life, but he still cared deeply about his people. He wouldn't try because he didn't want anything to happen to them.
He put the razor back and sighed to himself. What to do now? He supposed he could get ahead in work since he didn't have much else to do. A growl from his stomach made his decision to make some food to pass the time.
He walked from the bathroom to the kitchen to make some pancakes. His house was eerily clean. He had so much time on his hands, he cleaned, a side effect of not having friends.
He past the living room, and stopped by the couch. His polar bear was sleeping soundly against the arm of the couch. Matthew could help, but smile at the cute site his furry companion had made. He petted his bear slowly.
"You are so cute sometimes, Kumajiro." The bear nuzzled his master's arm in his sleep causing him to giggle. Kumajiro could always cheer him up.
Matthew walked into the kitchen to get started on the pancakes. He would have to make extras for his bear. Recently Kumajiro had been sleeping more and had been less clingy.
It was probably Matthew's mood as of late. The bear had an odd way of sensing how he was feeling, and it just rubbed off on him. It worked the other way around too, but the most Matthew usually felt from the bear was hunger or worry for his master. The later always made Matthew smile. It was nice to know someone was worried for you even if they were just a bear.
Matthew grabbed cinnamon from the cabinet and poured it in the batter. He was in the mood for something different, and cinnamon flavored pancakes were the answer.
He felt better than before, and he tried not to think about why. The Canadian wasn't stupid; he knew it was because he had just "relieved" himself and got rid of all those feelings. He put the thought to the back of his head and let himself believe it was because he was making pancakes to eat. Though, that didn't stop his mind from wandering.
I won't do it again. This was the last time; I just know it.
He was always reassuring himself that it would come to hurting himself again, but he knew better. It never got easier. If anything it got harder. Kumajiro was a great companion, but he needed something more. Everyone needed the company of others, even nations.
They will notice me next time, I just know they will. Last meeting Russia didn't sit on me so I must be becoming visible. It's just starting slow, one thing at a time, eh?
He was always being positive about things. He tried to look on the bright side, and convinced himself that it would get better. That was his downfall, though.
He always convinced himself it would get better, and he truly believed it. That just made it more of a letdown to be unnoticed. It made him yearn more to be seen, and made him feel worse to be ignored.
He was so deep in his thoughts he ran into the counter almost causing him to drop the plates he was carrying to the table, one for him and one for Kumajiro.
His arm stung from where it hit the counter. He put the plates down and winced as he inspected his arm. The cuts had broken open and were now bleeding through the bandages on his right arm. He would have to change the bandages. He had used the last of the ones he kept in the bathroom, but he usually kept some in the kitchen.
He took off his hoodie and laid it on the chair so he was only wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt. It was his favorite hoodie complete with a maple leaf, and he didn't want to get any blood on it.
He sat on the counter next to the sink with the paper towels next to him. He knew what he needed to do to clean off the wound, he had done if before.
He slowly unwrapped the soiled bandage cringing slightly. He bit his lip at the pain. It was different than when he afflicted it on himself. He didn't need it now, didn't want it. Even if it was still him causing the pain technically, it didn't have the same effect.
He tossed the bandage aside and got a wet paper towel to wipe off his arm. After that he grabbed a handful of dry ones, and held it too the wound. He pressed down to try to stop the bleeding.
When the bleeding slowed, he through the bandages and wet paper towels away while still holding the dry to his bleeding arm.
He opened the cabinet under the sink in search of his clean bandages. He grabbed the first aid kit he kept there. He undid the clasped, and peered inside.
"Shit."
It was all out. That meant he didn't have any more bandages.
One look out the window and he knew he would have to just let it go. There was no way he was traveling to the store like this in that weather. He sighed and headed into the living room.
He sat down on the couch next to the half-asleep Kumajiro. The bleeding had slowed down a lot, but it was still bleeding slightly.
He inspected the cuts under the now soiled paper towels. They weren't too bad. They would take a while to heal and might leave a scar for a while, but it would heal fine. Something soft on his leg distracted him from the image of his bleeding arm.
Kumajiro had his head on his lap looking up at him with sad questioning eyes.
"It's okay Kuma. I'll be fine." The bear looked at him some more, but seemed to accept it.
"Who?" The Canadian boy chuckled.
"Canada, the one who feeds you."
He leaned his head back and got comfortable. He was tired and worn out. He decided a short nap wouldn't hurt not knowing that he would be having a visitor soon.
Gilbert was walking down the streets in high spirits. He wasn't one to usually enjoy walks by himself, but he had been so busy lately it was nice to get out and get away.
He had been practically begging the German superiors to let him back in government. He knew he was dissolved, but he still wanted to be part of it. Apparently, someone mentioned how helpful a past country could be, and they put him to work.
He was glad for it, though. He had nothing to do recently and needed a distraction, but after a while it was a little much. Just because he was once a strong and awesome country did not mean he was a superhero, and could do that much work. Needless to say, he had been cooped up in Germany for quite a while doing paperwork.
They had recently taken a load off and gave him a little less to do once they realized how time consuming it all was. It gave him some free time, and he decided to take some time off. Something the officials had no problem with seeing how much he had been working, which was much more than he had ever worked.
For his time off he went to the first place he thought of going, New Prussia. He had come to be quite found of that Canadian town. He always felt like he belonged there, and it gave him an excuse to give his little Canadian friend a surprise visit.
He smiled at the thought of seeing Matthew. They had come to be close, but he hadn't been able to talk to him for a long time.
He hoped Matthew wouldn't mind him stopping by. He usually didn't care what others thought, but he did when it came to the blond. Probably because he knew the Canadian wouldn't say if he was annoyed or because Gilbert had a soft spot for him. Damn cute things.
Either way, Gilbert was excited to be able to visit his old friend and was hoping some awesome pancakes would be involved in the visit.
The weather wasn't too nice in the small town Matthew lived in. Actually it wasn't good in New Prussia either. Gilbert frowned to himself. He hoped Mattie was doing okay.
He knew he was easily forgotten and overlooked. He had once tried to get the some of the other countries to remember him, but it didn't work. He hoped Matthew wasn't feeling upset about it.
He knew it bugged the Canadian and made him feel like crap. The kid was so modest; he always blamed himself. Gilbert never understood it, and never would. How could all of them forget him?
He didn't think until that moment walking down the snow covered sidewalk how him not visiting for so long could have affected the boy. They weren't super close, very good friends, the best of friends actually, but they didn't have any sort of amazing relationship. Yet, knowing he was the only one visiting and without him there were no visitors left him feeling uneasy.
He really hoped Matthew was okay. He knew he sometimes got depressed after meetings from being forgotten, usually the meeting where Russia sat on him, but it never got too bad. Gilbert thought it just might be one of those days.
He picked a good day to visit. His visits always did cheer Mattie up.
He continued down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. Damn, it started snowing again. He really should invest in renting cars more often. He took a moment to look up at the sky as he tried to warm his hands with his breath. He had a feeling the weather wasn't getting warmer anytime soon, but then again he wasn't a weatherman. What did he know?
Inside Matthew's small home was quiet, not an eerie quiet, but a peaceful one. He was asleep on his couch in the living room lying on his side. He had fallen over as he fell asleep.
He was still holding the paper towel bundle to his arm even in his sleep. The cuts had stopped bleeding long ago, but his arm was covered in dried blood. The whole image of his pale body lying on the couch like that created a creepy scene.
Kumajiro nuzzled his owners legs in his sleep letting out a small, "who?" If Matthew was awake he would have giggled at the cute scene, but he was not awake.
He was in a deep sleep from exhaustion, too deep of a sleep to hear the knock on the door or the doorbell. He didn't stir when there was more knocking, and he didn't wake when the front door banged opened.
Gilbert walked up to the familiar house and decided to knock and ring the doorbell. He couldn't wait to see his Birdie's face when he realized it was Gilbert, but he didn't answer the door. Gilbert knocked a few more times before he decided that he might not be home, or just couldn't hear it.
He decided to still make a grand entrance. Matthew never liked going out in bad weather so he was probably home.
"Awesomeness has arrived!" Gilbert slammed the door opened as he announced his presence. There was no answer in the house. Gilbert furrowed his brows.
"Hey Birdie. Hey, Mattie, are you here?" Gilbert walked into the house in search of his friend. He had a feeling something was up. Matthew had to be home. He could just feel it.
He stopped short when he reached the living room. His jaw became slack and his red eyes were wide. He was not expecting the site he was greeted with.
Matthew was lying on the couch pale and limp. He wasn't wearing his hoodie but a short sleeved shirt instead. Matthew always wore a hoodie. If not he was wearing a hockey jersey, but in cold like this, it was a hoodie. What really grabbed Gilbert's attention were his arms.
One was clearly hurt badly. It was covered in dry blood and so were the paper towels Gilbert guessed Matthew was using to stop the bleeding. His other arm had a bandage, but it also had blood on it; whether from the other arm or the injuries under the bandage, he didn't know.
"B-birdie?" Gilbert started walking slowly towards Matthew's form on the couch. He only had one coherent thought going through his head: please don't be dead. Please don't be dead.
He got next to the couch and kneeled down next too Matthew's head. His hands were shacking. He looked at his friend's arms. Cuts. His arms were lined with multiple cuts going in different direction. He looked up at the boy's face.
He wouldn't have done it, would he? He couldn't be that alone. Matthew would never go as far as to kill himself… would he?
The scene in front of him was convincing him otherwise. A sudden sadness overtook him. He never realized how much he missed visiting the Canadian until now. If he didn't get caught up in government work this wouldn't have happened.
He tried to ignore the pain in his chest. Why did he care? He was the Prussian empire. He watched many other countries rise and fall over time. This was no different.
His words didn't change anything. He knew this was different. This was one of his best friends, one of the few people he really cared about, the only other person that deserved the title of being awesome.
"M-mattie, please wake up. I know you can." He usually claimed to be too awesome for crying. He would always say it was girly, but he let a few salty droplets fall from his eyes. He decided it was awesome to cry for other awesome people.
"Come on, Birdie. You know it's not polite to sleep when you have a guest… Come on… Just… wake up."
Gilbert ran his hand through his friend's shaggy blond hair. The usual curl that stood out seemed as lifeless as the world outside. Gilbert cupped the blonds face with his hand, and stared at it.
Matthew had a thin face. It seemed thinner than what Gilbert remembered; he couldn't help but wonder if he had been eating properly. He looked at Matthew's eyes. They usually were an awesome indigo color, a mix of blue in purple. If the light shown right, his eyes would mimic the color of an amethyst stone. They would always betray the blonde's emotions. Everything could always be seen in his eyes. How he wished he could see those eyes again.
A movement under his hand snapped him out of his thoughts. He froze. Matthew was moving. Matthew was waking up. Matthew was alive!
Matthew turned a little bit. He felt something on his face. At first he thought it was Kumajiro, but then he realized it wasn't soft and furry. He slowly blinked his eyes open from his sleep. He couldn't believe he just passed out like that.
When his indigo eyes were open, they met familiar wide red eyes.
He was quickly engulfed in a hug.
"Birdie, never do that again! I thought you were a goner!"
It took a moment for him to process what was going on.
"G-gilbert?" Gilbert stopped hugging Matthew and pressed their foreheads together.
"Why?" It took Matthew a moment to realize what his friend was talking about until he followed his gaze of the red eyes. Gilbert was looking at Matthew's arm with sadness.
Matthew's arm was covered in dried blood. The amount surprised him. He didn't think it was bleeding that badly. Then he realized it. Gilbert had thought he was dead. Gilbert knew how he felt about being forgotten, and he hadn't seen Gilbert in so long.
"S-sorry, I… I… I just… I…" He met Gilbert eyes looking at him. It was as if a glance told the albino everything.
"It's okay. Let's go get you cleaned up." Gilbert helped Matthew up and let him into the kitchen. He kept his arm around Matthew the whole time as he if were a fragile glass doll. Matthew could walk just fine, but he let the albino help him anyways.
Gilbert led Matthew to the area by the sink and motioned for him to sit down on the counter. Matthew did as he was instructed. When Matthew sat down Gilbert wet some paper towel, and started wiping off the Canadian's arm.
"I-I'm sorry." The words were mumbled so quietly it was almost inaudible, but Gilbert heard them. He looked up at the boy sitting in front of him.
Matthew was crouching slighting. He had one hand in his lap, and Gilbert was holding the other arm. He just looked so fragile.
"Matthew you don't need to be sorry." Matthew looked up at the sound of his name. Gilbert never called him by his name. It was always a nickname. It had been that way since they become friends many years before.
"If anyone should be sorry it should be me. I should have made time to visit. Awesome people shouldn't have to be alone."
Matthew just stared at Gilbert with wide eyes. The albino apologized for something that wasn't even his fault. Did I scare Gilbert that much?
Matthew couldn't describe the feeling he felt, but it was a good feeling. Someone cared. Someone actually cared!
He knew the albino was his friend, but he always thought Gilbert had bigger and better things always waiting for him. He almost thought his past trips to Canada were a chance to get away, and having a friend that made "awesome" pancakes were a plus. Apparently, he was wrong.
Gilbert threw the dirty paper towels away, and Matthew slid off of the counter slowly. When his feet hit the ground Gilbert was in front of him again. He was looking at the ground as if contemplating what exact words to say. Then he looked into indigo eyes, his red full of sincerity.
"Birdie, just promise me you won't do it again…please. You… You had me scared. You don't know how worried I was when I came for a surprise visit and found you like that. I thought… I thought you were dead." They looked at each other for a few moments in silence. Matthew forgot how much Gilbert could always cheer him up, but now he was remembering why he always looked forward to his visits.
"Just… Just, don't do it again." Matthew cracked a small smile and engulfed Gilbert in a hug. Gilbert was surprised at first, but then wrapped his arms around the Canadian.
"I'll try Gil… I'll try." Gilbert decided he would accept that answer. He knew things wouldn't heal right away, but he could do what he could to help.
That stood in the peaceful quiet for a few minutes. The relief in the air was comforting to both of them. Matthew kept his face buried in Gilbert's shoulder while Gilbert rubbed circles on Matthew's back.
Matthew lifted his head and noticed the stack of pancakes he made earlier were still on the counter. He gave a soft smile and looked at Gil from the corner of his eye. He broke away from the hug and walked across the kitchen.
He picked up the plate of pancakes and put them in the microwave to warm up. Once it started heating up, he turned to Gilbert and leaned on the counter. Gilbert just looked at him confused, and Matthew couldn't help but have a small smile grace his lips.
"I believe when you used to visit you would always demand to eat the most awesome pancakes ever." Gilbert couldn't help but smile along with the Canadian.
"Yeah, and they better be good. Only the awesomest for the most awesome." Matthew laughed and Gilbert's smile got bigger. They were both thinking similar things.
Things were already getting better.
A/N: Fluffy ending is fluffy.
I hoped ya'll liked my first one-shot. I couldn't get myself to sleep last night so I wrote this. I think it turned out good. Please tell me what you think if you have the time.
I know I should be working on The Boy with the Backpack, but I just couldn't get into it. I wasn't depressed enough… or I guess the kind of depressed I needed to be to write it. I'll still try to get it up next week, though, for those of you who read it.