"Mattie."
"Mattie."
"Mattie."
Fingers snapped inches from his face. His brother was watching at him worriedly. "You okay, Bro?"
The world still didn't feel right. Mostly muted colors and muffled noise. "…Huh?"
"You seem kinda out of it..." The western Nation followed his gaze, which rested on the fireplace. The empty, cold fireplace…
Then America glimpsed the shiny silver rectangle in his hands, and stiffened. "Matthew." He almost sounded scared. Which was silly, because who could be afraid of such a thing? Certainly not Canada.
"Yes?" The coffee table was wooden. Flammable. But then that could be said for most things, right? The furniture, the blankets, the walls, their clothes…
"Give me the lighter."
Canada found himself clutching it tighter, like a lifeline. "Fuck you."
America flinched. Canada didn't make a habit out of cursing; he only did that when he was truly upset by something. However he persisted. "Give it to me, or I'll have to take it from you. You know you're not supposed to have it."
"I don't care. I need it."
"Matthew." America hesitated only for a split second before reaching over and taking his hands. Loosely, so as not to cause a knee-jerk reaction. "You don't need this. You can set a fire in the fireplace, okay? But first you have to give me the lighter.
The Canadian tried to pull away. America nimbly stole the lighter right from between his fingers.
'No!-'
He grabbed for it desperately. "Give it back!" America flung it away from the couch. It landed with a clatter somewhere behind them.
Canada launched himself, trying to get over the back of the couch. Trying to retrieve it so that he could finally set something on fire-
America enveloped him into a bear hug, pinning his arms to his torso. In the struggle, they found themselves on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.
Canada writhed in an effort to get free. "Non! Je veux incendier quelque chose!"
"You can't!" America yelled masking his worry and heartbreak with anger as a defense mechanism. "Not again! You promised!"
Hissing, Canada felt his brother push his full weight down on him, leaving him entirely immobilized. His position trapped his gaze on the still cold fireplace. So sad and gray…
Carefully, America sat up. He kept his brother's neck in a headlock as he used his other hand to take a store-bought log from the nearby woodpile and toss it into the empty fireplace. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a book of matches. He fumbled with it only briefly before he managed to light one.
Canada felt his eyes gravitate towards the little flame, watching it do its deceptively innocent little dance. One bright light in the otherwise monochromatic and cold room. America threw the match onto the log. Whatever accelerant the store had added caused it to be engulfed in flames almost immediately.
The enticing colors of the fire that crackled within its brick confines of the fireplace mesmerized Canada. He felt himself relaxing, going entirely limp as the warmth seemed to wash over him.
"Matthew."
"Hm?"
"Are you okay?"
Canada didn't answer immediately, because he wasn't sure. Was he okay? He hadn't set anything on fire, and he knew that was a good thing even if it really didn't feel that way.
Wood snapped at the intense heat, embers floating into the air…a much smaller version of the blaze he'd never gotten to set so long ago…What had stopped him then? It was supposed to be a victorious day, paired with revenge that he'd felt was simply a city for a city. Alfred's people had started it, after all, in York.
But then Canada learned later that it hadn't just burned his brother. It'd almost taken away his sight completely.
Remembering how close it had been even now made him sick with guilt, despite not even having a hand in it.
Because it'd been his idea in the first place…and Alfred still didn't know that.
"I don't think I ever will be."
Introducing a little headcanon of mine, because America can't be the only one with issues, right?
Alright, I don't know much about pyromania, and didn't research it much before writing this. Sorry if you felt my fictional representation was not good enough, but here you go anyways.
And I seem to have this compulsion for making everyone at least low-key mentally deranged in some way. I justify it with the Hetalia characters' state of being and circumstance.
Later dudes. ^J^