Canada of was tired of being ignored, overlooked and forgotten. He was tired of being underestimated, but most of all he was tired of being sat on by Russia. He squirmed trying to escape. "Help" he pleaded softly in a strained tone as he attempts to push Russia off. "Oh, Canada." Russia noticed him "I didn't see you there. Perhaps you want to become one with Russia, da?"
"I'll pass, thank you." Canada quietly refused, squirming out from under Russia. "Canada, dude!" America broke in. "When did you get here?" England looked startled. "Canada, you were here?" Even France looked surprised. "Ah Matthieu, I didn't see you there." China cut in loudly "who are you even talking to? Start the meeting already! Ii don't have time for this."
"China, that's not fair." Japan cooly cut in. "Even though he doesn't have much of a presence, Canada is a country...I think." He stated a little unsurely. "I like Canada! " Italy interjected. "He's like me!" Germany chopped his head. "Enough! Sit down and start the meeting! We can waste time on useless matters later" So, the meeting started the same way it always did, with everyone dismissing Canada. Canada wiped tears from his eyes and gritted his teeth. "I could kill you all in your sleep, you know." He said softly. "No one would even suspect me. " Of course, no one heard him. Canada's gaze hardened. "I'll show you. I'll show you all." He gathered up his polar bear and stalked out of the room. No one even noticed he was gone.
...
America tossed and turned in his sleep."Hmm...burgers...hero...'merica.." he murmured. He didn't notice the shadow standing above him while he slept. Indeed, its presence was barely more than that of a shadow, and it may have seems like just a trick of the night if not for the gleam in his violet eyes, and the gun in his hand. Quietly, the shadow pointed the gun at America's chest. "You brought this on yourself." It whispered. Then a loud *BANG* split the night.
America sat up and darted out of bed, reaching for his rifle next to the bed. His chest ached. He scanned the room but there was no one there. He put a hand to his chest and pulled it away, sticky with red liquid. Panicked, America ran to the bathroom and locked himself in. Someone had shot him in his sleep. America tried to calm his heart down. This shouldn't be possible, America could sense bloodlust, even in his deepest sleep due to his many wars. He stood in front of the mirror and pulled his shirt of to access the damage. To his surprise, there was no blood on his chest,only a small round welt. "Huh?" He looked at the red liquids smeared on his hand. "Paint?" He picked up his shirt and eyed the red liquid. Definitely paint. A white note fluttered to the floor. It must have been in his shirt. He picked up the note and his blood ran cold.
"If that had been a real bullet, you would be dead."