Author's Note: There's just no explanation for this. Really. I don't own Hetalia. I don't suggest you read this if you are easily disturbed or offended. If you find something wrong (grammar, awkward phrasing, that kind of thing), please tell me so I can fix it.
Pathetic.
A hand gripping the counter, marble edges digging into his flesh.
Stupid.
Eyes squeezed shut, not quite enough to prevent tears from escaping.
Weak.
Gritted teeth, not going to scream, not going to scream.
"My brother is a total wuss, that's what! Now fuck off!"
Did they think that he couldn't hear them?
"Ah, little Feliciano? Oui, he is rather stupid…"
Did they think that he didn't understand them?
"Italien! If you cannot do something properly, then get out of the way!"
Did they think he wouldn't care?
"Hah, I'm totally just messing with you, Italy. You, like, make it way too easy."
They all thought the same thing. It was how the world worked. Wars were made, and somehow that was wisdom among their kind. If a nation did not fight, did not excel in battle, then they were dubbed useless and left as a prize for whatever stronger nation might come their way.
"I do not wish to seem rude, Italy, but why is it that you do not appear to be trying?"
Because war had caused his grandfather to wither and die before his very eyes.
"I don't know. I just suddenly got the urge to hit him…"
Because war had made his childhood a blur of being tossed from nation to nation, just a scrap of meat for a pack of hungry dogs.
"Ever since the 900's, I've always loved you…"
Because war killed his first love.
No. Worse.
One of the people he actually thought of as a brother killed his first love. France had never actually said what he did around Italy, of course, but secrets were never kept between nations for very long.
Eyes opened, stared into their reflection in the mirror. Eyes that were broken, almost crazed. A face that he never showed to the others. Never. They already knew how weak he was. He didn't need to confirm it yet again. So he hid that face, his true face, from the world behind a smile and silliness.
Because, if he really tried, he could laugh louder and smile brighter than anyone else. And he could almost forget the pain, the constant pain crushing his chest and making him wonder how he was still alive.
Sometimes, he didn't know where the idea came from. It just came to him in these moments – these weak moments – and stayed in his mind. Sometimes he managed to push it away, back to whatever dark corner of his consciousness it normally stayed in.
Other times, he had to act.
He wasn't human. It wouldn't work. He knew that from all the other times. But as Feliciano Vargas, North Italy, looked down at the razorblade lying on the bathroom counter, he could only think one thing.
It's worth a try.