Author Commentary; Stupid . Sorry the last chapter took so long. It had been done for a while, but the dumb site wasn't letting me upload it. Anyway, hopefully you enjoy this chapter.

Title; Jump

Characters; Canada, mentions of others

Pairs; Mentions of FrUK

Rating; T

Warnings; angst, depression, thoughts of suicide, mention of past rape and trauma, rape

Disclaimer; I don't own Hetalia

Matthew was not doing well.

Since his attack he'd become a complete wreck. He did his best to put on a happy face for the rest of the world. If anyone took a good look at him they would only see a quiet, shy young man with a nice looking smile. In reality Matthew was only just barely hanging on. He could barely get through is day without having a mental breakdown. He couldn't walk down the street without internally panicking that someone would jump out at him. He couldn't even be in his own apartment without jumping at every little sound! It was nerve wracking, and it was beginning to wear Matthew down.

"You okay man? You looked like death warmed over." one of Matthew's co-workers said to him one day.

Matthew put up a smiling face, "I'll be just fine." he said. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

"You sure man?" the man asked.

Matthew nodded. He finally persuaded him to leave him alone for now. He sighed and tried to focus on his work, but he was so tired and nerve-wracked that he wasn't getting anything done.

When his shift was over, Matthew's boss called him over. Matthew slumped into the uncomfortable chair in the manager's office.

"Matthew, for these last few weeks you've been late almost every day, you can't seem to get any work done and your attitude is dreadful." the balding man said to him, peering at him over his desk, obviously trying to be intimidating.

"I'm sorry sir, I've been a little . . . depressed I suppose." Matthew said.

The manager leaned back in his chair and regarded Matthew's sincerity, "I'm sorry Matthew, but I can't have workers who don't work. I'm going to have to let you go."

Matthew straightened, "Please sir, just another week. I promise I'll shape up. Please." Matthew said. He needed this job, he was struggling to pay rent as it was.

The manager shook his head, "Your last pay cheque will come in the mail."

Matthew opened his mouth to argue some more, but then closed it. There was no point in pushing the point anymore. He nodded and stood up, leaving the office and the store. He trudged towards his home, not really paying attention to anything around him.

After four months with no money coming in, Matthew was struggling to pay for anything. The landlord was threatening to toss him out if he didn't pay his rent. Matthew could only just muster up enough will power to get out of bed each morning. One night, he found himself at a bar, even though he had no money to spend there.

After three hours of just sitting at a table looking pitiful, Matthew was approached by an older man, probably even older than his fathers, "Excuse me young man, but aren't you going to drink something?"

Matthew shook his head, knowing full well that this man could be the owner of the bar and toss him out for loitering. To his surprise, then man sat down at the table with him, "Why not? Are you designated driving for someone?"

Matthew shook his head, "I don't have any money." he said.

"Oh, you poor dear." the man said, leaning over to gently pat Matthew's hand, "Why don't I buy you a drink? You sound like you've had a horrible time of it."

Matthew nodded. This man sort of reminded him of his Dad. It was rather comforting. Matthew's drink arrived, some fruity, girly thing, but Matthew drank it anyway. The alcohol felt good. After three of these, Matthew was spilling his guts to the man, who cuddled him and rubbed his back, murmuring 'there there's and 'you poor dear's.

Matthew's head was spinning. Those drinks must have been stronger than they looked, because he usually didn't feel like this until after six or eight beers. The man petted his hair and pulled him close so he was resting his head on his shoulder, "My my little one, you look a little unbalanced. I should get you home." he said.

Matthew blinked and staggered as he was pulled to his feet and tugged forward. He shivered as cold air blew across his skin. He felt himself being pushed into a car. Inside, he knew this was bad, but he couldn't seem to muster up enough brain power to protest or figure out why it was bad. As the car began moving, someone put a hand in his hair and pulled him down so his head was in someone's lap. There was some shuffling and the clink of a belt and then something was pressed into Matthew's mouth.

Startled, Matthew tried to pull away, but the hand on his head held him fast. The hand began to tug and push on his head, forcing whatever was in his mouth in and out. After some time of this, something warm and awful tasting spilled into Matthew's mouth. Matthew choked and coughed, but the hand in his hair petted him and a soothing voice told him what a good, sweet child he was. Matthew let out a hum and snuggled into the warm lap, his mind swaying with the car.

After that, things became blurred. Matthew vaguely recalled being pulled out of the car and into a room of some sort, but all he knew now was that a lot of people were looking at him, and touching his bare skin as well. That was odd, he didn't remember taking off his clothes. Something pushed painfully into him and he whined, but a calm voice crooned in his ear. He decided he liked that better and turned his head, but it was held back and something was pushed into his mouth again.

Matthew only recalled a little of what happened after that. He was tied down, put into different positions, entered by different people or different toys into either his mouth or ass, and someone was always talking to him in a calm voice. Matthew felt pain and pleasure, tasted awful things, strained his body as it was pulled into different positions. All the while he couldn't seem to bring himself to think about why this all seemed very very wrong.

When Matthew came to, he was lying on a soft bed. He shifted and agonizing pain ripped through his body, sucking the breath from him in a silent scream. He gritted his teeth against his throbbing head and screaming body and tried to make sense of his situation. Something warm and wet leaked out of his ass and he smelled the unmistakable smell of sex. Matthew's eyes widened. Had he . . . ? The clink of glasses and soft laughter reached his ears. He clenched his eyes shut and sobbed. Why did this keep happening to him?

After sobbing for a while, Matthew propped himself up to look around. He was in a hotel bedroom in a very fancy hotel. He looked out the window to see over the top of Montreal. Moving slowly, he crawled out of bed and over to the window. He fumbled with the latch and shoved the sliding glass door open. The wind sent shivers through him and raised goose bumps on his skin, but he walked onto the patio and looked out into the city below. The lights glittered and sparkled up at him. Matthew pulled himself up onto the railing of the patio, staring down into the spiralling depth of the city.

"Jump." he said to himself. No one would miss him. His own mother hadn't even been able to tell that he wasn't his brother, just like a million other strangers.

"Jump." he said again. He'd been beaten, raped, tortured, tossed around, and shoved to the sidelines all his life. He was useless.

"Jump." he said with more force, getting angry at himself. His own brother, his 'hero', wasn't here to save him, no one was, and no one ever would be.

It's not like anyone loved him.

A sudden gust of wind pushed Matthew over, teetering him against the rail. Matthew suddenly saw himself falling to his death and reeled backwards sharply. He fell off the railing and onto the patio, landing painfully on his side. He stayed there, gasping for breath as he tried to figure out what had just happened. Another wind brushed against his skin and he scrambled back into the room, slamming the sliding door so hard that he almost expected it to break.

Matthew looked around the room again. He almost crawled into the bed again, ready to curl up and pretend that, if he stayed there long enough, it would all go away.

Horrified by the thought, Matthew searched for his clothes and shoved them on. They felt gross against his skin, but he gritted his teeth against it and dressed. He crossed the room and peaked out the door. Whoever had led him here was probably in the room to the left, where the light and the sounds were coming from. Matthew quietly tip toed passed, scarcely breathing and hoping that they didn't catch him.

When he reached the coat room, Matthew stopped. All their coats were here, with their wallets in their pockets probably. If they could afford a hotel room like this, they were probably loaded with cash. Faced with such a moral dilemma, Matthew shouldered it aside and searched for cash and valuables. After what they'd done to him, this was the least Matthew could do to them.

After coming away with enough money in cash and valuable items to last him a while, Matthew opened the door and snuck out. He ran down the hall and to the elevator. Just as the doors were closing, he saw a man walk out of the room he'd just come out of, looking rather panicked. Matthew glared and flipped him the bird as his white face and shocked eyes rested on Matthew. The doors shut with a cheery little ding and Matthew was off.

A long elevator ride and an even longer cab ride later, Matthew was home in his apartment. He locked the door behind him and slid to the floor. What to do now? He couldn't keep this up. He had to do something or he would lose his mind. He launched himself off the floor and began pacing.

A few hours of rummaging around his apartment, trying to find something to help him figure out what to do, Matthew came across his passport. There were no stamps in it and the faux-leather casing was still pristine. It had just been updated a few months ago, and the picture was, as always, terrible. Matthew twirled it around his fingers and brought his hands to his pockets, full of cash and trinkets. How much was it for plane tickets anyway? It couldn't be that much could it?

Matthew threw together a bag full of clothing and essentials and left the apartment, money and passport in hand.

Author Commentary; Sorry about this taking so long, I got some writers block. I finally hunkered down and managed to crank this one out, which came surprisingly easy. Maybe I'm just really good at writing about people suffering? I wouldn't be surprised. Anyway, R&R please, hope you enjoyed it.