Magic was something that Alfred, the All-Knowing and Wise, didn't believe in. He thought the omnipresent cold around Russia was due to his rather chilly personality. The reason everyone's eyes skipped over Matthew was because he was too quiet, and easily missed. Alfred was convinced that Arthur was talking out his ass whenever he brought up his Black Magic. It never occurred to him that the reason that he looked the same now as he did in 1773 was because of magic.
But, Ivan knew better. He could feel the strands of it in the air around him, wrapping him in the stuff. He wasn't sure if it was England's brand of magic, since his consisted of cursing and summoning, but it was there all the same.
It was the reason that General Winter always hovered around him, and why he could physically remove his heart and live. It was also the reason he was startled every time he saw the other Nation in his kitchen in the mornings.
Matthew was a peaceful Country, Ivan mused as he sat at his breakfast bar and watched the smaller man pour an amber syrup into a bowl of batter. He was hard to anger, and when he was angry he easily got over it. It didn't seem to bother him that he was easy to over look, and hard to listen to.
But, then, Ivan didn't know Canada very well. He could be acting for all the Russian knew.
"Morning," Canada said, an edge in his voice. That usually meant that he'd just repeated himself.
"Mm," Ivan nodded. "What are you cooking, Matvey?"
"Oh, uhm," he stuttered as if he just realized that he may have over stepped his welcome in the house, "P-pancakes. I hope you don't m-mind?"
"I did not mind yesterday, or the day before, did I?"
"Well, n-no." Canada shook his head, causing his rebellious curl to bounce free from the ponytail he'd brushed his hair into, to keep it out of the food. He glared at the curl over his glasses before turning to the stove and pouring batter into a heated pan.
Ivan observed his movements, taking note of everything.
Canada, all in all, looked a lot better. Ivan was unsure as to what was causing the younger Country's sickness, but time away from home seemed to have helped. He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the blonde.
"I must admit something, Comrade," Ivan said carefully, putting just the right amount of guilt into his voice. "My boss is not aware of your presence here in Moscow."
"Excuse me?" For once he didn't stutter, or sound unsure, and Ivan almost smirked. As it was, he glanced down so the other wouldn't see the dark amusement in his eyes. "I've been here for three weeks, almost a month, and your boss didn't know?"
"Da."
"Then why was I brought here?" Fear had crept into his tone, and Ivan knew that he was imagining all the things that he had more than likely heard from England and France about him.
"You were not well, Matvey." Gentleness was not a natural emotion that the Russian felt, but he forced himself to act. "At first, I decided to wait and see if anyone would notice."
"How would you know?" Canada's wide purple eyes were glazed with memories, trying to figure out where Ivan had been to know about his sickness. Ivan drank the confusion of the other country.
"I have my ways." There was no way Ivan was going to say that he had followed the Canadian around for a while after the meeting. "I made up my mind when your brother," he couldn't help the malice he felt, "did not even notice that something was wrong with you."
Canada turned around and turned the stove off, breakfast half-cooked. "And you did?"
"Da, Matvey, I did. The weight loss, the large black circles under your eyes, the loss of an appetite. You were not even passionate about hockey."
Canada gulped. "Then, if you noticed," here he paused, as if unsure if he was being made fun of, "then do you know what is happening to me?"
Truthfully, Ivan didn't have a clue. Never before had he heard of a Nation getting sick, at least to that degree, that didn't involve their lands. As far as he knew, and he had researched quite a bit, Canada should feel fine. Maybe a slight headache from the drug raids at his border, but that should be it. Not this violent sickness that had almost killed him.
"Your people are rejecting you," Ivan lied smoothly.
Canada froze, and the spatula that he was holding in his hand clattered to the floor. Ivan resisted the urge to flinch at the loud sound.
"R-rejecting m-ee?" he repeated in an oddly high-pitched voice. Ivan stood and walked around the bar to place his large hands on the skinny shoulders of Canada. He knew that his skin was cold, and he hoped that the temperature change would snap the Nation out of his shock. Cruel, he knew; Ivan could barely imagine the feelings that the fairly young Country was feeling. But it was needed if his plan was to work.
"Yes, Matvey."
"What will happen to me?" he asked, suddenly clutching Ivan's coat with his hands, and it took everything within Ivan to not fling the pathetic man's hands from his person.
"You shall cease to exist. Canada, the land mass, that is, will more than likely be ceded to your brother, and you will fall from memory."
It had taken Ivan days to figure out his way through the lie he was now spouting. He could only hope that he had built enough of a relationship with Canada for the plan to work.
"I-I see." Canada turned from him, and leaned against the counter with his hands braced on it. "And it'll be like I never existed."
"Da."
There was a long, and in Ivan's mind, tense, silence between the two men. Finally, Canada turned around.
"Is there a way to reverse this...rejection?" The blind hope, and the clueless trust that he was demonstrating right now cause Ivan to smirk a bit, though he quickly twisted it into a smile.
"But of course, Matvey."
A power that Alfred couldn't explain away was the ones he, and every other Country, held over their leaders. For the most part, the Countries followed the orders and ideas of the leaders of their land. The reason for this was because they usually had the same intentions and dreams.
But once in a while, there would be a leader that didn't see the way the Country did. They would intentionally drive the people of the Country into the ground, taking their money and resources, and starving the personification of the lands in the process. And, in one instance, a leader once felt tricked by their Nation, and had resorted to ruining the country out of revenge.
If that were to happen, the powers over the leaders would become clear in the Country's mind, and he could overrule the leaders. But it was done in such a way that the people thought that the leaders were simply changing their minds.
This hadn't been done in a very long time. Not since the fall of the Union; and there it had failed.
But Ivan had held on to that power, knowing that someday, somehow, his wish to unite everyone would come true.
Matthew had fallen asleep on the plane. It was easier to deal with the air sickness that he had been struck with as the aircraft had flown over the Russian border when he was sleeping.
There was only so long one could sleep, he found out later as he woke up. Already, though he knew he shouldn't, Matthew missed the guest room that he had been given at Russia's. The Canadian pulled out his worn paperback to distract himself from his rumbling stomach.
When the plane landed, some hours later, Matthew fairly ran from it. His boss, Mr. Harper was there, holding a squirming Kumajirou.
The Canadian froze. How did Harper know to come here today? I didn't even call him. The bear freed himself and galloped into Matthew's legs, causing a laugh to escape the Nation despite his confusion.
Questions forgotten, he bent down and scooped his friend into his arms, burying his face into the soft fur.
"Who are you?"
"Canada. I'm home."
"About time."
The welcome, while not very warm by other's standards, made Matthew grin like an idiot. He had desperately missed his friend these last few weeks.
That happiness was diminished slightly when Harper walked up to him, a smile hitched into place.
"How was your vacation?"
"Good. Got some relaxing in, and some paper work done that had piled up. How were things here?"
"Oh, you know." It looked like Harper was going to add more, but his cell rang. As he answered, he turned for privacy and walked away, as if forgetting Matthew.
"Oh, well," he told his bear, who was clinging to his arms. "Let's go home, eh?"
"Finally."
Matthew rolled his eyes at his friend before pulling out his own cell and calling a cab with a sharp pain in his chest. Even if Harper was rejecting him, it still hurt to be ignored, though he hid it well.
When the cab pulled up and Matthew climbed in, a headache flared and he had to curl in on himself to stay conscious.
"Kid? Don't you puke, or you're paying double," the cabby warned. Must be one of Al's, Matthew thought hazily. Mine are far too polite to ever say something like that.
"I'm fine," he said. After giving the driver his address, he pulled Kumajirou closer to him.
The drive was over in what felt like a moment, although the Canadian knew it only seemed that way because he fell asleep. After paying, and tipping, the driver, Matthew walked up the porch steps to his door.
He was looking forward to a painkiller or two for his headache and his bed. He would figure out what to do with Harper in the morning. He piled his luggage in a corner to be unpacked and washed the next day, and collapsed on his bed. Maybe he would forget the pills.
Ring...Ring...Ring.
Matthew groaned and rolled over, unwilling to wake but too polite to ignore it. He groggily answered it.
"Hello?"
"Matvey."
As if the sound of Russia's voice triggered it, Matthew's head started to throb. Kumajirou snuggled closer, and Matthew scratched his head gently.
"Ah, hi. How are you?"
"Good. And you?"
"I'm fine," Matthew said with a smile. He glanced at the clock on his wall. Seven thirty in the morning. "Must be about time for you to eat, though."
"Da."
There was an awkward silence for a moment before Matthew cleared his throat. "Was there anything you needed?"
"No, I was just checking up on you. Making sure you arrived safely." The Russian sounded bored, and a little angry.
"Oh," he answered, "I didn't know you were waiting for a call, otherwise I would have called as soon as I got off the plane."
"It is fine, Matvey."
"O-oh."
"Comrade Matvey, you must listen to me. I know you are tired, and you are probably not feeling well, but you must carry this out," Russia said with a sudden intensity that didn't match the bored tone of just a second ago.
"I'm listening." How did he know I wasn't feeling so good?
"You must confront Harper, tell him that what he is doing is wrong. The sooner the better."
Matthew sighed. It all seemed so pointless. So what if the government wasn't doing exactly what he wanted? It's not like they listened to him at any other time. "And if they kick me out of my own lands? You know that a Country has to have someplace to call home, or they die."
"Would England or France offer you places to stay?" Russia asked.
"I wouldn't want to," Matthew said. "Not with Francis at any rate."
"I see. And you wouldn't want to go to Alfred, I assume?"
"You assume correctly."
"Then you have a problem." Matthew sighed once more before glancing out the window. The sun was painfully bright.
"Yeah. I'll have to think about it, see what I can do."
"Da. Let me know when you do." The line went dead and Matthew dropped the phone to the side table once more.
Where could he stay? He didn't want to cease to exist. Even if he was still recognized by the others, but abolished, he would live a half-life like Prussia, which was undesirable, to say the least.
But, should Canada fall from power, and Alfred takes over...Matthew furrowed his brows, his headache making it hard to think.
"I'd have to be in the service of another Country," he told his friend, who was laying on his back. Matthew laughed and rubbed Kumajirou's belly.
Who would take him? Matthew sighed, a frustrated breath that left with force, and ran his fingers through his hair. He knew that he was thinking worst case scenario, but he couldn't help himself.
He got up and went to his attached bathroom. A shower never hurt anything.
A.N.: Thanks for the various alerts I've received in the past month. It's nice to know that my story is worth the time to read it.
Please, please, review! I have no way of making this better (because I know it can be) if I have no feedback. Even if that feedback is a flame; at least who ever wrote that took time out of their day to let me know how they feel about it.
I don't own Hetalia.
