Hey guys- I haven't been on ffn for a while, at least no as a writer, and for anyone who was even vaguely interested in my last story, I apologize. The writing was pretty shitty anyways^-^' I might rewrite it, I don't know, I do like writing mentally distraught characters after all. I started this story in the same month as Breaking Down, but it required heavy editing as it was originally meant to be a murder mystery where it turned out that someone had murdered Canada and it was all very confusing and horrible.. There might still be little clues in there that it was a murder, but, um, just ignore those. So yeah, I changed it up and am rewriting this story from scratch using bits and pieces of the original work. I really shouldn't bore you with this though, so here you go, without further ado, I present,
November
They say time heals all wounds
But is it seems to me that more often than healing them
It's time that inflicts them
It was after all time that brought me to my knees
Canada signed his name on the snow-white sheet in his diary; it would be a fitting last entry to the journal he'd been keeping. Today was the fourth of July, three days past Canada's own birthday, and the date of America's. Canada had chosen this particular date for what he was going to do due to the fact that America would do doubt be throwing a party to celebrate another year of proclaiming himself the hero, stuffing his face with fast food and forgetting he had a brother.
No one would disturb Canada from what he wished to do. Though he probably could have chosen any day he pleased, it wasn't like anyone ever visited him, or even remembered who he was. Canada gave a sideways glance at his peacefully sleeping bear
Not even you, Kumachicho. He thought to himself sadly as he ran a hand down the polar bear's spine.
He moved his hand to an object that gleamed in the dim light his lamp cast over the room; a black handgun with gentle silver streaks on the sides. His hand wrapped around it, but he found himself painfully unable to bring it to his head like he had planned. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt a tear run down his cheek.
Why couldn't he do it? It was for the better of everyone, including himself! And the rest of the countries wouldn't have to worry about forgetting him anymore, because it didn't matter if you forgot to invite a dead person to whatever meeting or party you were planning.
He tried to relax, letting his muscles loosen and his mind wander, in hopes that he would be able to finish what he had started soon. He found himself wondering how America's party was, and if his brother was having fun. He chuckled slightly: of course his brother was having fun! It was his birthday after all. Canada felt sudden guilt weigh his hand even more. Some brother Canada was, killing himself on his brother's birthday. He might as well just wrap a bow around himself and copy his note to a birthday card for his dear brother.
The more he thought about his choice of date for the deed the more he regretted it. What if by cruel chance America noticed his absence and came to his house to demand he attend the party? He quickly shook the thought; it wasn't like he'd been invited anyways.
When Canada tore his gaze from the gun, he found a pair of eyes staring at him questioningly. Kumajiro had awoken. Canada forced a smile to his face,
"Hello, Kumakiro."
The white bear only blinked at him "Who are you?"
Canada's face fell and another tear fought its way free and slid down his cheek "I'm Canada..."
[-]
America wasn't having any fun. He hadn't been having any fun since the mysterious gift had shown up at his doorstep without a card or tag proclaiming who it came from. Instead it was an extremely and almost painfully simple white-wrapped box with no signs whatsoever of where it had come from and nothing adorning it but a red bow; one of the ones with the crazily twirled ribbons that stuck up all over the place. He had concluded that it must have been left there for him by some mysterious gift-giver; someone who wanted to stay anonymous. With that he set it in the pile of gifts and forgot about it for the smallest sliver of a moment.
However, now that it was time to open the gifts, his mind had settled back to the subject of the gift. Sure all the gifts he'd opened so far had been really cool, but he wanted to know what was in that particular present. He had opted to open it last, since everyone seemed so eager to get him to open their own present, and no one was rooting for the smallish simple white box with the red bow.
Putting a bundle of sunflowers and a bottle of vodka aside, America forced himself smile at Russia "Thank you, Russia"
Now, finally, it was the turn of the mystery present.
"So who's this one from?" America questioned the nations curiously as he tugged at the red bow.
No one spoke up.
"O-kay... So no one wants to get credit for this gift before I open it?"
Again, no one spoke.
"Fine, be that way, mysterious gift-giver!" America frowned as he carefully peeled away the simple white paper.
Inside was a brown box as nondescript as the wrapping, which America pulled the lid off eagerly, expecting some grand surprise arranged by all the nations. Instead it was full of tissue paper.
"Ugh, why are there so many layers to this? It better be worth it" America groaned as he dug around in the tissue paper for something of worth.
All he came out with was a glass bottle of maple syrup.
"Hm," He grunted in an unimpressed tone "Something good is definitely hidden in here..." He turned the box upside down and dumped its contents on the wooden floor.
Along with the tissue paper, which floated lazily out of the box like feathers, a much harder thin square object fell out, hitting the ground with the sound of shattering glass. America flinched at the sound and so did many of his guests.
"Aiyaa! Now look what you've done, America! You've broken something, aru!" China scolded him fiercely.
America sighed and scooped up the object, which now had a spider web of cracks across the glass front.
"It would seem it is a photo, America-san." Japan commented upon seeing the object "Who is that with you?"
"Ve~~ It's you and that floating bear that sometimes attends meetings!" Italy interjected cheerfully.
America ignored them, tipping his head slightly at the picture, trying to make out the details behind the spider web of cracks. The picture was of America and Canada; that was the only thing America could tell for sure, and at the realization something cold shot through him.
He had remembered to invite his brother, hadn't he?
"That's my brother: Canada" America answered hesitantly "I think..."
"Who?" England asked, examining the photo from where he stood, using it as an excuse not to think about what they were celebrating. He was having a tough time, considering this was the first time America had convinced him to come, and he was regretting every second of it.
"Canada, my brother? You know, the nation, you practically raised?" America answered more firmly "Does anyone remember what Canada's flag looks like?"
"Canada flag is funny red and white one with leaf in middle, da?" Russia half asked, half answered.
"For shit's sake... I forgot to invite Canada!" America cried, now fully aware and certain of his mistake.
"Language, you bloody git!" England scolded the younger nation.
"Fuck!" America growled instead of listening to his former guardian "I bet you didn't notice Canada's not here!"
Discretely England reached over and covered Sealand's ears much to the would-be nation's annoyance.
"Fuck the party. I have to apologize to my brother!" America told them over his shoulder as he disappeared out of the door, leaving a room full of nations with gaping mouths.
[-]
America jogged down the late evening roads, fireworks celebrating his birthday flashing behind him, lighting up the lonely streets. He held in his hand a small white envelope that contained the once-forgotten invitation that Canada should have received weeks ago. He hummed with child-like innocence as Canada's house came into view.
He walked up to the door, planning to apologize, thank Canada for the gift and invite him to the party with the hope that Canada would forgive him and accept. Then they could go back, America could apologize to his guests for leaving so unexpectedly, and they could catch the end of the fireworks show. He felt bad about forgetting his brother, but once he let Canada know that he had remembered him in the end, surely everything would be better!
With his usual stupid grin on his face- forgetting the anger he'd felt at himself before over this, he knocked on the wooden door. Usually the sound of movement would greet him when he knocked at a door or at least a sigh when he was knocking on England's door, but this time, there wasn't a sound from within the large house. He knocked again, dumbfounded. Perhaps his brother had gone to the party after all and America had missed him? No, that couldn't be it...
America knocked yet again, reverting to his tactics when England wouldn't answer his door; knocking as loud as he could in an annoying sing-song way that replicated cute little tunes. Yet still no one came to answer the door. With an annoyed groan he decided to screw knocking and try the doorknob.
He twisted the cool metal in his hand and the door clicked open with a gentle moan as it swung open. America poked his head in,
"Hello~ Canada! Where are you?" He called into the dark house.
When no one answered him he slipped into the shadowed house to look for his brother. He headed first for the kitchen almost purely out of habit, flicking on lights as he went. The kitchen was a fair size, with newly replaced appliances and wide counter-tops, but every surface had a layer of dust coating it.
"Canada? You here?" He called again, mostly for the sake of hearing his own voice in the eerie silence that had settled over the house thick as the dust.
He let his gaze sweep the kitchen, pausing at a small white object sitting on the counter. As he approached he saw something most unsettling; a cake. At first he thought it was for him and his face lit up like a child's, but he quickly realized the Canadian flag was what adorned it, not his flag. The cake showed no signs of ever being touched, but instead dust tarnished what would have been a delicious treat, making America wrinkle his nose.
"Eww, talk about a ruined cake" He commented as he examined it more closely "Kind of strange to make a cake for yourself on your brother's birthday..." He said absently as he read the words on the cake.
Happy Birthday Canada
"Canada's birthday?" America echoed "I wonder when that was..."
He continued on out of the kitchen, preferring not to think about the forgotten cake. His next destination was upstairs, where the bedrooms were. As he mounted the first step he wasn't really surprised to hear the moan of the wood beneath his foot, but it sounded like someone else was, judging by the sharp intake of breath coming from upstairs.
"Canada?" He called nervously "Is that you?" He hurried up the stairs "For a split second there you actually had me worried!" He laughed in that loud obnoxious way of his only for a dark quiet voice to cut him off; it was a wonder he even heard it over himself.
"Why are you here, America?"
[-]
Canada felt his breath catch in his throat: why was America here? He had been certain no one would look for him, especially not his brother. Maybe it had been a mistake to leave that gift on his door step, and even more of a mistake to put a picture of them in it, but he had only wanted his brother to have something to remember him by, considering the only pictures America had in his house were of himself and sometimes himself and England. He even had a picture of Kumajiro frolicking in a field of flowers, but he didn't have a single picture of Canada.
"Can't I visit my brother?" America's painfully cheerful and innocent voice came from the other side of the door.
"You haven't visited me in months, America. You didn't even visit me for my birthday, why now?" Canada asked in his quiet voice laced with venom.
America didn't seem to pick up on the underlying poison"Oh, yeah, sorry about that, I saw the cake! You should have covered it up or something, we could have eaten it!"
"I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you" Canada whispered in his gentle tone, his hand finally tightening around the handgun as he almost subconsciously brought it to his head.
"No problem! There's a big cake at my place we can eat instead! You know, because it's my birthday..." America prompted.
"Happy birthday, America" Canada sighed, trying to warm his voice from the wintery tone; there was no need to alert his brother or bring him into this, lest he burst in and figure out what he was doing.
"Thank you!" The childish nation's grin shone through his voice "Can I come in? I realized I forgot to invite you, so I brought the invite!" He tried the doorknob, surprised to find it locked tight.
"No" Canada said quickly, feeling the icy cold metal of the gun against his temple as it bumped against his head.
"Aw, why not?" America whined "I'll knock until you let me in!"
Knock knock knock
Canada squeezed his eyes shut, the tapping of America's hand against the wood of the door mimicking the deadly ticking of the clock that Canada had shattered long ago on the hard floor and driving him to near insanity after only a few moments with the sound echoing through his room.
"Please stop it..." Canada asked politely, though his voice strained with an anxiousness that was hard to miss.
"Not until you let me in or come out." America answered simply, no doubt missing the tone of his voice.
Why is it that the inexplicable ability of constant happiness belongs to some, while others have enough sadness and pain for the rest of the world? It seemed unfair for people to smile while people suffered. Canada didn't answer America this time; what could he say? That he just needed to put away his gun and then they'd be off? To please wait while he blew his brains out? There were no words to brush off America. They do say that actions speak louder than words. Canada chuckled gentle and brushed his finger against the trigger. That's what they say at least.
Knock knock knockknockknock knoc-BANG
The bullet pierced Canada's skull mid knock, the momentum snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack before he slumped forwards against the desk. The sound was deafening, but the pain only lasted a second before there was no more feeling at all.
[-]
"Canada?" America called gingerly, his ears still ringing from the sound he knew could only be one thing "Canada?!" He refused to accept it even so...
He twisted the doorknob frantically, as if the locked door would suddenly open. He clawed at the door in his panic, reaching for his cell phone and punching in England's number, he barely had to wait at all before England picked up,
"Where the bloody hell are you, America?" The cynical nation demanded "You were the one who finally convinced me to give your bloody party a shot and you ran off!"
"You have to get over here, and bring France!" America told him frantically "It's Canada!"
There was a long pause on the other end "Who?"
"CANADA!" America practically screamed into the small cell phone.
"Right... Don't see why we'd want to go to his house, but consider it next year's birthday present" England told him before hanging up.
"It can be every year's birthday present for the rest of my life for all I care so long as Canada's alright..." America breathed into the phone, though no one was on the other side.
Barely a few minutes later England and France had arrived, and were standing impatiently in the hallway.
America gazed at them with frantic eyes "I—I heard a gunshot. All I wanted was to give him his invitation but he wouldn't let me in... He sounded so weird, I should have realized there was something wrong but then—then I heard a gunshot!" The words tumbled from his mouth all at once, his eyes blurry with fear "The door's locked!" His anguished cry hung in the air.
"A gunshot?" England echoed his words quietly.
"You do not think that he-? Oh mon Dieu..." France breathed softly.
"America... Did you think to perhaps, I don't know, break the door down?" England suggested with a sigh, not truly believing that something might actually be wrong. Nations couldn't truly die in this fashion, right?
Break the door down? America practically hit himself; why hadn't he thought to simply do that instead of wasting precious time calling England and France? If Canada was hurt, he could be bleeding to death as they spoke!
The American threw his weight against the door without another word, earning a groan from the wood. The other two nations watched anxiously as he tried again, and again, until finally with a defeated crack the door swung open. England choked on a breath, and France cried out in distress as their eyes fell upon the scene.
Canada sat in his desk chair slumped forwards against his desk, blood blossoming from a gory wound in his head, turning the blond locks into a sticky scarlet mess as fresh blood pooled on the desk and dripped from it. America managed to speak, his words were desperate, trying to illicit a response from the still form.
"Mattie..!" America sniffed, stumbling into the room "Now isn't the time for jokes bro. You can't sleep through my birthday party... You—You have to get up!" He commanded his brother, but the Canadian would never obey another command from his brother, or anyone else again.
England put a hand on America's shoulder in a comforting way, despite the fact that his own eyes threatened to spill with tears, that his own breath came in ragged bursts, threatening to overtake him with panic and grief "America—" He began.
America shook off his hand "Do you remember him now, at least?" He addressed the other two nations "Can you see him? Or do you just see the blood?" His voice was hoarse, lacking the child-like glee it usually held, it was like he had been given an unwelcome shove into maturity.
"I see him, America, I remember him. We aren't blind... Not anymore, America" England spoke for himself as well as the France, who seemed to agree with a jumbled mix of French and English which dripped with tight agony.
"On doit... On doit parler aux autres..." The sound of French made America cry out in distress and grief. Canada would have been able to translate that for them, but now he would never speak or hear English again, let alone French. And as though France assumed they had understood him perfectly, the frenchman stumbled back towards the stairs "Canada... Mon petit Canada... je m'excuse... Je suis désoler... Pardonne-moi..."
England cast a wary glance at America, and then at France "He'll get hurt if I let him go alone..." He murmured, although America knew that Arthur didn't really care about France.'s safety in this case. He just didn't want to face Matthew's death. And then they were gone, refusing to face the blood, leaving America to face it alone. Alfred hated them for it.
He turned back towards Canada's room, walking towards his brother slowly. As he approached the unmoving form that slumped over the desk, he tried desperately to convince himself that it was all some sick mistake and that the man covered in blood wasn't his brother at all. However he knew it was his brother and nothing and no one could ever change that. Not even the hero. America gently closed Canada's violet eyes, hiding the agony and shock that would forever rest in them as his last expression.
He hoped that they could find a way to wash the blood from his hair; Canada wouldn't have wanted his hair so messy. As he brushed a strand of hair from his brother's bloody face an open black journal caught his attention. It had evaded the worst of the blood and was still legible, though America wasn't sure he wanted to read what it had to say; he was afraid of what it might say. He picked it up anyways and began to read in a clear voice, though no one was listening.
Dear Diary,
I always told myself that it would get better. Those are usually the words spoken from parent to child or from friend to friend, but I have no friends from which to hear these comforting words, so I told them to myself every night.
Tonight however, I can'ttake it anymore.
A few days ago it was my birthday, July the first, as it's always been, but I didn'tinvite anyone this year, no one ever comes anyways. I made a cake even so, for old time's sake.
I feel selfish for taking my life on my brother's birthday, I mean, some present, right?
But I couldn't wait a moment longer and I'm sure that tonight no one will come over; they'll be too busy at America's house. So I don't know when they'll find me—or rather if they'll find me. Then again maybe they're reading this now, so I guess I should treat this like a suicide note instead of another journal entry—
Don't feel bad guys, I'm not mad at you; it was bound to happen at some point. America, if you're reading this I'm super sorry for ruining your birthday. I don't really have much to say to anyone else, considering you guys don't really see me let alone remember me, but I'm sorry to you guys too, for being a burden, you know? England and France: Thanks for raising me, even if you did a crappy job some of the time, I still appreciate that you tried your very best. I just kinda wish you guys would open your eyes and see how loyal a country I was. Oh, right, America, can you take good care of Kumajiro? He was a good companion to me, and I hate to leave him, but I must. And bring maple syrup to my funeral, the real stuff. Oh, I'm sounding so needy... I really shouldn'tbe asking anything of you guys... So I guess I'll just finish up and get this over with, I don't want to give myself too much more time to think about it. I'm afraid I might find some reason not to.
What can I say to make this any less painful? Just keep in mind it wasn'treally you guys that hurt me, it was time spent away from you guys. And you know what?
They say time heals all wounds
But is it seems to me that more often than healing them
It's time that inflicts them
It was after all time that brought me to my knees
- Canada
America flinched with every word, feeling a fresh slash of pain. His eyes shifted to a small white form hunched over and splattered with blood, trembling on the bed.
"Who was he?" The bear whispered.
"He was Canada" America answered firmly "My brother Canada"
So? Haha, it wasn't perfect, I know, still has some old writing and I might have forgotten to remove some parts that mention other nations that weren't actually present so I'm sorry if there are bits that make zero sense in context. I don't know if I'm going to continue it, I have enough content left to build another chapter off my old works and then it will be 100% new material. So let me know how you feel about this story. I don't own Hetalia. Kbye.