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Chapter Text

Canada had never felt like this before.

He had been in the safety of a control room, unlike the previous times where bombs were constantly dropping and he was cold and even more frightened. But he was still shaken up. He had demolished a helicopter full of terrorists the hour before. He'd pushed a button, and a few seconds later there was a flash of white, tinted with a pale green by the screen, and shrapnel from the helicopter had fallen 80 metres onto the grass below.

Canada was feeling bizarrely alive. He knew that this action would ensure he received the love he'd long searched for from his father. He was getting that now, in fact. But like most people, taking lives wasn't for him. It was something that repulsed him, even if the people who he'd just killed were terrorists from an enemy military.

Despite all this, he knew he had very little option. Backing out of an operation, regardless of how lethal it was, wouldn't look good. It would have terrible consequences. It would give his father even more reason to force him under harsh physical training and punishment.

He didn't want any more of that. He didn't want any more fear or pain, so he'd do anything to make sure he wouldn't get it.

"You've passed." Britain's voice brought him out of his contemplation "With fucking flying colours." The tone of Britain's voice had taken Canada by surprise.

It was a long time since he heard his father this happy. Britain wasn't verbally abusive; of course, he yelled insults at him during military training, but otherwise he was rather polite with him for a military father. But he never had a reassuring tone before. It always sounded so annoyed and gruff, as if merely talking to Canada was a burden on him.

Canada couldn't really stand to hear it. Not because it made him annoyed, rather, he couldn't stand knowing that Britain was always so upset with him.

"W-What does this mean?"

"You're becoming more of a man now." Britain usually would've chided questions. Canada felt a strange sense of calm around him now. "You're becoming stronger, both physically and emotionally." Britain grinned. "I never thought this would happen."

"Neither did I." Canada breathed. His bottom lip quivered as he breathed out. He didn’t know what he was feeling. It may have been closure that Britain was treating him nicely, or shock of what he had done (potentially combined with the former reason).

"How about I do you your favourite food. What was it again?"

"P-Pancakes." Canada couldn't stop his fists from coming up to his chest and quivering. He wanted to stop this habit around his father. But, strangely, Britain smiled upon seeing him do this.

"You do whatever you want, for now."

He was letting him stim? Just this morning, he would've knocked him to the floor over such an offence.

"O-Okay..." Britain walked into the kitchen, leaving Canada on his own.

Canada thought about what had happened. What Britain had said to him. It was all so weirdly bizarre; he only ever heard him speak like that around France, and never to him. Canada was at least grateful that he never really mistreated his mother (other than overworking her out of laziness).

But for some reason, Canada felt himself becoming overwhelmed. He hated this feeling.

His arms and chest began to warm. Too warm. He felt his chest begin to tighten, causing his breathing to quicken. Fuck you. Fuck everything. Thoughts out of character for him. His arms were too hot for him. He needed to feel and show this anger, but at the same time he couldn’t. Not in front of his father. You deserve it. You didn’t show me enough love.

Why wasn’t he happy that his father was loving him now? That was a weird thing to think about, but that was what was in Canada’s mind. This didn’t stop him from being overwhelmed. Success always overwhelmed him. He didn’t know why, but it did. He paced around the living room. He couldn’t believe anything. He didn’t want to make sense of it anymore.

He threw something soft against the carpet, not wanting to make a noise. It wasn’t like he could go upstairs or anything. His father was making him pancakes. The father who had him end a life.

“What are you doing?” Britian suddenly asked. Canada swiftly turned towards him; he was holding a plate of pancakes in his left hand. Without thinking, Canada grabbed the cushion and launched it at him. It barely missed his head, flying over him. Canada’s chest almost begun to freeze as he realised what he’d just done. Britain widened his eyes a little, making a strange grimace as he placed it on the table beside him.

“Just when I thought you’d become a real man.” He spat. Canada’s heart skipped.

“D-Daddy, I didn’t mean it, I-“

Suddenly, Britain rushed over and furiously pushed him down on the floor. Canada yelped, holding out his arms as Britain grabbed the hems of his shirt, dragging him up and pushing him down once again.

His foot slammed on Canada’s chest, pressing deep against it. Canada yelped again at the sharp pain, the sudden lack of air shocking him further. He felt sick. He was too scared to regret what happened earlier. He just had to find a way to survive.

Britain fumbled in a nearby drawer, somehow keeping his boot on Canada’s chest, before grabbing a set of pliers. He grinned.

"As usual," Britain huffed, bending down to him, "you leave me no choice." He held the rusty tweezer right up to his face. The pliers’ metal levers were large and seemed powerful from the way he was holding them.

The pliers were mere centimetres away from his eye.

Canada didn't know what to think. His mouth hung agape, and his heart pounded. He grabbed onto Britain's wrist, trying to pull it away, but despite the immense physical training he did, his father was still too strong.

He was terrified.

Slowly, Britain edged the pliers inside his mouth, placing them on a lower molar on the left side of his mouth. Canada yelped as the tweezer slowly tightened around it. He didn't want to fight back, but his legs still thrashed, and his cries choked in his throat as the tweezer painfully pulled against his tooth.

“Stop moving so much!” Britain yelled, his weight keeping his body still. Now, there was a lot more agony in Canada's tooth, and he could taste a liquid of iron. Canada threw his head back against the floor and he let out a wracked, wet cry. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Daddy, please stop!" He wanted to say. His mouth was kept open, and he was too focused on screaming. He gargled at the blood in his mouth. The fire inside his mouth was growing more and more. He could feel the sickening motion and pressure as Britain twiddled around the tooth. Gruesome, wet cries blared in his ears; he didn’t even know they were coming from him.

There was a harsh, clear pop.

Britain slowly pulled his arm up, the blood from the hole in his mouth dripping onto Canada's chin and pyjama shirt. Canada shrieked. Britain got up, surprisingly not reacting as much to his son's harsh, effeminate screams, as he rolled around the floor, covering his mouth.

Canada exhausted his strength and kneeled on the floor, causing the blood to pool on his hands. His mouth was burning and being constantly stabbed. Suddenly, he felt a rather soothing hand at his cheek. He looked up. Britain gently placed a white paper towel in the removed tooth.

“Keep this on for around an hour. It’ll stop the bleeding.” He said, with no emotion in his voice. No guilt or remorse for leaving his own child in severe pain. He waited for a bit after saying this, watching as Canada shakily bit down on the paper towel, before walking off to bed.

Canada didn’t know what to think. He didn’t want to think. He was just so scared. He was only expecting to be slapped and begrudgingly handed the pancakes, which would’ve made him feel guilty.

The taste of iron in his mouth made him feel sick.

It took strength for Canada to get up. Even though the injury was in his tooth, moving felt difficult and made his pain worse. But despite this, he held onto the cushion of a couch nearby, and slowly pulled himself up.

Once he was up, he found a plushie. It was an avocado, with a cute smiling face on seed. His eyes widened a little in shock, and for a moment he wasn’t thinking about the pain. He didn’t remember bringing it. That poor little plushie had heard his screams. It heard the pop from the tooth coming out. It must’ve been scared.

“Shh, its alright.” Canada shakily whispered, stroking the small fur of the teddy. He’d always liked to pretend that plushies had emotions, even now when he was in serious pain. Beside him was his phone, something he also didn’t remember bringing.

He waited. He didn't know how long for, but he wanted to make sure Britain had fallen asleep. But at the same time, he didn't want to wait in pain. He checked the clock on his phone, around half-midnight. Slowly, he walked towards the front door, pulling down the handle as quietly as he could, before walking out.

Once he'd silently shut the door, he momentarily regretted his decision as he shone his phone in front. The path in front stretched on into a black void. Anyone could be waiting there for him.

Anything.

Despite this, his willingness to get as far away from Britain as possible motivated him enough to shakily walk forwards into the dark forest.

He followed the path until it was just before 1am, when it began to disappear into incoherent woodland. The only light he had to accompany him was his phone, and he shook constantly, both from sheer terror and from the cold of the night. He kept checking if his avocado was still with him, childishly ensuring that is wasn't afraid.

He'd managed to reach a small clearing in the woods. It wasn't any darker, but Canada oddly felt safer now that he was out in the open. He still didn't want to wait. His tooth hurt too much, and he needed to find somewhere or someone that would stop his tooth hurting so much. He pressed deeply on the gauze his father had given him in some weirdly kind act, but even that wasn't enough to stop the pain.

He wanted to cry.

Tears began to slowly form in his eyes. He opened his phone, before going to the contacts app. With Britain, he wasn’t allowed to phone his mother. He didn’t really remember why in this moment. But he wasn’t with him now. He pressed his mother’s contact to call her, waiting a few seconds after.

This person’s phone is currently unavailable. Please try later, or send a text.

He grunted to himself, both out of annoyance and pain. He tried again.

This person’s phone is currently unavailable. Please try later, or send a text.

He squealed, his voice cracking, stomping hard on the floor. He began to walk again, holding his plushie tighter in his arm, his feet stomping against the floor. He walked a lot quicker than he did before.

Eventually, the pain was becoming a lot more intense. He didn’t feel like he could carry on any more. Of course, he wanted to keep pushing, but his legs couldn’t take it. He was in too much pain.

He decided to stop when he’d reached another clearing a few minutes later. He sunk down on a soft patch of grass, and immediately fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Canada had woken to a soft, overcast sky, fog which covered the trees in front of him in a slight grey, cold air with soft wind, and a small lessening of the pain in his mouth. It came in slow waves, where the pain was more intense for a few seconds, but a light itch most of the time.

He didn’t remember what had happened last night, but his body felt cold with fear. There was still a weird taste in his mouth, a weird sensation on his gums, too. He was still holding onto his avocado plushie, at least. Canada smiled a little.

He checked his phone, which miraculously he was also still holding. He pressed some of the buttons, but the phone wouldn’t turn on. It had lost battery. Canada’s eyes widened. How was he going to contact his mother? How was he going to find or contact anyone?

Canada quickly stood up, his breath quickening severely as his hands began to uncontrollably flap. He whimpered to himself. He dropped his plushie, though immediately picked it back up, wrapping his arms around it and squeezing it as tightly as he could. He sat back down again, the grass wetting his skin through the pyjama pants, burying his chin into the soft wool of the teddy.

He didn’t know what he was going to do. He didn’t even know where he was. When he was taken to the house with his father 2 weeks before, he’d spent the whole car trip blindfolded.

Canada pressed deeply on his cheek as another wave of pain hit him. This one was worse than the last; it seemed like something was ripping his gum open. He made a few weak whimpers as he curled his knees up. It was scorching, but it only lasted for a few seconds. Despite this, he could still feel his gum tingling with pain.

He carried on wondering for a few more minutes. Mainly about how he was going to get home. He didn’t want to sit and wait for too long though; he didn’t want to be captured by anyone. Britain would probably be able to find him, especially with his phone being on, and would probably be out searching for him. Upon realising this, his heart sunk, and in spite of the pain in his tooth he got up and carried on moving.

Even though there was more of an opening to his right, he decided to walk into the forest in front of him, as he’d figured it would be a lot safer for him. The forest was much clearer and less threatening; he felt a lot more confident and braver than he did last night.

Of course, that didn’t get rid of the intense pain. He was still thinking about that. Another scalding but shorter wave had just hit him, almost like his tooth was being ripped apart again. But at least he was able to find a good path to walk on, where his feet wouldn’t be dirtied in mud that was deeply uncomfortable on his skin.

Canada was still biting on the gauze. Somehow, his mouth had kept hold of it whilst he was asleep, which he found to be a bit weird.

After a few minutes of walking, he managed to find something. There were 2 people, both male humans in orange high visibility jackets and wearing colourful wool hats. Canada twitched. Would these people hurt him? Probably not; they didn’t have the uniforms that Britain’s men had. Plus, they were walking away from him.

Canada decided to follow them. He wanted to keep his distance as to not scare them, but somehow he knew that they could at least end up somewhere less remote.

Even though the pain in-between waves was relatively minor, it was still getting worse. He could feel it pound quickly with every heartbeat. Canada couldn’t slow his heart down; he was that scared of being caught and possibly hurt by the 2 people.

He wasn’t sure what they were doing. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been following them, but they were still walking through the forest. Canada began to nervously fidget with his toy, wrapping his arm a little tighter around it. He wanted to ask the men if they could help him, but he didn’t want them to hurt him. He didn’t know their intentions, neither did he know the intentions of anyone outside those he knew.

Canada was suddenly too close to them. That’s what he noticed when he snapped himself out of his panic. He wouldn’t have been uncomfortably close to them, but he was a lot closer than he was before.

Then, one of them turned round. The man on the left. Canada froze.

“Excuse me,” he asked innocently. The other person turned around. “Are you okay?” Canada didn’t respond, staring at them with wide eyes and quivering legs. He felt lightheaded. He didn’t know what to say or do.

What were they going to do? Where they going to hurt him? Canada didn’t know. They didn’t seem to be dangerous, but that was the thing. Sometimes Britain didn’t seem like he’d be threatening. Sometimes it would seem like he wasn’t going to do anything, and then he’d suddenly lose it and punish him over nothing.

They were both men, which made it worse. If they were women, he would’ve felt safer. Women never hurt him.

The pain in his tooth was suddenly a lot more intense than it was before, even than how it was last night. He whimpered, pressing down on his cheek. The men looked worried. He hated making people worried.

Suddenly, for some strange reason, he could feel himself slip into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

The first thing he noticed was a strange beeping noise, followed by the scent of chlorine and loud, constant LED buzzing that blared in his ears. There was a strange redness, caused by the harsh light over his closed eyes, and his skin was unsettled by the hard sheets of his quilt. Even the quilt at Britain’s house was a lot softer. Despite this, he still pulled the quilt over him, seeking warmth.

The left side of his face felt numb, but he could tell that there was some pressure on it. There was a lot less tension in his mind, despite the fact that he still felt uncomfortable and unfamiliar wherever he was. He was still tired and fear flowed rather steadily through his mind, even if he didn't exactly remember what happened the night before.

His eyelids creaked open as they adjusted to the light above him. He had noticed a white guardrail, with blue curtains behind it, the faint highlight of sun plastering the fabric. Canada rolled onto his back, immediately flinching and forcing his arms out at the thick, harsh light above him. He rolled onto his other side.

His eyes widened in surprise, as he saw someone else in another bed, sleeping. Canada could make out that this person was a human, with white skin and blonde hair, and he seemed young. Canada sat up on the bed, looking forwards whilst still trying to avoid the light above him. The ward was packed with people, some with more severe injuries, but most looked unfriendly to him.

Canada stared ahead, trying not to meet anyone's gaze. Sickness began to whirl in his stomach, and he felt his body tremble. The strange beeping noise began to quicken slowly.

"Are you alright?" He heard a soft, feminine voice say. He flinched, pushing himself towards the guardrail of the bed in an attempt to get away. She was another human, with short, dark hair and a blue face mask. "It's okay, just take a deep breath."

Canada looked at the nurse in fear, his hands gripping the guardrail, though he tried to do what she asked, taking slow but heavily quivering breaths. He looked down to find that his white shirt had bloodstains on the left side. He didn’t remember that last night, it was black.

"W-What's happening to me?" Canada asked, though it wasn't clear as his voice kept stuttering and cracking. The nurse sat down on the bed, still looking at him softly.

"I'm sorry, I have trouble understanding that." Canada repeated what he'd said, but this time much slower.

"Oh, yes. You had to have a small to prevent infection. There was also damage to the surrounding teeth."

"W-What?" Canada asked. The beeping began to quicken again.

"You're okay now, you're safe. I promise." She seemed to notice his panic. Her voice was very soft and comforting to him, like his mother’s.

"Really?" The nurse nodded her head.

"W-Why don't I remember it?"

"You were put under anaesthesia. I'm surprised you're not tired from it." Canada felt himself begin to calm down, his muscles slowly relaxing.

“What do you mean?” He asked. “I’ve never been under surgery before.”

“Usually, when you’re coming out of a surgery, you get really tired and sleepy.” Canada looked down a little.

"I think I got a bit scared. I closed my eyes for a bit, but when I woke up I didn't know where I was." His voice still stammered, but it sounded a lot less afraid than it did before. "Do... do you know where my mom is?" His breathing began to quicken again.

This was the first time in a long time he’d even thought of her, let alone seen her. He was scared. What if something happened to her whilst he was away?

He also hadn't seen her in about a month. Usually, due to the custody arrangements, he'd be with his father every weekend, and in complete safety with his mother at weekdays. At first his father followed them, but recently he had begun to take him away for excessive training for weeks at a time.

The nurse tilted her head.

"What's her name?" Canada thought for a moment.

"Louise... Louise Morin."

"Your name kinda reminds me of hers."

"I think... she told me once, she named me after her."

"I'll go see if she’s in." He could hear the smile in her voice, before she suddenly left him.

After watching her leave the ward, Canada turned his head around to look at the other patients. He was surprised to find that barely anyone had turned their attention to him. He breathed out, slowly. He always was scared of strangers focusing on him.

Suddenly, Canada noticed someone in the distance, coming through the doors. The familiar purple garment that his mother always wore. He began to tremble.

"Mommy...?" France smiled upon seeing him.

"Bonjour, ma petite colombe." My little dove. That's what she always called him when she was comforting him.

Canada didn’t feel happy, though. Maybe he felt too overwhelmed. The memory of him walking through a dark forest, alone and scared, was fresh in his mind, even fresher than that of what Britain did to him.

Canada felt his breathing begin to quicken. Why wasn’t he feeling happy?

“You didn’t pick up. I called you last night and you didn’t pick up.” France’s smile quickly faded, and she slowly walked towards him, bending down a little.

“What do you mean?” She asked, curiously. Heat began to grow in Canada’s chest, his hands quickly twiddling themselves.

“You didn’t pick up. You didn’t pick up. I called you twice, I w-wanted you to comfort me and you didn’t pick up.” His voice broke a little, and his arms began to tremble. Why was he so angry with her? He didn’t want to feel angry at her, but he couldn’t forget how he felt when she just wouldn’t pick up the phone.

Just then, France remembered the previous morning, seeing 2 missed calls that were made at half 1 in the morning. She remembered feeling a harsh sickness in her gut, a motherly instinct that something horrible had happened to him.

“Je suis desole,” She placed her hand on his. He grasped it tightly. “I was asleep. I couldn’t pick up.” Her voice faltered, a little quieter than before as she sucked in her lips. Canada could sense the regret in her voice, and somehow immediately calmed down.

He hated hurting her, even though she understood him.

“I… I didn’t mean to.”

"Shh... mamon's here." She said softly when he began to whimper. He could feel a bit better out of his cheek, but instead of feeling her skin, it was blocked by uncomfortable, sharp fabric. He didn't want to think about that for now.

"Mommy..." He wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around her. He didn’t want to let go.

"I heard what Britain did to you last night." France said bluntly, holding onto him even tighter than he was. The weight behind her words was heavy with a calm anger.

“What do you mean?” Canada asked, curiously, though unease was riddled in his voice. France decided it was best not to remind him, not until he was in a better environment.

“I don’t want to spend a long time explaining, but you’ll probably never see him again.”

Canada had waited for years for this day to come. He remembered fantasising about how peaceful he would be; making plans about how he'd drink orange juice, sit in the back garden of his mother's home and just let the air hit his face, no matter how cold it was. To know he was finally free to enjoy weekends like any other teenager.

Instead, he was spending it lying on his bed, focusing on how much his tooth was aching from what Britain had (apparently) done to him.

Resenting his father sounded weird to him. He knew that Britain was a bad father, but even Canada knew that he wasn't that bad. Canada didn't remember much of it. All he knew was that he'd gotten angry at him, and a few minutes later he was walking through the woods, with even worse pain in his tooth and scared out of his mind.

The trouble was, there was no way of Canada knowing how he managed to get his tooth removed. There was no way that Britain would've done this to him.

Maybe he'd taken it out himself to try and change the custody arrangements? That was too out of character for him, even in his angriest moments.

Maybe some crazy person had captured him whilst he was in the woods, and taken the tooth out himself? Canada wasn't sure about how likely that was.

Maybe some animal had attacked him? There would be cuts and blood all over his body if that happened.

The pain suddenly came back. He gasped harshly, pressing his fist against his cheek. He’d forgotten about the pain.

Canada simply sighed, hugging his Avocado plushie a little tighter. He took a look at it, specifically the little face on the seed. How it was always smiling and innocent, despite what it had witnessed.

Canada felt tears forming in his eyes. He was so angry and bitter at the pain, both physical and the emotional pain he'd felt. He felt so stupid, feeling sorry for a plushie. Maybe his father was right. Maybe he was just an autistic coward.

Canada hugged the plushie again, curling into the foetal position and wrapping his free arm around his legs.

Suddenly, Canada could hear the faint sound of the door opening, causing him to flinch despite its low volume.

"Petite colombe, are you feeling okay?" France suddenly asked, her voice soft as usual. Canada grunted softly in response, not turning to look at her. He didn't want her to see him whilst he was irritated.

The door shut, taking most of the light out of the room, and Canada heard soft footsteps and felt a weight as France sat on the bed beside him. Canada slowly sat up, looking at her with soft, sad eyes.

"Aww, petite colombe, you’re completely safe now with Mamon." Canada didn't feel any better.

"I don't wanna be in pain anymore. This tooth hurts and the bandage feels weird, I don't like it, how do I get rid of it?"

"I’m not sure, why-"

"Why?" Canada yelled, but his voice didn't sound angry. "Why don't you know what I should do?" Canada felt his body quivering again. He was so sick of the pain.

France didn’t feel any fear from his yelling, just sorrow that her beautiful son was in so much pain. "Mommy? I... didn't mean that."

“Listen.” France gently cupped his cheek. “I understand. You’re in serious pain, and you’ve been through a lot of terrible things. It’s alright, I promise.”

“I’m still sorry though.”

France sighed softly, before remembering something that she’d bought from the pharmacist earlier. She reached into her pocket and pulled out 2 small boxes, one blue and having 'Paracetomol' on it and the other red and having 'Ibrupofen'. "I managed to get you these." Canada didn't know what they were. "I hope they'll ease the pain."

"What are they?"

"They're painkillers. They are small and you can swallow them with water. You mustn’t chew them, though." Canada slowly took the Paracetomol box off her and opened it, sliding out the small plastic tray of pills.

"Mommy, how do I open it?" He asked innocently. France giggled.

"I'll help you." She pressed down on the small bump, causing a small white pill to fall out the other end. Canada felt amazed upon seeing the pill. It was weird to him that such a small thing could automatically cure him of his pain.

"Are you sure this works?" He asked. France nodded, before handing him the bottle of water. He placed the pill in his mouth, before taking a small sip of water. Some of the water went into the gap in his mouth. It didn't hurt him, but it felt very cold and tingly, like an ice pressing into his gum. Cold water didn’t normally make him feel like this, but the water going into the wound was unpleasant. The sensation caused him to shiver lightly.

"Are you okay?" France asked.

"I d-don't know, it j-just felt so weird."

"What are you talking about?"

"The... the water went into the th-thing in my mouth, i-it felt really cold." Canada was worried in case the water would've damaged anything in his mouth. "Is this safe?"

"I'm not sure, but I would imagine it would clean the wound a little."

France stayed with Canada for around 10 more minutes. During this time, Canada was surprised to find the pain in his mouth weakening; what was once intense pain that burned the side of his face, was now merely a pinprick. He giggled a little.

"Does it feel better?" France asked, knowing the answer. Canada nodded. He felt so much better. The relief was much more intense than the pain itself.

Tears formed in his eyes from relief, and France brought him in for a hug. Her eyes latched onto the bandage at the side of his face. It was obviously making him more uncomfortable than he was. "Would you like me to take some of the bandage off?"

"Well... I know it's there to help me, but it feels weird... just a little, please."

Chapter Text

For about 5 days after, very little happened. Canada’s gum obviously didn’t heal, but with the routine of 2 Paracetomol tablets a day, he was able to cope more properly from the trauma of what happened, specifically because he wasn’t in any pain. At least not for long; the pain would disappear for about 3 hours after, before slowly growing into scorching, pulsing pain in his gum.

France and Canada didn’t talk much with each other. He remained silent, contemplating things. How much time he was spending out of school. What the future would be like. Mostly, though, being happy that Britain was finally out of the way.

Canada used his art skills as a distraction from what happened to him. He didn’t want to think about it, so whenever the memories of the sheer terror from his father pinning him down came up, he would open up his sketchpad and, oddly, paint images of BSD’s Dazai Osamu stark naked and frolicking in sunny, flowery fields.

He didn’t know why, but even though he found Osamu ‘problematic’, he felt peaceful by drawing these images.

Even though he knew that France understood, he still felt bad that he wasn’t speaking to her. A part of him felt like he wasn’t giving her enough love, especially after all the love she gave him throughout his childhood. It didn’t feel right. Thus, he decided that the best thing to do was to randomly hug her every now and then.

Canada had put a black plate of pancakes in the microwave, watching through the blurry door as they spun around. France watched him carefully, but anxiously.

He had to confront his traumas later on today. Something he really wouldn’t want to do. She didn’t want to ruin his comfort today, but… she had to.

“Canada,” France quietly asked, looking over at him. Her eyes were soft and uncertain.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have something to tell you.” France looked down. “You have to make a statement about your father today.” Canada narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“What?”

“Even though your father is… quite powerful, you have to make a testimony against him. The police want you to.”

Canada felt cold in his chest, his heartbeat beginning to accelerate. He didn’t know what was going on. What did the police want?

“Wh… wh- what’s gonna happen? Will I get arrested?”

“No, petite colombe, you’ll just-“ Suddenly, the microwave made a harsh beep, causing Canada to shriek as he quickly turned towards it. His arms felt tight and were quivering.

France knew this wasn’t going to be easy for him. She’d known about what Canada needed to do 2 days prior, after receiving a mail about it. She tried calling them whilst Canada was taking a nap, to protest and say that he needed time to calm down from what happened to him, but for some reason no-one was available to take her call, not even that morning.

“Canada…” She held out her hand, softly brushing his neck, he flinched a little, but otherwise was a bit calmer. He grasped her wrist, careful not to be too tight. He didn’t want to hurt his mother.

“M-Mommy, I… I don’t know if I want to do this.”

“I know, sweetheart.” France sighed. “It’s not going to happen until later today, so that’ll give you time to think about it.” Canada stared at her, breathing shakily.

“Mommy, I don’t wanna do this.” His weak voice squeezed France’s chest. She gently brushed her fingers along his cheek, trying to comfort him a little as he quickly flapped his hands.

“I’ll be there with you. I promise.” She slowly pulled him into a hug. Canada rested his head on her shoulder, his body squeezing her chest. Her soft, pink jumper felt comfortable against him, the material soft against his skin and scented with vanilla. It must’ve been from Dior, her favourite perfume. It soothed him a little.

He didn’t feel confident though.

“Don’t think about it too much, okay?” France whispered, resting her hand on Canada’s back. It was hard for him not to, as they were literally in the waiting room of the interrogation booth, but Canada still nodded anyway.

He’d brought his large avocado plushie with him. He would ‘squeak’ by sucking in through his lips, and pretend it was making noises. That way, he’d figured that he would pretend the avocado was testifying on his behalf, to avoid the fear of a flashback if he directly talked about it.

Even then, this didn’t get rid from the sick feeling that was all over Canada’s body. He made jerky movements, rocking a little in the chair as he cuddled his plushie. France’s heart broke for him.

“It’s a nice spring day, isn’t it?” She said softly. “Maybe after this, we can go for a walk if you feel like it.” Canada nodded faintly. He didn’t think he’d be able to go, but it was nice to have something to look forward to once he’d gotten through this.

“How long will it take?” Canada’s voice was almost inaudible, to the point that for a split-second France was surprised she was able to make out what he was saying.

“They said it would be about 10 minutes.” Canada looked over at her nervously. “Don’t worry, it’s not going to be too long. I promise.”

“You must be… Lucas Morin.” A female voice suddenly said, causing Canada to flinch harshly. He recognized that voice. It was the nurse that talked to him in hospital. She sounded overly cheery. “Whenever you’re ready!”

Canada couldn’t seem to control the movements of his body as he got up and slowly followed the nurse. Fatigue controlled his bones, but he still followed her. He was scared. Even despite being informed by his mother, who had followed him whilst holding his hand, he still didn’t know what was going on. He wanted to cry.

At least he had his avocado plushie. His plushie which was always smiling. This reassured Canada a little, enough to smile weakly whilst looking at it.

Eventually, they made their way into the interrogation room. Weirdly, no police were there (thank God for that), but the room was a little dark and only had a wooden table in the middle. One side had one chair, whilst the other had two.

The nurse chose the side with one.

France spoke with the nurse for a bit, mainly about how the interrogation would go. Canada chose not to listen. He only focused on his Avocado plushie. The Avocado wanted to do the talking, so Canada wouldn’t have to relive anything. That was the plan.

“Lucas?” The nurse asked. Canada darted his eyes towards her. “I’ll need to hear your testimony now. It doesn’t have to be detailed, I just need to hear what happened that night.”

Canada placed the avocado on the table, puckered his lips and began to squeak. He laid it flat, rotating it quickly whilst squeaking, before placing his finger and thumb by the mouth, pretending to pull on a ‘tooth’. Once he was done, he jumped the avocado back up.

He smiled nervously. Surely that would’ve been good enough, right?

The nurse didn’t know how to put this.

“Canada… we… we need a proper transcript of your testimony. If its too distressing, just keep it brief, ‘kay?” Her tone was kind, which made Canada feel a little reassured, but this was quickly replaced with a deeper anxiety than of that he felt before.

“O-Okay… I’ll try.” Canada responded. France held onto his hand as he nervously breathed out.

“I… I was with my dad, and he was congratulating me on something. I forgot what it was, but I don’t kn-know why, I-I got r-really angry and-“

Just then, Canada felt a harsh weight in his chest. His gum began to hurt again, but… he felt something pull against it. He was still explaining, but this time in more detail. He explained how irrationally angry he’d felt, and how scared he was when his father ran at him, as if he was feeling those emotions right now.

Because he was.

Suddenly, he could hear his own screaming. His father yelling at him to keep still. He began quivering in his seat, his hands obligatorily flapping together, but he was still explaining it all in great detail. It was almost like his tooth was back there, before being pulled out again.

He wanted to hide. He wanted to escape. But he knew there was no one there to hurt him. France’s hand was gently running through Canada’s hair, but that was no comfort to him. She gently shushed him, but he couldn’t hear her.

His voice was cracking weakly as he described how nervous he felt to even walk out of the door, not because of the dark night ahead, but because of his own father.

“Lucas,” the nurse suddenly said. He flinched harshly, gasping as his body shook. “The session is over now, you don’t have to talk anymore.” Canada stared at her wide-eyed, his body tight and trembling.

He trembled at the fear and vulnerability, but at the same time, he felt a bit of relief. He didn’t know why. Relief that it was over? Relief that he’d released some of the pressure of trauma?

“It’s alright, it’s done now.” The nurse must’ve noticed his relief. She spoke with a soft voice, which reminded him of his mother’s.

Suddenly, Canada stood up, quickly backing away. His arms and chest felt hot again. Blood began to pound in his head, and he felt tight, his face reddening as he gritted his teeth.

“Lucas, you need to sit down.” This didn’t calm him. He stared the nurse down, growling as he breathed out.

“No!” He roared. “Are you happy now?!? You got your fucking transcript!” His whole body shook as adrenaline rushed through it. Fire burned in his throat, his arms stretched out and tight, as if he was trying to grab onto something. His head hurt.

“You have got your fucking transcript!”

He stomped harshly with each word he said. The nurse was tightly gripping the arms of the chair, staring at him as she breathed quickly. She was heavily experienced with therapy on trauma, and all the ways a patient could react, but she hadn’t had this happen to her before. Her chest felt cold and heavy.

Seething, Canada spun round and kicked the door to open it, before stomping out of the room.

Neither of them knew what to say. France looked back at the nurse. She still looked afraid. France wanted to apologise, but at the same time she thought Canada was justified. She would’ve allowed it if it was a few weeks after, but 5 days? Really?

They both were unsettled again at the reverberated sound of Canada screaming, followed by a harsh crash.

After sitting there in shock for a moment, France quickly jumped up and rushed out into the corridor. There was a large trash bin on the floor, some of the contents spilled out. France turned her head to the waiting room where they were before; there, she found Canada by the corner of the wall, his back turned to her and his head between his knees.

He was shaking. She didn’t see his face, but she knew he was terrified.

“Mon cheri…” France gasped, walking towards him. She kneeled down, gently placing her hand on his back. He flinched faintly, before slowly turning his head towards her. His eyes were deeply red and puffy with tears.

“M-Mommy? Mommy, s-s-scary…” France’s heart broke at his weak whimpers. He gently wiped one of his eyes, though refused to look away from her.

“Mamon’s here, Mamon’s here…” She tightly wrapped her arms around him, allowing him to gently whimper into her shoulder as they both stood up. “You’re okay, I promise. It’s all okay.”

Canada didn’t want to let go of France when they entered the car. He sat in the front passenger seat, his knees curled up and his left hand grasped tightly onto her arm. France gently stroked his hair whenever her hand didn’t need to be on the gear stick.

When they pulled up at their house and gout out of the car, Canada had tightly hugged onto France, as if he hadn’t seen her in years, even though the car ride was only 10 minutes. He held onto her for a few minutes, not caring if anyone saw, France making soothing whispers and stroking his curls.

They went inside after that. France went into the kitchen and into the fridge to pull out some pancakes for Canada, whilst he awkwardly stood in the front hall.

“I’m sorry.” Canada said.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t mean to scream at her.” He lowered his gaze, holding his hands together. He kept replaying what had happened in his head, more specifically the frightened look on the nurse. How could he just make someone so scared? He knew that he’d been forced to confront his traumas, but that didn’t stop him from hating himself for what he’d just done.

“Petite colombe, you don’t need to worry about that for now.” France didn’t take her eyes off him as she put 2 pancakes in the microwave. “You didn’t mean what you did, and it was your body’s way of saying that you were scared doing what you did. That’s all.”

“But… I- I just, I don’t know what… I’m scared in case I’ll scare you like I scared her…”

“We’ll talk about this in the morning, okay? You just get some rest and eat some pancakes.” This didn’t reassure him. He felt sick in his stomach, and felt himself flinch a little whenever he saw that nurse’s frightened eyes in his head.

“I need to say sorry to her.” Canada turned around, wanting to get out, but he stopped himself.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m gonna… I’m going to try get back to that station to apologise.” He needed to try and fix what he’d done.

“Canada, it’s okay. You don’t need to.”

Canada looked back at her, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. “Do what you want,” he grumbled as he went up the stairs.

Chapter Text

France had been trying to call for 20 minutes, having to listen to a poor-quality hold tune, before hopelessly hanging up the phone, accepting they wouldn’t pick up. Maybe they knew what she was going to do. Unlike what Canada had wished, she wasn’t going to apologise for what he had done yesterday.

She was going to do the opposite.

She was ready to scream, insult and swear excessively at whoever thought it was a good idea to force a 15 year old boy to confront one of the worst things that ever happened to him just 5 days after it had happened.

France couldn’t get how scared he was out of her head. Even when in the car coming home, he was still constantly shivering in fear. Tears were slowly pouring down his eyes. She felt so… helpless, looking at him, just like he was feeling helpless himself.

Canada had been improving, though. He was focusing on art a lot more, and was also talking to her now. Not about his traumas, but about other things he was thinking about. He was planning on going back to school relatively handy, as he didn’t want to miss out too much. Britain hadn’t taken him away longer than what was legally required before, but Canada was understandably upset, and was constantly trying to find time to study.

Even though he was nervous, he still found comfort in drawing. France at first thought that what Canada was drawing was weird; he didn’t seem the type to like drawing people naked, but she didn’t comment on it.

He occasionally took naps on the couch in the living room, wrapped in a soft blue blanket and cuddling his avocado plushie. The softness of both of these things would lull him to sleep easier, reminding him of safety. France thought it was cute when he slept. He reminded her of an innocent little kid.

After she’d put Canada to bed about a week after the testimony, she decided to go on her laptop for a bit to scroll on Tumblr for a bit until she went to bed. She hadn’t done it for a while, mainly focusing on caring for Canada. At first she went on favourite writing blogs to get some more writing advice, and then went on some mom blog that one of the writing blogs had reposted.

Whilst scrolling, one of the posts caught her attention. It was a post about healing from trauma. She read further, thinking it was going to be some alternative therapy she hadn’t had the chance to read about yet, that hopefully would help Canada. It was, but it didn’t seem like it would help him.

The post didn’t give a name to the therapy, but it described how people needed to directly relive their traumas - not by speaking about them to a professional, but by literally reliving it. Watching videos depicting traumatic moments happening to them or other people. Shouting at them if they were emotionally abused. Slapping them if they were physically abused. Vice versa.

At first, France thought she’d never doubted something so much. She clenched her jaw as she scrolled further down the article, reading on as it straight-up suggested survivors to contact their abusers as it would ‘be the perfect opportunity to confront your trauma’.

It was late, but France couldn’t help herself. Her fist slammed on the table beside her, a short and almost masculine growl escaping her clenched teeth. As polite as she was, she couldn’t help but scroll down as she wanted to make a rude comment, debunking this mess.

That’s when she saw a link. A link from a research paper on trauma. With some interest still left, she clicked on it. Her annoyance turned to awe, when she saw that people diagnosed with PTSD who’d tried this ‘therapy,’ reported a near-complete clear up of their symptoms.

The tension left her body, for a moment. How could this happen? Her confusion grew as she thought back to how Canada was after he’d testified about Britian. He was so terrified, and for about a day or 2 after, he was just… constantly afraid. It was like what Britain had done to him was constantly in his mind.

Her eyes glimpsed more about the report, locking in on how symptoms similar to Canada’s were normal for first-time patients, and gradually lessened in severity.

Now, France really didn’t know what to do.

She wanted nothing more than to clear her precious son of his traumas, regardless of whatever it would take. The article promised a complete clear-up. Even further, it was now 2 weeks since his tooth was forcibly removed, and thus it would make more sense for her to do something like this, she thought.

But then, she remembered something her eyes had skimmed over. The study had only been done on 50 people.

She placed her elbows on the table, her hands grasping her head. She really didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t just add more fear onto him. That would be counterproductive. Being afraid all the time would be too unhealthy for him.

She remembered how he was after the testimony. Even when in the car coming home, he was still constantly shivering in fear. Tears were slowly pouring down his eyes.

But the article said it would work. The study said it would work. There was still a chance, even if it was only 50 people that it worked on.

France sighed to herself, with a bit of hope. She was going to help him, whatever it’d take.

Chapter Text

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" France asked him gently, carefully holding onto his hand whilst her other hand was kept by his cheek. She'd thought carefully about what the article she read had said, and decided that she was going to force her fingers into the hole in his mouth, and twiddle them inside in a way that hopefully would allow them to relive and process his traumas in a better way.

She wanted this to be in a safe environment, so she allowed him to keep hold of his avocado plushie (not that she otherwise wouldn't), and told him to get into soft pyjamas. They also were in her bedroom; France hoped the soft, yellow walls would help keep him calm whilst she did this.

Canada nodded his head. His eyes weren't so sure. He wasn’t sure, neither. He only accepted it because he didn’t want to make her feel bad. Now, his brain was twirling with so many frightened thoughts.

"Okay..." France whispered. Rubbing his palm with her thumb, she inserted 2 fingers inside his mouth, pressing deeply into the gap. The gum felt soft underneath her mouth, and she didn’t feel any blood. It felt weird for Canada, having his own mother’s fingers in his mouth. She twisted her fingers and pressed them against the other teeth beside it.

Canada didn't seem too upset by this. He did shake a little, but it wasn't too terrible. Not like she'd seen him in the past. He felt a little nauseous, and he could faintly recall the memory, but not too much.

Normally, she would've been glad to see him like this. But now, something was off. It wasn't working.

She took her fingers out.

"Canada, could you stand up for me?" Not taking his eyes off her, he slowly stood up from the edge of the bed.

Without giving him any warning, France pushed him down, making sure he landed on the soft cushions of the couch. His chest felt cold. He stared at her, his eyes bulging, and her face was solemn, telling him that she didn't want to do this, that she wasn't angry at him.

She quickly rushed towards him, suddenly jumping on him and putting her whole body weight on him. Canada gasped sharply as his hands tried to push against her. He felt the same powerlessness he did that night. He could almost feel the same pain, just like he did when testifying. The memories rushed through his mind in a random order, as if time was non-linear.

Immediately, Canada pushed her off him. He squealed before jumping up from the couch, rushing towards her and pinning her to the wall. A hot rage flew through his body. Tightly clenching the hems of her garment, he harshly bared his teeth at her, breathing sharply, though not growling or making any other noise.

France’s whole body quivered as she stared wide-eyed, whimpering as she tried to think of a way to calm him down.

Canada’s body suddenly froze out of his control. His whole body grew cold as a moment of clarity suddenly hit him.

I've just attacked my own mother.

Immediately he let go, backing away, staring at her with his mouth agape. Tears began to form in his eyes, and his stomach twirled, a deep pit forming inside it. He dropped to the floor, clutching the sides of his head as tightly as he could, almost pulling against his own hair.

Canada gasped for air, tightening his fists as he rolled to his side. He didn't know what he was doing. It all happened so fast; it was like his brain had jumped right back into that night, except it was a strange, time-warped version of it.

He was much worse now than how he was earlier.

Canada tucked his knees in, wrapping his arms around his legs and burying his eyes into his knees. Tears wetted his school trousers as he whimpered, closing his body further in.

France watched in shock as he did this. Normally, she would've rushed straight to him to help, but she was in shock. He'd nearly attacked her, but she felt so guilty for it. She didn't know how to handle his trauma. She was almost certain she was doing the right thing.

It was clear that she wasn't.

Canada couldn't hear anything other than harsh beating which slammed into his ears. He kneeled down, trying to grip the carpet, but his fingers were too weak to properly grip the material. Suddenly snapping out of her shock, France rushed over to his side, wrapping her arms around his stomach. Canada squealed, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Mon cher, c'est juste moi... (My dear, it's just me...)” she quickly though calmly whispered into his ear. Canada didn't feel calmer, though he felt his body loosen a bit. He still felt like he should be in survival mode. Sweat clung to his hair.

"M-Mommy, mommy mommy," Canada gasped weakly. France wrapped her arms tighter around him, bringing him closer to her until he was properly hugging her.

"Mon cheri, tu es en securite, tout va bien... (My darling, you're safe, everything is fine...)" Canada’s body went rigid, and he stopped quivering and thrashing. She stayed by him, hugging him tighter as she whispered soothingly to him in French, some words he couldn’t really understand. His hair was soft and curly under her touch.

The sun had set further, painting the sky in a dark blue. The living room was golden, being lit from a soft lamp which France had turned on. Canada often liked it like this. It was calming to him, and it reminded him of winter, even though it was in the early spring.

But it wasn't having the same effect on him. All he could think about was what he did earlier.

How could he grab onto and threaten her like that? Especially after everything she'd done for him? She would often try to keep him away for Britain as long as she could, or treat him with a day off school to help him process anything that may have happened whilst under his custody. Remembering that only made him worse.

His body was curled tightly, his knees brought up to his chest, but he wanted to curl in on himself even more.

Of course, he knew what she had done earlier, especially how flawed it was despite her intentions. Having a memory being brought up like that wouldn't make him better. But he realised that every time he threw something or yelled out of fear. Instead of grabbing him and growling in his face like a dog, she always tried to resolve it peacefully. Even then, just after what he did, she hugged him and comforted him.

Canada's heart couldn't sink any lower. He loosened his body, releasing it from its curled position, and layed sideways on the carpet for a little bit, before getting up. As selfish as it sounded (to him), he wanted to take his mind off of what he'd done. It wasn't good to just dwell on it, so he decided to look for his sketchpad.

He flinched a little as the door suddenly opened. It was France, with a Financier in her hand.

“Would you like one?” She asked. Canada widened his eyes a little, his posture becoming a bit tenser. How could she be so kind to him?

"N-No thank you." He responded quietly. His breath began to quicken a little, and he looked down. France sighed quietly, taking a bite from the Financier and sitting on the sofa.

"Petite colombe," she softly called, "could you come here please?" Canada looked at her before slowly walking over to the other end, and sitting down. He carried on looking at her; she didn't look like she'd been crying, but her eyes were flickered downwards a little. Canada looked away.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for what I did earlier." She said softly. Canada looked up, his mouth slightly agape. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by what she said. Why was she apologising? It was him who hit her.

"What?"

"I'm sorry that I triggered your memories earlier. I... I thought that it was the right thing to do because..."

"Don’t say sorry,” Canada said, his voice a lot weaker than before. He tried to sound reassuring.

"What do you mean?"

"I attacked you!" Canada sat up. "I s-scared you r-really badly and I grabbed you a-and yelled at you."

"You growled at me, actually." She butted in, but her voice was still kind. Canada chose to remain silent, laying back down on the couch and closing his eyes, breathing quiveringly. France laid her hand on his head, gently stroking his hair.

"I don't want to say that what happened before... wasn't frightening to me. It was really frightening, but-"

"I'm s-sorry, 'm sorry m-mommy." He whimpered, quietly. France gently placed her hand on his hip.

"I know you are.”

Canada gently tugged at her arm, not wanting to hurt her even further, but at the same time not wanting her to touch him. He didn’t feel like he deserved to be touched. He didn’t feel like he deserved to be shown any love at all, after what he just did to her.

“Okay.” He quietly said. He sat up a little and looked down slightly, his arms crossed. Nothing seemed to make him any better. He didn’t even think that it was his mother’s fault, even though she thought it was. He decided to remain silent for the rest of the night, letting the sadness in his heart slowly calm down.

Nothing he could say would make the situation better, so he left it at that.

Chapter Text

Canada didn’t sleep that night. He did go upstairs to his bedroom, after whispering ‘goodbye’ to his mother and gently ruffling her hair, but he didn’t sleep. His stomach was too nauseated, and his head spun with thoughts about what he did to her.

Normally, he would’ve solely focused on the flashback that he had. He didn’t even think about that for a second. The sound he made as he growled at her, the tightness in his hands as he gripped his mother’s shirt, and the frightened look that she made were all he was able to think about throughout the night.

He was able to sleep for about an hour, at around 5 in the morning. That, oddly, was enough for him to still function, even for a little.

“Bonjour,” France said in an overly cheery tone, upon seeing him come down the stairs in his pyjama top, gently rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Morning, Mommy.” He faked a smile, not wanting to upset her. It upset her when she saw him focusing on his guilt, he knew, so he decided it best to pretend.

“Oh, I haven’t put your breakfast in, I’ll do that-“

“I wanna do it.” He said quickly. “C-Can I?”

“Yes, you may.” Canada rushed over, opening the fridge. Today, he was going to do as much for her as he could. “What’s wrong? You look like you haven’t slept.”

“It’s alright Mommy, I slept fine!” He replied innocently. He locked his fingers together by his stomach and tilted his head slightly, smiling widely as if he was slyly hiding some dark truth about him.

France looked at him, a little concerned. “Alright…”

Canada quickly got out the pancakes before putting them in the microwave. He waited by the microwave, watching them spin around intently. He liked watching them spin. Now, it was something that could take his mind off what he did last night, other than doing excessively nice things for his mother.

He’d made a list last night whilst trying to sleep. He’d figured that facing his fears would make her really proud of him, so he decided to go a nearby store later to buy her some Irises, her favourite flower.

He didn’t take his eyes off the microwave. Like always, he’d pressed his forehead against the screen, watching the plate spin around. He didn’t know why he liked it so much, he just did.

After a while, the microwave beeped. He got out his food, before going into the living room to eat it. He didn’t have any syrup this time.

It tasted a little bland; his mouth was used to the sweet taste of maple syrup, and even though the pancake would’ve been sweet without it, it still tasted bland to him. He’d forgotten to put syrup on in a rush, but decided not to get up and put some on. Maybe today he should do without.

Suddenly, France came in with a cloth. Canada shot up, putting the plate down beside.

“What do you wanna clean?” He said a little quickly.

“The coffee table’s somewhat dirty…” Canada looked at the table. It had a bit of dust on it, and a little plate on it.

“D-Don’t worry!” Canada grabbed the cloth off her and quickly rubbed it on the table. He needed to do this. He needed to do this as quickly as possible. France deserved as much rest as possible, so he needed to do everything for her today.

As he was cleaning, he accidentally knocked the plate.

Why did I do that?

Canada felt his whole body tighten, his free hand trying to stop the plate from falling, but it still dropped anyways.

He was so looking forward to making everything right, but he always managed to do something that would let her down.

Fortunately, it didn’t break, even though it barely missed the soft carpet. But that didn’t calm him down. He felt sick in his stomach, his breathing heavy. The sound it made seemed to pierce his ears, causing him to flinch and cover them.

“It’s alright,” France said with a faint giggle.

“No! N-No, I’m sorry!” Canada quickly picked the plate up, scrubbing the floor underneath.

France grabbed the plate and went to leave the room, but she looked back at him. He was still scrubbing the floor with a desperate pace. Bending down gently, she placed her hand on his head.

“This is about last night, isn’t it?”

Canada threw his head upwards, a new panic hitting him.

“Listen,” France gently held his hand, “just forget it, you made a mistake.” Her voice was soft, as always, but this time especially so.

“M-Mom, wait, it’s- I just…” Canada gasped as he tried to figure out what to say, his fingers clenching tightly as he raised his arms to his chest, but his palms remaining open. France placed her hand on his shoulder as he quickly sighed. “Can I at least do one thing?”

“What’s that?”

Canada thought for a moment. “What’s your favourite flower again?”

Canada hadn’t been out the house on his own ever since he testified. He knew he’d feel scared going out the house – he always did when on his own – but it seemed like the few people who walked past him, regardless of how they looked, was either going to violently attack him or make a rude comment.

Both of these things were as bad as each other.

He had to walk quickly to the store. It was only around 10 minutes away from walking distance, and he lived in a safe suburban area not far from the city centre. Even whilst walking, he could see the few, medium-sized office buildings glistening in the sky. He liked looking at them at night.

He wasn’t focusing on them now. His skin was cold, muscles on edge, and hundreds of ways that he could be harmed ran through his head. Someone was behind him. Every time he looked, though, he couldn’t find anyone.

Eventually, he ended up at the convenience store. The car park could fit 20 cars placed side-by-side.

“I can do this. It’ll make Mommy happy,” Canada whispered to himself, suddenly becoming a little more frightened in case anyone heard, even though there was no one around.

Surprisingly, he felt a bit calmer as soon as he entered the store. He remembered coming here with his mother; in fact, this was the first time he came here on his own, even though he was 15.

He should’ve been proud of himself.

What made him also feel a little better, was that the flowers France requested were in view. A set of purple Irises, wrapped in a green bouquet, the petals fresh with small, white lines stripping down them.

Canada sighed quietly in relief, before yet another mental challenge formed. How much are they? What if they’re too expensive?

They were only $14.99. France had put $20 in his account, so he’d be alright.

Canada made his way to the till. He shakily put the flowers down at the middle of the conveyer; he liked seeing the items move, but he was the only person on there and was too scared to waste any time for the employee.

Was the card in his pocket? Had he forgotten to bring it, wanting to rush out? Today would be ruined if he’d forgotten it. His hand quickly reached into his pocket, almost involuntarily, to find the thin, small card. He held it up, giggling a little, this time not caring what the employee would’ve thought, before placing it against the card reader.

The transaction was accepted.

The employee politely thanked him, but in the most monotonous, uninterested voice a person could physically muster.

Canada flinched a little at the tone. He didn’t know exactly how to process this; the employee was being nice, but they didn’t sound it. Not wanting to cause an altercation, he shakily nodded his head, before exiting the store.

When he’d left, he was somehow feeling worse than before. He needed to be quick. He wanted to get inside as quickly as possible. There was a short, sudden beep, as a car driving towards him hit the brakes.

He squealed, wrapping the bouquet even tighter around his arms. The thought of dropping them made him sick, even if they wouldn’t break. He sped up his pace, and really did not want to be outside anymore.

The strangers that walked past him filled him with dread. At least earlier, he knew that the average person wouldn’t want to attack a 15 year old walking past them. Now, he was absolutely convinced that everyone was out to get him. He was freezing, even though it was a warm-ish day.

Somehow, Canada made it home. He made many quiet, lightning-quick knocks on the door with the joint of his finger.

I need to get inside.

Thankfully, France was quick to open the door.

“Oh, mon dieu! I didn’t know they even had these!” She took the bouquet off him, placing the flowers up to her face. Canada stood there, shaking. He’d done it. He’d gotten over his fears, and made his mother happy.

He felt cold with fear earlier, but now he felt a warmth spreading through his limbs.

Then came the anger. The rage he felt when his father had congratulated him that night.

It came a lot quicker this time. It had only been mere seconds since he’d gotten home, unlike the last time where it had been hours. The heat in his body seemed to explode inside him, and his body was like an unbreakable object, so there was nowhere for the explosion to go.

Canada rushed past her and upstairs, gripping the sides of his head as he ran into his room. He slammed the door behind him, something he never did, before pushing some art supplies and general trash off his desk with one quick sweep of his arm. A short, strangled scream came out of his throat. He thrashed his arms around, more chaotically than usual.

Climbing onto his bed, he brought his knees up, his eyes wide as he pressed his forehead against them.

He heard his bedroom door slowly open. He felt more humiliated. He just wanted to do something nice for her, to make up for last night, and now he’d scared her again.

But then, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He didn’t know how, or why, but he immediately felt a lot calmer. The hot anger seemed to slowly cool down. He still had his back to France. She watched his posture quickly loosen, prompting her to press her hand a little deeper.

Chapter Text

For the rest of the week, very little happened of interest. Canada went outside twice after that; not to complete far-away shopping trips, but short walks in the long street where he lived. Very few walked past him, and he didn’t have anxieties towards those who did, which France thought was a remarkably good sign.

He also didn’t have much anger towards this progress, unlike last time.

On Monday, he had to return to school. He was very excited for this; he’d been extremely worried about how much school that he was missing, especially because he hadn’t been in for around 2 weeks before spring break started. It wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t stop him worrying, so he was quite happy to return, unlike most students.

Canada thought that nobody except Iceland would’ve noticed that he’d gone. He never made much of an attempt to socialise outside of PE and some revision sessions. But when he returned, a lot of his classmates asked him where he’d gone. When he told him that he wasn’t well, most of them moved on, with some asking him if he felt better and having short conversations with him.

He was… shocked. He never knew that so many people cared about him.

“Hey, Капіталістичний (Capitalist)!” A girl called. Canada recognised the voice, from the combined southern USA and Slavic accent, and though he knew she was likely going to make fun of him, his heart began to race, not out of fear, but infatuation.

She was Oksana, or Ukraine as he knew her. She bullied him, sometimes. Not really as bad as the others, she only occasionally made some insulting comments about him being an ‘autistic capitalist’.

But even though he found it scary and offensive, that didn’t stop him from having a little crush on her.

Not really her, but her body and voice. She was incredibly wide, with chubby stomach rolls that even bulged through the loose hoodies that she wore. Her whole body, particularly her thighs, were wide and juicy. Even though she was Ukrainian, she spoke English fluently with a thick, deep drawl, with her words flowing into each other.

Those factors made him completely ignore what little bullying she would give him.

“You ain’t been in school for a long time. Wanna talk?” She sounded angry, but she was grinning, her fists pressed on her hips.

Canada stammered a little.

“I… um… I wasn’t very well…” He nervously itched the back of his head, looking down and grinning slightly.

“You had cancer or somethin’?” She tilted her head.

“N-No-“

“What was it?” Canada didn’t know what to come up with. Any answer would be wrong. He fumbled his fingers nervously. “It’s okay,” she bent down threateningly, reaching his face. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Canada gulped. Why did she have to sound so menacing?

“I- I wasn’t well.” Canada grumbled, spinning around and walking away. He was still blushing slightly, his hands nervously clasping onto each other.

Despite the way she treated him, he still liked her. His heart pained at the fact that she’d probably never want him to be with her. How could someone like somebody else who was cruel to them? He didn’t want to think about that for now.

He wanted to see Iceland, the only person in this school that he got along with.

So… Iceland wasn’t in. Canada didn’t find out why, but he figured it out from him not responding to the register, and the fact that he didn’t see him at all in form or class.

But he wasn’t going to let that spoil his first day back. He didn’t mind spending time on his own, having the bravery to bring out his sketchbook in front of those he barely talked too. Canada had figured that most people in school were only focused on their friend groups rather than bullying him, which was intriguing for him.

This time, he sat on his own, eating some Ready Salted crisps and pulling out his sketchbook.

“Hiya!” He heard another female voice. He flinched harshly, recognizing the accent from Norway’s voice. This time, it wasn’t growly and aggressive; it was sickly-sweet.

Canada had never seen her like this before. This was odd for him. He couldn’t see the malicious intent, even though it was obvious from her barely contained grin and the way her eyes seemed to narrow down at him. Oksana was stood next to her, making a similar though lighter expression.

“What’s that?” She asked, pointing to the small brown book that peeked just above the open bag.

“It’s… um… m-my sketchbook!” How naïve.

Norway raised her eyebrow in faux curiosity. “Can I see?”

Canada flinched again, much lighter than he did earlier. Norway never acted like this. She was always violent and aggressive with him and Iceland. She never hit Canada, but he’d often see Iceland with bruises on his face and arms. Her choice of insults were a lot more ableist, too.

“Yeah, if you want.” Canada smiled. He was kind of happy that Norway was trying to be a better person, even if her presence was making him a little uncomfortable. “I draw naked men sometimes, but they’re not doing anything weird. Is that okay?”

Norway raised her eyes a little. “Naked men, you say?” She sounded sultry.

“Umm… yeah.” Canada responded quietly as he opened the first page. He felt a large, strong arm around his back, a hand tightly gripping his arm. Canada winced slightly, unsteadily rolling his shoulders inwards. Despite how uncomfortable she was making him, he was still happy to show her.

“Umm, you can take it and have a read i-if you want.” His hands grasped the sketchbook a little loosely. Normally, she would’ve snatched it, but instead she calmly took the book into her hands.

Canada knew that he should’ve been happy that Norway was changing. At the same time, he flinched and quivered beside her when he thought of how she violently terrorised him and Iceland, a slight ache oozing in his stomach. The lingering thought that she could snap any minute.

“Canada,” Norway asked, wrapping her arm a little tighter around him. Canada reluctantly let her do it. “What’s your favourite drawing in this book?”

A little too eagerly, Canada took the book and flipped to his favourite page. Like usual, it depicted Dazai Osamu from BSD, fully naked, though this time lying in a highly detailed patch of grass.

“I love this painting so much, you know those grass patches he’s laying on? I had to look through so many images to get the right references, and then I had to-“

As he was rambling, without warning, there was a sharp rip. A large portion on the right-hand side had been removed from the page, the portion in Norway’s hand.

“Oops.” Norway said, without a hint of remorse in her voice. She pushed the piece of paper in his face, before getting up, giggling and gawking at him. He held the piece in his hands.

The piece was ruined. His favourite piece.

The edges were wrinkled, a slight curve at the top. He couldn’t stick it back together. The shape was not only too complex, but the piece of Sellotape would remind him that it was broken, and would never be fixed.

His fists clenched, crumpling up the paper. A slight tremble formed in his lips, and Canada sucked them in, not wanting her to make further fun of him, but they didn’t stop trembling. A small tear formed in his eye, and he felt it pouring a little on his eyelid.

Norway kept giggling, even as she saw him so upset. So hurt that a drawing he’d spent hours on was destroyed. Her giggling was echoing in his ears, the noise overwhelming him despite not being that loud.

A small whimper escaped from his mouth. He put the piece of paper back in the sketchbook, on the same page of the rest of the artwork, before shakily putting it back in his back. An uncomfortable ache rose in his stomach and chest.

He whimpered quietly as he closed the bag, more tears coming out of his eyes, before rushing out of the cafeteria.

“What I did earlier was sick!” Norway jeered. She was walking with Ukraine, who'd witnessed the incident earlier, on a suburban street a little far from school.

"That was... a bit cool." Ukraine responded quietly.

"What d'you mean, a bit?" Norway giggled. "That shit was so awesome! I've never had that reaction before." Oksana made a faint smirk.

"Hey, um... you know where that fucka lives, right?"

"Of course, why?" Norway asked, a little incredulously.

"Um... I wanna beat the shit outta him."

"Oh! Can I come?" Norway inched herself uncomfortably close to Ukraine, grinning.

"His momma seems overprotective, I don't want ya gettin' hurt. I can deal with her ass."

"Alright, I'll send it to you." Norway pulled out her phone, going into some text messages to find an address that she'd violently threatened out of her younger brother a few weeks back. He knew where Canada lived, because he happened to be Iceland.

She forwarded it to Ukraine, who got the message immediately.

"Thanks. Anyways, I'll see ya later." Ukraine waved goodbye. Norway waved cheerily as she left.

There was something that Ukraine neglected to tell her, however. She wasn't going to hurt Canada. As much as she herself bullied him, she'd always found what Norway did to him too far, and this time was no exception. She was going to apologise.

Chapter Text

Ukraine followed the directions set on her phone, the spring afternoon wind blowing against her hair. She was surprised, a little; he was only around a 5 minute walk from where she lived. She never would’ve guessed that he lived so close to her. But she didn’t think about that too much now.

Earlier, even though she didn't show it, it pained her to see his defeated reaction; the way he ran off crying, after gripping the paper tightly, his fingers crunching the paper more in anger and sadness. She knew how it felt to see something that she was working on be destroyed, even though unlike him she had only spent about 5 minutes at what she was doing, and it was due to a sudden software crash rather than an act of malice.

Guilt pained her stomach the more she thought about it. She just stood by and did nothing. She didn't know she'd feel so guilty, especially the way she thought about him and especially over something that would be so small. He was usually just a small target for her. Bullying him and making him feel uncomfortable amused her.

But now, all she wanted was to hear him forgive her.

After checking on her maps app, she found that she'd arrived at his house. It looked a bit nicer than hers; the outer walls had a beige colour, and the door was a deep red with a flower design on the house number. It shared a wall with the neighbour.

The piece that was ripped from Canada's page earlier lay on the coffee table beside Canada, who's head was in his hands. Shockingly, he wasn't that worried about the piece now. He kept sharply flinching, still keeping his hands tightly locked on his head to try and comfort himself.

His mind raced with all the different ways he could’ve responded instead of running away. All were violent and upset him. They were too out of character for him, violent actions he wouldn’t want to do to anyone. He was glad that he ran away instead of breaking down in front of a pile of witnesses, but at the same time, he thought of what would've happened if he attacked her.

"Listen," France whispered, gently caressing his wrist. "I know you're upset, but it doesn't change that you did the right thing by running away." His chest felt a little tighter.

"What if... I c-could've hit her, k-icked her... I c-could've st- stomped on her, anything." He quickly shook his head. He didn’t want these thoughts. He didn’t even know why he had them. He didn’t want to think about where they came from.

"But you didn't." France tried to be comforting, gently rubbing her fingers on his skin.

There was a faint knock on the door. France got up, walking towards it.

At the door stood a rather large woman, with short, almost masculine black hair, wearing a loose and dirty-ish grey hoodie. She had a solemn look on her face, her broad shoulders hunched slightly. France could barely see the whole of her, as she was wider than the door frame.

"Excusez-moi, who are you?" France asked.

"You got a boy named Canada here?" She responded a little quietly. France suddenly felt a little worried, and went back into the living room. "Canada, do you know this woman?"

Canada looked at her, at first a little confused, but he suddenly recognised her. She was Ukraine, in her human form. She never had her human form in school, but liked having it outside. Canada was always intrigued by countries who had human forms, especially because he was one of the very, very few that were born without one.

"Ukraine?"

"I'm real sorry for what happened at school today." Ukraine responded. Canada gasped silently. France did the same, but a lot louder.

"Did you rip his drawing up?!"

"Mommy, stop!" Canada's voice cracked loudly. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't... rip the drawin' up, I just didn't stop her, and I'm sorry."

"I know you were there, b-but you didn't rip it up, it- it was Norway. I don't understand why you're sorry."

"What?"

"I don't understand this. You didn't do it, so why are you sorry?"

"I just feel bad, cus I didn't stop her."

"Well, y-you don't have to feel bad." Canada said softly. France looked at him and smiled a little.

"Thanks, I guess." Ukraine smiled a little too. "I'll see ya tomorrow-"

"Do you wanna see any more of my drawings?" He took the sketchbook off the desk and held it. He was slow and his hands shook a little nervously. Ukraine blushed very faintly.

"It's okay, but thanks anyways!" She awkwardly turned around, quickly walking out of the pathway. France crossed her arms, watching Ukraine essentially disappear after she turned and walked back to her house, before closing the door.

"That was a very mature response." France said calmly.

"Th- Thanks, I just didn't get why she thought she was responsible. She does bully me a bit, but... yeah." Canada opened up his sketchbook, trying to find the next blank page.

France did realise, in that moment, that Canada maybe was a bit more mature than she was. If she was Canada, if she was at the age that he was and had something she'd worked hard on be destroyed, she would've unleashed venom at Ukraine. If Canada wasn't in, she reckoned she would've just then.

France walked up to Canada, giving him a quick ruffle on his head.

"Mommy? Can I tell you something?" He asked.

"What is it?"

"Even though she bullies me, I have a crush on her. I don’t know why." France stepped back a little in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"I... I think she's really pretty, and hot. I just... maybe talk about this another time."

"That's alright."

Chapter Text

Despite his nervousness, Canada went back to school the next day. He didn't take his sketchbook this time, nor did he take any item of personal value, such as the Tally Hall buttons that he wore on his school shirt, just incase they were ripped from him again like yesterday.

It felt weird for Canada that he was so upset about his drawing being destroyed. Especially considering that he already had a photo scan of it, which he'd uploaded to Instagram to recieve a measly 9 likes. Not that he was upset by this; he sort of preferred a low viewership, as higher fame meant higher likelihood that someone would make insulting comments, which would completely destroy his motivation.

Fortunately, whilst at the school cafeteria that morning, he saw Iceland.

"Iceland! How’ve you been?" Canada excitedly asked upon seeing him.

"I'm alright." Iceland said, cracking a light smile. Iceland barely ever smiled. "I'm sorry about what happened yesterday."

"What do you mean?" Canada asked, almost forgetting in that moment.

"About that drawing you did?" Canada nodded lightly. "I'm surprised you didn't hit her or something, to be honest."

"I don't like doing that."

"Neither do I. She gets real angry and beats me up. I've got a lot of bruises from her."

They both stood in silence for a moment.

Suddenly, the school bell rang, meaning it was time to go to form. They didn’t have form together, so they were forced to quickly depart. Iceland was in a lower set, so unfortunately they rarely had classes together neither.

Nothing really happened of note for most of the school day. Canada and Iceland mainly talked about random things they saw on the internet whilst seeing each other at lunch and break. Canada didn't want to infodump too much on Iceland, but he didn't care. It was nice to have another boy to talk to.

Eventually, period 5 came along. Physics, with Mr. Aizawa. Or Shouta Aizawa, as Canada once saw whilst looking at his ID badge which he’d left on his desk. Like most older men, Aizawa scared Canada, even though he never flipped out on him like his father would. Aizawa would raise his voice at the classmates for misbehaving; his voice would be deafening and intense, and Canada couldn't help but cover his ears, even though he was scared of how people would think of him when he did so.

"Alright class, I've marked your mock exam papers that you completed a few weeks ago. Continue the work that I have assigned just now. You may be called to me to quietly discuss the marks you recieved." Canada nodded his head, before looking down at his work.

"Lucas Morin." Aizawa called sternly.

Canada nervously walked up.

"Can you explain why you only got 55% of the marks?" Aizawa asked. Canada felt his stomach drop, even though he wasn't sure exactly what had gone wrong. He always was dedicated to schoolwork, and he was benefited with quite a good memory. What could've happened?

"N-No." Canada shakily responded. He quickly looked away closing his eyes.

"Look at this." Canada opened his eyes again, looking at the computer screen as Aizawa slowly scrolled down. He remembered how he felt taking th mock exam. He was stressed and frightened; not because of the exam itself, but because he knew on that weekend, he would have to make an extended visit to his father. 2 stressful weeks of abuse and being forced to operate a drone from a control room had awaited him.

As a result, he made silly mistakes on the questions. Missed some questions out. Answered 2 questions in the wrong order.

"You don't normally do this. That's why I am particularly surprised."

"I'm s-sorry, I- I don't know- I don't know what happened-" His voice cracked weakly. He prayed that Aizawa would understand that something was going on to make him do this. He always got high marks in his school and homework, always.

"I don't know what happened neither. You never get a score this low." Aizawa didn't sound calm. He sounded gruff. Canada twitched in his seat, his muscles tightening intensely, bracing for the moment where Aizawa would start screaming or hit him.

““I know you’ve worked hard on this, like you work hard in general. But 55% isn’t good enough. You need to listen to work harder, or you’ll practically be worthless in the real world.”

Canada looked down at his fists. He shakily twiddled his fingers together, his arms and hands still tight, his lips curled in a quivering frown.

"You may continue with your studying." Aizawa said. He knew, from this reaction, that the message had gotten to him.

Canada weakly stood up, walking to the desk he was originally at. None of the students saw him, either concentrating on their own work, or messing with their mates.

Canada couldn't focus the rest of the lesson. He was too focused on what Aizawa said to him. It reminded him too much of the things his father said. Throughout the entire conversation he'd just had, he was absolutely convinced that Aizawa would harm him some way, whether it would be beating him with his hands, or pulling out another tooth.

Canada flinched at the memory, before flinching again at the sound of the bell. He grabbed his bag, before racing out of school. He wanted to go to a quiet hillside, just to cry for a few moments.

Ukraine's dark blazer blocked the air from hitting her skin, and made the sun's rays slightly hotter for her. She sighed, wiping her forehead a little as she walked, staring down at her phone and watching some videos on Instagram.

She didn't like the warm weather. She didn't like having to wear a blazer, even though her size already made her feel hotter.

She didn't see Canada at school today. That didn't bother her, but even though she still felt a little guilty for yesterday, she still liked to bully him a little. She didn't see Norway, too.

Just because she didn't see him at school, however, didn't mean she wouldn't see him at all.

Closing her phone, she placed it inside her pocket, finally looking up from it. It was a nice day today. She looked at a slight angle towards the small wooded area to her side, when she spotted someone. A young man with deep red curls, wearing a blue dress shirt with his knees curled up.

Canada?

She heard muffled, drawn out sobs in his direction, and it looked like he was shaking, his head quivering in between his knees. Weak coughs occaisonally spluttered out of his mouth. She didn't know what to do. Very few would know if they were in her situation. But at the same time, she knew she had to comfort him.

She slowly walked over to him, sitting down beside him. "Canada?"

He gasped faintly in shock. "G-Go away-"

"It's okay, I won't-" Canada shot up.

"Go away!" He squealed, his voice shrill and weak. His hands were shaking violently, and he looked at her, wide-eyed with pure fear. Almost immediately he ran off in the opposite direction, running quickly down the hill and disappearing into the small forest.

"Canada!" Ukraine yelled, at first running after him, though stopping to catch her breath. She stopped for a moment, looking at the forest ahead and panting, before calling her mother. She took a while to answer the phone.

"Ukraine?"

"Mom, are you buddies with France?"

"I talk to her sometimes, why?"

"I just saw her son cryin' his eyes out and he's just ran in the forest!"

"Okay, should I phone her?"

"No... I don't know. Let me just try and go after him." She hung up, walking into the forest. She froze as a shrill cry sounded in the air, her heart pounding in her ears, feeling an intense fear for him despite not really knowing him as well. Almost immediately she began sprinting into the forest, oddly not calling out his name.

It took her a while to find him; even though the forest was small, she rushed around almost every corner, before finally spotting him standing tensely and covering his ears.

"Canada!" She called out. He flinched harshly, suddenly widening his eyes as he looked at her. "What the fuck's goin' on?" Her tone wasn't angry.

"Ukraine, I'm sorry!" Is what he would've responded if he hadn't have severely struggled getting the words out. Ukraine came closer to him, her eyes not far from his. Canada immediately rushed into her arms, burying himself in her large, chubby body.

His arms almost crushed her back as they pressed tightly against it, Canada shivering frantically. His eyes remained wide as sharp tears poured down his cheeks, he tried to bury his head but no position was comfortable. He wanted to get out, but he still wanted to hug her tightly.

She was the only one, in that moment, who could give him any comfort.

Ukraine didn't know what to do, what to even think, but she still put a soothing arm around his back. She looked down at his curly hair; it was drenched in sweat.

"Hey, hey," Ukraine called to get his attention, "you gotta fuckin' calm down, okay?" She didn't say it angrily, but it still caused Canada to flinch with fright. He took his arms away from her, still staring with wide-eyed fear, before screeching again, his hands gripping and almost pulling at his hair. His heart raced.

He ran to a nearby tree, punching it wildly. Ukraine felt sick with shock, not because of what she was witnessing, but she couldn't imagine how much Canada must've been suffering. But she still didn't know what the fuck was going on.

"Canada, stop!" She exclaimed, rushing over to him and trying to pull him by his shoulders. Canada stopped punching the tree, suddenly placing his arms by his sides and turning back to her, realising what he'd just made her witness.

In that moment, he remembered something his father told him after a meltdown.

If any woman sees you behaving like an animal, she won't want anything to do with you.

"U-Ukraine?" He said shakily. Ukraine gently came closer to him, stroking his arms to try to calm him down. "I-I'm s-s-so sorry..." Suddenly, he burst into tears once again, dropping to his knees and making intense, childlike sobs. He covered his eyes with his hands, his tears wetting his palms. An overwhelming sadness had overcome him as he thought of both his father's and Aizawa's words.

Ukraine gently wrapped her arms around him, one arm pressing against the back of his head. He heaved painfully, shaking in her embrace, tears wetting her blue dress shirt.

"It's okay. It's okay." Ukraine slowly hushed. "Shh... shh, it's okay." Canada's cries were muffled now, and fading, too. The boy made weak, strained whimpers. He couldn't believe that the girl he'd crushed on for months, had come to comfort him from a meltdown.

He felt like he owed her something. With his mother, he understood because grounding him was her job, but she had little relation to him.

Canada suddenly let go of her, not crying anymore, but tears were gently pouring down his cheeks.

"T-Thank you f-for helping me." He weakly said, making a faint, quivering smile as he awkwardly looked down, one hand stroking the back of his hair.

"It's okay, man." Ukraine cooed. The gentle tone of her voice made another whimper escape his mouth, causing Ukraine to pat his back. Canada breathed out, shakily.

"I'm... I'm really sorry, I- I didn't mean this."

"Hey, it's okay, I promise." Ukraine held onto Canada’s hand as she stood him up. He blushed profusely at her touch. “D’ya want me to walk home with ya?” She asked. He would’ve said yes, but he’d already burdened her enough.

“N-No thanks.”

Chapter Text

Canada had only recently come out of a long, warm shower, one that France suggested he take to calm himself down. He didn't want one, but he still wasn't calm after what happened earlier on, so he figured that it would be useful for him.

He sat on a soft, thick armchair in the corner of the living room that was mostly unused. France kneeled by him, holding his hand gently. His knees were curled up on the soft cushion, and though his breathing wasn't shaky, his eyes were wet and he felt too weak to keep them open. At the same time, he didn't want to go to sleep.

He couldn't stop thinking about what Aizawa said to him. You’ll practically be worthless in the real world. He couldn't help but think that it was true.

"Do you want to tell me a bit more about what happened?" France softly asked, getting up and making some space to sit next to him. Canada curled into her.

"Only a little bit." Canada spoke bluntly. "He just... called me up to explain some exam results and, h-he said that I only got, I think it was 50% or something." He wiped a tear from his eye. Even though he was ashamed of the low results, he slightly burned with anger at Aizawa.

France held onto his hand a little tighter, gently stroking his wet hair with her other hand. She wanted so badly to try to get this sadness and anger out of him, somehow. Even though she knew it would be quite hard, especially for a young boy who's recently escaped an abusive father.

"Then, he just told me I was going to be worthless."

"What did he say?" France hissed. Canada flinched a little, slowly looking towards her.

"He- he said I'd be worthless in the real world."

"Canada, no teacher should ever say that! I'll have to report this." Despite feeling so angry and scared at Aizawa earlier, he suddenly felt scared for him. He didn't know why.

"Y-You can't! It's just one thing he said."

"I know, but he literally caused you to have a meltdown!" Canada raised his shoulders in fear, twiddling his thumbs.

"I d-don't wanna cause anymore trouble! He'll h-hate me if, i-if if-"

"It's alright," France said, the speed of her voice a lot slower, "I won't report him. I promise." Canada looked over at her, before sighing and letting himself snuggle back into her.

Canada went into school the next day, even though he had Aizawa 4th lesson. His heart squeezed with fear; even speaking to Iceland didn't calm him down, nor watching Ukraine from a distance like he normally did. When she wasn't bullying him, his heart would flutter when he saw her, and his whole day would become just a little brighter.

Today didn't have that effect, especially since he was ashamed of how she saw him yesterday. Now, he knew he'd never had a chance. It didn't help, when Norway grinned at him as she walked towards him in an empty, white corridor not far from the cafeteria.

He looked away from her, but she rushed towards him, gripping him by his collar with both her hands. Canada's arms instinctively raised by his chest.

Norway stared at him, her eyes widening a little in surprise, her grip slightly tightening on his collar. He was already this afraid?

“You’re even more of a coward than Iceland.” She chuckled. Canada felt tight, his body trembling. He really didn’t need this, but he was too stressed to be annoyed. “I heard that black-haired teacher said you was worthless yesterday.” Her voice was deep and clear, and she was inches away from his face, her threatening eyes almost choking him. “Is that something he calls you in bed?”

“N-N-No,” Canada weakly stammered. Norway chuckled, looking to her side, before suddenly releasing her grip and quickly walking away. Canada stayed still, his back against the wall as his heart pounded. He didn’t know why he was reacting so fearfully. He rocked gently, still standing as his hands curled into fists, his fingers quickly and harshly trembling. Breathing slowly, his lungs almost struggled to take in air.

He was weirdly thankful no one was there to see him like this.

It was 4th period. Canada didn't look at Aizawa at all. He looked at the board, focusing on what the board was teaching, but not at Aizawa. He was scared, hurt, angry. But mostly scared. This lesson had to be perfect. He didn't want to get any answer wrong on any work set. Fear of getting an answer wrong prevented him from answering any questions that Aizawa told the class, unlike where he'd usually put his hand up and excitedly answer the question.

Surprisingly the lesson went quite well for him because of this. Until:

"Lucas Morin, can you stay behind please? I'd like to talk with you." Aizawa asked in his usual gruff tone at the end of the lesson.

Canada’s stomach dropped. Tension surged in his muscles as he suddenly felt an icy chill spread around his skin, in spite of the warmness of his black blazer. He felt sick.

"Y-yes, sir." It was almost inaudible, to the point where Canada was surprised that Aizawa could even hear him enough to silently acknowledge him.

He was going to scold him again, he was going to do something, he was going to hurt him. Would he hurt him? A teacher wouldn't do that, it was much harder for a teacher to get away with physically harming a student than for a man connected to the nation's military.

Canada quietly whimpered to himself for the next few minutes, listening as the bell rang and watching as all the students left the classroom. He slowly stood up once they were all gone, in spite of his mind yelling at him to stay put. He tried thinking of things his brain could attach to distract himself, settling on his mother and the art he could draw once he got home.

His heart pounded painfully in his ears.

Canada looked up at Aizawa. He looked... sad.

"I said some things that I regret yesterday." Aizawa started. Canada flinched slightly in shock. "When I saw the score of your paper, I was very worried. That score was completely unlike any other score you had. I said what I said because I've found that directly and harshly informing students of the consequences of their actions, is incredibly effective."

"O-Okay-"

"I didn't realise it would cause you this much distress. I'm sorry, Lucas." Tears began to form in Canada's eyes.

"I-It's okay." Canada struggled to get it out. A lump formed in his throat; after thinking that Aizawa hated him for quite some time, Canada was so relieved. It was such a small statement, yet it lifted a weight of a thousand kilograms off his shoulders.

Upon seeing his tears, and noticing that he was breathing very heavily, Aizawa placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re a good student, Lucas. I want to make sure you stay a good student, by any means necessary.” Canada couldn’t stop the tears that poured gently down his cheeks, even if unlike usual he barely made a sound whilst crying. Aizawa gently held onto his shoulder, occasionally making gently rubs with his thumb.

Canada couldn’t believe he was crying in front of a teacher. “I’m s-sorry, I-I ‘m s-s-sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’m sorry, it- it’s just, I- I think it’s weird to be c-crying in front o-of a te-eacher.” Canada laughed a little, but his voice still cracked heavily. He wiped a tear from his eye, trying to breathe deeply.

“It is unusual, but don’t worry about it.” Canada’s breathing began to stabilise and gently slow down. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the tears begin to fade, even though the statement (sort of) confirmed his worries. His breathing was still slightly heavy, even though he’d now mostly calmed down.

“W-Why do you know about this?” Canada asked quietly, his voice now cracking less, but it was still a little weak.

“The receptionist said your mom called about me. She sounded furious.”

Chapter Text

Canada couldn't stop smiling on the way home. He felt a lot freer, like a massive weight had been lifted from him. The fear had mostly disappeared from him, and now he already envisioned himself trusting Aizawa a lot more.

Canada was also relieved to know that Aizawa's stern attitude wasn't out of cruelty. It was much better knowing that he just wanted what was best for him and the other students; he didn't intentionally want to scare them or leave them traumatised. Unlike his father.

The problem was, he still didn't appreciate his mother calling the school. He felt like both him and France had unfairly (in spite of what happened) made Aizawa feel guilty; France for calling the school, and himself for not immediately figuring out that Aizawa had benign intentions. It was understandable why he didn't; the man literally said he'd be worthless in the future.

Remembering what he said caused a weight to form in his chest, his stomach churning just a little. He didn't like remembering such things.

Despite all this, Canada didn't want to confront France. He really hated upsetting her, so he didn't bother. Walking up to the front door, he took a key out of his pocket and inserted it in, before turning it.

Upon opening the door, his eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening slightly as he stepped back, nearly tripping over.

In the hall was a man he'd never seen before, facing sideways, even though his head turned towards him. He was like a Countryhuman, except he had grey skin with no discernible flag. His hair was long and curly, just like Canada's, except it was a deep brown that had faint spots of hazel that were illuminated by the afternoon sun. His nose was rather thick, and he wore dark, square-like glasses with a black, long-sleeved dress shirt that was similar to the ones that Canada had to wear going to school.

The 2 men stared at each other for a short while, possibly seeming like forever. Namjiev didn't seem nearly as shocked as Canada was. France rushed into the hall upon seeing what happened.

"Canada?" France asked. Canada flinched, suddenly looking at her. "It's alright, you can come in."

"W-What's this man doing i-in our house?" Canada stammered.

"He's Namjiev. He's my new boyfriend." She looked back at him, before smiling bashfully.

"W..." Canada stammered. "W-Why didn't you tell me you had a new boyfriend?" He asked quietly, but with a harsh, worried tone.

"I didn't know if you'd approve of him. I didn't know if you'd approve of any man being in our house." Namjiev still looked at Canada, this time a bit more innocently.

So far, Canada didn't know whether he approved. He was happy seeing France in love again, but sooner or later, Namjiev would prove himself to be like most older men.

Most older men, to Canada, were rude, apathetic, or in some cases downright cruel. Someone on the bus who called him a 'pussy' and tried to snatch his Avocado plushie off him. What Aizawa had said to him yesterday. What Britain would do to him during his custodial stays.

Everyone who's mistreated him had been older men.

"I... I don't know how I feel about this."

"Lucas?" Namjiev finally spoke, with a soft, delicate, almost effeminate voice. "I won't hurt you. Not intentionally." Canada stared at Namjiev. Somehow, he was beginning to trust him?

France had somehow managed to coax Canada into the living room. Him and Namjiev sat together on the same couch; Canada was by the arm of the couch, his legs close together effeminately, whilst Namjiev was more relaxed, looking at him.

Canada's chest felt tight. He didn't know what was happeneing. The curiosity about who this man was was growing inside him, yet he was too scared to ask questions. What if Namjiev would be rude? Even him being slightly rude would probably scare Canada away.

"How... how did you meet my mommy?" Canada asked shakily, turning his head towards Namjiev. Canada didn't know where this question came from.

Namjiev wondered why a 15 year old called his mother ‘Mommy,’ but didn't say anything.

"We met on a dating app around a year ago." A year? "I had received a notification saying she'd matched me. I hadn't had one in a while, so I decided to message her and we surprisingly got close."

"W-When did you start talking to each other, like, in real life?"

"A few months after we met. We only did so at weekends. She... she told me that there was a divorce, and you had to go with your father at weekends. Is that correct?" Namjiev seemed to struggle to say this. What did he know?

"Yea." Canada weakly responded.

"Your mum told me you're an artist. I like the way you draw, it's very detailed." Canada's eyes widened, excitement suddenly surging inside him.

"Thank you," he said, smiling. "Do you do anything similar?"

"I like to make music."

"I l-like music as well, I-I have a ukulele."

"I use this thing called Ableton Live, that's what I make my stuff on." Namjiev spoke a bit quicker than before. "What sort of music d'you like?"

"Tally Hall." He reached in his school bag, getting out a packet of buttons with the band's logo on them. "They're my favourite band, they make, like, really weird music but at the same time, it's really good." Canada was giggling a little now.

"I've heard of them!" Canada giggled a bit more at this. "I don't really like their music though, I prefer Todd Edwards."

"I don't know who he is."

"He makes house music."

"Okay," Canada responded with a slightly lesser interest. The conversation delved into a short awkward silence, and Canada didn't know what to say. He felt like he should say something, like words were pushing out of his body, but were being blocked by an unmovable force. He twitched lightly, his arms tensing.

"Are you okay?" Namjiev asked.

"I'm s-sorry, sorry, I-I didn't know what to talk about."

"That's natural."

"What?"

"Sometimes, conversation topics just don't come to you. They don't really come to me, to be honest. I prefer to just let them come when they're ready, so you don't have to worry incase you don't know what to say."

An odd sense of relief spread around Canada. He always felt pressured during conversations to say things, even when he really didn’t know what to say, even when anything he did say made him look weird.

“Do you have anything else that you like to do?”

“Y- Yeah, it’s just…”

“Are you alright?”

“It’s kinda w-weird, cus I’m 15.” Canada opened a cupboard underneath the coffee table, and pulled out his large Avocado plushie. He’d put it in the cupboard during school because he thought it’d feel safe there and it’d rest. “I like to cuddle this.” He handed the plushie to him, the material soft under his hands.

Namjiev stroked it a little, his thumb rubbing its face. “I don’t think it’s weird.”

“S-Sorry, it’s just, I get cautious with new p-people.”

“It’s okay. I have a teddy myself, and I’m 29.”

“That… that’s nice.” Canada smiled.

“I haven’t brought him today, but I’ll show you next time.” Namjiev checked his watch. “Unfortunately, I must get going now. I’m not sure when I’ll see you next, but it shouldn’t be too long.” He got up from the sofa. “Marie?”

France came in, hearing him call her human name. “Goodbye, mon amour,” she cooed, kissing him on the cheek. He smiled bashfully, before walking out.

“Well, what do you think of him?” She asked, sitting where Namjiev once was.

“I… I’m n-not sure, but… he seems okay.” Canada did seem quite nervous, bringing his shoulders up a little awkwardly, but he smiled a bit as he said it.

“I know that… because Bretagne was abusive, it’s made you think… things about men.” Canada’s smile faded, and he still kept his awkward position. France placed a gentle hand on his chin. “I promise you, petite-colombe, there are good men out there.”

Canada smiled lightly.

Chapter Text

It was a mostly uneventful day at school, but despite yesterday, it was still difficult for Canada to go through.  He was happy that Namjiev would be a good father to him, and he was mostly happy that his mother was finding love once again, but he wasn't thinking about that.

He was thinking about Ukraine.

Outside of the day being uneventful, Canada's heart wracked with guilt from what happened 2 days prior. He thought, obsessively, how scared Ukraine must've been, seeing him break down angrily like that, crying hysterically, slamming his fists into a tree. Ukraine wasn't used to seeing this as his mother was, Canada knew.

That was what made today difficult.

He had more of a chance to think about what he could say or do to apologise. Yesterday, he was too stressed and focused on what Aizawa said to him, but now he was surprisingly grateful that he was being given a chance.

Even when he managed to find some sort of idea of how to apologise to her, his hope was still cut short. Every time he saw her, she would be with a group of girls, on one occasion including Norway. He'd hate for other girls to find out. He was certain that they wouldn't be as cruel as the boys, but they'd still avoid him regardless. Being avoided by all the girls in school would humiliate him even more.

The problem is, he didn't want to leave it too late. As it got to the middle of the day, he began to feel a little sick; the longer he'd wait, the less likely she'd be interested in him. She'd think he was selfish, he was certain.

He didn't want that to happen. Ukraine was the only girl he was interested in. His heart fluttered wildly whenever he saw her; even when she was mean to him, it gave him butterflies and all sorts of happy thoughts, knowing that at least she knew about him.

That's what made it worse. Today, she didn't even give him that attention.

"So, what exactly do ya write about?" Norway asked innocently.

"It's a... a bit complicated." Ukraine didn't really know why she was getting so embarassed. She was with someone who violently bullied, possibly abused her younger brother. "I write men gettin' hurt, like, real bad."

Norway looked surprised, her lips curling into a faint smile. "I love men getting hurt." Her voice was uncomfortably husky. "Especially my younger brother. I love hearing him whimper in fear under me."

Even though Ukraine preferred this in a fictional scenario, it still sounded hot regardless.

"And Canada, too." Norway continued. "But I don't really get a chance to do it that much. I don’t see him much out of school, and there seems to be teachers everywhere.”

"I'm not so sure about Canada no more." Ukraine suddenly responded. Though she didn't show it, she flinched a little. She didn't want Norway knowing about what had happened that day; she'd make his life a living nightmare.

"What?" She asked, a little quiet.

"I just prefer to make fun of him, not hurt him badly."

"Why?" Norway interrogated. Ukraine stopped, suddenly turning to her. Her arms were crossed as she frowned a little threateningly.

"Well, it's just... I feel a bit bad for him, I dunno why." It seemed as if everything she said, she was digging herself into a deeper hole. But fortunately, Norway seemed to immediately calm down.

"What do you mean?" She tilted her head slightly.

"The kid just seems like an awkward scaredy-cat. He flinches a lot with me, n' some of the boys his year. I can get Iceland. You've got some shit goin' on, n' you need to take it out on Iceland. He only gets scared with you, not with me, but Canada's scared of everyone." Norway carried on listening. "Plus, I think you told me 'Zawa said some bad shit to him. I just... I don't think we should target him anymore."

Norway stood with her head tilted a little innocently. She looked down. As Ukraine began to speak, Norway suddenly gripped onto her arm as tightly as she could. Ukraine's eyes widened, fear suddenly entering as a chill in her body.

"If I wanna hurt a weak, pathetic boy until he's bleeding and crying, I will. Do you understand?" Norway spoke calmly, but Ukraine still twitched at her words.

"Get off her!"

Norway and Ukraine both flinched. That voice sounded familiar. They both looked to the direction it was coming from, with an almost uncanny synchronisation.

It was Canada.

"Don't h-hurt her, please." He said, a lot weaker than how he did before. Norway grinned.

"Hello, Maple~" She quickly walked towards him. Canada stayed still, quivering and refusing to move, as Norway grabbed onto his collar and pulled him up. Ukraine watched, unsure of what to do.

Canada didn’t try to stop her, even as she slammed him into the wall, his head and back banging painfully against it. He yelped. Ukraine didn’t have the reaction she’d usually have. She used to feel stronger than him, stronger than anyone. Now, after seeing his meltdown, she didn’t have that reaction anymore.

Ukraine rushed up to them, grabbing onto Norway’s arms. Norway let go, yanking her hands away, staring at Ukraine with shock. “Just get off him!”

“U-Ukraine??” Canada weakly asked.

“It’s gettin’ old doin’ this shit.” Ukraine barked, harshly grabbing Canada’s back and pulling him away. Norway didn’t follow them, instead staying there, wondering what had happened. Ukraine would always be by her side; even earlier that day, she laughed when Norway lunged at her younger brother Iceland threateningly.

Canada’s stomach was in knots as he walked with Ukraine. Yet again, he felt so bad. He hadn’t even apologised to her, yet she was saving him. He didn’t deserve this.

He kept his eyes away from Ukraine, fearing that she’d somehow turn on him. He didn’t want to raise his hopes up. She would turn on him, make him do things he didn’t want to do, holding his meltdown over his head.

That’s what his father would’ve done. For the first time in a while, he remembered something from his childhood. Being starved the day after having a minor meltdown. It wasn’t even his worst; he was just shaking and crying and clutching his head, but this was during a custodial weekend, and unfortunately Britain had walked in.

For the next day, he had nothing to eat at all. His stomach felt queasy with emptiness, and multiple times he’d felt light in his head. Even despite seeing his weak condition, his father had forced him to run on a treadmill, even when he’d passed out.

Canada shivered slightly. Ukraine was a woman, and women (even Norway) were incapable of abusing the way men did. Even Norway mostly grabbed his collar and simply repeated threats to him.

“You alright after that?” She asked, quickly ruffling his hair. Canada flinched as her voice interrupted his thoughts. Her voice sounded like butterflies. He didn’t respond for a moment, twitching with fuzziness.

“Um… I’m okay. You didn’t have t-to do that.” He responded, smiling bashfully as he rubbed the back of his head.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, man. I didn’t want her fuckin’ your ass up.” Canada giggled.

“Um… I’m really s-sorry for yesterday.”

“What happened yesterday?” She didn’t remember. Should he still apologise?

“Um… you… you saw me, having a meltdown.” He didn’t want to let the words out.

“Oh, yeah…” Canada’s stomach was in knots. The thought of her being uncomfortable around him made him so scared. “That was crazy, yesterday, but ya don’t have to be sorry for it.”

“Huh?” Canada seemed to flinch at what she said.

“You were scared yesterday; ya shouldn’t be sorry for that.”

“B-But… it s-scared you. I scared you!”

“I didn’t feel scared, I just felt bad for ya. You were shakin’ and cryin’… I’m surprised you didn’t piss yaself.” Canada giggled a little.

“I’m just… I’m sorry.” Ukraine ruffled his hair.

“Remember I asked ya what happened earlier? I’ve mostly forgotten about it. Ya don’t need to worry!” She walked a little quicker in front of him.

“Ukraine?” She turned back. “Just before you head home, c-can I tell you something?”

“What’s goin’ on?” Canada’s heart began to pound. He wanted to compliment her and make her feel better, and this should’ve been easy, but it was just… so hard. There was a chill deep in his skin, his arms tensing and quivering.

“I… I think you look really pretty in th-that hoodie.” Despite Canada having the weakest voice possible, Ukraine smiled bashfully.

“Aww, that’s nice! Anyways, I gotta head home now.” She didn’t sound uncomfortable at all.

Chapter Text

The only thing stopping Canada from taking the day off was the long absence before spring break. After what happened with Norway, he really didn't want to go the next day. He couldn't be alone at all through the day, else he'd probably be beaten bloody.

But that was what confused Canada. He always knew women as really nice and understanding, and the men (especially older men) as dangerous. But Norway was an outlier. She must’ve had some male genes.

At breaktime, Canada was in the quad, doing his favourite thing that time of day; awkwardly leaning against the cafeteria building and watching Ukraine talk to her friends. He loved doing that. This time, instead of talking with a large gang of girls, she was sat on a bench, talking to another girl he didn't really know the name of. He kinda liked her, too, as she was just as plus-sized as Ukraine, but he wasn't familiar with her personality.

Ukraine normally didn't notice him, so that's usually what made it easy for him to watch her out in the open. But this time, it was a bit difficult. She kept looking over at him. Fortunately, every time she did, he quickly looked over.

Other than that, Canada stared at her, almost in a trance. The way she bounced her thick legs, one crossed over the other, raised the hairs on the back of his neck. Her thighs were huge.

It was her stomach that infatuated him the most; the way it seemed to bulge massively as she sat down. He was so tempted to run up to her, to smother his face into her thick belly and thighs, but he really didn't want to creep her out.

Not just because it risked her losing interest in him or the annihilation of his reputation, but it could potentially traumatise her. He wanted to keep her safe from harm.

"Yo, 'Nada!" Ukraine's voice broke him out of his trance. She smiled at him, a little cutely, but that didn't get rid of the intense embarrassment he was feeling. "Wanna come sit next to us?"

Canada, for a brief moment, didn't want to sit next to them. He wanted to run away and hide, to just disappear into thin air. How long was she looking at him for? He was going to decline the offer, but he flinched at a sudden realisation. If he did, he would lie awake in bed that night, deeply regretting his decision, possibly for the rest of his life.

This could be my only chance.

"Thanks," Canada weakly stammered, awkwardly walking towards the bench and sitting in the middle of the 2 girls.

"Man, is it hot out here today?" Ukraine said energetically. Canada giggled, before looking at the other girl beside her. She was another Countryhuman, with a dark-blue flag that had the white outline of Antarctica’s landmass on it. "I'm glad I called ya up jus' now. I got somethin' for ya both." She pulled out her phone. It was against the school rules, and Canada would've privately told a teacher later on, but this was his crush.

Ukraine loaded up an app on her phone that had a series of wheels on it. She opened up one wheel called 'Dares'.

"What is this?" Canada asked quietly. He was almost certain that Ukraine could hear the thumping of his heart.

"It's a set a' dares that one of us gotta do." Ukraine tapped her phone to spin the wheel. The dare it landed on, caused Canada's eyes to widen more than they ever did before in his life.

Give a long French kiss to any boy in your group.

There was no way. Absolutely no way. He couldn't believe it.

He giggled, smiling weakly. "Are you really going to do this?" Canada asked.

"One of us will." The other girl responded seductively, as Ukraine left the page before going onto another page, listing both her's and what he presumed was the other girl's name.

Canada watched as the wheel spun quickly, aching as it began to slow down. He didn’t mind kissing the other girl, but Ukraine was who he really wanted. His hearing was almost covered with a quick, steady banging, as the wheel slowed down, until…

It landed on Ukraine.

Canada’s whole body tensed up, he couldn’t stop his eyes from widening quickly. The other girl giggled, but he didn’t care. He almost would’ve started laughing, but at the same time, he was so terrified. What if he ruined it? What if he had another meltdown? No. That couldn’t happen.

Ukraine gently placed her thick arm on his side. He stared at her wide-eyed, his heart pounding at her faint smirk, before she suddenly inched closer to him, pressing her lips against his.

His eyes fluttered, shutting completely as she placed her tongue in his mouth. A warm flush spread down his body, his body shaking and twitching in her arms. He placed his tongue against hers, his cheeks red as he almost gasped for air.

There was a tightness in his pants.

Suddenly, Ukraine let go, pulling her lips away and covering her mouth, her cheeks also flushing slightly. Canada looked down, his hands swiftly flapping sideways. His brain couldn’t process what had happened, and the heat in his body was overwhelming, but not enough to cause a meltdown.

“Wow,” Ukraine said, a little huskily.

For the first time in a while, Canada didn’t care about getting weird looks from other students. He smiled widely for the rest of the day, sometimes quietly giggling to himself and flapping his hands. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. He’d give anything to feel Ukraine’s lips, even just for a second. To feel her tongue deep in his mouth, to feel her thick, thick arm on his side.

He had no idea something like this would ever happen. He thought he was never going to have a chance with her, especially with how she saw him that day. His heart just wouldn’t stop fluttering.

Even as Canada was walking home, he was smiling, though a little faintly due to how his mouth ached slightly from smiling so much. The wind felt nice on his skin, the blue sky was nicer than it was normally, he didn’t even think that anyone he crossed was going to say anything nasty, which was a real first for him.

However, after opening the front door to his mother’s house, his smile faded.

It was Namjiev.

He wasn’t slightly shocked like he’d seen him a few days ago. He was clutching his head tightly with both his hands, facing the wall, his breath heaving painfully. A few wracked sobs quickly escaped him as his arms shook violently.

Canada’s eyes widened. What was happening? Why was he like this? Frightened, Canada looked around, suddenly noticing France soothingly rubbing Namjiev’s back. He’d pressed his head against the wall, making painful wheezes. France gently whispered something in his ear; whilst it didn’t calm him down, whatever she said caused him to tightly wrap his arms around her.

“C'est bon chérie,” she whispered a little louder, in a sweet yet sad voice. It’s alright, honey. He knew what it meant because she told him once, when he’d cried in dread the night before a custodial visit with Britain. He always felt sad when he heard it. His eyes felt wet.

“N-N-Namj-iev?” Canada asked. Namjiev froze up, shakily turning his head to face Canada.

“L-Lucas!” He yelled, his voice cracking. He suddenly ran up to him, falling on his knees, hugging his waist. “P-lease Lucas! I’m s-sorry I didn’tmean I didn’t mean it!” Canada could just barely make out what he was saying, Namjiev’s words jumbling up into incoherency. Canada’s mind and heart raced, unclearly moving in different directions.

Shaking, he looked up at France, the sound of Namjiev’s frightened rambling becoming almost overwhelming. She looked shocked.

“I’m… I’m really sorry.” Namjiev said weakly. He and Canada were sat on the same sofa they were the other day. Canada didn’t look at Namjiev, weakly staring at his hands as his fingers twiddled each other. He didn’t think Namjiev would hurt him, but seeing him so frightened and desperate scared him. He’d never seen anyone like this before. Not even himself. Though he remembered some of his meltdowns, his mother fortunately wasn’t one of those mums who’d record them to spread awareness online.

“I just… I- I though I was, like, the only person who had, m-meltdowns.” Canada weakly responded, looking up at Namjiev.

“Lucas,” Namjiev said, placing a gentle hand on his, “I understand how you feel. I always did.”

“What?” Namjiev hadn’t been in his life. He hadn’t seen a single meltdown from him.

Namjiev sucked in his lips a little. “Were you abused by your father?” Canada flinched at the question, but was still somehow willing to provide an answer.

“I- I think so.”

“I, too, have experienced childhood abuse.” Canada gasped faintly. “It wasn’t nearly as bad as what I’ve heard from France, but it still affects me. It was the reason why I was like I was earlier.”

“W-Why do men hurt their kids?” Canada yelled, not at Namjiev. Namjiev frowned, shaking a little in annoyance at the assumption, though understood why.

“It was my mother.” Canada turned sharply to face him. “My mother abused me.”

What? How was this possible? All mothers had an instinct to protect their children from harm. Women were powerful, and kind, too. Even Ukraine, a girl who bullied him, had the kindness to kiss him, placing her tongue in his mouth.

“Wh… wha… h-how? Only men can abuse!”

“It’s alright if you don’t understand. Don’t worry too much. As I said, she wasn’t as abusive as your father.” His voice weakened as he said it. “I need to… get going soon. I’m gonna go talk to your mum for a bit, okay?” Namjiev rubbed Canada’s arm, the boy still sitting confused. There was a faint tear in his eye.

Namjiev got up, walking out the living room, leaving Canada to sit wide-eyed. How could this have happened? He understood that Norway was abusive, and he didn’t want to undermine the trauma Namjiev had been through, but Norway, he figured, was just an angry teenager. Once she grew up, she’d be a much better person.

It’s the men that were dangerous. Namjiev was an outlier. Every time he read about a case of domestic violence somewhere, or on the extremely rare occasions he thought back to his own abuse, the perpetrators were men, never women.

Something wasn’t adding up.

Chapter Text

What he saw with Namjiev should've been something that stuck in his mind. No violence occurred, and Namjiev didn't shout or scream aggressively, but Canada remembered being scared, and Namjiev just barely reminded him of Britain, except he'd done good to block it out.

Like most of his bad memories, Canada blocked it out pretty quickly, focusing on his art just before he went to bed. He'd at least figured it caused him to be socially anxious and fearful of strangers, but that anxiety was a small pinprick compared to how frightened he'd feel by thinking about them.

But Canada had something else to focus on. The kiss. That kiss he had with Ukraine was, at times, the only thing his brain could ever focus on. He didn't really think about much else, other than his art and speaking to his mother occasionally. It got to the point where he'd often be in a trance, and someone would try to talk to him and he'd ignore them.

What made it more miserable for Canada was the fact that he couldn't kiss her again. He wanted nothing more than to feel her body once more. To feel her warm lips on his own, their wetness making his body twitch, to feel her thick, fat arm on his side, and the faint touch on her huge thigh from his hand.

At least he knew her Instagram handle. @oksana_ukie494. She sometimes posted pictures on there, but it was there he saw angles of her that he never got to see at school. She'd posted a picture in her human form once with her school blazer on, of her sitting down with her tongue out.

His favourite selfie she took also was her human form. She wore a grey hoodie with black sweatpants, and was on her knees in a way that somehow thickened her thighs. He saw it on the Wednesday, 2 days after the kiss, and felt an unbearable heat in his body, and a sickness in his stomach. He released it soon after, quivering intensely as he did so.

But he knew that merely looking at images of her wasn't enough. He needed to feel her touch, he needed to hear her voice. He needed to hear her quick breathing, just like she was when she kissed him. It was a little worse, though, knowing that it was for a dare. What if she was just pretending? What if she didn't actually want him as a partner?

On Friday was when things really started to heat up.

Canada was sitting down on the bench where the kiss happened that Monday. A lot of people were inside, likely due to either a club in the main building, or some sporting event in the gym that he wasn't interested in. He'd taken his blazer off, the cool air and the warmth from the sun hitting his skin, his curly hair blowing slightly in the wind.

Sitting on that bench, made his stomach flutter at the memories. It was a miracle that no-one saw what happened, especially considering no-one came to confront him about it.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Ukraine. She was walking towards him, in fact. He didn't see the look on her face, so couldn't discern why, but not that it mattered.

His heart was beating fast. Was she going to kiss him again?

The bench creaked, and Canada felt the fabric of a blazer taking up most of the skin on his arm. He couldn't stop shaking. He didn't want to look at her, for some reason, but he really didn't know what he was going to say to her.

He'd been focusing for so long on the kiss that they had, that anything he would say would be about anything. It was like he'd forgotten about how to converse properly with people.

Can you kiss me again? would've sounded so weird, but any other sentence would've sounded so wrong.

"'Sup?" Ukraine asked. Shit.

"H-Hello?" Canada responded, very slowly, his voice barely hanging on. It was a miracle she could even hear him. "H... how... are you?"

"Doin' fine." Canada struggled to make out the tone of her voice. Was she angry? Disappointed? Regretful? Trying to seduce him? The latter was, deep down, what he hoped. "There's somethin' I wanna talk about." Canada faintly looked over at her, before looking away immediately as the heat suddenly worsened. Her legs were bouncing nervously. Her thick, thick legs.

"What about? A-Are you-"

"You're a good kisser." Canada faintly felt her twitch right beside him. His mouth opened slightly, struggling to comprehend what she'd just said.

"I... I don't... i-in what way?" He felt sick, his arms twitching fast.

"When we had that kiss on Monday, you just... ya let me take control. Let me do whateva I wanted to do."

"Th... thanks." Canada felt a strange calm, mixed with fear. Now was the time to tell her how he'd been feeling. There was always other options. Women were always nice to him, and that Antarctica girl looked exactly like her.

"C-Can I t-tell you something?"

"Sure." He sighed quiveringly, crossing his arms. "You don't have t' worry," she cooed soothingly.

Here goes nothing.

"For... for like, a few months... I've... been really attracted to you. I don't... know how it started... but I've had a crush on you. I just- I want to get to know you... better?"

Ukraine's cheeks flushed.

"Do... do you want to, maybe go get something to eat, either on the weekend, o-or in the w-week?" Canada twitched violently. "It can be a friendly thing!" He clarified quickly.

"You free on Sunday?" Ukraine said. Maybe she could give this boy a chance. He wasn't nasty to her, even though she bullied him. In fact, he was quite cute, and really nice too.

"I- I think so...?"

"Good."

Chapter Text

Canada was on edge that morning. He'd forced himself to wake up at dead-on 8:30 in the morning, even though Ukraine had wanted to  meet him outside the McDonalds at 12:30. As soon as he got up, he had a long, cold shower, dousing his hair in curl nourishment shampoo and washing himself with high quality soap 3 times over.

After he had his breakfast, he brushed his teeth for 10 minutes, obsessing over every individual tooth. This date had to be perfect.

"Why does she want to go to McDonalds? Couldn't somewhere like a coffee shop be a better option?" France asked him whilst he was searching for the flannel shirt he'd wear. He wouldn't put it on now, incase he dirtied it.

"I don't know- I don't wanna answer questions, I'm just a bit stressed." Canada responded quickly. His voice cracked with nerves.

"I was just curious, McDonalds is a dirty place-"

"I want her to take control with this date," Canada yelped, "she's done a really nice thing by letting this h-happen, I j-just..."

"Canada," France placed her hand on his shoulder, "It's only 11. You only need to leave in about an hour, don't worry too much."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry 'm sorry." Canada quickly placed his head in his hands. He was so scared incase somehow he'd ruin it. Maybe he'd say something, maybe accidentally bring up one time where she bullied him. He deeply regretted everything he did wrong, even speaking to his own mother slightly rudely out of stress, and he'd hate to inflict that regret on someone else.

"M-Mommy?" Canada weakly asked.

"Oui?"

"W-When you had y-your first d-ates with Dad and N-Namjiev, how did they behave?"

"They were quite charming."

"H-How?" She'd forgotten he needed detailed instructions.

"They smiled a lot, they were quite calm and nice. Britain was especially so." She didn't say, but that what made how he treated Canada so surprising to her. He never laid a finger or insult on her, and always treated her like a queen.

"H-How can I b-be calm?"

"You just have to breathe, and let her take control. I d-don't want you thinking I'm being mean, but... try not to talk too much. I know you talk a lot about your interests when you're excited, and you can do so the more you get to know each other, but try not to right now."

"O-Okay." He didn't take offence, but he placed his hands on his head. He wanted to see Ukraine. He was going to be as nice as he could to her, and he wouldn't let anything ruin it. "I think I'm r-ready now, for, for later."

Canada saw her in her human form as soon as he was in sight of the McDonalds. It was a medium-sized building with 2 floors by a small business park, and he could see the small skyline from where he was standing.

Ukraine was talking on her phone, her big back turned to him, her short, black hair illuminated slightly by the sun. Canada slowly approached her, tensely, almost unwilling, and his breath hitching, both in adoration for her and fear.

Ukraine suddenly hung up, turning around. "Hiya, 'Nada!" She cheered. His heart skipped a beat, fluttering intensely. For a moment, he genuinely couldn't believe that she wanted to be his girlfriend, especially after witnessing him having a violent meltdown.

"Um... hello." He nervously smiled. She ran towards him, suddenly wrapping her arms as tightly as she could around him. He gasped, his eyes widening slightly.

"I've been lookin' forward to this!" She said after letting go of him. "You wanna come in?" Canada awkwardly nodded his head, causing her to giggle. He'd never really felt her touch before. They both walked inside the building, going to a self-service station. His hands quivered immensely as he touched the screen, ordering a double cheeseburger with medium fries, and a Tropicana orange juice.

"D'you want me to order, or let ya order for me?" Canada would've decided not to have her do the work, but he chose the former out of fear of accidentally getting it wrong.

"Y-You can order yours."

"Alright." Canada tensed up somehow even more as she ordered her meal. She hadn’t spoken angrily, instead with her usual calm voice, but he’d made her do something. He didn’t know whether he’d disappointed her. Maybe she was expecting him to do everything for her? He was quite happy too, but he just didn’t want to get her order wrong.

He frowned a little, his face awkwardly facing the floor, but his eyes still focusing on her large, curvy figure. She looked back at him, tilting her head to the left.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm s-s-so- rry, it, it's just... I don't want this date to end badly, so I- I'm just a bit w-worried."

"Hey," she soothed, stroking his shoulder. "You don't gotta worry about things like that, 'kay? This is ya first date, if I'm right." Canada nodded, feeling a bit relieved.

"I'll pay for it." He said, noticing the order details."

"It's aight, I've got my-" Before she could finish, he suddenly pulled out his card, pressing it on the machine. She giggled. "Aww, you're such a good man for me!" Canada blushed, weakly crossing his arms as he smiled awkwardly. He breathed a quivering sight of relief as the card accepted, and the order number came up. They both went to the queue to pick up their order.

"The queue's not a-as long t-today." He quivered as Ukraine gently ruffled her hand through his hair.

Whilst they were waiting, Canada suddenly flinched at the sound of 2 people yelling suddenly coming from the front of the store.

The shouting sent a sudden shock through his body. He spun around, staring in shock at the 2 people, even though they weren’t yelling that intensely. His heart lurched, suddenly and violently, seemingly multiple times over as his shoulders tensed up, his body suddenly rigid.

Something could happen. Could there be a fight? Could they somehow turn on him?

A security guard suddenly came, telling them to leave the store, an instruction they were surprisingly cooperative with.

"Don't worry about it, jus' some crackheads." Ukraine said. He turned back to face her, her appearance calming him slightly. He didn't want to be scared today. The couple didn't even yell as badly as his father would, so why would he?

Canada flinched as their order number was called. He walked with Ukraine to the front desk, making sure to pick up the bag instead of her, wrapping it tightly around his arms.

"It's not a baby," She joked. He didn't take offence, not that he would've. At least he was keeping it safe. They both walked upstairs, finding a table to eat.

"What d-did you get up to yesterday?" Canada asked.

"I just did some homework. I ain't like most kids, I don't procrastinate on shit. How 'bout you?"

"I-I did homework as well! I also d-did some art." Ukraine looked so beautiful to him.

"I think ya told me 'bout that. I do sumn similar, I like to write."

"Okay! Are you comfortable telling me what you write about?" Ukraine was somewhat intrigued by him saying this, especially considering what she wrote about.

"Uhh... not yet."

"That's alright!" Ukraine took a sip from the coke whilst Canada ate the cheeseburger, slowly dipping in the ketchup and obsessively ensuring he wouldn't drop it.

He was shaking. This was his first date, his first chance of having a romantic relationship, and he was supposed to be happy. Why wasn't he happy? Why was he stressed? Why couldn't he stop thinking about those people fighting?

"You okay?" Ukraine asked. Canada flinched.

"Uhh... yeah." He said quickly.

"You didn't seem it. I don't want this bein' stressful for ya, that's all." She sounded soft, like a fluffy sweater.

"I just... you know those... people arguing earlier?"

"Yeah?"

"That... really scared me for some reason."

"That's okay," Ukraine soothed, gently holding his hand, "sometimes things just scare you and ya can't stop thinkin' about them." Canada thought about asking her if she had anything like that, but didn't want to bring up bad memories, especially after she said such a sweet thing to him.

"Th-thanks," he weakly responded. "I've also never been on a date before, so I don't really, like, know how it works."

"Want me to tell ya a secret?"

"Yes."

"This is mine too." She giggled after saying it. "I had a boyfriend in elementary, but we never did dates n' stuff. I just went 'round to his house and played on the Wii." Canada giggled too.

They'd long left the McDonalds, and were now strolling mindlessly in a nearby park. Ukraine had an orange-flavoured lollipop which she was sucking on, and Canada was nervously staring at the floor, walking slowly to match her pace.

"Man, it's warm out here today." Ukraine said, causing Canada to flinch slightly.

"What do you like about being warm?" Canada said suddenly, wanting to continue the conversation.

"I dunno." She replied. She sounded sweet, but Canada was still worried. She wasn't talking as much. Had he scared her away? He needed to be charming.

"That hoodie l-looks very nice on you."

"Thanks," Ukraine responded, "that shirt makes ya look so adorable." Canada suddenly stopped, blushing and tensing up. He was wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt with a red checkered pattern, his favourite shirt to wear.

"Uhm... I d-don't know... I'm really happy, I just don't know what to say." Canada awkwardly giggled, his hands suddenly flapping intensely.

"Aww," Ukraine cooed, tilting her head. Canada suddenly stopped. He shouldn't stim in front of other women.

"S-Sorry, I g-got a bit out o-of control." He grimaced.

"No worries." As Canada walked on ahead, he felt a sudden slap just below his asscheek on his leg. "So did I," she giggled.

Her sweet voice did nothing to calm him. A faint dizziness grasped his head, the touch of her hand feeling like it hadn’t left, even though it was only a faint slap. It felt wrong. Painful. Frightening. He felt like crying out, but he didn’t know why. The memories that were coming were only faint, but he didn’t want to remember them.

He didn’t want to think about them.

"Hey," Ukraine placed her hand on his shoulder. "I'm real sorry, I didn't to make ya feel uncomfy." She sounded soft, gentle. His brain was still jumbled, but he didn't want to focus on that. He wanted to focus on her.

"It's a-alright." He weakly responded.

"Anyways, I gotta head back." She planted a kiss on his cheek. "I really enjoyed today! We could text a bit when I get back." Despite how scared and confused he was feeling, for a split second, Canada still couldn't believe he had a girlfriend.

Chapter Text

Canada rushed home. His brain was becoming more rushed, more afraid. Why was he remembering things? Why was the memory not clear? Why was he not thinking about how fun the date was, how sweet Ukraine was?

"Mon petite colombe! How was the date?" France yelled sweetly, walking in.

"Um, uh- uh it was fine, fine!"

"Are you alright?" France asked. Canada was shivering. He felt pain. He didn't know why he was feeling pain.

"W-What's happening?!" Canada yelped, his voice cracking, as his vision blurred.

A thin, long pipe slammed into Canada’s backside. A violent, extreme blast of pain hit him, adding onto the pain he was already feeling, the agony burning on his bare skin. Canada hoarsely cried out. Britain’s other hand crushed his back, his fist tightly grabbing the fabric of his pyjama top in fury. The man raised his hand, the metal pipe striking forcefully again.

“AAH! D-Dad s-s stOP!!” Canada yelled. His skin was erupting in a new agony every second, and he didn’t know whether he felt blood oozing down his skin, or Britain had beaten him that badly that his skin was numbed.

He was so scared.

Britain, not caring about his son's pain, immediately raised the metal pipe again, striking him just as hard as he did before.

"Dad! Please s-top- ah!"

"What do you want?!" Britain growled in his ear. "You want me to stop?!?"

"Y-Yes," Canada whimpered, his voice a lot weaker. Britain sighed, throwing the metal pipe to the side. Canada winced at the harsh sound it made.

"Alright, I'll stop. But you promise me one thing." Britain inched closer to Canada's face, making him flinch a little again. "Don't you EVER ring your mother again. Only I can talk to your mother whilst your here, not you."

Britain grabbed Canada by his pyjama top, pulling him off his lap. His grip was surprisingly calm, but still threateningly strong. He held Canada’s hand, gently walking him out and upstairs into his room.

Canada was still tense with fear. He normally would’ve been overjoyed that his father wasn’t extremely angry anymore, but his backside and legs were in too much pain. His mind barely processed how he’d tucked him in gently once he was in bed.

Canada suddenly saw the world through blurry vision. Harsh beats were pounding incessantly in his ears and he was breathing heavily. He couldn't even breathe at all. He shook. His arms shook. His legs shook. He didn't know where he was. There was nothing to see, nothing to touch.

"Canada?" He could hear France's rather soft voice. He backed away, but he flinched as his foot nearly stepped onto something a little sharp.

His vision cleared out of nowhere, the sudden sharpness almost like a violent blast to him. He looked around, his eyes darting. This was his living room. This was not his father’s basement.

There were pieces of a blue cup on the floor. Smashed. He brought his fists to his mouth, exhaling sharply as grief suddenly entered him.

"Canada, look at me." France said. She held onto his hand, her other hand gently cupping his face. "Try and breathe, okay?"

He made his mother afraid, yet again. He promised her he wouldn't do ever this.

"M-Mommy?! What did I do?!" He yelled in panic, his voice weakly cracking. "Mommy!"

"Canada, you only threw a cup. It wasn't at me, it was at the floor, and you started to cry." She said it calmly, but Canada could still tell she was frightened by what she'd witnessed.

"Mommy!" A weak whimper softly let out of his mouth. Another soft cry, this time a little longer, followed by another. His vision was blurry once more, but not as blurry as it was earlier. He couldn't see anything earlier; now, he could only faintly see his mother.

Canada had calmed down only slightly from what happened. He was still breathing at a moderate though fast pace, but he wasn't crying anymore, and the guilt wasn't as intense. He was holding a cup, this time yellow, of orange juice, making gentle sips. Sweat clung to his hair, but this didn't stop France from gently stroking him.

"If I'm alright to ask," France whispered, "what happened earlier?"

"I think I've ruined the date." Canada said gruffly, not with anger.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, I don't know how she felt on the date." Canada placed his palms in his face. "I don't know if she likes me, or she's just pretending. She did hug me, but... I don't know." His voice became a little weaker, slightly hanging on. France placed her arm around him.

"Mommy?" He took his palms away. "Were you talking about my flashback?"

"Well... a little bit."

"It was..." He suddenly stopped. He didn't want to be afraid anymore. He didn't want to think about it, but his mother had still asked him, and he didnt want her to be sidturbed by not knowing.

"My... dad beat me. With a metal pipe." He wasn't getting another flashback?"

"I think I remember this." France added regretfully.

"I... I don't know what I did, but he was... had my pants off, and he whipped me. Then, he tucked me into bed."

Why wasn't he getting another flashback?

"I'm not sure, I think your brain knows your safe now." He must've said his thoughts aloud by accident. He did that sometimes when distressed.

"No... I've just had one, I might be in... I don't know what to call it, but I might have another one. I just... talked about what happened, and that usually triggers it, but t-this time it didn't."

"I read something about this. It's due to you being more ready to process your memories."

It still didn't make sense for Canada, but he still wanted to talk about it. He needed to get it out.

"Anyway, I just... remembered it really hurting me, and I was tyring to get him to stop." He said it weakly, trying not to trigger it again, but it didn't happen.

Suddenly, he placed his hands on his head, shaking. The anger. The anger he felt after that testimony. The anger he felt after buying his mother flowers. It seemed to explode in him, a fire in his body. Every time he did something that he felt was a success, that rage came. Why did he always get angry?

"I've gotta go!" Canada suddenly yelped, running up the stairs. France was a little cautious about whether to follow him, but she decided to slowly walk up the stairs behind him.

She didn't hear him break anything, though.

Mean whilst, Canada sat on his bed, cross-legged. His hands were squeezing his hair, not pulling, nor pushing inward. There was throbbing in his head as he tried to breathe deeply. He didn’t want to get angry this time. There was no point in getting angry over succeeding.

He knew, somehow, that this was a step in the right direction. He could talk about what happened with his father, without succumbing to a meltdown. That’s why he never talked, nor even thought about Britain.

But, for some reason, that was exactly what was making him so angry right now.

"Canada?" France asked. He was still on his bed, his hands tightening around his hair. This time they were pulling, trying to stretch far out. Canada ignored the pain he felt as he quietly yelled, his voice hoarse.

"Canada, stop!" France yelled. She rushed towards him, pulling his hands away, causing his fists to let go from his hair. Canada stared at her, exhausted.

"M-Mommy, p-please help me-" He cried. He was whimpering, his legs curling up to his stomach. He was so tired now.

He wasn't triggered though about the incident that he'd panicked about earlier.

"Canada, you need to breathe for me." France said. Canada didn't want to, he didn't know how to, instead his breathing was more chaotic. "Canada," France went a little closer to him, "take a deep breath in." She demonstrated what he had to do, slowly breathing in. He followed her, his breathing very shaky. "That's it," France said. He continued to breathe slowly, though he was still shaking.

He didn't know why, but he felt angry now that he was calming down. How odd his brain was.

"I'm tired of this shit!” Canada yelled to himself, suddenly getting up from the bed and walking to the window. He put his hands on his head, still breathing slowly, tears slowly coming down his eyes He didn't feel angry anymore. He wanted to go to bed.

Slowly, Canada got back into bed, his mother still watching him, pulling the covers over him gently. He continued looking at his mother.

"W-Why don't you tell me about the date today?" France asked. He was in more of a mood to tell her now.

"Umm... it went a bit well. I... I think, I made her a bit happy." Canada's voice was barely hanging on. "She said that I was a good man, because I paid for her meal."

Chapter Text

Canada and France had talked for a bit about the date he and Ukraine had been on. She had told him that she was very proud of him that he was able to make her happy on her first date. He knew that, but after the flashback had happened, his brain had begun to doubt itself even more, due to the distress it had been through.

Canada slept a little later, around half 12, but despite this he was still ready to go to school the following morning. He woke up groggily to a bedroom illuminated with a light gold from the morning sun. For once, he was feeling a bit more hopeful.

He never thought this would happen to him.

“Iceland, can I tell you something?” Canada said, walking alongside him. They’d just both been through a rather uneventful school day, and were on the way to Iceland’s place. [The air was warm against them].

“Yeah, you can.” He responded bluntly, looking down at the ground.

“Y-You won’t get mad, will you?” Canada sounded a bit shaky. Iceland looked over at him.

“Is everything alright?” He was a little quicker than last time, and stopped walking.

“Yes, it’s… it’s just… I’m sorry.”

“Have you been hurt?” Iceland was breathing a little quicker. He wasn’t normally one to appear as if he cared about others, even though he did, so this was a bit surprising for Canada.

“No, it- it’s not that, you know Ukraine, right?”

“U… Ukraine.” Iceland sounded a bit more afraid, his eyes seeming to tighten.

“W-What about her?” Iceland asked, suddenly stopping in fear. Canada sighed a little shakily.

“Yesterday, I… went on a date with her.”

“What you mean?” Iceland said quickly. “Did she hurt you?”

“No, she didn’t… I know she was cruel, at times, but…”

“I just don’t want her hurting you. She’s beaten me up a few times. I don’t want that happening.”

“I know.”

Ukraine had been a bit more brutal to Iceland, for whatever reason. On one occasion, around a year ago, Norway had told Ukraine some damaging lies about him. He forgot exactly what they were, and he didn’t tell Canada that Norway had lied, but it had resulted in her beating him savagely. He was left with a bruised eye, a deep purple below it, messy hair, and heavy blood that stained his mouth, dripping onto his sweater.

Fortunately, after finding out it was a lie, she’d felt completely horrible. Deeply ashamed of herself. She wanted to apologise to him, but decided to leave him alone as she didn’t want to remind him of what she’d done. Canada was horrified when he heard the news. He didn’t know that she was capable of doing something like that, especially knowing that she was a woman.

But that didn’t stop his crush on her from developing and blooming.

Iceland’s stomach dropped, as if on delay. There were so many reasons that he couldn’t exactly pick one. Whether his best friend betrayed him, whether he’d have to see her and be reminded of what she did to him, whether she changed as a person, but he couldn’t have the heart to forgive.

“Okay,” he said nervously, holding his hands together by his stomach.

“I’m sorry.” Canada looked down in shame.

“I-It’s alright. I promise, you deserve to be in love, regardless of what she did. Everyone does. Just don’t bring her to my house, please.” Iceland said it clearly, but his voice was trembling.

Later, they were in Iceland’s bedroom at his house. Iceland hadn’t spoken all the way home, even putting out the games console in silence. There was an unease in the way he moved, the way his face looked. He was frowning slightly, and his eyes weren’t emotionless like they normally were. Canada was used to the way that his eyes barely showed emotion. This made it a little weirder for him.

“I- I haven’t upset you, have I?” Canada asked.

“No.” Iceland responded, sitting on the bed next to him. He was holding a the XBOX controller. He looked down a little

“Okay.” Canada didn’t know what to say. This was his only friend, he didn’t want to lose him. “Would it be better if I left her?”

“No.” Iceland looked at him, a little concerned. “If you’re happy, you should be in the relationship. I’m just still scared of her, if you get me. What if she hurts you?”

Canada didn’t want to think about that right now. He knew she wouldn’t hurt him. She was already much gentler than she was a year ago. He looked down at the games console whilst Iceland opened up a game. It looked… oddly familiar. It was different, but familiar. Not because he’d played a game before, which obviously he had.

“D’you wanna start a new world?” Iceland asked, this time a lot quicker. Canada looked up suddenly. The Minecraft title screen was displayed on the TV. “I think it should be creative again, you can build a lot of shit.”

“Yeah.” Canada’s voice was a little quiet. Iceland wanted to question it, but didn’t. He opened up the world creation screen, naming the world a random string of letters like always, and setting the world mode into creative.

Whilst Iceland did this, Canada carried on staring at the controller. He didn’t know exactly what was so familiar about it. Was it the design? The colours? It was black, had a white XBOX logo that was glowing on top of it. There was 4 buttons, coloured differently, at the side of it. What he’d recognised, wasn’t that. It was a square controller with 7 different knobs and 2 buttons. One button was labelled ‘reload,’ the other labelled ‘shoot’.

“Canada, what are you doing?” Iceland asked bluntly, with a faint hint of concern. Canada didn’t respond, staring at the controller. Something was happening. He’d recognised something. He had to memorise what the 7 knobs had to do when he was with his father. He was placed in front of a small, green-tinted TV screen, and he was…

Canada dropped the controller, standing up from the bed and putting his head in his hands.

He was ordered to control a drone. A military drone. A drone which fired bombs and bullets at soldiers, tanks and helicopters.

Canada gripped the controller with trembling hands. It was a bit big for his hands, but he managed to hold onto it. He needed to constantly think about what each controller did, whilst staring at a bright TV screen.

Right now, it was showing a camera flying through a medium-sized city. It wasn't destroyed to an unliveable level, but a tank was driving through the street, and after flying for a few seconds Canada saw a bomb going off to the right of the screen.

Canada stared wide-eyed at the screen. He was constantly thinking, something his mind wasn't that used to. This was nothing like a school exam, where he had to remember some concepts that he'd learned a couple days before, something he was good at doing.

He had to constantly manoeuvre his way through buildings. He had to fly as quickly as possible and identify targets which weren't even that clear on the screen. He even, a few seconds earlier, managed to fly through a window.

He'd gotten good at this. Not out of skill, out of fear. He'd constantly trained on this ever since the start of this custodial visit. Britain had broken the law, keeping him for 2 weeks even though he was only meant to go for one weekend. Britain wasn't a monster for his training; every hour, Canada would take a 10 minute break to get his head in order, and Britain wouldn't punish him when he was just starting out.

When he was more experienced and made even a slight mistake, however, Britain would beat him horribly. He'd hit him with metal bars and leashes that burned into his skin. The bars themselves were the worst; Canada could feel them hitting in his bones, and the skin would become numb. His stomach would sicken, much worse than usual.

But Canada wasn't to think about that, now. He was in an actual mission. If this went wrong, Canada didn't exactly know what Britain would do, but he knew that it would be way worse. So much pain would've been left on him.

Canada didn't question it, even if he knew he was causing harm.

Canada’s eyes suddenly began to fixate, the train of thought suddenly stopping in it’s tracks, like it had collided into an immovable object. A bright, thin cross on a helicopter.

Terrorists. That’s the realisation that Britain had forced into him. He'd have to shoot this down, regardless of his moral code.

And so he did.

He pushed the button labelled 'fire'. 8 white rays shot out of the drone. The helicopter exploded. Canada could've sworn he saw someone jump from it, before falling onto the ground.

Suddenly, the 7 knobs disabled. Canada pressed his thumb deeply on each one, but they didn't move. His stomach dropped. Did he do something wrong? Did he accidentally do friendly fire? Did he get the wrong one?

The drone landed on it's own, on top of a building. Canada heard the door open behind him. His eyes were wide, and he felt sick.

"I didn't even have to remind you!" Britain's voice laughed as it came closer, Britain kneeling down beside him. "Well done, mate!"

Suddenly, Canada found himself in a small patch of grass, facing some trees. He could hear the faint, static hum from cars. He looked down; still wearing the same clothes, no cuts on his body. His legs were aching, and so was his chest. He breathed heavily.

What had happened? He didn't know where he was, only that it was still roughly the same time of day, and that there were a few clouds in the sky, and probably that he was near an urban area. He looked around, suddenly recognising the path a little. It looked like where he'd walked once or twice before.

Suddenly, he thought back to what happened. What he'd remembered. He was right back there just now. The vision, sounds, scent, touch. It was too real. He'd had another flashback.

Guilt began to burn in his chest. He'd never had one in front of Iceland, or anyone really outside of his mother. Even with the meltdown in front of Ukraine, he didn't recall feeling like he was back in the past, he'd just repeated Aizawa's words in his head.

He sprinted suddenly on the path, ignoring the ache in his legs. He ran for a few minutes, upon suddenly seeing behind Iceland's house. He slowed down, noticing the pain in his legs suddenly worsen, before slowly making his way to Iceland's front door. He knocked, shakily.

The door slowly opened.

"I-Iceland?"

"Are you okay?" Iceland responded bluntly, but his eyes were wide with fear and worry.

"I don't know."

Chapter Text

Canada and Iceland had played on the rest of their game without speaking to each other. Iceland wanted to ask him what was wrong, why he’d ran out, panicking about some sort of drone. But he was the only person who hated conflict more than Canada. He’d rather let things go unsaid than ask personal questions that could cause upset.

Once Canada left the house, around 40 minutes later, Iceland waved him goodbye, smiling a little. He barely smiled, but he just wanted to let him know he still was okay with him.

Nothing eventful happened for the next week after this. Canada went on another date with Ukraine on the first Sunday of this timeframe; it was a lot more enjoyable than the last, but this time they didn't go anywhere to eat. They simply walked around the park, talking about things. Ukraine had picked up a small, stray kitten and stroked its head, but it ran away, causing Canada to giggle. He had felt somewhat worried that the kitten would get hurt, but surprisingly he didn't think about that too much.

However, in the next week, Canada thought heavily about what he'd flashed back to. He didn't remember much, but one thing that he did, was that he'd shot a helicopter down.

He didn't know why he was getting so upset about it; these people were terrorists that were harming the country Britain had made him operate drones in, of course they had to be shot down. Britain was a cruel, crazy man, but at least he knew that and that these people were dangerous.

Despite knowing all of this, Canada couldn't help but wonder if what he'd done was really necessary. That, he didn't really know how to cope with. He'd prevented danger, maybe part of a city being bombed, maybe weapons being delivered, but he still wasn't proud of himself.

Maybe it was about what happened that night. It was the night that Britain had pulled out his tooth.

It was funny how Canada had completely forgotten, until one night when he was thinking about it. It was intense to think about, Canada could feel his heart racing, his body trembling and even some part of the same pain, but he wasn't brought back to it as intensely as usual.

As he thought about it more, he became a little distant. He was still respectful with people, as being rude could make people lash out at him, but he didn't talk as much, not even with Ukraine (other than some texting). He didn't want to ruminate over this, so he tried to think about and text her as much as he could, but the odd sense of shame just couldn't help but force its way back in.

On a Saturday night, he realised that he couldn't keep this buried down; he didn't want to be constantly thinking about this, not before his date with Ukraine tomorrow. He did some research, on Wikipedia and other sources.

He researched about the country he was fighting. Tokoik, a country around a thousand miles east of the country he lived. The war was being fought over some oil claims that had escalated terribly. He'd been controlling a drone a thousand miles away.

As Canada researched more, he began to calm down a little. Some of the information he found wasn't what his father had taught him, but he'd figured from the credibly of the other sources that the information his father had told him was wrong for whatever reason. He found out, that not everyone in Tokoik wanted the war to happen, that it had been an unfair invasion. Not everyone in Tokoik wanted to exterminate people and Countryhumans like him, who had autism.

Whilst researching, he saw it. The bright, green cross his father had drilled in him to look out for. What was meant to be a terrorist insurgency, was actually meant to signify medics and hospitals.

Canada narrowed his eyes a little, staring at the symbol. The reality hadn't set in, particularly because this time, the symbol was red. He clicked on it, being directed to a page. There was an image of a helicopter on it, with that same symbol.

He reluctantly thought back to what he did with the drone. He searched for a helicopter with a light-green cross. Upon finding one, he fired multiple shots, causing the helicopter to fall down and someone to jump to their death.

I've killed innocent people.

Canada jumped from his chair, standing up. The fact that he'd ended terrorists was bad enough, as weird as it was for him. He felt like he was going to throw up. The room was spinning around him. The visual of the helicopter falling played on loop in his mind.

Canada sat down, this time on his bed instead of the chair by the desk. He wanted to throw up.

He didn't want to think about this anymore. He'd killed innocent people, not terrorists.

Ukraine was all he wanted to think about. Do I deserve her? He did. He did, of course he did, his father made him do it. I should've known, though. Britain would've beaten the living shit out of him if he never shot that helicopter down.

Immediately, he went back to his desk, opening his sketchbook. He opened to an empty page, frantically sketching something down, whilst thinking about Ukraine and anything else that could distract him. The sketch was a lot messier than usual.

The truth was, there wasn't really any space to think about this. He had a date with Ukraine tomorrow, and that was more important than anything.

Plus, if he buried this down and never told anybody, no-one would hate him.

Chapter Text

“Bonjour,” France softly said, opening the curtains of his bedroom. Canada groggily opening his eyes, his mind at first not remembering much of last night.

However, he did remember the date. Canada suddenly shot up, and out of bed.

"What time is it?!"

"Don't worry, it's only half 11." Canada groaned quietly, before getting back into bed. He put the covers over him, the thick softness comforting his skin, amplifying the sensation of his soft pyjamas.

That was when he remembered what he'd done. The rabbit hole he went down last night. His eyes shot open, once groggy even after he'd shot up out of bed.

"M-Mommy?" Canada asked. "Can I a-ask you a random q-question?" He weakly turned to face her as she sat down on the bed. Fortunately for him, he'd asked her random yet somewhat dark questions before out of curiosity, so this would be a bit easier.

"If... if you do something... really bad, and someone... someone made you do it, is it still your fault...?"

"Ooh... that's a bit difficult to think about, I believe that it might mostly be the other person's fault, but... it depends on how willing the person was to do it."

"Okay." His voice sounded weak.

"Listen, if you don't feel like going on a date today, that's-"

"N-No, no, n-no, I still feel like g-going!"

"That's alright." France smiled. Canada repeatedly said 'sorry' under his breath, hugging onto his quilt as he turned his back.

This time, Canada was meant to be turning up at Ukraine's house. He wasn't really sure if this time was going to be a date, given that Ukraine wasn't that willing to get food, and just wanted to sit in her room. She still wanted to see him, though, and from her texts, Canada could figure that she was looking forward to today.

He also found out that Ukraine lived around 5 minutes from his. That was surprising for him, but at least now he could see her whenever he pleased. No, whenever she pleased.

When he walked up the pathway to her house, however, he was greeted by the sight of a boy the same age as Ukraine, who looked exactly like her human form. The same short, dark hair, the same thin slits for pupils in her eyes. The only thing that was different is that he was a lot thinner. Behind him was an older woman, with a similar hairstyle, and red skin with a yellow symbol near her left eye.

"You my sister's boyfriend!?" The boy suddenly yelled. His face didn't look threatening, but Canada flinched as he walked up to him.

"Y-Yeah?"

"Don’t get her pregnant!" He yelled in Canada's face. Again, he didn't sound angry, but Canada couldn't stop himself from severely backing off. The boy walked away.

"I'm so sorry," the older woman said. She sounded a little similar to Ukraine, but the Slavic accent was a lot thicker. "He has, like, neurodivergence."

"I-It's okay, I’m neurodivergent too!"

"He's her twin sister, and I'm her mama. He's right, you know. I barely slept when they were babies, and I don’t want that happenin’ again."

“Um, s-sorry-“ Ukraine’s mother looked at him, tilting her head.

“So you should be,” she smirked, before chuckling and walking away.

Canada twitched a little, before awkwardly walking into the house. He called Ukraine's name as he walked up the stairs.

"Hiya, baby!" She yelled, running towards him and wrapping her arms tightly around him.

"Y-You're crushing me!" He awkwardly chuckled.

"I got a game I were thinkin' of playin' while ya here, I even got it set up. You ever heard of Animal Crossing?"

"I... think so?"

"Great!" Ukraine grabbed Canada's hand, walking him into the bedroom. He hadn't seen her bedroom before. The walls were blue, and there seemed to be a rug with detailed red patterns on one of the walls. The bed hadn't been made, and there was just a soft, blue blanket on it.

Canada looked towards the TV, to find that she'd already started playing the game. "I got onto this shit a few days ago, I'm already lovin' it." Canada stared awkwardly at the TV, the knowledge of what he did suddenly lingering in his mind. He didn't deserve this. He didn't get to have all this after what he'd done.

"Cheer up, man." Ukraine gently patted his back. He smiled, a little bashfully, before sitting on the bed. He watched her play for a bit, but that didn't allow him to forget. He remembered seeing that person jump from the helicopter. What could they have been thinking about? They probably did what Canada was doing now, lying in bed with their partner, without any knowledge of what would happen to them.

"Canada? You okay?" Ukraine asked. She sounded a little worried.

"Yeah." He responded weakly. There was a short silence as Canada stared more intensely at the TV screen whilst she played. She could not know. Anything. It would upset her, horribly.

"Sorry if I ain't told ya this, but... if there's somethin' really upsettin' ya, you can tell me." Canada turned his head to face her, his movements extremely slow and eyes wide with shock.

"A-Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'll try and comfort ya the best I can." She smiled sweetly.

"Okay. Just..." He wasn't going to tell her everything. For both of their sake. "If it gets a bit... too disturbing for you, please let me know."

"Aight." She placed her hand on his hair. For a brief moment, he felt confident. Confident that he wouldn't flash back to whatever memory he stored down there.

"My dad... was physically abusive to me. I don't think... much about w-what he d-did to me, but I-I get really disturbed sometimes, a-and I know it's because of that." Canada stumbled a little on his words the more he talked. He looked at Ukraine. She had a faint frown, but didn't look too disturbed for him to stop.

"My mom divorced him because of something really- aggressive he did to me, I can't remember w-what, I think he th-rew me, but..." He'd mentioned what happened to him. I've dumped too much trauma. I'm gonna disturb her. I really do not want to disturb her with my memories. "I still had to see him o-on weekends."

Canada listened on-edge for a response. Tightness overwhelmed his muscles.

"C'mere." Ukraine said, before wrapping his arms around him. "I'm so sorry that happened to you." This felt nice.

"Y-You aren't scared-?"

"No. It was hard to hear, like, but I ain't disturbed." Canada breathed a large sigh of relief. He didn't know why, but he felt a lot calmer. Even with the knowledge of what he'd done, there was a large lifting of weight from his body.

She let go of him, instead putting her hands on his shoulders. "I'm so proud of ya for tellin' me, ya know? Not many people would."

Canada's eyes suddenly widened as heat began to flush in his body. The familiar anger had hit him. The anger every time he made a step towards healing.

He could not lash out at her. Absolutely not. No fucking way.

Canada shot up from the bed, sprinting out of the bedroom and running through the hallway, down the stairs and out of the house. There was some long planks of wood in the pathway. Canada grabbed onto one, before launching it out into the street as he yelled through gritted teeth. Thankfully, no-one was in the way.

"Canada!" Ukraine yelled from behind him. He turned around, suddenly feeling extremely nauseous. She'd witnessed him angry. She should never have had to see this. No woman should ever see their partner enraged.

He was just like the other men. The older men. The men filled with rage and constant anger.

Canada placed his hands on his face. He'd failed her. Hot tears poured from his eyes, as he breathed shakily.

"Canada, it's okay," Ukraine hushed sweetly. She walked towards him, wrapping her thick arms around him. "I'm sorry I got ya to talk about that."

"No, n-n-no," Canada weakly whimpered, "it's okay, I-I pro-omise-"

"It's aight." Ukraine kept one of her arms wrapped around his back. "Why don't I walk ya back to my room?" Canada nodded. She gently walked him upstairs, but he didn't need that much assistance. He breathed slowly and shakily.

"U-Ukraine, c-can I, can I ask you s-something?"

"Yup."

"A-are you still okay w-w-with m-me? After w-what I did?"

"Yeah! Now, why don't we enjoy the rest of our date?"

The rest of the date, which lasted around an hour after, was spent in Ukraine's bedroom. She carried on playing Animal Crossing, with Canada occasionally talking about random things, but avoiding talking further about his abuse or what had just unfolded.

"Um, Ukraine? I'm s-sorry, I have to go now," Canada said after checking the time. It was 4:30, and he had to be back by 5. He wanted to catch up a bit on homework.

"That's alright." Before he left, when she stood up, he wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could. She stroked his thick, long curls with her fingers, which soothed him a little.

He couldn't focus much on his homework that night. He was too disturbed, not only by his outburst in front of Ukraine, but the knowledge that he'd most likely killed a group of innocents was taking over. He couldn't really think about anything else. This was Art, a subject that he really enjoyed, yet he only got around 10% of what was needed done. He didn't worry too much about that, not only due to his mind being occupied by his crime but also the fact that it didn't need to be due for around a week.

“How did the date go today?” France asked later when they were both by the kitchen counter.

“Not as well.” Canada took his time to answer.

“Why is that?”

“Um… I talked about, how Dad was abusive to me.” Canada hung his head down, tightly shutting his eyes. “She took it well, but… it was r-really hard for me.”

“I’m glad she took it well, that’s what a partner should do.” Canada wanted to smile, but he was too frightened. He needed to tell France. He needed to get it out of himself. He needed to be punished by somebody he loved.

"M-Mommy? I, really need to tell you something." Canada's voice was slow, sounding like a scared puppy. "Do you promise me that... that you really w-won't get mad?" France looked a little concerned, inching a bit over to him.

"O-Of course."

"I don't know i-if Dad t-told you, but he m-made me do military training." He quivered as he said this, blinking rapidly. His stomach hurt.

"Yes, he did tell me some of it. Something about a drone?" Canada froze, but decided to keep speaking.

"I d-don't want to explain too much, but... I... think I've killed innocent people." He gasped immediately after saying this. His head and chest pounded in pain, causing him to breathe heavily.

"What do you mean?" Canada suddenly began to sob.

"Dad told me, th-there was this symbol, and he, he said that it was for the terrorists and army, I-I don't know, and i-it was for the m-medics," Canada breathed heavily. "Mommy! M-Mommy I- I'msorryI'm- I'm sorry."

He didn't sob, but buried his head tightly in his hands. France looked at him, shocked but also understanding. As much as she was horrified by this information, she couldn't really blame Canada. She knew he didn't have much of a choice. She knew Britain would hurt him terribly if he'd refused a request. That was why, this morning, he'd asked her that question on responsibility.

Not really knowing what to do, she placed a gentle hand on his back.

Chapter Text

After sobbing silently for a few moments, Canada went upstairs to bed. He said very little, other than a soft and trembling 'Goodnight, Mom' as he went up. France asked if he wanted to sleep with her tonight, but he ignored her.

She knew that this wasn't entirely Canada's fault. However, she could still understand why he'd think that way. The medic symbol he was talking about was a basic medic symbol with a cross, something she found from a quick google search, but also, taking someone's life must've been a horrible weight for him. It was.

The next day, Canada didn't go to school. France had informed the receptionist that he'd suddenly been feeling very unwell that morning, and would take him in assuming that he was feeling better.

"Bonjour," she whispered, seeing his eyes wet from tears groggily open. It was around 10:30, 3 hours after he'd normally get up. "How are you feeling?"

It took a while for Canada to answer. "I don't know." Canada was holding onto his large Avocado plushie, wearing a soft, red flannel shirt.

"C'est bien. I thought I'd let you know, you're having the day off today. I think we need to talk a little about this." She said this in a soothing tone, so Canada didn't feel as stressed. "I'll let you wake up, a little bit." France gently held onto Canada's hand as he closed his eyes, before walking out of the room.

Around 15 minutes later, Canada slowly came down the stairs. His back was hunched a little, and he was awkwardly twiddling his hands together.

"M-Mommy? I'm r-ready to talk..."

"C’est bien," she hushed, sitting him down. "I'm not angry, at all with you, by the way."

Canada looked at her, incredulously and a little afraid. "Why?"

"I'm more angry at Britain. He groomed you, a defenceless, neurodivergent young boy and threatened you with violence."

"I- i- it doesn't change what I did-"

"I know, but Britain still made you do this. From what you told me, it seems that he's horribly misguided you."

"You're right... he told m-me, that the medic symbol was for t-terrorists when it wasn't."

There was a short silence.

"I know... you don't like talking about it, but can you tell me a bit more about... this?" France asked.

"Um... I only shot down one helicopter, I don't know how many people were in it, but I saw someone jump." There was another silence. "That's all I wanna talk about."

Suddenly, France went on her phone, typing a few things in. "This morning, I found this."

She showed Canada the phone. He recognised it as an app related to her government, something he didn't know how to use. There was a helicopter that had been shot down by a drone in early spring, resulting in 3 deaths. The aircraft wasn't carrying any sick passengers. "I think those are some additional details."

Only 3 people? Canada had expected 5 or 6. It could've been worse. He'd seen, whilst researching the night he found out, that some helicopters can fit up to 8 people inside them. It wasn't as bad as he imagined, so there was a start.

There was a problem, though. There was still a problem. He'd still killed innocent people. As much as he tried to run away, and he wanted nothing more than to run away from that reality, he'd still killed 3 people. 3 people had to possibly feel the pain from a fiery explosion, and the sheer terror and weightlessness that came with falling from a large height, and it was all his fault.

Even if only 1 person was in that helicopter, they would've met that same fate.

Canada flinched at a sudden, light pressure on his hand. France was gently holding onto it.

"It's okay to cry." He didn't deserve to cry, he thought. He deserved to have this emotion suppressed until it made him ill. "Oh, petite colombe," she said, wrapping her arms around him, "I can't imagine how horrible this must be feeling."

Canada could hear how upset she was, and even though moments ago he'd pressed the thought that he deserved to keep his emotions brutally suppressed, he couldn't help but sob quietly whilst hugging her. Weak breaths came out of his mouth. He kept his arms still by his sides.

"I know this is- really selfish, but will anyone find out?" He said, weakly. His voice was nearly breaking apart, somehow he managed to keep it together.

"To be honest, I don't think so. It's usually never reported, and even people from that country will likely not be able to find out."

Canada stayed in silence for a moment. "I'm gonna go to bed." He weakly got up, before walking upstairs.

Canada slowly opened his eyes. The sun wasn't golden, like it was before, instead the light shining in the room was mainly white. How long was he asleep for? He checked the time on his phone. It was around 12:30, meaning he was asleep for around an hour and a half. He looked outside the window. The sky was overcast, a dark-ish grey, but it didn't look like it would rain or anything. He smiled a little. He liked days like this.

Then, it hit him.

The memory stabbed into his brain like a sharp knife. It flashed for a brief second; the image of the helicopter falling down, tainted with a sharp, blurry green.

Canada flinched, his hands grasping his hair, causing his knees to curl up to his chest. He fell down, laying sideways on the bed. He breathed slowly, his body shaking a little.

He couldn't believe this. No one his age had ever done such a thing. He wouldn't be able to access any support for this. He wouldn't be able to access anyone who can understand him, who'd been in his same shoes.

He needed to get up. This memory was something he particularly needed to avoid and forget whatever way he possibly can. That way, he would feel much safer and better.

Slowly, Canada got up, putting on a red flannel shirt making his way down the stairs. Namjiev was standing in the hallway. Canada flinched a little, before recognising who he was.

"Good morning," Namjiev said, with a light, innocent grin.

Canada didn't speak, nor smile at him. Instead, he simply made his way downstairs, hanging his head as he went into the living room, before lying on the sofa. Namjiev sat beside him.

"Your mum told me about... what happened." Canada sat up in surprise.

"What?"

"Your mum told me. She told me why, how your dad had manipulated you. It's... wrong, but I get it. I fully understand, you were just a kid."

Canada narrowed his eyes, looking away from Namjiev. No one was understanding him.

"Me and your mum, we want to help-"

"Why don't you hate me?" Canada snapped. Namjiev flinched, launching himself backwards a little.

"W- I- I- She told m-me-"

"Why don't you hate me?!" Canada yelled louder, standing up. He looked up to see France, who was shocked. Namjiev stood up too, pressing his back against the wall with a rigid posture.

"I killed 3 fucking people! Surely, you both must hate me! Why don't you hate me?!" Namjiev flinched each time Canada shouted. Canada's muscles were unbearably tense. He paced around the room, his hands grabbing his hair.

No one understood him. No one was giving him what he wanted, what he knew he truly deserved.

"L-Lucas, Lucas p-please c-c-a-alm down-!" Namjiev weakly yelled. Canada roared piercingly, grabbing the coffee table and tipping it over. It fell with a harsh bang against the carpet, causing Namjiev to flinch and France to step in front of him. Nothing was on it, not like it would've stopped Canada anyway.

"Why does no one hate me?!" Canada sobbed. Guilt suddenly punched his stomach, hurting like a brick colliding with him. His stomach was hurling, his eyes wet with tears, his head hurting from how he'd pulled on his hair and punched his skull. He needed to stop this. This anger. Anger that raged beneath his skin and festered with his thoughts like glass smashing against the floor.

Suddenly, Namjiev collapsed onto the floor, pressing his back against the seat cushion of the sofa and curling his knees upwards. He felt so selfish, crying like this when he'd taken lives. This was too much to bear.

"Canada," France suddenly whispered. Canada looked over at her, his eyes wide. "Why don't we watch something on the TV? It can be anything, just to take your mind off it a little while." He knew he didn't deserve it, he didn't even know what he deserved, but he accepted. This was too much to bear.

Slowly, he got up onto the couch. Tears were still pouring gently down his cheeks, and his knees were still curled up towards his chest. His body's way of protecting itself.

Namjiev was out of the room, right now. He couldn't believe he'd traumatised someone else. Or did he? Ukraine seemed a little upset by his outburst yesterday, but she carried on playing video games with him, in a way that indicated to him that she wasn't too shaken by what had happened.

France turned on the TV, before walking out, probably to check on Namjiev. It was a program about the weather. Canada mindlessly watched the program, with faint flashes of the reality still coming into his mind, but with a much less intensity than earlier.

It was quieter in Canada’s mind. The thoughts were slower. There wasn’t as many frightening, guilt-causing thoughts about what he did. That, he was kind of happy about. At the same time, he knew it was selfish. The intensity of his thoughts had faded, almost, seemingly into the shadows.

He’d been wondering a little, whilst still watching the TV, why exactly that Namjiev and France weren’t angry at him. It was weird to him. He’d killed people, and when thinking about what Britain did to him, even though he didn’t know his kill count, he’d feel enraged. That made him not want to think about it.

It was no excuse, Canada knew, but he’d figured it was because Britain had essentially forced him into this; that was what both Namjiev and France had said. And he’d paid back their forgiveness by freaking out and throwing a coffee table over.

"Canada?" He flinched at his mother's voice. "Are you feeling better?"

"I am a bit." He sat up a little. The turmoil purged in his mind and festered in it. He didn’t know how he was going to say this. "Can I ask you something?"

"Oui!"

"Do you think I should tell Ukraine?" France looked surprised. Panic swelled in his mind.

"I'm not sure, why?" He breathed a short, barely noticeable sigh of relief.

"Its just... when I told her about my abuse, it was a little detailed. I mentioned something that happened to me, I forgot now. I haven't texted her since she's in school, but I might do later. I don't know whether to do it over phone-"

"It would be better to do it in person. I'm not sure how to deliver it, but you'd be better opening up a little more, if she's comfortable." Opening up. The thought lurched his stomach and unsettled his mind, almost like the realisation of what he'd done, though that was lesser now.

"Okay. Only if she's comfortable." Canada looked down. "By the way, how's Namjiev?"

"He was a little frightened, but he's better. He understands... a lot more than I do." It sounded uncomfortable for her to admit. "He has meltdowns like you do, sometimes."

Chapter Text

The next day was mostly uneventful, at first, other than Canada thinking about what exactly he was going to say to Ukraine. He'd texted her that morning, telling her that he wanted to open up a little more, and she said it was okay.

The problem was, for him, there were so many memories to choose from.

He didn't want to open up yet about what Britain had made him do. He wanted to pick something a little lighter, but even though he didn't want to traumatise her with details, something that was also traumatic for him. He decided to pick a weekend where he had to stay with Britain where, for some reason, he was very drunk and didn't respond much. Britain didn't hit him or harm him directly, however, Canada had been constantly terrified in case he would.

That afternoon once school had finished, Ukraine and Canada went over to his house, so he could tell her in an environment that was safe for him.

"Bonjour, Ukraine!" France jeered as she opened the door. Ukraine was standing there, Canada awkwardly standing behind her.

"Привіт," Ukraine responded. She smiled, a little. "You better be cookin' me somethin'."

"Je suis désolé, I don't know any Ukrainian cuisine."

"Don't worry 'bout it." Ukraine walked in, but stopped after noticing Namjiev. Her faint smile curled into a frown. "Canada," she said sharply, turning back to him, "this your fuckin' dad?!"

"No, n-n-no, he's my stepdad!"

She looked back to him. "Oh, didn't mean that." Namjiev didn't speak, but looked at her innocently.

"Je suis désolé, he's very shy around strangers." France said.

Ukraine and Canada went upstairs into his room. Ukraine looked around, taking particular notice of Canada's single bed, with a pink, fluffy quilt with a pattern of white rabbits.

"This your bed?" She asked, with a faux mocking tone. "How am I meant to sleep with yo ass?" She giggled.

"Umm... well I c-can sleep at your house," Canada responded. His voice cracked with nervousness, and his hands rubbed each other. Nausea pummelled his stomach, the thought of having to speak about his traumas sticking to him and refusing to let go. Ukraine looked back at him.

"Just a lil' suggestion, but would ya rather do this another day?" She sat down on the bed, Canada following beside her. "Just because, ya seem kinda nervous. Plus, I think it was real scary for ya last time, even if you felt a bit better."

"I'd like to do this t-today, I s-saw somewhere where if you t-talk about it, it makes you f-feel better."

"Okay, just... try not to go into too much detail, for your sake."

"Th-thank you." Canada sighed a little shakily. There was a short, but tense silence, as Canada tried to articulate how he was going to say this. His heart pounded nauseatingly.

The car ride to Britain's house seemed longer than it actually was. Canada had sat in the car with the seatbelt on and his legs curled up to his chest, pressing himself tightly against the car door. Canada wasn't normally this scared; he always dreaded being forcibly trained and forced to do intense exercises that did more harm than good, but Britain wasn't as wild to him as usual.

However, the Saturday before was when the metal pipe attack had occurred, where Britain had beaten him with a metal pipe for seemingly no reason. The next day, where Canada was and would often be taken back to France's around noon, Britain again wasn't abusive, but was quite drunk and unresponsive. Britain didn't harm him, but Canada was constantly on edge that morning.

It didn't help, when France went in to drop Canada off, back in the present. The living room wasn't clean like Britain usually kept it. The place wasn't completely wrecked, but there were beer bottles on the floor, and a weird contraption in the middle of the room. It had 2 armrests either side, and multiple belts were located by a black, leather block on the contraption.

The sight staggered him. What was this for? Why was this there? How exactly would this help improve his physique, at least in Britain’s eyes?

"Canada," France whispered, "I'm so sorry that I have to leave you. I can come for you early on Sunday, the court will allow that, but... I can't keep you this weekend, it'll look terrible on me." Canada didn't speak, but looked at her sorrowfully. She wrapped her arms around him, gently. She really wished she didn't have to leave him. He wished the same thing.

Canada watched, hopelessly, as she walked out of the front door, just like that.

"Canada." A slurred, deep voice said from behind him. Canada's shoulders lurched upwards swiftly as he turned around at a much slower pace. The voice came from Britain, who was in his human form, dark hair that was fluffy and ruffled and uncannily pale skin.

"Is th-there anything y-you need me to do?" Canada tried to sound calm, submissive.

"I want to play a game. Step in the contraption." Canada’s eyes widened, the words echoing in his head. Dread cradled him as he looked back to the contraption.

"H-How do I do-"

"I need you to step in the contraption." A weird smile curled on Britain's lips. Canada reluctantly looked towards the device, walking towards it. He placed himself against the block, tying the belts up to stick himself to it. His arms shook, and he really didn't want to do this, but his arms seemed to move by themselves. Britain watched as he did this, and once he was done, tied his arms to the armrests using smaller belts that were attached below.

"I want to play a game," Britain slurred, the weird smile still on his lips as he removed his own belt. Canada’s vision seemed to blur as he stared in shock at Britain. "How many whips can you take?"

"Do you like the quilt?" France asked innocently, steadily making her way inside the room. "I figured I'd embarrass you a little."

When she made her way in, she found that Canada didn't seem embarrassed. Instead, he was sitting next to Ukraine, shivering violently, his eyes wide. Ukraine was holding onto his hand, whispering gentle reassurances in his ear.

"Canada?!" France rushed over to him. Canada flinched suddenly, jumping onto the bed, as his mind lurched into the present day.

"W-What happened, wha-?" He'd been through this before, he knew he had, but this didn't stop the fear and confusion he was feeling. It all felt so real for him. He kept mumbling, placing his hands on his face.

"Hey, you're okay." Ukraine cooed, inching a little closer to him. He was breathing quickly, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He swore he was right back there, back to his 12 year old self, about to be whipped mercilessly by the man who helped conceive him. But at the same time, he wasn’t. He’d seen flashes of both that memory, and the present.

"Shh, take deep breaths." Ukraine rubbed his thigh gently, before rubbing his side, whilst he breathed slowly and shakily.

"M-Mommy?" Canada suddenly asked upon noticing her. "H-How much, how much did you see?"

"I've just walked in, don't worry." Canada continued to breathe a little slower, noticing the way his heartbeat began to slow, and he was no longer quivering as much.

"I’m here for ya," Ukraine said softly. Canada carried on breathing slowly. "You aight?"

"Kind of."

"That must've been real hard, what happened to you. I never really..." Ukraine looked away. "...had a dad, but... I dunno." Ukraine wrapped her arms around him, the thickness of her skin beneath the soft fabric of her hoodie calming him a little. He felt loved. He wasn't feeling angry, like he normally did. Talking about it made him feel a little better.

"Whatever happens, I'll make sure ya never go through that. Never." She patted him on the head. "I'm so proud of ya, for tellin' me. Ya looked so scared, but ya kept pushin'."

Suddenly, Canada's body completely tensed up. Anger latched onto his brain like a virus, infiltrating him. It left room for some conscious thought; he needed to get out, he did not want Ukraine to see him angry again.

"C-Can you let go of me please?" Canada said loudly. Ukraine suddenly backed up, causing Canada to jump off the bed, rushing out of the door past France and into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He rushed towards the windowsill by the shower, clearing all of the shampoo bottles with a sweep of his arm, before grabbing each bottle and throwing them against the bathtub.

The sheer rage kept forcing its way into Canada's body. Canada didn't scream; he kept picking up the shampoo-conditioner-soap bottles and throwing them against the floor. Some of the fluid spilled out slightly. Heat burned beneath his skin and insides and almost damaged him. Rage seemed to astonish him, for a brief moment.

Somehow, he heard the door open behind him.

"Canada," France said. "Listen to me-"

"H-Has Ukraine seen any of this?" He said, his voice a lot weaker than before.

"She's in your room," France soothed. She placed her hand on his wrist, gently holding it. Canada stared at her, wide-eyed, trying again to breathe slowly.

"Why do I get so angry?" Canada whispered.

"I think it's because you're overwhelmed. Like a meltdown." She responded smoothly, but she took a bit of time saying it.

"C-Can I see her?" France nodded at his question. Canada slowly made his way back to his room, his head hung down to the floor.

He opened the door, slowly. Ukraine was still sitting on his bed.

"I'm sorry." He said, trying to be clear, but his voice cracked a little. His throat hurt.

"What happened?"

"I... got angry. Just like the last time." He reluctantly walked towards her, sitting down beside her. The bed creaked a little. "I can't control it, the only thing I can do... get out of the situation, and make sure I don't hurt anyone."

Ukraine placed a gentle hand on his back. "After our last date, I did a bit of searchin' on Google. This shit is natural, but if you talk about it, apparently you overall feel a bit better."

"I did, a bit." That was a lie. He'd broken down, confessing to his mother that he was a war criminal. "But I felt really bad on you."

"That's okay." Ukraine gently kissed his neck, wrapping her arms around him.

Chapter Text

Canada felt almost relieved when Ukraine had left his house that night, not because he was tired of her presence (why would he ever be?), but instead it was the opposite. He felt like he'd scared her away. The thought echoed around and tormented his mind, sticking into his brain like tar, enveloping it entirely. Shame dug deep inside his mind. He couldn't believe he'd been so furious earlier; she'd literally done nothing to him, and the wild part was, opening up to her was his idea.

He thought about what she'd said before he'd gotten so angry. I'm so proud of ya, for tellin' me. Ya looked so scared, but ya kept pushin'.

That must've triggered him, but just before, it was what he wanted to hear. Fear had been plaguing his mind and body just before, so he needed comfort, he needed someone to be proud of him, and when someone was, he completely turned into a rage-fuelled machine that refused to target its loved ones.

Canada felt a lot calmer, though, when he'd texted her later that night after completing some more art homework, apologising again for what had happened. He'd been avoiding the conversation, wanting the 'date' to end on a happier note, so he didn't feel as intrusive doing this. Not only did she tell him once again that it was okay, but she commended that he didn't lash out directly at her, choosing to release his anger on objects instead.

Distress about what he'd done to those people still plagued him though. He wanted to tell her about it, but because what he'd done was an actual serious crime, he didn't know whether she'd react any different. Whether himself being too vulnerable would actually scare her away this time.

The thought of her leaving terrified him. He'd only just found a girlfriend, a girl who was his dream body type, and very supportive and empathetic, and the thought of not having that any more? He wanted to shut it down.

"Canada? May I come in?" France asked, gently knocking on the door.

"Yeah," he responded softly after flinching, his chain of thought being interrupted. France slowly entered his room, prompting Canada to sit up on the bed.

"Mommy? Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"How should I tell Ukraine... what happened? When should I do it?"

"I'm not sure how you'd go about it, but I think you should tell her a bit later on."

"Okay," Canada said awkwardly.

"I just thought I'd come in as... I understand, how guilty you feel. I understand it a lot."

"I don't know why, but I'm not... feeling as bad now. I did do earlier, though."

"I just thought I'd tell you something."

"W-What is it?"

"I was... abusive towards Namjiev. When we were first together." Shock pierced in Canada's mind, but he wasn't ready to reject her yet. He didn't think he ever would be, even after hearing this.

"What d-do you mean?"

"I wasn't as violent, as Britain was. I was stressed during that time, and worried about what Britain was doing. I'd be verbally violent with him, for exact reasons I've forgotten."

Canada needed some time to think about this. He didn't know how to tell her that he didn't hate her, especially since it seemed she thought that way. Tightness constricted his muscles, causing him to sit up a little.

"How is he still staying with you?"

"Surprisingly, Namjiev is a very understanding man. He's very interested in learning and thinking about other people. Do you... remember him telling you about his mother?"

"A little."

"He even understands why she did whatever she did. She would act violently towards him whenever he had meltdowns, and he told me he believes that it was to try and scare his mind into not having them anymore."

"Does he understand why my dad h-hurt me?"

"I'll try and ask him. But, am I okay to go back to what I was saying?" Canada nodded a little weakly. "I really understand how guilty you feel. Even though I know he's forgiven me, the guilt is very bad for me. I even had to prepare myself for talking about this to you."

"O-Okay. G-Goodnight." He really didn't want to sound like he hated her. He didn't. He understood her the same way she understood him.

France gave him a gentle kiss on the head, before walking out.

Chapter Text

Canada slept peacefully that night, which was surprising given the thoughts that were running through his head. Shock, anger, but mainly confusion from what France told him had been haunting him for the brief moment after she’d told him, and before he went to sleep. He was particularly shocked, as he didn't recall a single moment when France ever lashed out at him. He didn't think it was in her.

Not long after Canada woke up, France had entered the room to give him breakfast, a pancake with some syrup on it. "Bonjour!" She said. It seemed a little sadder than usual.

"Mommy, can I tell you something?"

"Oui."

"I... don't think any... worse of you, because of what you said."

"That's understandable, you're going through a lot yourself." She gently rubbed a curl from his hair with her thumb and index finger.

That was when he remembered, he needed to open up about what he'd done. The thought was frightening for him, quickly sticking inside his mind, preventing him from thinking about anything else.

"W-When should I tell Ukraine?" He didn't remember if he'd asked this last night, but if he did, France didn't tell him.

"Telling her a little later might work, but... I know you prefer to avoid things like this, and that's understandable. But it might work sooner rather than later. If you want, I could tell her.

"Not now." Canada stuttered heavily.

"Alright." France looked down, before leaving the room. He ate his breakfast like normal.

School that day was mostly uneventful. He talked to Iceland about art and other nerdy school interests. However, he'd been feeling really bad on Ukraine. He really wanted to tell her, he really wanted her to know. He didn't know why he did, but he just did. At the same time, even though he'd apologised so much, he felt the need to apologise again for getting angry yesterday. Guilt was consuming him, both for the war crime he'd committed, and for what had happened yesterday.

He'd felt more remorseful for this one than usual. Usually, he'd accept forgiveness and calm down that night. However, shame was nauseating him, making him genuinely feel sick. He imagined if she'd felt scared, hearing banging and not knowing what was going on. Not knowing whether it was her fault. He must've put the same fear onto her that he'd felt with his father, and that knowledge crushed his stomach and chest with brute force.

Thankfully, he was able to see her at break, to try and clear things up and explain his behaviour. Maybe this would warm her up to his confession.

"Ukraine?" He asked, more timidly than usual. She turned around. He stared, briefly, at her plump stomach; a beautiful body that he didn't deserve to have. "Are you... sure you're okay with me? After what happened yesterday?"

"Hey," she bent down a little, "it's alright. You ain't gotta be worried, okay?" Ukraine, herself, felt a little worried. She understood him; she herself had been feeling guilty every now and again for the times she'd bullied him. But this was just one incident that she didn't really see much.

"Alright... can I explain, a little, why I freaked out?"

"If you want." She smiled.

"I had a little think, last night. I think it's because my mind sort of doesn't want to go back to those memories, and... it gets angry because it had to."

"Well ya don't have to," she responded. "Sometimes memories are just too crazy."

"Well... I do feel a bit better about it, but... I was gonna say I'm sorry again." He laughed, a little. She giggled too.

“Listen, don’t worry too much about it. At least you didn’t smack me.” Canada giggled again, awkwardly averting his eyes. He couldn’t, not with what he wanted to confess to her.

That night, despite feeling a bit better that he'd finally cleared up what had happened, Canada felt a growing fear. At first, he didn't know what exactly this fear was, but he knew it had something to do with the people he'd killed. He kept thinking about the green flash of light from the TV, signifying the explosion of the helicopter. He wasn't sure, now, whether he'd actually seen someone falling from the helicopter, or whether it was just his imagination. Whether it was scrap metal falling down.

Regardless, the sight sickened him. He needed to shut it down, as obviously he hated this feeling; the deep pit of nausea would hit immediately, unlike most memories where he'd have to spend time thinking about them or even saying them out loud. He decided to fill this by doing some of his maths homework. This was his least favourite subject; even though he was willing to do the work, as it avoided further stress, it required the most thinking.

Thinking about something else was what he needed.

Even then, the deep pit in his chest wouldn't fade away. It didn't help that the exact subject of this homework, didn't require as much thinking. Just barely enough to allow the memory to still penetrate his mind as roughly as it could. It hadn't taken him long to do as well. Canada had little to do, now. It had gotten to a point where not even drawing allowed him to escape this harsh reality.

Then, he realised what exactly this fear was. He had very little idea why, but he needed Ukraine to know. Was it out of redemption? Was it a need of punishment? His arms quivered. Tremors triggered in his legs, his jaw, his lower lips.

"M-Mommy?" He weakly called out. She wouldn't had heard him. He quickly got up, walking out of his room. "Mommy?" He called again, softly, like a fragile piece of glass. He ran down the stairs.

"Canada? Is everything alright?"

"I- I need to tell her!" He exclaimed. He stopped in his tracks. Harsh pounds of blood pulsated in his ears. "I nee- I need, I need to tell her, I don't know how-"

"Canada, listen." France rushed towards him, softly brushing his hair. "I would... keep it vague. Try and say he forced you to do military operations, but don't mention the 3 casualties yet." She rephrased 'deaths,' not wanting to make Canada more upset.

"Okay..."

“Baby?” Canada asked. He was walking with Ukraine after school, on a slightly hotter, but still mostly cool day. He quivered. His arms were tense, his body trembling more than it had ever done, at least that’s what Canada thought at that moment. “I- I would like to tell you something.”

“I’m listenin’.” Before speaking, he stopped for a moment. He’d been talking about this too much. The thought of overwhelming her with negative details about his life suddenly began to bother him, penetrating his mind deeply and almost making him forget about what he wanted to tell her.

“Before I… I say anything, I would like to say sorry. I’ve been talking a lot about… things that have happened to me, and I don’t… want it being bad on you.” His voice sounded weak and almost nauseous, the nervousness damaging the way he spoke. If he delivered this incorrectly, he could lose her for life. Regardless of how he delivered it, this could still be a possibility. He was about to confess murder. He should’ve been expecting a negative outcome.

He couldn’t even look at Ukraine.

"Honestly, I'd rather ya talk to me 'bout this shit than keep it to yaself."

"W-Why?"

"You told me you had autism, didn't ya?" Canada nodded in response. "Since you told me, I've been doin' a bit a research about autism and also a bit a' trauma. Avoidin' shit like this can apparently really mess up someone's brain. So yeah, it's okay."

Her reassuring words and tone didn't reassure Canada. He didn't know exactly what he needed to say. She gently rubbed his back. The light touch from her thick hand soothed him a little, but he still took his time. Even though he thought back to what France had wanted him to say, he still felt strongly that he needed to be up front.

"I've killed 3 people." Ukraine flinched, her eyes widening.

"What ya mean?" She said, softly, trying not to sound shocked.

"It, i- it, D- Dad made me do it!" His hands were tense. He couldn't move them. "He told me, s-something, meant something when it was the opposite it meant something else-" Weakness quietened his voice.

"I don't understand, I'm sorry." Ukraine's voice quivered a little, also. She felt sick, both for him, and because she'd probably fallen in love with a murderer.

Suddenly, Canada shot up, sprinting into the distance. Ukraine narrowed her eyes as she watched him run like his life depended on it. She swiftly followed behind him.

She didn't run, not wanting to tire herself out too much, but walked as quickly as she could. Her heart was pounding quickly, and so many thoughts were running through her head.

Had she fallen in love with a murderer? Was he telling the truth, or did his memories get confused? Perhaps he'd been overexaggerating. But it seemed, from the weakness of his voice, that he wasn't. That he had genuinely killed people.

The thought sent waves of cold and nausea around her. She felt like she was going to throw up, but didn't. Revulsion began to spread, the more she thought about what Canada had said. It seemed genuine. Genuine regret and terror, from the shakiness in his voice, his posture. Was this true? She needed... something.

When she arrived at her house, she was surprised to see France there, talking to her mother. But she didn't think about that for long.

"France! France, you ain't gonna believe this." She yelled breathlessly.

"Ukraine, what's happen-"

"Your son's been sayin', that he's killed 3 people or some shit!" Her voice cracked. France frowned a little, trying not to show the dismay in her eyes. She'd told him not to disclose the actual details of the murder.

Oh well, he must've caved in due to stress.

"You see, his father has connections to the military." France proceded to explain to her, briefly, what Canada had told her, and how much it'd been affecting him.

"W-What do I do?" Ukraine stuttered. "Where’s he at?"

"He ran inside here, I think into your room." Soviet said. What France told Ukraine, wasn't enough for her. It didn't stop the sensation of her gut twitching, it only made it worse. To her, France had made it out as if it wasn't Canada's fault. She'd spoken over him.

She ran into the house.

“Canada!” Ukraine yelled, barging into her room. Canada was there, standing awkwardly. His head was turned down to the floor. “Canada, listen to me, I need ya to try and explain what the fuck happened.”

“Um, it was, he,” Canada stammered. Ukraine was too close to him. Too close. This made him almost unable to speak. “C-Could you back away, p-please?” He asked, almost in a whimper.

“I’m sorry, it’s just your momma explained some crazy shit. You were in the fuckin’ military? How did I not know about this shit?”

Canada raised his arms instinctively to his chest as Ukraine inched closer to him. She'd never acted as intensely as this before. Even when she was bullying him, she merely had a smug attitude, with not much anger. But she was literally yelling at him, interrogating him for more information that his mother had likely told her.

He needed to think of something, anything, to get out of this. He didn't care, in that moment, what it would cause; he just needed her to leave him alone, and let him explain.

“I need you to step away, th-this is ableist!” What? “I told you I have issues with trauma, this is s-scaring me!”

Her eyes widened. Heat built up in her stomach and skin and began to fester in her body. This heat turned to resentment. This resentment turned to rage.

As soon as he'd said that word, ableist, something clicked. That single word invalidated all the research she'd done. It wasn't too much, she knew, but that didn't make him sound like the most ungrateful bastard he'd ever met.

So many cruel words were running around her mind. She knew that this wasn't his fault, that he was scared, guilty, angry, willing to change everything. But that didn't stop the heat from suddenly penetrating her entire body, almost wrecking her. She began to shake. Mere seconds felt like minutes, to the pair of them.

Ukraine shivered. “You think I’m an ableist?”

“N-No, it’s-“

“YOU THINK I’M A FUCKIN’ ABLEIST?!” Canada flinched sharply at her yell. His eyes widened, and he felt tears prick in them. “You cannot think I’m a fuckin’ ableist when you FUCKIN’ KILLED, LIKE, 3 PEOPLE!”

Canada whimpered, trying to apologise. Fear and guilt boomed around his body.

“I’ve been doin’ research, fuckin’ research on your autism and how to manage your trauma! I got a fuckin’ book online about PTSD and I sat and read through it and I made fuckin’ notes!” Her voice quivered as she yelled through gritted teeth. Her body felt hot with disgust and offence. “How fucking dare you!”

“Ukraine! Please, calm down!” He whimpered, like a scared child. How badly she wanted to take pity on him. Instead, her mind seized with rage as she suddenly grabbed onto him, ignoring his desperate whimpers, and pinned him down to the floor.

Canada’s eyes widened as his head hit the ground, causing disorientating pain signals to rush around his body, focusing on the back of his head. His eyes widened as he looked at her.

This was almost exactly how Britain had pinned him down.

Her eyes were full of an anger that Canada had only seen in Britain’s.

“NOPLEASEBABYI’MSORRYI’MSORRY-“ He whimpered, trying to fight her off him. She didn’t hit or punch him; only glared into his eyes, growling silently.

Chapter Text

"Get off him, now!" Soviet yelled. It was in Ukrainian, so Canada didn't understand. This worsened his fear. He thought she was yelling at him.

Ukraine turned her head to face her, momentarily, before turning back to him without delay. She bared her teeth, not saying anything.

"Get off him!" Canada saw 2 red hands clutch Ukraine's forearms, pulling her away. Ukraine stood up. She stared at him, her body quivering as her teeth clenched. She wanted to do so much to him, yet she wanted to cuddle him and tell him he was okay. She yelled, before making her way to another room, slamming the door.

Hyperventilating, Canada narrowed his eyes as he looked at someone who was behind Soviet. It was the boy he saw the other day. The boy looked at him, his eyes wide and sorrowful.

Canada felt heartbroken. Ukraine had turned on him, and it was all his fault. He should've just followed his moral compass. He should've faced his fear of a beating instead of killing those people.

He shouldn’t have called her ableist.

Canada weakly stood up, his head tilted down towards the floor. He quickly passed the boy, who was still looking at him. Trembling, he put his hand on his shoulder, but Canada didn't shrug it off; instead, he kept moving.

He felt sick. He needed to go as far away from this situation as possible. He needed to go back home.

When he existed the house, for some reason France wasn't there. Even as he was walking home, he wasn't able to spot her. He wasn't too panicked, especially as it was just a 5 minute walk, but right now, he really needed her.

His lips were quivering heavily as he dragged his feet towards the front door of his house. He lightly knocked on the door, and France and Namjiev were there to greet him.

"How did she react?" France asked. He tried to figure out the best possible way of explaining what had happened, without causing any offence to her and Namjiev.

However, the only thing that could come out was a weak whimper. He'd lost her for good, hadn't he? The thought terrified him. He buried his face in his hands, exhaling shakily as France gently wrapped her arms around him.

"I don't want you both to get angry," Canada faintly whimpered.

"I promise we won't," France responded. This didn't stop him from feeling nervous.

"This w-was m-my fault, I-I don't know why b-but I called h-her an ableist." Canada clutched the back of his head, turning his back to them. "I d-don't know why I-I did i-it, and... she threw me- down on the ground."

Canada stood there for a moment, before grabbing a bottle of deodorant and launching it against the floor. The cap broke off.

"L-Lucas!-" Namjiev weakly stuttered.

"It was my fault! I fucked it up!" Canada yelled bitterly. He pointed his finger at France, his eyes soaked. "Y-You told m-me, not to tell her I killed anyone, and I did. I don't know why, but I fucking d-did!" Canada felt horrible. His stomach was turning in a retched sickness.

His one chance of having a girlfriend, and he ruined it. He'd never get another girl like her in his life, unless her friends who had similar body types were nice.

Heavy breaths escaped Canada's mouth as he clutched his hair, grabbing it tightly, but not pulling against it. He swiftly bent down, tightly clutching the deoderant bottle again and launching it against the wall, his back turned towards his parents. He didn't scream.

This was all his fault.

Thoughts scathingly pierced his mind. Ukraine would hate him forever. Ukraine would be on her phone, telling everyone she knew, and that would ensure that his reputation was completely demolished. He deserved it, though. Maybe deep down, a horrible reaction was what he wanted. After all, killing 3 innocent people was a crime more abhorrent than pinning someone down because they disregarded how much you cared for them.

His anger and self-hatred festered.

"Canada, listen-" Canada harshly jerked his shoulder, turning round aggressively, his hand almost ready to strike, except it didn't. He was about to hit his mother.

"M-Mommy? Mommy! I'm sorry!" Canada wrapped his arms tightly around his mother's waist, going down on his knees. He buried his face into her stomach, whilst she gently rubbed his head. "I didn't mean, Mommy I didn't mean-"

"I know, I know that sometimes your mind gets overwhelmed. I promise, I'll try and work something out for you and her." She didn't know how, not really, but she really wanted to calm him down in that moment.

"R-Really?"

"Oui. I'll try. I know how important she is to you."

Namjiev watched them, a little sadly. He wished his mother would've behaved like that. She wasn't terrible (at least not as bad as Britain), but he also had a girlfriend with a body type similar to Ukraine, who'd broken up with him. When he tried to tell his mother, she told him to stop being a coward. He walked off aimlessly into the living room, just like how he did that night.

Canada didn't want to get any work done. He didn't know if any was due tomorrow, but he didn't care. He didn't want to get work done. He wanted to stop feeling like shit. He wanted to turn back time, pretend he'd never even told Ukraine about his traumas.

He wanted to die.

Canada suddenly flinched at the thought. Die. He didn't want to die, despite how horrible he was feeling. Surely there must be better things than this? His mother would be devastated; she told him once that he lit up her life. Shocked, Canada stood up, clearing his desk of anything that could end his life. A pencil. A notebook. Anything.

He flinched again when he saw a notification on his phone. It was from Ukraine's instagram account.

nada?

i'm so sorry.

Ukraine felt disgusted. But not by him, though. By herself. She had no idea what had come over her, and now, nausea was anguishing her.

She'd hurt him. Badly. And she didn't even feel sorry until a few minutes later.

She didn't have any doubt in the back of her mind when she'd thrown him against the floor. When she heard him begging her to get off him. That scared, terrified voice, cracking and still soft, despite how loudly he'd yelled and begged. His desperate, frightened movements, trying fearfully to push her off him, yet still gentle not to hurt her.

She'd been curled in the foetal position on her bed, silent tears of shame running down the side of her face. She didn't bother to take her hoodie off. There was a small creak, a faint illumination in the room as someone (she didn't care who) opened the door.

"Ukraine?" Soviet gently asked. Ukraine sat up. "How are you?"

"I feel like shit, mama." Her voice cracked. Her knees were curled up, and she awkwardly twiddled her thumbs, just like Canada did.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much, teenagers get into fights all the time." She thought about her words as she said them, and there was a faint awkwardness in the way she spoke.

"Doesn't change shit. I don't know what to do, mama."

"You can try calling him, to say you're sorry."

It wouldn't have changed much, she knew, but she decided to do so anyway. At least he would've known that she was sorry, that she felt bad. Without responding directly to her mother, Ukraine got out her phone. She opened Instagram, looking for his art account through the messages function, and texted him.

nada?

i'm so sorry.

She put her phone down, and waited. She curled her knees up again. Worry twisted around her mind; she'd probably reminded him of something traumatic that had happened to him, the way she'd pinned him down and looked at him so aggressively. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he didn't want anything to do with her anymore, even if the thought distressed her.

There was a faint ping from her phone. Ukraine flinched, suddenly grabbing her phone.

It was Canada.

baby

He must've struggled typing that out. She was going to text him back, but saw that he was texting her too.

im sorry too. i shouldn’t of called u that

Ukraine narrowed her eyes a little in confusion. She texted him back.

dw, u don't have 2 be.

i fucked up, worse than u did

She waited a bit for his response. The 3 dots indicating that he was texting her took a while to appear.

it was scary

Ukraine felt her heart shattering. She slammed the phone against the bed, putting her head in her knees. She didn't know what to say.

Suddenly, she picked up her phone again, texting him back.

i know

we can talk abt it tmrw if u want

if u wanna come over that is

but dw if u don’t wanna

Canada took a bit quicker to respond.

i wanna come over

but if i get scared of u, don't worry

She wouldn't have worried at all.

Chapter Text

The whole morning, Canada was shaking. He was excited to see her, yet at the same time, he was scared of her. What if she attacked him again? What if this was some sort of trick to get him jumped or punished in whatever way for what he did to those people?

Enough about what he did; it had been plaguing him for days, and after yesterday, he deserved some rest from it.

"I'm gonna... go round to her house now." He said quietly to France. She smiled a little, though was taken aback by the shakiness in his voice. "Bye." He left the house.

He took his time, walking to her house. It was overcast, and though it didn't rain heavily, Canada felt a few cold drops on his skin, some seeping through his long-sleeved flannel shirt. He breathed in and out, his breaths quivering. There was a faint queasiness in his stomach. He would flinch, from time to time, at the memory of what had happened yesterday.

The sensible option would've been to forget it; that was what had always worked with his mind. Doing activities that allowed him to forget. But this time, he just couldn't. Even the thought of going to her terrified him. He didn't want to be hurt again. He didn't want to remember what he had done. What he had said.

He stood for a while outside her house, debating whether to enter or not. She did say last night not to worry if he did, but he wanted to see her. He wanted to make amends. He wanted to hear an apology from her.

Slowly, he walked towards the front door, making 3 very quick knocks on it. He stood, his arms tense, looking down on the floor, his thighs pressed together. He'd never been so terrified to see her, not even on his first date.

The door opened. Canada almost didn't want to see who it was.

"'Nada?" Ukraine's soft voice somehow calmed his nerves. He looked up at her.

Unlike yesterday, she was in her 'flagged' form, wearing soft, black pyjamas. He was cold before, but his face flushed at seeing her, in contrast to how nervous he was just before. Her hair was messy and ruffled, in a pretty way.

"Hiya~" She cooed.

"H-Hi." He weakly responded back. They looked at each other for a few moments. Ukraine herself blushed at how flustered Canada looked at merely seeing her.

"You wanna come in?" She asked. Canada quickly and faintly nodded his head, before slowly walking into the house. Ukraine placed her thick arm around his shoulder, causing him to flinch a little. She was still so beautiful to him. He didn't know how to feel; he felt happy and nervous and scared and flustered all at once.

"Can we go into your bedroom?" Canada's voice cracked.

"Yeah!"

The two of them made their way upstairs.

Once they made their way into the bedroom, Canada sighed, before flopping onto the bed.

"Hey, no shoes on my bed!" Ukraine yelled. Canada's eyes widened, and sickness immediately purged through his body. He made her angry. Again. He couldn't speak. He wanted to cry.

Suddenly, Canada shot up from the bed, standing straight. Tension taughtened his muscles. Dread widened his eyes as he stared up at her. He felt cold. His mind wasn't able to process how shocked she looked, or how much gentle her posture was compared to yesterday.

"'Nada? I'm not really mad-"

"P-Please, d-don't hurt me." Canada's voice was frail, helpless, like it itself had been beaten. "D-Don't h-hurt me, I-I-I'm sorry." His hands twiddled together rapidly as tears pricked his eyes. In spite of what his mind was expecting, she placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"It's okay. Don't worry about it, I ain't angry." She cooed, gently. He still felt so terrified.

"I'll take my shoes o-off." His voice was a lot stronger now, but it still showed signs of breaking apart into nothingness. He quickly took his shoes off, his fingers fumbling at the heel of each shoe. Ukraine sat beside him.

"I'm sorry, 'Nada." Canada looked at her, his eyes wide again. She sounded so sad. Gently, she wrapped her arms around him, cradling him as tightly as she could. She wanted him to know she was okay, that she wasn't angry at him. Why did she have to pretend to be angry?

Canada tightly held onto her arms. He didn't want to cry, but tears fell down his eyes, and though he didn't whimper he breathed skakily, occasionally whispering "I'm sorry".

He carried on breathing out and in, slowly, until he felt himself begin to calm down. Ukraine stayed beside him, gently rubbing his back.

"I'm... really sorry about that."

"Don't be." Ukraine patted his head. "Wanna play somethin' on my Switch?"

Canada thought back to what happened yesterday. How she'd argued with him, wanting to know more about what he did. Did she still feel the same way now? Surely she must've wanted to know.

"Um... can I explain... to you... about what my mommy told you?" Ukraine thought back for a moment, not sure what he was talking about, until she'd remembered that France had explained to her what he was talking about.

"Listen, dude." She cupped his cheeks, turning his head towards her. Her hands felt squishy and warm, soothing him a little as they warmed his face slightly. "Don't worry about that. Let's play somethin' on my Switch." Immediately she jumped off the bed, grabbing the Switch from a drawer.

Canada sat there, stunned. How could a person just immediately want to forget something? Canada was able to submerge his memories deep in his mind, but this required art, homework, complex thinking. She just straight up decided to not talk about it.

"S-Surely it's on your mind?"

"I just-" Ukraine watched her tone. "Playin' on the switch would be better. It gets us to bond more. We can talk about that later, if you want."

Canada wasn't really sure what to think about this. Wonder seemed to run through his mind. But at the same time, he didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to play on the Switch with his plus-sized girlfriend. There was no point in ruminating on traumatic memories and constantly talking about them. Plus, games (sometimes) helped make him better, distracting him from any bad thoughts, even though he didn't play much outside some ragdoll games on Roblox.

"You ready?" Ukraine asked. Canada flinched as his chain of thoughts was halted. The game 'Mario Kart 8' was loaded on the TV.

"Uh, yeah!"

The game had gone quite poorly for Canada, especially since he hadn’t played much other than a few games with Iceland, and he didn’t want to seem like someone who was completely clueless at the game. He lost every single round with her, but she didn’t chastise him for it.

He ended the day obviously upset that he’d lost, but now much happier with her than yesterday.

He didn't know if it was because he'd woken up earlier than usual, on a Saturday. He didn't know if it was a simple delayed reaction. But the next day, he felt... angry at her. He didn't want to acknowledge it. Anger was something one should never feel towards a partner, especially not her.

Unlike Britain or anyone else who contributed to his abuse, she actually said sorry, and proved in some way that she wanted to change. She wasn't an abusive man, just a woman who'd become overwhelmed at learning her partner had killed people.

But that was the problem. She said that she'd support him. She said that she'd never put him through the same things that his father put him through. And that made it a lot harder for him to deal with. A promise had been broken.

Canada didn't answer any of her texts, nor did he read them. Mainly because there was a part of him that was scared incase he'd say something mean or passive aggressive. He didn't want her leaving him, even though he wasn't as loving towards her right now.

For the first time in a while, he thought about his trauma. Specifically, when she'd pinned him down. It was a miracle he didn't have a flashback, even though he could see his father in his mind as she pinned him down, he could see his father in the way she looked and hear him in the way she growled and yelled in his face. He didn't know what he was going to do with this anger. Especially because he didn't want to take it out on anyone, especially not her. It was weird, he was angry at her, yet he didn't want to hurt her. Even imagining himself hurting her the same way she'd hurt him, filled his body with dread. He didn't want to be like Britain.

For most of the day, he'd kept his anger inwards, outside of scribbling incoherent lines on a sheet of paper and throwing some cubes of ice on the floor whilst France was out shoppng. However, after hearing some news in the afternoon, he couldn't anymore.

"Canada, Ukraine's mother called me. She said you've been offline?" Canada flinched.

"Um, I- I didn't want to check my phone much, I'll-"

"Ne t’inquiète pas! She called me to say, that Ukraine wants to come over." Canada's eyes shot open.

"What?" He said firmly. There was a faint growl to his voice, causing France to flinch a little.

"She wants to come over, in a few minutes." France placed her hand on his. "I know she hurt you a few days ago-" At a moderate speed, Canada slid his hand away, before standing up and stepping backwards at a much quicker pace.

"No! I don't want her here! I don't!" France's eyes widened at his words.

"Petite colombe, she won't hurt you-"

"No! Tell her to fuck off!" Canada immediately gasped at what he'd just said. "No, no Mommy don't! Mommy, don't!"

"I wasn't going to, I'll tell her you're a bit overwhelmed right now, maybe tomorrow or later tonight." Canada growled harshly, placing his hands on his head. Fire burned his skin. He stomped into the kitchen, before sinking down, his knees curled up. He breathed harshly.

He didn't want her coming over.

He yelled his thoughts aloud, shooting up, his hands still tightly grasped on his hair. He saw Namjiev standing in front of him. When did he get in? How much of this did he witness? He always got scared of Canada being violent.

"Lucas, what happened?" Namjiev spoke softly, stuttering a little. He looked a little scared. Canada raised his hand, cupping his mouth in shock. Imagine if this was Ukraine.

"Um, it, it was-" Canada stuttered heavily as he spoke. He didn't know what he wanted to say. Namjiev didn't push him to explain, waiting calmly.

Canada looked around the room. There was a birch-coloured cupboard door. Suddenly, Canada slammed his head against the door. Sharp pain immediately shot around his head, causing him to clutch where he'd hit tightly with his palms.

"Lucas! A-Are y-you okay?"

"Yeah, y-y-yeah," Canada weakly stuttered again. He then explained, to Namjiev, what had been happening. He told him how he'd felt all day. How angry he was with her, and how scared he was at his anger as well. He didn't want to explain this to anyone, but the words just kept flowing out. He saw France enter the kitchen, but he didn't care.

"Lucas," Namjiev said gently, once Canada had finished speaking, "it's okay to feel like that. You don't have to immediately forgive someone."

"B-But yesterday I was a-alright with her."

"I understand how you feel. Sometimes my mind just... doesn't make sense." Namjiev looked back at France. "Your mum told me that she told you how she used to act with me."

"Y-Yeah-?"

"Often, I forgive her. But sometimes, even now, I feel really angry at her, and I just don't know why."

Even though he should've been offended at the thought of somebody being angry at his mother, Canada felt a bit more at peace. Now he knew that at least someone understood him, at least his thoughts were somewhat valid.

"O-Okay."

Around 20 minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Canada opened it, to find Ukraine standing there, this time with a red t-shirt. He barely saw her wearing shirts.

"Hey, 'Nada!" Ukraine cooed, stretching her arms upwards. "I brought my Switch!" Canada didn't know if his TV could connect a switch or not.

"Uhh... yeah!" He awkwardly responded. She looked a lot nicer in a shirt. Her curves were more accentuated in his eyes. He felt a little sick; he'd told this beautiful girl in front of him to fuck off just 20 minutes prior. He didn't want to look at her. It was like she could read into his thoughts.

"Is your momma in?"

"Why?"

"I wanna try and connect this thing to the TV."

Canada flinched a little, but tried not to show it. There wasn't a suitable way to connect this, he thought. He tried to hide his frown, the sickness in his stomach, the overall guilt he was feeling. She was going to be disappointed, he could tell. Or worse; she'd feel like this was him getting back on her for what she'd done. He really didn't want additional guilt for her.

"You okay?" She asked. Canada suddenly looked up at her.

"Um... I'm not... sure i-if we can connect this."

"That's aight! We'll try, but I can play on the console itself."

That was a little surprising. Canada let Ukraine walk into the living room, and France was there. They talked a little, Canada didn't really listen to what they were talking about. He stayed in the hall by the living room.

She didn't deserve to be with him, after what he'd thought. A part of him thought that was irrational, as she probably didn't know what he'd said or thought about her. But he couldn't get the overbearing doubt out of his head. He'd insulted her. A man should never insult his partner. He didn't even think that Britain had ever insulted France. That's what intrigued him a little about his father. He was abusive to him, but very loving towards his wife.

"'Nada! I got the TV workin'!" Canada flinched a little harshly. He worried about whether she'd seen it, although he'd seen from the distance that she was already looking at the TV screen. Mario Kart 8 was on, the same game as yesterday.

"Okay, okay," He awkwardly puffed out. What if he'd said some of his thoughts, like he'd done just before? That was out of anger, he knew, but he'd still felt worried about it regardless.

Ukraine was here. Ukraine was happier and better with him. So why was he still afraid.

Canada awkwardly made his way into the living room, Ukraine handing him one of the controllers from her switch. She'd selected no computer players for this game, so it was just her and Canada. The course Mario Circuit was selected, a bit of an easier one from what he'd seen.

The round began. Surprisingly, Canada was able to overtake her. Not only that, but he was able to remain in front of her for the whole round. Even though it was just a fun game, he'd lost so many times that he was almost estatic to win. He sat with a focused posture, his eyes remaining on the screen in front of him. He drove, wildly, ensuring his car remained in front of hers. Harsh pounds at a rather moderate pace echoed in his ears, as his hands crushed the joycon.

He was overtaking her. Winning!

Until... his car went off the map. He was on the 3rd round, and his car wasn't far from the finish line. Ukraine's car overtook him, suddenly crossing the finish line ahead.

Canada stared at the screen in shock. His muscles were tense and hot.

He looked towards Ukraine. She was standing up, celebrating her win. The same girl who'd pinned him down. The same girl who'd screamed in his face.

The same girl who'd reminded him of his father, without any shame.

Canada stood up. He was breathing as heavily as he could, still staring at her.

"Lucas? Are you alright?" He heard Namjiev say from behind him, as a soft hand touched his shoulder.

Canada shrieked. An animalistic sound.

His head was turned back towards the TV, as he launched the joycon against the wall. He picked it up, launching it once again, before stomping on the controller. He shrieked again, louder, higher.

"'Nada!" Ukraine yelled. Canada flinched, turning towards her in shock. She sounded afraid. Terrified. He looked towards the joycon on the floor. The thumbstocl was completely off the device. The device looked savaged.

He looked around the room. Namjiev was stood, a little behind the couch, his eyes wide with terror. He didn't want to look at France, nor Ukraine. He wanted to cry.

"No, n-no!" Canada yelled, suddenly running upstairs to his bedroom. He pulled down the handle as he shut the door, ensuring it wouldn't slam, before jumping onto his bed, his knees curled up.

He sat there, facing the wall beside his bed, horrified. He was shaking. What had he done? Why did he do that? Nausea pummelled his stomach, and he felt like he was going to be sick, but nothing was coming out. Nothing would come out. He slammed his fist against his head, only once. Faint whimpers were fleeing his mouth; he didn’t have any control of them. He knew he had no right feeling so guilty, and running away instead of apologising to his girlfriend, or even trying to fix the controller he broke.

If what happened 2 days prior wasn’t the end of their relationship, this was.

“Canada?” Ukraine said softly as she opened the door to his room. He quickly turned his head towards her.

“B-Baby?” He weakly whimpered, sitting up. “I’m… I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that.” His voice was choking, like he couldn’t breathe. Ukraine slowly walked towards him, bending down.

“It’s okay, dude. Don’t worry about it.” It wasn’t. He knew he wasn’t; both from the sad, disappointed way he said it, and obviously from the fact that he couldn’t fix a joycon by himself.

“No, n-no, it’s not, please baby please I’m sorry-“ His whimpering was interrupted by Ukraine wrapping her arms around him. They stayed like this for a few moments. Canada didn’t cry.

Eventually, Ukraine gently eased her arms off him. "C-Can I buy you a new c-controller?" He immediately asked her, his voice hesitant.

"Y-You don't have to, I have another set of them."

"Please." He frowned shakily. He really wanted to do this for her. Something good. It was worse for him, now; he understood how she'd felt after she'd pushed him towards the floor. How horrible and guilty she felt.

"Sure." She smiled. How did she not hate him? How did she not have any resentment towards him at all?

"I'm sorry," was all he could say. He held onto her hand, for a little bit, softly so he wouldn't hurt her more, and let her go when she needed to go.

Chapter Text

Ukraine knew she should’ve been livid with Canada for breaking her joy-con. However, even though she’d apologised yesterday morning, and they’d sort of patched things up, she couldn’t bring herself to be even a little bit upset with him. She understood him, more than anything. After the traumas that he’d talked about with her, she couldn’t believe that her mind’s first instinct that day was to attack him and potentially add further trauma onto him.

That was her intention, too. In her state of anger, she’d wanted to scare him, to force him to learn not to discredit how much work she’d done to help him. As shocking as it was, she didn’t really blame him for what he’d done.

“Ukraine! I know I’ve said it before, but I really am sorry!” France said, after Ukraine had come downstairs.

“Honestly, don’t worry.” She placed her thick hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “I forgot to tell ya, but I got some spares at home.”

“That’s good.”

“You ain’t mad with him, are ya?” Ukraine asked a little hesitantly.

“I’m not, surprisingly. Sometimes, he has times when his emotions get very intense for him and are hard to manage.”

“I read about that, once.” Ukraine picked up her switch, with only one joycon attached. “I talked to him, he said he’s gonna get me another set of joycons.” France knew he’d do that.

Ukraine didn't know whether Canada was truly alright. When she'd left him, he still looked heartbroken with himself. She couldn't imagine how he must've been feeling.

She felt as if she needed to remind him that she was still okay with him, that she surprisingly wasn't too upset. Obviously, she was still upset; he'd broken her controller, even though she thought they'd already patched things up. But she didn't want to bother him too much as well. A part of her thought that maybe that's why Canada was so upset; that he felt he didn't deserve forgiveness, even though she wanted to forgive him.

"Listen," Ukraine gently said, wrapping her arms around France's shoulders. France flinched in surprise at how Ukraine seemed to crush her. "Don't worry 'bout me, okay? I'll be okay." She let go. "Was I crushin' ya?"

"A little," she giggled. Ukraine smiled faintly back at her, before leaving the house. It was a bit darket outside, the sky coated with navy-blue.

It had taken Canada some effort to get up the next morning. It was easy for him to go to bed, surprisingly, but as soon as he woke up, the memory of his outburst the previous night had slammed into him. He didn't feel like he'd apologised enough, and he knew he'd have to grovel the rest of his life for this. He didn't mind. He'd do anything for that girl.

Sickness from the shame was tormenting him, unable to leave his mind. He wanted to deny what had happened, to forget about it completely, but he knew he didn't deserve to. She was probably frightened, just like he was; he'd failed as a man.

Canada kept on the clothes he was wearing last night, only wanting to go downstairs and lay on a sofa. He did just that, but after a few moments, there was a knock on the door. He flinched. He kept seated on the couch, too scared to answer, the sudden fear paralysing him. Thankfully, France was there to answer and greet whoever was there.

“Is m-my sister’s b-boyfriend here? I j-just need to t-talk with him.” He recognised the voice. Ukraine’s brother. The boy may have known what happened, but Canada didn’t know his intentions, from the nervousness in the young man’s voice. Reluctantly, he got up, making his way towards the door.

Canada made his way into the front hall. France was still there, and the boy was standing awkwardly, not far from the front door. As soon as he saw him, he began to breathe quickly, but he didn’t look angry. Canada couldn’t tell how he was feeling.

“A-Are you okay?” Canada quietly asked. Suddenly, the boy rushed towards him, France quickly stepping out of the way as he grabbed onto Canada’s shoulders. Canada didn’t scream, but his eyes bulged in shock as he angrily shoved him against the kitchen door.

“Don’t hurt my sister!” The boy yelled, his voice shrill with anger as he repeatedly pushed him against the door. Canada whimpered, trying to fight the boy off him, when suddenly, Namjiev grabbed onto the boy’s shirt, aggressively pulling him away.

Canada gasped for air, shaking from the distress of the experience.

“He hurt my sister! He hurt my sister!” The boy squealed, banging his fists against the wall.

“Listen, y-you need t-t-to leave my house, n-now!” Namjiev tried to sound aggressive.

“He hurt my sister!” The boy wouldn’t stop saying it, his voice getting weaker. He was just trying to avenge and protect his sister, Canada knew.

He knew he deserved this.

Chapter Text

The stress from both the incident and what he had done to Ukraine had lingered into today.  It wasn’t as bad as yesterday, but the guilt was still lingering over him, and there was little he could do to get rid of it, not like he wanted to.

The shame was necessary, he thought. Ukraine had apologised to him over what happened, she’d expressed remorse, and he’d still broken her controller.

About the controller, he had looked for it online, spending a good portion of the day on looking for it. If he remembered right, the joy-con had some sort of Animal Crossing design on it, but he didn’t remember the exact one, so it was somewhat stressful.

He wanted to find the exact one.

The next day, Canada was somewhat more dismayed that he couldn’t find the right controller, so was just hoping that a similar design would be more suitable for her. He sat in Aizawa’s class, thinking of what design would be most appropriate and similar to her old joy-con, when something Aizawa was saying piqued his interest.

“We have a new student arriving later this lesson. His name is… Qaabiz, but he prefers to be called Palestine. He doesn’t talk much, so you don’t have to introduce yourself but, y’know, don’t bully him.”

This was… interesting. A new kid. Canada himself was a bit nervous; this could be a new opportunity to befriend someone.

The student arrived halfway during the lesson, accompanied by a teacher’s assistant. His hair was just like Canada’s, curly and fluffy and down to his shoulders, except his hair was coated in strips of black and red. He stood, nervous and with crossed arms, just like how Canada sometimes stood. He seemed to walk reluctantly as he made his way towards Canada’s table sitting next to him.

“H-Hi,” Canada started, his tone high and friendly, “I’m Lucas, but I’m also called Canada.” Palestine flinched slightly, his eyes faintly widening.

“Uhh, thanks,” he stammered, not really knowing what to say. “I’m sorry, I struggle socially.”

“Don’t worry, so do I.” This was a bit nice for Palestine to hear.

“Ok, uhh,” he thought back a little to a set of questions to ask when meeting new students. “Do you have any h-hobbies?”

“I like drawing and colouring, and I also have a g-girlfriend who I like.” It pained Canada a little to say it, another reminder of what he’d done.

“W-What do you l-like about d-drawing and colouring?”

“It makes me feel calm… I don’t know, I just like it.”

“Thanks…” Palestine was silent for a moment. “By the way, if I’m o-overbearing or annoying, I’m so sorry, I-I have a condition, I think it’s social communication difficulties.”

“Don’t worry, I have autism.”

“I-Is that like an upgraded version?” Canada laughed at what he said. “It’s just a joke, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

They talked a bit for the rest of the day, but not as much, Canada wanted to focus on Palestine’s pace, and how comfortable he was talking. He still was desperately looking for the joy-con that he’d broken, even though Ukraine had said through text that he could take his time.

The next day, Palestine approached Canada, something he almost never did.

“H-Hi, I h-have a question, you don’t have to say y-yes.”

“What is it?” Palestine still didn’t know if he should ask it. He’d never really had a friend before. He hadn’t been bullied or anything, but was so terrified in case he would be that he didn’t bother talking in his old school.

“D-Do you want to come over to my house?” He cringed deeply the moment after he asked it, but he didn’t show it.

“Yeah, I just n-need to text my mom, she’ll probably let me though.” Palestine smiled a little. Excitement began to burst into him, but again he didn’t show it. Even though not talking to anyone practically extinguished the chances of him being terrorised, as he was moving to this school, he was scared that he’d miss out on friendships, so this was an amazing opportunity.

At the same time, he couldn’t help but think that this was too rushed. Maybe around a week in would’ve been better? They didn’t know each other that well, at least he didn’t think so.

Regardless, Canada was able to go back to his house. Canada was a little surprised at the front; it had a lot of flags on it, particularly of the Palestinian and Jordanian flag; Jordan was his mother, who lived with him.

“I brought my sketchbook with me,” Canada said, sitting on the carpeted floor. He’d taken his socks and shoes off, not wanting to get anything dirty.

“D-Do they have y-your drawings in it?”

“Y-Yeah, but I’m gonna have to skip a few pages.”

“Why?”

“They’re of… naked men.”

“What’s w-wrong with it?” Canada struggled to articulate his answer.

“I don’t think… are you a Muslim?”

“I am, but I don’t practice it as much.”

“I was just thinking, it’s like, homosexuality isn’t allowed in the religion.”

“He can view drawings like that.” Canada flinched at the sudden female voice, from a nearby room in the house. He didn’t know Palestine’s mother was hearing, and he didn’t want to upset her, but at the same time, he wanted to know more.

“But… aren’t you meant to… kill someone, if they’re gay?” Jordan walked in, causing Canada to worry more.

“I forgot what that passage mentioned, but I don’t think it was about gay people.” She kneeled down. “Being gay is wrong, but you’re not meant to treat someone harshly because of it.”

“Oh, I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, even some Muslims get that part wrong,” she responded with a slight giggle. Canada proceeded to show Palestine some of the drawings, allowing him to hold the sketchbook. He slowly turned through the book, his eyes carefully focused on the drawings, though Canada didn’t notice a difference in facial expression.

That was when he noticed it. Palestine’s sleeve was down just slightly, exposing a deep, purple bruise on his arm. The bruise covered his arm entirely, some parts of it black and red.

“What;s that?” Canada asked. Palestine looked at him, a little incredulously. “The bruise on your arm?” Before he could finish saying this, Palestine yanked up his sleeve, his arms crossing nervously. His eyes seemed to bulge as he looked down, suddenly shaking.

“I-I’m sorry,” Canada weakly said. Jordan quickly rushed over to Palestine, whispering something in Arabic, causing the boy to nod his head a little reluctantly. She took Canada into another room.

“There’s… something I need to tell you.”

“O-okay.”

“He… he’s received that bruise from his father.” Canada flinched in shock. “That’s why he’s so nervous; there’s a lot of bad memories in his mind that he doesn’t like to think about.

“His father and I have been divorced for quite some time, but… sometimes he still has to see him.”

“I had the same thing happen to me,” Canada responded, reluctantly. They stood in silence for a few moments, Canada awkwardly looking down, not knowing what to think or say.

“I’m sorry, habibi,” she responded, patting him gently on his hair.

Just then, Canada thought back to what he'd done. What Britain had made him do. What he should've refused to do. He wanted to make things right. He couldn't bring back those people, but he could save someone else from torment, he knew.

Just then, he ran back into the living room. "P-Palestine, this is gonna sound really strange," he gasped nervously, "but I need to take a photo of the bruise on your arm."

"W-Why?"

"I w-won't share it or anything, but i-if your dad gets reported or anything, this will be r-really important." Without protest, Palestine pulled down the rest of his sleeve, looking away as he did so. The deep, purple bruises were all down his arm. Canada immediately took a photograph on his phone, before pulling down Palestine's sleeve for him.

Even though he wasn't angry or upset with Canada, he asked him to leave a little early.

Chapter Text

Fortunately, Canada was able to get the joycons for Ukraine; in fact, they were rather cheap, and had a similar design to what he’d remembered her having. The next day, he was able to take them right to her house, shortly after school had finished. Palestine did talk to him a little, but he didn’t ask him to go around.

Because of this, Canada was a little unsure of whether he’d done the right thing the previous day.

“Umm… Ukraine?” Canada asked, whilst at her house. He was quiet, holding the joycons behind his hands.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve g-got something I-I want to show you.” Arms shaking, he slowly presented the 2 joy-cons to her. She gasped.

“Oh my god! They just like my old ones!” She excitedly snatched them from him, taking them to her Switch. They connected successfully, and were able to play on the device. “Thank you so much!” She was smiling.

Even though he’d fixed her mistake, Canada couldn’t stop feeling remorseful. He shouldn’t have had to do this. No partner needed to do this. He needed to be the perfect man for her, and what he’d done days prior was far from that.

Ukraine was looking over at him, noticing the sadness on his face. “Hey,” she put her thick arm around him, “it’s aight now. I promise ya.” She gave a gently kiss on his cheek, causing him to smile just a little, before she wrapped her other arm around him. They stayed like this for a few minutes.

“Oksana?” Canada flinched a little. It was Ukraine’s brother. “C-Can I say s-something to your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, if you want.” She responded, a little reluctantly. Canada looked up at him.

“I’m r-really sorry, for what I did a few d-days ago. I don’t- don’t know why I did it.” His voice quivered, his hands locked onto each other as he looked down.

“It’s alright. I completely understand why you did it. You just wanted to look out for her, that’s all.” The boy looked at him, a little surprised.

“A-Are you sure?” Canada nodded. “O-Okay. My name’s Alex, by the way.”

“Th-That’s a nice name.” Canada cringed a little after saying it. That was such a cliché thing to say.

Canada felt a bit better afterwards, knowing that he’d managed to fix his mistake, even though the thought lingered that he still should’ve controlled his anger. However, he was still worrying about Palestine. When would he next visit his father? Did Canada do the right thing taking that photo? The kid had seemed very uncomfortable with him afterwards, and a little uncomfortable the next day.

Regardless, Canada would’ve wanted someone to do something if they were in his situation, so he didn’t want to worry too much about it. It helped that when he saw Palestine the next day, he still looked happy to see him, even though he still looked nervous. His sleeves were down, one hand tugging at the sleeve to not have his skin exposed accidentally.

“H-Hi, how a-are you?” Palestine asked quietly.

“I’m alright, thanks.” Palestine didn’t respond. He looked down, awkwardly. “How are you?”

“I’m… fine.” His hands quivered a little, and he breathed out shakily, continuing to look down. Canada didn’t want to say anything about it.

“I haven’t asked you, how did you find my sketchbook? You looked at it a few days ago.”

Palestine took some time to respond. “It’s okay.” The words came out in a light whisper, the tone slightly cracking. He sounded sick.

“I just thought I’d say… I’m sorry for taking that photo when I was at your house.”

“What?”

“I took a photo of… your arm. The reason why I did it… I wanted to do the right thing, in case something happens and your dad is put in jail or something… but I don’t know if it was the right time. I’m sorry.”

Palestine's arms tightened. He felt a sickness in his stomach that dug deep inside, causing more nausea than he could handle in that moment. He didn't want another reminder. Another reminder of what was about to come tomorrow.

He couldn't stop himself from sinking to the floor, even though he and Canada were in an empty school corridor, where someone could walk in and intrude on the situation, asking him too many personal questions or whatnot. He shook. He quivered.

"Palestine?" Canada suddenly asked, causing the other to flinch in shock as he looked up. "What's wrong?"

"It... my mama, t-told you about my dad?"

"Yes?"

"I'm seeing him tomorrow." Palestine choked out the words. Canada sat down next to him, rubbing his back.

"I don't know... if this will bring any comfort, but... I was in the same situation." Palestine looked over at him, his head originally between his knees. "I know it... was hard, last time, but if anything happens, I'll need to take more photos. I won't show you them, and I won't show anyone else them. I swear."

"O-Okay."

Chapter Text

Canada had somehow managed to suppress how he'd felt for the rest of the school day. Palestine didn't talk much to him, which he understood. However, when he got home, he couldn't keep it in for long.

France had rushed to him after suddenly hearing loud, quick and scattered sobs from the hallway. There, Canada had explained to her what had happened at Palestine's house, and what Palestine had told him. He quivered as he explained it, his hands tightly gripping his hair.

It was worse knowing that there was little he could do other than collect some evidence, in the (possibly) unlikely case Palestine's father would be charged with abuse.

France really did not know what to say, but she knew she needed to say... something.

"Do you know where Palestine will be taken?" France awkwardly asked. Canada weakly shook his head. "I was just saying, maybe... try to get him out directly?"

Canada stared at her for a moment. He didn't know what to think. This should've been a good idea, if Canada was willing to be retraumatised, but he wasn't. The wonder echoed in his head, the thought of getting him out. He didn't think he was strong enough. Plus, this was a Thursday, meaning Palestine would be in his father's grip by Friday; given divorce laws where they lived, he'd be out by the Sunday morning.

"I-I don't know."

"What do you mean? It..." Deep down she knew what he meant.

"I d-don't wanna get hurt. I don't know if his father's like mine; he had weapons and... stuff." Canada felt selfish, even though he was just trying to keep himself safe.

"M-Maybe you could contact him whilst he's there?"

"I could do." Canada frowned. He went into the living room, before lying on the sofa. France decided to leave him be, and maybe make some pancakes later.

It was worse for him, knowing that there was little he could do. What made it more terrible for Canada was knowing that what made whatever courts out there see Britain as an unsuitable father was Britain doing something extremely traumatic to him. What could Palestine's father do?

Canada wasn’t able to stop thinking about the situation with his friend. He was going to try to contact him, but he didn’t know his socials, and Palestine had never given him his number. Canada didn’t even want to think about what Palestine must’ve been going through, but he couldn’t avoid that reality. Not even when he was doing his homework, nor during his date with Ukraine.

“How you feelin’?” She asked him, at some point early on in the date, as she was lying down on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. He wasn’t his normal, excitedly nervous self, instead being unresponsive, mostly, and seemed uninterested.

“I’m alright.” He remained looking down, sitting on the edge of her bed, not wanting to tell her what was really happening. This relationship didn’t need more conflict.

“You not still worrying about that joycon?” She asked, after a short pause. He flinched a little in surprise. Due to worrying about the situation with his friend, he hadn’t even thought much about it, but still found it a good excuse.

“I’m… sorry. Even though you said it was okay, because of what happened before, I still feel really ashamed.” He carried on looking down, a little guilty that he was lying to her, even though he still felt embarrassment at the way he lashed out on her. Ukraine looked at him for a little while, before sitting up on the bed, wrapping her thick arm around his back.

“Hey…” she gently brushed his hair, whilst he turned his head towards her, his eyes slightly wet. “I promise, it’s okay. You were just scared n’ angry. As long as you promise not to do it again, that’s okay.”

Canada couldn’t help but quiver at the way she was talking to him. So many thoughts were going through his head. He didn’t feel like he deserved this, both what he did to her, and what Britain had him do to those people. A tear slowly made its way down his cheek as he buried himself into her, making quick, gentle whimpers.

Crying with Ukraine had made him feel just a little better. It was wrong lying about how he was feeling, but doing that wasn’t the worst thing he’d done. Further, Ukraine had been faced with a lot of revelations about his past trauma and actions, and he’d figured that she didn’t need anymore.

It was overcast when Canada had left her house. He could feel light, scattered droplets of rain on his long-sleeved flannel shirt. It felt a bit nice, the breeze blowing through the fabric and slightly cooling his skin.

Whilst walking, he suddenly saw Palestine. He was wearing a dark, silky coat that seemed comfortable on him.

“Hey,” Canada called, suddenly stopping. Palestine stopped too. “Are… are you okay?”

“Y-Yes, I’m okay. It wasn’t worse than most of the times I had with him.”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I think I’ll be okay. That b-bruise you s-saw? He doesn’t do that often, b-but… he makes me beat other people.” He pulled out a thin metal pipe, one end coated with blood. His hands were coated in gloves. Canada walked towards him a little, but Palestine yanked it away. “This has his fingerprints on.”

Canada stared at the pipe, staying a little far away to not tamper with the pipe. The evidence. His heart broke imagining what Palestine could’ve done, what his father would’ve made him do with this weapon.

The metal pipe looked similar to the pipe that Britain had beaten him with. He could feel his heart racing a little.

“W-What’s your dad’s n-name?” It sounded weird when he’d said it.

“Israel. The ‘a’ is before the ‘e’.” They stood in silence for a moment, Canada still looking at the pipe. The memories of Britain beating him and threatening him with it when he didn’t train or learn properly were rushing through his mind.

He could make it right. He thought back to the helicopter he’d shot down. He could make it right.

“Keep that locked away if you can. We won’t talk about it any more, okay?”

“Okay.” Palestine smiled a little. He hated talking about it, just like Canada did.

Chapter Text

Canada thought the following day, at least, would’ve been normal. He managed to see Ukraine shortly after his interaction with Canada, and Palestine had texted him saying that he was okay, as well as sending him some evidence.

However, the next day, he saw Palestine, whimpering a little quietly in an area of school where not many people went. He’d seen him from a distance, the other’s hands clutching tightly on his head, just like how Canada did when he was stressed.

He didn’t want to bother him. He’d already felt like he was bothering him enough, asking for evidence all the time. But he still went over.

“Palestine? Are you okay?” He asked. Palestine’s posture seemed to loosen a little as he locked eyes with him.

“My d-dad wants an e-extension of custody. I don’t know if I-I’ll be seeing him tonight.” Canada couldn’t help but gasp a little. He remembered being younger, his stomach becoming deeply sick at the mere thought of an extension, even though that rarely happened, other than the times when he had to go to war.

“Umm…” Canada rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to do.”

“My m-mama’s trying to get him to n-not do the extension, sorry if I didn’t say it r-right. But still t-try to get evidence.”

“Okay.”

Canada paced down the street after school. He wasn't sure where he wanted to go, anywhere that would've stopped him from being uncomfortable. Palestine hadn't showed up to school that day, even though he was meant to be freed from Israel yesterday, and his phone was offline.

The heat burned against Canada's skin; it felt like that for him, even though the day wasn't as hot. Suddenly, the heat began to overwhelm him a little more. The dress shirt seemed to stick to his skin, the more he thought about it. He needed to go to Ukraine's house. He needed to tell France before this; he didn't want her to worry even more, and he didn't want something to worry about as well as this, so he gave her a quick text.

After sending it, he looked up suddenly, at hearing a car skid across the rode as it stopped suddenly. A man came out from the driver's seat, with white skin and faint, navy lines on his flag, and white, fluffy hair. He got out slowly, but flung open the passenger door, before gruffly exclaiming something in Arabic and pulling the passenger out.

It was Palestine. The passenger he pulled out was Palestine.

Canada's eyes flew open. His whole body stiffened. Israel suddenly pulled Palestine by his arm, his hand tight on it. Palestine's eyes locked with Canada's.

There was no excuse to stand there.

Canada hastily looked both ways, finding that the road was empty, before sprinting over faster than he thought he could. He grabbed onto Palestine, quickly shoving him away, standing between him and Israel, who was staring with a dazzled look in his eyes.

"Stay away from him!" Canada yelled. For once, he didn't care at all, not even slightly, about what anyone thought. "I will not let you hurt him any more!"

"Who said I was hurting him?" Israel asked, surprisingly calmly.

"I've seen the bruises! I know-"

Suddenly, Israel pulled out something large and black from his pocket. He aimed it at Canada, immediately firing.

Instantly, overwhelming pain shot through Canada; his muscles tensed and completely locked up, rendering him unable to control his movements.

He didn't scream. He wanted to scream, from the unbearable pain, but couldn't.

Even as the pain almost immediately subsided, he couldn't stop shaking, as he fell limp onto the ground below. He saw Israel walking towards Palestine, who for some reason hadn't fled the scene, before grabbing onto him and pulling him away. Canada faintly whimpered, suddenly getting up. Merely standing took all his body strength.

He couldn't stop shaking.

However, the thought of what would happen to Palestine urged him to try and move; the weakness in his joints seemed to be diminished as Canada tried to run into the house where he’d been taken into. Shockingly he was right outside, a slightly open door suddenly being slammed shut.

Immediately, Canada rushed towards the house, banging against it, his fists heavy against the door, but they didn’t break it down. Wheezing, Canada listened through the door; screaming, yelling from what sounded like Palestine.

The sound sickened him. His face turned white, and his breath seemed to burst in and out.

Canada frantically looked around for whatever he could use to bash the door or windows in. His arms shook violently, the screaming a bit fainter, but still there, lingering over him. He sprinted over after seeing what looked like a rock, laying down on the front driveway, as if perfectly placed for this moment.

However, as Canada picked it up, he heard a harsh bang as the door slammed. He looked over. Palestine was shaking and breathing just as heavily as he was, one eye stained with a deep purple bruise, and there were harsh, thin cuts on his arms. Ruby-coloured, the blood slowly oozed down his arms; skeletal, dark and fresh streams of blood. They were pouring down too quickly.

Canada could’ve fainted at the sight, but needed to keep it together.

“P-Palestine!” Canada yelled, rushing towards him. He was going to use his dress shirt to cover it up, but looking behind him, found a towel that had been hung on a bike. He rushed over to it, wrapping the towel around his wounded arms. “I need to take you to my house.”

Even though they’d both sprinted back to the house, Palestine trying his hardest to keep the towel on his arms, it seemed like forever before they’d finally reached Canada’s front door. He pounded on the door - 6 times in one second - before frantically ringing his mother, but fortunately she was able to answer the door.

“M-Mommy, I need t-t-to keep- I-“ Canada stuttered in panic, but France seemed to know the basics of what was happening, based on what she’d been told by Canada already. She quickly took them in.

Palestine rushed into the kitchen, the towel dropping off his arms. It was stained with blood. The slender marks on his arms looked just a bit cleaner, but he still was rushing, trying to find something that he could bandage up his injuries with. Fortunately, he was able to find just the object that was made to do this.

He hastily wrapped the white fabric tightly around his arms, unspeaking, his eyes still bulging with fear. His whole body seemed to feel numb as he did this, trying to be as quick as possible, not wanting any more blood to leave his body.

The bandages stung his scars.

“P-Palestine?” Canada asked, his voice weak and timid. Palestine’s eyes shot up towards him. “Are you okay?” Suddenly, anger burst through Palestine’s veins. He looked near the kitchen sink, finding a cutting board, and throwing it at him. It hit his chest, causing him to yelp.

“You made him do it!” Palestine screeched.

“W-What?”

“He wasn’t gonna hurt me! He wasn’t gonna cut me! He said he did it because you pulled me away!!”

Canada’s eyes would’ve bulged out of their sockets. Horror barged into his mind.

“No!” Canada yelled back.

“He did! H-He said it.” Palestine choked out. Suddenly he ran out of the kitchen, shoving Canada out of the way. He almost fell against the floor. Palestine rushed upstairs, and there was a muffled slam of a door, followed by a muffled screech.

“C-Canada?” France asked. Canada had never seen her so puzzled. He explained what had just happened to her, in detail, even though it was difficult to say.

“I- I wanted to do the right thing, I wanna d-do the right thing m-mommy I’m sorry-“

“I know.” She said quickly, but not aggressively. Canada stayed standing, his body quivering in fear.

Suddenly, there was a harsh bang on the door. They both flinched at the sound. Canada was going to say something, try to beg her not to do anything, but for some reason she immediately opened the door. It was Israel, staring with a rather blank expression that didn’t match the tightness in his posture that made him ready to strike.

“Are you hiding my son?”

“N-No, I don’t-“ Israel entered the house, moving France out of the way, not pushing her too harshly. Canada rushed in front of him.

“Listen, we don’t know who you are.” Canada didn’t mean to sound aggressive. He wanted to sound afraid, he needed to further convince Israel that no-one was here.

“He’s in here! Somewhere!” Israel yelled. He tried to usher Canada away, but he stayed firmly still. Israel put his hands on Canada’s shoulders, causing the younger to push him away.

“I said get out!” Canada yelled back. Israel looked shocked. “Even if he was here, you’re not seeing him.”

France stood behind Canada, not knowing what to do. She gasped for breath, her heart racing as she stared whilst they argued. This man could’ve seriously hurt her son, and she didn’t think she could fight back against him.

This man wasn’t like Britain at all. Unlike Britain, he didn’t seem to immediately calm down in front of her. Instead, her presence seemed to motivate him more into barging in, finding and beating whoever he wanted.

“You’re gonna let me see him. I know he’s in here!” Israel’s voice shook lightly from the shock.

“I won’t! He’s not in here!” Canada stood by the door, further pushing Israel out of the hall. He felt sick. Israel’s posture and eyes were tight, and he was ready to seriously strike against him. Canada shook with fear, but kept his angry demeanour.

He could hear his mother, talking to someone on the phone. She said the name of their address. It seemed Israel had heard it too, because for some reason, he immediately dashed away.

After Israel had been gone for a few seconds, Canada wheezed for breath, slamming the front door. He sank against the door, his back pressed tightly against the corner by the door and the downstairs bathroom, staring aimlessly ahead with protruding eyes.

He’d just fought back against an abuser.

He’d never thought he’d ever do this. Not even with Britain. Could he have done it with Britain?

No. Britain would’ve slaughtered him.

He could’ve died doing this.

Canada flinched, more harshly than he should’ve, upon noticing Palestine in front of him. He stared back at him, with the same wide eyes. They looked at each other for a while, but for the both of them it seemed a lot longer than what it actually was.

“I… I- I don’t kn-ow-“

“What?” Canada quiveringly responded. Palestine tried to catch his breath.

“I don’t know- why I stayed u-upstairs.”

“What do you mean?”

“I… I heard all that.” The other whimpered. “And I d-didn’t help you.”

“Palestine,” Canada slowly got up, “please try not to worry about it. This is… I wish I would’ve done the same thing. It w-would’ve saved me a lot, but trust me, its better that you didn’t intervene.”

“O-Okay,” the other whispered. “I d-didn’t mean to s-scream at you earlier. I don’t know what… I was really stressed, and I’m sorry.”

Canada looked at him, for a moment. He felt something burning inside of him. He didn’t know what it was, as it wasn’t as intense as it would’ve been if he was congratulated in a moment like this, but there was something there.

In that moment, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Palestine had yelled at him. Canada had rescued him from his father, something that he wished someone would’ve done for him, and Palestine had the nerve to scream at him over it.

But even then, he couldn’t let Palestine know. He’d already been through enough just now, and it would make things much worse for the both of them.

“It’s okay,” was all Canada could say in response.

Chapter Text

A short while later, the police had rung France back, to inform her of Israel’s arrest. Immediately after this, Palestine became ecstatic, suddenly overwhelmed by a lot of emotions coming in at once.

How would his mother feel? Would Israel escape? Would he have to see Israel in court following what had happened? So many thoughts, emotions and questions.

Shortly after France had told them, Canada took photos of Palestine’s arms, one with the bandages on and one without. It was painful for Palestine to take the bandages off, more so looking at the scars on his arms. Anxiety twinged him as his eyes caught them; they had reminded him of what had transpired minutes prior.

For a week, time was blurring by Canada quickly. He’d felt excitement and new, fresh emotions. He’d told Ukraine and Iceland what had happened, and how he helped. Both seemed proud of him, with Iceland surprisingly showing some positive emotion for once.

Palestine didn’t show up to the court meetings, but Canada did show up to one. There was a large TV screen in the courtroom, and it showed the photos that Canada had taken of Palestine’s bruised arms.

As selfish as he knew it was, Canada couldn’t help the excitement that was building up. He knew he’d played a part saving his friend. He knew that he’d managed to make things right. For once, it didn’t matter to him that he’d bombed a helicopter, or lashed out at his girlfriend.

What mattered was that he’d gotten someone out of an abusive situation.

Ironically, the confrontation he had with Israel that Palestine had dared to scream at him over, was the reason why Israel was caught in the first place, and an alternate witness statement seemed to help convict Israel further.

Canada couldn’t stop shaking in the courtroom. It was a miracle he could suppress how excited he was, knowing that because of him an abuser was finally being revealed to be what they were; an abuser. This was such an intense accomplishment, that in that moment he didn’t know how he was going to cope with what he’d done.

The overwhelming amount of evidence caused Israel to plead guilty at the beginning of the session after the one Canada had attended. Immediately after that, Palestine’s confidence seemed to improve. He stopped stuttering in his speech, and the next day at school he was talking to a lot more people, starting with Ukraine and Iceland.

For the first time in a while, Canada felt at peace.

“How do you feel about a pizza?” France asked, the afternoon after Israel made his plea. Ukraine was in the house with them - in fact, he was cuddling her - and it was a cool, gentle evening.

“I don’t mind one, but… are you sure I shouldn’t be checking in on him?” Canada asked.

“He’ll need his momma, probably.” Ukraine didn’t look up from her phone. “Can I come?”

“Of course.” Canada gave her a light kiss on the cheek.

“Should we go out?” France asked. Canada nodded his head.

Shortly after, all 4 of them (as Namjiev had been silent) made their way out of the house, going to a pizza place that wasn’t far from their house, sitting at a soft booth. Canada had ordered a margarita, and didn’t pay much attention to what the others had ordered. Not long after they had ordered, the receipt came.

Canada checked his pizza. A 10-inch margarita for 7.50. What? This should’ve come for free.

“Mom? Is this price right?”

“What do you mean?”

Canada stuttered before speaking again. “Surely the employees here must know that I helped in that case. Why are they having me pay for this?”

France looked at him, a little shocked. “Well… you’re not paying for this, and I have enough for all 4 of us!”

This didn’t stop Canada’s worry. He couldn’t help but quiver a little as he stared at the receipt. Of course, he wasn’t helping Palestine for any reward, but he really felt like he needed one, especially after the confrontation with Israel.

“No, t-this isn’t right!” He pressed his hands against his head. He felt his heartbeat rise, and he didn’t know why. All that happened was that his pizza had a price, a simple number beside it, but he didn’t deserve to pay for it, not after the heroic evidence-gathering he’d done.

“What’s goin’ on?” Ukraine placed her hand on his shoulder, but she couldn’t calm down. He stood up, budging from the table.

“Excuse me?! Can I see someone?” He sounded a little distressed. Suddenly, he snatched the receipt from the table, staring at the price tag beside his margarita. An employee of the store quickly came over.

“Sir, what do you need?”

“See this?” He showed the receipt to the employee, his movements surprisingly calm. “The 10-inch margarita isn’t meant to have a price tag beside it!”

“What do you mean?”

“It… did you see the news? About the man who abused his kids? It was a big case!” Canada wasn’t lying there. The case had been on the news quite a bit in the city, and some kids from school had asked Palestine what was happening.

“I have seen the news-“

“I was one of the people who got him convicted! You can’t give me-“

“Hey!” Ukraine suddenly grabbed onto him, turning him to face her. Canada flinched. “Your pizza’s gettin’ paid for, whether ya like it or not!”

“I-“

“It don’t matter that ya gave in evidence, you ain’t gotta expect a reward like that.” Her voice was a lot calmer than it was before, but Canada still flinched at the annoyance in her words. “Besides, people work hard to make pizzas. Come on, dude.”

“Ukraine, s'il vous plaît, the boy’s just excited and overwhelmed.” France butted in.

“I know that, but… it’s kinda weird to expect a free pizza over it.” Canada shook. Suddenly, his mind thought back to the time he’d told Ukraine about what he’d done. She’d spoken in a similar tone. Aggressive.

“I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” He was whimpering a little.

“Hey,” Ukraine whispered, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

Not long after, the pizzas came, and they ate them in peace. Canada thought back to his outburst just then, feeling a little guilty even though he didn’t yell or be too aggressive towards the employee. At the same time, he wanted others to know just how proud he was, but didn’t know how.

Canada’s pride in himself didn’t seem to fade. He kept obsessing over it, the confrontation with Israel, the decision to take photos of Palestine’s arms.

Surprisingly, it became his only topic of conversation. It was all he’d talk about, really. He’d find every way to talk about it, even if others tried prompting him with different conversation topics. Ukraine and France didn’t care as they were also very proud of him, Ukraine especially. It quickly got annoying for Iceland and Namjiev, even though Namjiev was more tolerant.

However, Iceland was quicker to be annoyed. 6 days after Israel's conviction, Canada was at Iceland's, playing on his XBOX, when he was talking about it again. Iceland was somehow impressed at how he was finding new things to talk about in the same subject.

"Canada? Can we talk about something else?" Iceland bravely asked him.

"Why?"

"Well... I really appreciate what you did, it was quite brave of you, but... it's all you keep talking about."

At first, Canada didn't know what to think. He was a little shocked at hearing what Iceland said, and the emotions grew more as he thought about it.

A familiar heat spread around his body, causing him to suddenly stand up.

"Is what I did not important?!" Canada suddenly asked.

"I never said that, I even said-"

"Why don't you want me to talk about? You know I'm really proud of myself!" It sounded silly, but Canada was really angry over this, like he was over that pizza.

"It's just getting a bit boring! You keep talking about the same 3 things. I don't want this... taking up your personality. I'm sorry if that sounded weird."

Canada almost couldn't believe how angry he was getting. He'd bravely confronted an abuser, he'd managed to make a right to the wrong things he'd done under Britain, and this was how he was being treated?

"No! I don't wanna hear it!" Canada suddenly grabbed his bag, before leaving the room. Iceland stared for some time as he left. He couldn't help but wonder what Canada's true intentions were. Did he do it for attention or fame? If not, why was he acting like this?

He found it best to just ignore it for now.

Canada eventually wasn't as bothered by what Iceland had said, especially with how accepting France and Ukraine were. He felt at peace again. He felt proud of himself, especially seeing how Palestine was healing.

However, one morning, for some reason he felt incredibly hot. He didn't feel flames of anger; this was something else, and felt a lot more uncomfortable. It was a little difficult for him to get out of bed, too, but he was able to do that, weakly stumbling to the bathroom, his legs seeming to ache and almost give up, even though he thought he wasn't putting as much weight on them.

His head hurt.

"Good morning," Namjiev said from behind him. Canada jumped.

"Ghh... morning."

"Are you okay?"

"I f-feel... hot. My legs... hurt and I feel sick." His voice was as weak as it could be.

"That's the first time you've talked about anything else..." Namjiev said softly under his breath. Due to his sickness, Canada didn't know what he was talking about, but he still weakly turned his head around. Namjiev studied him a little, noticing the weakness in his eyes.

"D-Does your head hurt?" Namjiev asked. He tried not to worry. Canada weakly nodded his head, before his legs suddenly gave way, though his fall was slow as his back was

Chapter Text

Even though just earlier he'd felt so hot he could've burnt up, Canada was suddenly freezing up, despite having his blanket wrapped tightly around him. He was shivering from the cold, not moving to try and alleviate it somehow, keeping his knees curled up to his stomach and his arms wrapped around them.

He tried to bury himself as much as he could in his blanket, but it didn't alleviate the cold.

In the dark, where he'd kept his head under the blanket, he began to suddenly see the colour red, daubed in small, distorted blobs. He began to see other colours, a faint yellow and azure, the weird visions confusing him slightly. Even when he tried to close his eyes, they were still there.

"Canada?" He heard a muffled, female voice say. For some reason, it seemed to echo in his hearing, and he almost couldn't recognise that the voice was calling his name. He felt a weird pressure on his shoulder, that slowly alleviated as the blanket was pulled just under his head.

His eyes tried to adjust to the sudden, bright light.

"Do you want me to make anything for you?" The voice was much clearer. Mommy.

Still, he couldn't really see her. His vision was blurred, as if his eyes were teary, and he couldn't make out anything around him that well.

"Mnsss... mom..." He slurred, his voice silent. He was suddenly feeling much hotter. "W-Wh..."

"It's alright, petite colombe." She still had her hand on his shoulder.

"H... h...." He wanted to say he was hot, but his vocal cords couldn't properly produce the sounds that he wanted, so he merely breathed out, suddenly taking his blanket off. That allevated it, only slightly due to the pyjamas he had on.

"M-mom..." He didn't know what he wanted to say, but he held out his arms a little. France took that as him wanting a hug, so she gently wrapped her arm under him. He fell asleep.

The next day was a little unusual for Canada. His high temperature was still there, but for some reason he was willing and able to walk and do physically complicated tasks. His mother was speaking in a slurred way, and the TV was constantly static. There was no sign of Namjiev.

Something he knew, which he didn’t know the day before, was that he was meant to go on a little walk with Ukraine at the canal not far from town. She did go with him, but she seemed reluctant. She said things bluntly instead of excitedly. She didn’t talk much. She kept gently shoving him off when he was trying to hug her.

When he’d asked her what was happening, she suddenly became aggressive with him.

“I don’t wanna fuckin’ do this today,” she barked, causing him to flinch. “I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk to your ass.”

“W-Why?”

“You know why. You fuckin’ broke my controller, you piece of shit.” Canada felt like he was going to throw up. He was quivering, his body suddenly freezing up, both in motion and temperature. His vision would go in and out of focus.

“B-But I bought another one-“

“I don’t care! You lost your shit at me, even though I apologised for what I did. You just wanted fuckin’ revenge.”

“B-Baby, I’m sorry-“

“Back off.” She barked, getting into a fighting stance, before walking away. Canada was shivering.

“W-Why are you being so s-scary?” Canada whimpered. She stopped.

She turned her head, in a seemingly impossible angle to face him. She smiled, revealing pointed teeth, soaked with blood. Suddenly, a harsh cacophony of noises began blasting in his ears, though he didn’t cover them. He saw colours change all around him, and watched as the sky suddenly turned to night, and what was once a canal pathway suddenly turned into a threatening woodland.

She launched towards him.

Canada yelped repeatedly as he woke up, his back pressed against the wall of his bed. He was shivering violently, grasped on his avocado plushie like his life depended on it. He gasped for breath, unable to calm his breathing down as he stared at the slightly-dark bedroom before him.

Tears were pouring down his eyes, though he made no sounds.

His eyes darted around the room, trying to see if there was anything there, or he could turn any lights on without getting up. He didn’t want to get up. It would hurt and scare him. However, there was a faint stream of light above him, from the window, though it was covered a little from his blackout curtains.

He forced them open, his eyes closing a little as they adjusted to the light. Like the nightmare he had, the nightmare which was still churning his stomach, it was an overcast day.

“Hey, ‘Nada,” Ukraine softly called behind him. He jumped. “Your momma told me you weren’t feelin’ well, I thought I’d come around to check how ya were.”

She was in her human form, wearing a dark-blue hoodie. The same hoodie she wore when she attacked him. When she’d pinned him to the floor.

Canada didn’t know why, but he was afraid.

He stared at her with bulging eyes, his back pressed against the window behind him as he stood on the bed. His heart was beating heavily, an intense pounding suddenly assaulting his ears. There was some sweat in his hair.

“Canada?” Ukraine came a little closer to him, sitting on the foot of the bed. He pressed himself further against the window, nearly causing the glass to break, but he didn’t scramble away from her. He didn’t look at her. “What’s goin’ on, dude?”

“D-Don’t h-hurt me-“ He whimpered, his voice quivering as he gasped for breath. She was going to hurt him. She was going to hurt him.

“Hey, hey, I won’t.” She reached out her hand towards him, but he stayed where he was. “Did anythin’ happen just now?”

“I- I don’t know.” He eased his back off the window, but he fell down on his pillow, his knees curling up to his chest. His back was facing her.

Ukraine inched her legs onto the bed, lying on her side and facing him. He was still breathing quiveringly. She considered letting France know what was happening, but she didn’t want to leave him alone and scared for longer than he needed to be.

Slowly, she crawled towards him, her hands pressing not far from his back onto the mattress. Her plump stomach touched his back. He didn’t move or say anything. She placed her hand on his back, gently rubbing it in smooth circles, and at first it seemed to calm him down, but he pressed himself further against the wall in front of him. She didn’t let go of him.

“If this is about… when I hurt ya, then I’m sorry.” She continued to rub his back, speaking softly. “I don’t know why I did it, I just got so angry. But I shouldn’t a’ done it.”

Slowly, Canada began to turn around, facing her. He inched himself so that he was properly lying down on the bed, prompting her to turn too, so she could lie next to him.

"How are ya feelin' now?"

"S-Sick." He turned his body towards her, his lips touching her thick, fabric-covered arm. "I'm a bit cold." She wrapped her arm under him, being gentle.

"Are ya still scared?"

"A b-bit, but not at you." They lied there for a moment. "I'm sorry if I upset you, j-just then."

"Don't worry about it." She cooed quietly, looking down at him.

"I don't w-want you staying too long, incase y-you catch something." He'd thought about what he wanted to say before he said it.

"I don't know if I'll catch anythin' from a fever."

"Okay."

They lied there in silence for some time, Ukraine wrapping her arm a little tighter around him as Canada buried his head into the side of her chest.

Chapter Text

Ukraine had waited for some time for Canada to calm down, before slowly leaving his side. She’d whispered that she would text him, but he’d fallen asleep, and she didn’t want to bother him.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened. Sickness churned a little in her stomach; she’d never seen him so afraid, especially not at her.

“How was he?” France asked. Ukraine wanted to say he was fine, but decided it better to tell her the truth.

“He was… I dunno why, but he was fuckin’ terrified. He was literally pressin’ himself against the wall.”

France stood there for a moment. “Should I go and check on him?”

“If you wanna, but he’s fast asleep.”

She slowly went upstairs, leaving Ukraine to stand there aimlessly.

“What happened? With him being sick?” Namjiev slowly asked.

“He was… tryna get away from me.” It was almost painful for her to say.

“Did you… do anything, like walk towards him quickly? Or speak aggressively?”

“No, I just came in n’ he suddenly did that. What d’ya think I did?”

“It’s just… whenever I have fevers, I tend to get triggered more easily. I thought it was the same for him, and I was just thinking about when…” He stopped, seeing the sudden tightness in her face as a wave of anger slightly flew into her.

“Thanks for remindin’ me.” She growled, immediately storming out of the house.

One would expect accusations of a father ripping his own son's tooth out to completely ruin his life. For Britain, however, this wasn't the case. This was aided by both his military connections and the fact that he'd gone under the radar when he'd heard that people had found out what he'd done to Canada.

He hadn't thought about Canada in a while. He did, however, regularly think of France. He missed her. The fact that she'd divorced was still alive, weakening and enabling Canada's autism, was worse.

His violence towards Canada, to him, was necessary. It would've scared his body into not having any meltdowns, encouraged him to work out instead of being weak-minded and sensitive. He would've been a pure Countryhuman, without a human form, if not for his autism.

Britain was walking on a treadmill at a slow pace, wearing a long-sleeved dark-brown dress shirt, when an assistant of his came by his room.

"Britain?" He flinched a little, turning back to the assistant. "I need to tell you something, it's urgent." Britain growled under his breath. He just wanted to be left alone today.

"Could you tell me whilst I'm walking?"

The assistant sighed nervously, walking towards him. "I and a few others only just found out this morning, but..." Britain turned his head towards him, curious by the nervousness in his voice. "Israel was apparently arrested, and had pled guilty to child-"

"What the fuck?" Britain yelled. The assistant flinched. "Do you have any proof?!" Britain jumped off the treadmill as the assistant handed him his phone. He snatched it off him; the phone was opened at a news article detailing Israel's trial. "How did this happen?"

"I- don't know..."

"What do you mean you don't know?!" He scrolled a little more down the article, clicking on a video of the trial. It was a news report. Even though the clip was 30 seconds, Britain replayed the video multiple times, studying the video as much as possible.

On the 3rd replay, he saw a familiar batch of thick, crimson curls from the back of someone's head. An all-too-familiar red flannel shirt.

No. It couldn't be.

Britain closed the video, clicking on a related article. There was a photo of Palestine's bruised hands, with a caption that stated:

'Evidence submitted by Lucas Williams Morin.'

His fucking son had turned on him.

Britain's eyes were bulging out of his sockets, but he calmly handed the assistant his phone back.

"Could you leave the room, sir?" Britain asked, his voice too calm. The assistant nervously stayed. "Truthfully, I don't mind if you stay, but just stand by that back wall." He pointed behind the assistant, who moved away from him.

Britain pulled a glass out of the drawer, before throwing it against the wall opposite the assistant. He did this again, and again, each throw becoming more powerful, more enraged, more incensed.

His son had turned on him. It didn't matter that France was weakening him anymore. He had commited a great act of betrayal against his own father.

And Canada would pay.

Chapter Text

It took a few days for the fever to somewhat subside. Canada had felt his temperature lowering slightly, even though sometimes his body froze from cold, even with blankets on or someone cuddling him, which still seemed to burn him. 

His throat still ached from soreness, even as he tried to lubricate his throat by drinking water until his stomach was churning slightly from how much liquid he’d drank.

However, he was capable of walking, unlike the previous few days of his fever. This morning was the first time since his panic episode with Ukraine that he was able to actually get up. He’d been seeing weird colours a little less, too.

Even though he was capable of getting out of bed, his muscles ached with each movement he made. His back tingled whenever he’d bend down, and his arms stung as he slowly moved them; it almost made him not want to do anything at all.

“How are you feeling today?” France asked suddenly.

“I’m a bit better.” He didn’t look up at her, still holding his avocado plushie. He occasionally sucked in his lips, making a high-pitched squeak.

“Do you want to do anything today?” Canada shook his head in response.

“My legs hurt a bit.”

“I was just saying, there’s something new on at that art gallery you liked.” Canada looked up, suddenly remembering the art gallery.

It was called the Tate Averus, interestingly located in the city’s outskirts. Canada loved going there when he was younger; it had weird but interesting art and regularly rotating exhibitions.

The wave of excitement that flew in his body almost distracted him of his sickness.

He suddenly began to flap his hands, the joints not hurting as much. “I- I haven’t been in so long!”

“I know,” France exclaimed, hanging some clothes up, “I would’ve thought you’d remembered that place existed. I don’t know why I didn’t remind you.”

Canada continued remembering the place. It wasn’t like most modern art galleries whose spaces were small; it was a huge building with 7 floors worth of unusual contemporary art that was deeply interesting for Canada.

As much as he felt like going as soon as possible, Canada waited for a bit for his joints to stop hurting before he could plan his first visit in months.

After taking some pain meds, Canada felt even more prepared for the trip, as his body hurt a little less. Thus, he planned on going the next day. 

At first he wanted to take Ukraine, but he decided to bring Iceland as he hadn’t done much with him for a while, and he knew Iceland didn’t mind weird art. He searched on the gallery’s website, finding a new exhibition had recently opened; art that focused on strange, black-and white circles that interlocked with each other. There art was installed directly on the walls, creating new patterns in all corners of the room.

Canada felt waves of nostalgia warming his skin. He’d remembered checking the map; when he was younger he would print it out and make weird art pieces out of it before each visit. He and France would go on Sundays when he’d come home after a visit to his father. It would always calm him down, and in a weird way, it would always motivate him to survive each visit.

His eyes felt a little wet, and he brushed the tears off a little with his pyjama’s sleeves. He couldn’t wait to visit this place again.

Canada couldn’t believe his eyes once he saw the building. It seemed a bit bigger than he’d remembered.

“I haven’t been to this place yet.” Iceland said, a little bluntly. He didn’t want to go here, but he was still happy to at least go out somewhere.

“You’ll love it!” Canada excitedly replied, flapping his hands. They went inside the building, specifically the main hall; it was large and almost soulless, with 2 bridges at the 3rd and top floors. The specific exhibition was on the 2nd floor, so they took the lift there.

They went to the specific gallery the exhibition was on, Canada’s heart suddenly flooding with excitement at seeing the weird, circular patterns. The queue to get in was non-existent, so they were quick to see the guard at the front.

“Is this your first time coming here?” She asked.

“N-No, it’s his though,” Canada replied nervously, pointing at Iceland, “is he s-still allowed t-to come in?” The guard nodded, causing Canada to open the QR code. It wouldn’t scan.

Canada’s blood ran cold.

“Um, s-sorry-“

“Don’t worry, just scan it again.” She scanned it again and it worked, allowing them both to enter.

“The woman wasn’t angry with you,” Iceland said plainly, though wanting to reassure him.

“O-Okay.” Canada decided that now wasn’t the time to worry, as he saw the interesting, intricate patterns of circles plastered on every wall. Iceland himself couldn’t help but be intrigued by what he was seeing.

There was one piece on a white wall which was displayed by a projector; white-lined circles rotating and moving around, they seemed to flash on the screen in surreal ways. Canada couldn’t help but stare at the piece, his eyes absorbing and dazzled by the flashes of circles on screen.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang. Canada’s chest and stomach lurched, the sensation somewhat worsened by his prior immersion in the piece. The others at the gallery looked confused, some walking towards the direction of the sound.

Then, more harsh, loud bangs rang out, reverberating into the room. 

Gunshots.

Even as people around him sprinted out of the room, including Iceland, Canada stayed put, shivering from fear as more gunshots rung. He didn’t know where they were coming from. He didn’t know whether they were going nearer or further away from him. All he knew, though, was that he needed to do something.

Suddenly, Canada sprinted around the room, oddly not rushing out. He was going to be sick. He ran into a corner of the room, pressing his body tightly against it, his knees curled up to his stomach. He trembled violently.

Even as the gunshots stopped, he still kept himself pressed against the corner, shivering.

He stayed there for a while, ignoring how his phone vibrated in his pocket. He didn’t know how it was silenced, but by some luck, it was. Breathing as silently as he could, he slowly crawled towards the exit of the room, pressing himself tightly against the wall, looking towards the entrance to the other room of the gallery.

He could barely hear anything, other than immense pounding. Stomach churning, his legs almost gave way, though he didn’t want to fall down incase he somehow made noise. He inched himself forward, his hand grasping at the exit door, before he shot up, shoving the door open and sprinting out of the exhibition.

Normally, the Tate gallery was silent, but he could hear faint yelling and the loud stomping of his feet as he ran chaotically. He’d memorised the building’s layout, so was able to quickly exit. He ran down the escalator, tripping a little near the end and falling down, landing harshly on his ankle. He felt a sharp sense of pain, but the adrenaline and sheer terror forced him to keep moving.

He sprinted even quicker as the light of the building’s exit was growing, until he was out of the building. Even then, he didn’t stop running; he carried on sprinting for ages, and before he knew it, he was in some wooded area that he didn’t recognise, he was scared, and his ankle was hurting.

Chapter Text

After taking a moment to breathe, Canada took out his phone. He ignored the missed calls from Iceland, one from his mother, instead opening up the Maps app to find walking directions back home.

He limped as he walked. Phone still in hand, he pressed the missed call notification from France. She answered almost immediately.

“Canada! What on earth happened?!” France exclaimed.

“I heard, I heard, g-gunshots.” Canada couldn’t find the right words. “Can y-you tell Iceland I’m okay?”

“Yes.” France calmed down suddenly, hearing the whimper in his voice.

“M-Mommy, p-please talk t-to me,” he said weakly, tears beginning to flow gently down his cheeks. “M-Mommy?”

“I’ve just texted Iceland now; he’s at his house.”

A text-to-speech voice blared in his ear, giving him another direction.

“Mommy, I’m coming home m-mommy.” He nearly dropped his phone from shivering so much.

Whilst Canada was walking, France was gently soothing him. He didn’t speak, letting her murmur random words and things she was doing whilst he was at the gallery.

Around 5 minutes later, Canada was able to reach an urban area. He checked on his maps; his home was around 15 minutes away, but he was still able to walk that far. His ankle didn’t hurt as much as it did before, and it didn’t look swollen, neither.

However, whilst walking he accidentally reached the Tate gallery that he’d just escaped. There were an immense amount of cars with yellow and blue checkers surrounding the building. Canada tried counting them, but he kept getting mixed up because of how many there were.

After a few moments, he made the slow trek home.

The bone of his finger banged swiftly against the front door, and it opened shortly after. It was France. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, his muscles tight and quivering as he buried himself as deeply into her as he could.

He was shaking. Even though he knew he was home, even as he put on his fluffy pyjamas and cuddled his avocado plushie, he was still shaking. Even as sky turned a navy-purple, he was still shaking. Not even FaceTiming Ukraine could comfort him.

“How ya feelin’?” She asked, the phone showing her lying on her bed. “I heard ya been through sumn’ crazy.”

“I- I have.” It took some time for Canada to respond.

“Aww, do ya want me to come over?” She asked, a little solemnly.

“It’s okay, I-I know you’ve got homework-“

There was a light bang from the kitchen. Canada immediately dropped his phone, dashing to the other end of the living room, climbing onto the couch and onto the window ledge, his back pressed against the glass. Hearing this, France suddenly rushed into the living room.

“Canada, what are you doing?!” She yelled, surprised, only to quickly remember what he’d witnessed earlier that day. “Canada,” she reached out her hand, her voice immediately softening, “come down.” Canada reluctantly took her hand, coming down and sitting on the chair he’d climbed on.

He was still shaking.

After wrapping up the call with Ukraine, Canada sat there for a moment. He didn’t really know what had happened, or why. He didn’t want to think about it at all, but at the same time, he did. More specifically, he wanted to find out why someone would want to go into a respected art gallery and shoot the place up.

Canada started searching. It didn’t take long for him to find an article, which had been posted just minutes ago.

Man performs mass shooting at art gallery, 3 injured.

He’d shot one civilian in the stomach, and 2 security guards in their legs. Oddly, he didn’t come masked, having his face on full display. He looked somewhat similar to Namjiev, but his skin was much lighter and he his hair was orange at the ends.

Whilst reading the article, a piece of information caught his eye. It was a protest against the nation’s war against Tokoik, and authorities believed he’d targeted the art gallery because it would get more attention in the media.

Canada stared at the screen, repeatedly reading the words. He’d killed civilians in that war. His father made him kill civilians.

Did this man know that Canada was there? That Canada had even done such things? Why did he shoot other people? Was he trying to get to him? What floor was the man on?

His heart lurched. His stomach was in knots, unrelentingly twisting. He started shaking even more; he could just barely hold onto his phone. As selfish as it sounded, the mere possibility that other people knew outside of France and Ukraine was absolutely horrifying to him. He didn’t want his life ruined.

He turned off the phone. He wasn’t going to look at this case anymore. He was just going to pretend that nothing happened.

Chapter Text

2 days had passed since Canada’s visit to the gallery. The gallery was somehow still open, though  understandably, from his knowledge, it had significantly less visitors.

He still flinched at loud sounds, particularly bangs, but his reactions and feelings weren’t as intense as when he’d come home. He hadn’t been out of the house since what had happened, other than returning to school the following Monday. He didn’t speak to anyone, not even Ukraine, staying alone and away from others, not focusing as much.

He was still afraid. Fear seemed to plague him. What if this person was still out there? What if other people were out for revenge? That seemed likely. Very likely.

“How was school today?” France had asked, after Canada arrived back that day. Canada looked at her, but didn’t respond, going into the living room. She knew why he ignored her; he seemed quite frightened and reluctant that morning, but oddly didn’t suggest staying off. He must’ve been scared.

“Canada?” She pressed. “Did anything happen today?”

“No. I just… didn’t really like going out.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to go back to that gallery?” France asked, causing Canada’s eyes to widen a little. Not in anger.

“I- d-don’t know.” He suddenly started trembling again, his skin chilling and his heart beginning to palpitate a little.

“It’s alright, you can make the decision another time if you want.” France stayed by him a little, even though he remained silent for quite some time. He was thinking. Should he go back to that place? 

He remembered what Ukraine had said, about how avoiding traumatic memories and places would make him worse. It would help him a lot, even just staying near the vicinity of the building.

“I don’t know,” was all he could answer.

The next day, Canada was a little more open to talking. He didn’t start conversations, not like he normally did, but he did talk when others spoke to him instead of him remaining silent.

“You open to talkin’?” Ukraine asked him a little calmly in spite of the roughness of what she’d said, at the start of break time. Canada nodded, causing her to look away. “That was crazy, that shootin’. This area’s never seen any, like, ever.”

“I saw online, the last time this happened was about 10 years ago.” His voice was quiet and slow. A new sketchbook was on the table, closed. Canada was staring at it, not looking towards Ukraine who was sitting next to him.

“Where was it?” Ukraine asked, a little curiously.

“It was at some supermarket, I forgot where.” Ukraine’s heart sank a little at the tiredness in his voice. He didn’t seem the excitable boy he was anymore. She thought back to how he was talking to her about his traumas; could this have been the incident to finally break him.

Ukraine tightly wrapped her arm around his back, the other around his side. The thickness of her arms felt a little nice on him. “I don’t want this shit puttin’ ya off, y’know?”

“What do you mean?”

“Ya momma texted mine, she said it was ya favourite place.” 

Canada suddenly remembered the conversation he had with France the previous night. He still wasn’t sure about going.

“I… I don’t know.” They sat like this for a moment. Even though Ukraine’s arms were around him, keeping him safe, they couldn’t stop the nausea that began to develop inside of him.

You should go. It will stop your anxiety, you’ll face your fears and become stronger.

There’ll be another shooting, won’t there? You’re not ready yet. You’ve already survived months without visiting.

Canada dug deeper inside the hug, even though Ukraine’s arms eased off him a little. He didn’t want to think about this. He wanted to think about Ukraine hugging him, even after everything he’d done, but it couldn’t help but be at the forefront of his mind.

“D’you think you’ll ever go again? I heard they do fire food at that café.” That didn’t help much, but he didn’t tell her. He didn’t want more conflict in their relationship, and already felt bad about how afraid he was when he was in his fever. He must’ve made her feel terrible.

“I don’t know.” He slowly pulled himself away from her embrace. “I d-don’t know.”

“Don’t get upset, dude.” She gently rubbed his back. “Not somethin’ ya have to decide instantly, you can think about it.”

“Thinking about it’s scary.” He paused for a few moments. Going again would be better, wouldn’t it? He’d live in fear if not. 

“I’m gonna go again.”

That Saturday, Canada had decided to visit the gallery by himself. He took his phone with him, and had looked extensively at the map of the gallery in the days leading up, wanting desperately to find a place where he could possibly hide in case this happened again.

Not even this preparation could ease his nerves. He didn’t really want to do this; it was almost like he’d felt pressured that he was going solely to reassure himself, not because he wanted to see good art like normal.

A place that was relaxing to him was now a cause of his anxiety for the past week, but he didn’t want that happening anymore.

Going through the automatic doors which were the gallery’s entrance felt weird for him. This was once a place of excitement, yet he felt terrified. Something would happen here.

He stopped for a moment, looking straight ahead. Not many people were in the building, which was obvious given the events that had transpired last week. It was a surprise that this place was even open. It was a much more somber atmosphere, in spite of the fact that from Canada’s knowledge, no-one died.

Canada decided to stroll around the gallery for a bit, going to a random display on the first floor. It was there that the tightness in his chest began to slightly alleviate. The art there had changed slightly from his last visit; there was a lot more art involving projectors displaying footage, aligned in unusual ways to create strange patterns on the walls.

There was also some art involving sound and synthesis, and displays relating to science. Canada loved it. He felt himself becoming excited from the art around him. There was barely anyone in the gallery with him, so he felt a lot more confident stimming in some of the rooms.

It was worth it coming here.

Or was it?

He eventually stumbled into a room in the gallery that had 3 other people in it. All were human, with 2 having mostly blonde hair, and their backs were turned to him.

However, someone was there. His hair was black, and he was dressed in a brown dress-shirt with long sleeves. What Britain looked like in his human form. Surely, on whatever deity was out there, it could not be Britain.

Then, the man looked over. He smiled, innocently. Waved his hand a little at him.

It was.

Canada froze, his heart immediately pounding, the sound drumming aggressively in his ears. His skin felt ice-cold, and his head felt light as blood tried to rush around his body. There was no way.

But he didn’t want to make a scene here. He ambled towards a seat in the middle of the gallery, staring aimlessly ahead.

Suddenly, the seat began to creak a little, even though he’d sat on it as well. He felt threatening presence to the side of him. He carried on staring straight ahead, trying to distract himself through the art piece. It was mostly red, with rough, black patterns-

“How are you?” Britain said, with a calming voice. Canada somehow tensed up even more, his heart almost dangerously quick. He did not want to be here anymore. “It sure is a good day to be at this gallery. I’ve never really appreciated modern art, this is my first time coming.”

It was the casualness in the way he was speaking that made the situation worse.

“Tell me, how does this piece make you feel?” Canada felt sick. He had to talk to him, even though he really didn’t want to.

He did not know what to do. At all.

Chapter Text

After some deliberation, Canada had decided the only thing he could do was sprint home as quickly as he could. He shot up from the chair, running back the way he came, not caring about the noise of his feet against the floor, or the worried looks he got from strangers. When he was outside, he shot off, running as fast as his legs could possibly handle, ignoring the ache as he ran.

He wanted to get away from that man as quickly as possible.

When he went back home, he was a little surprised to find that Ukraine was outside, talking to his mother, but that shock was milliseconds short-lived, immediately replaced by the overwhelming terror in his soul.

“Woah, what’s goin’ on?” Ukraine asked, gently reaching towards him. Her touch on his arms didn’t comfort him at all. He took his time to respond.

“D-Dad.” France’s eyes widened a little. “I saw him. I saw him at the gallery.”

There was an overwhelming silence at what he’d said. France was particularly surprised, as Britain had never been interested in modern art, much preferring Renaissance.

“You wanna come inside?” Ukraine asked softly, but there was a hint of urgency in her voice that made Canada want to follow her. He sat on the sofa in the living room, his body still wildly tense.

“I’ll get you a drink of water, lie back in case you faint.” France walked into the kitchen as she said this, leaving Ukraine and Canada on their own. Ukraine had her arms wrapped round him.

“You told me to go.” Canada said, almost reluctantly. “You said it was my favourite place, look what happened.” A wave of guilt immediately forced its way into Ukraine.

“I’m sorry, dude. I didn’t know this would happen.”

“I’m s-sorry I didn’t mean it.” Canada tensed up even more. He didn’t mean to upset her. He didn’t even know why those words came out.

France came back in shortly after with a glass of water, some ice inside. He drank it, the coldness startling him a little. He stared aimlessly ahead, his eyes turned a little to the floor, as he tried to absorb what had happened.

“Does he know where I live?”

“He might do,” France reluctantly said, causing Ukraine to shoot a look at her. The boy was already deeply anxious, and he didn’t need this. “It’s not like he’d come here, though. You mightn’t have seen news, but a lot of people in our street know what he’s like. Someone could attack him if he comes back.”

This didn’t reassure Canada much. He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know what to do. 

“I-I just want to be safe,” Canada whimpered. Ukraine hugged him a little tighter.

“I can fight him off if he comes near ya. I actually think I’ve got the strength.”

“I-I don’t know.” He looked up at Ukraine. “He’s actually trained professionally in fighting.” Her eyes widened a little as she realised the implications of it, remembering the few things Canada had talked about with her.

“C-Can I stay at your house? For a bit?”

“Of course, don’t worry about it.”

“A-Are you sure? He’ll hurt y-you-“

“No then.” Canada tensed up at her harsh tone, causing her to laugh a little. “Of course, I’d never let ya be around him.”

Canada shot up, running upstairs immediately after she’d said this. He rummaged in France’s bedroom for a suitcase, finding a medium-sized, black case that was already open, revealing it to be empty.

He rushed into his own bedroom, grabbing his avocado plushie and his sketchbook + some art supplies, before shoving them into one compartment. He took some clothes out of his wardrobe, shoving them in, before running into his bathroom to grab washing supplies. Once he’d thrown everything in, he closed the suitcase and ran back downstairs.

Upon seeing his mother, he began to question his decision a little. She’d be alone in the house without him. She’d miss him, and he didn’t want that.

“Mom? A-Are you okay with me doing this?”

“Oui. I’d rather you feel safe.”

“O-Okay. I’ll come and visit every now and then.” Canada sounded hesitant, which made France look a little worried, but she still nodded her head.

Chapter Text

Canada refused to leave Ukraine’s bedroom for any reason at all, other than school of course. Travelling to and from school, he wrapped a black coat around himself, even though it was pretty close to summer. He’d set up camp in her room. Most of the previous 3 days had been spent going to school, then sitting in her bedroom, refusing to leave the upstairs area of her home.

He should’ve been happy. Spending 2 days with someone he loved deeply should’ve been nice. But he knew that any moment, Britain could still find him. If he could find him at a modern art gallery, the sort of place where Britain never attended, he could find him anywhere.

Canada didn’t think that Britain would have severely horrible intentions. However, just incase something happened, there was a lot of things that he wanted to do with her. Lots of movies he wanted to watch; even if he wasn’t as interested in them, at least it was another memory spent with her. 

They would play games with each other, Canada taught her a little how to draw, and they even did an all-nighter on a school night, which Canada somewhat regretted due to the dirty-ish look he got from Aizawa.

He wanted to spend as much time with her, just in case.

It was the Wednesday when things went south.

“Me and Momma are headin’ the corner store, you can stay here. You want anythin’?”

“Just some orange juice, please.” Ukraine nodded, before giving him a gentle kiss. The last kiss he’d have for a while.

“My brother’s in the house, he shouldn’t bother you.” Ukraine laughed a little as she said it, before leaving.

They’d been gone for barely a minute before the yelling began. Harsh banging on the front door downstairs, before a sudden slam. Alex tried to fight whoever was entering off, but was violently shoved off and tased, at least that was what Canada had heard.

Canada felt sick. He stayed put. His skin was ice-cold. He listened as Alex yelled in distress.

Reluctantly, he opened the bedroom door, wanting to help Alex. A man, dressed in black gear was sprinting towards him.

Suddenly, his vision went black.

It took a while for Canada to register where he was. His eyes had blurred when he’d opened them, but he did immediately know that his arms were tied behind him, metal cuffs wrapped tightly and painfully around his wrists, and that the air in the room was cold on his bare skin.

He only had underwear on.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the relatively dim light, coming from a soiled, dark lightbulb at the top of the room, he looked around. The room was small, and the walls were grey and a little shiny. The floor was cold on his feet, and seemed to be made from the same material. There was nothing else of interest.

Not like he would’ve looked for something, anyway. Panic was beginning to set in; he was shaking, his stomach sicker than it ever was before, even during the moments of his past abuse with Britain.

Whatever was going on, it truly was fucked up. Not like he knew; he somehow didn’t figure in that moment that this was to do with Britain.

“M-Mommy?” Canada whimpered. “Mommy! Mommy!” He tried to thrash, but was unable to due to his restraints. He shivered immensely, both from the cold and the sheer terror he was feeling.

“M- Mom- my-“ Tears began to spring from his eyes. 

He wanted his mother.

Canada gasped suddenly, flinching as a loud creak sounded from the front of the room. He didn’t know there was a door there. The door seemed to open slowly; this only worsened Canada’s dread, as his mind drudged up whoever could be behind it.

A human he didn’t recognise walked into the room. He had blonde, short hair, and didn’t look at Canada, his eyes pointing to the floor almost reluctantly. Behind him, was… Britain. He was in his flagged form this time, the red, white and blue stripes sickening Canada.

This had to have been a nightmare.

Canada started to hyperventilating, not bothering to hide his fear, not like he would’ve around Britain. He couldn’t help being afraid around his father, no matter the context. 

Terrified for his life.

“Why do you suppose you’re here, Canada?” Britain said. The deepness of Britain’s voice caused his stomach to drop. He wasn’t even trying to escape, his muscles paralysed against the restraints.

Canada couldn’t speak at all. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Britain stared at him, surprisingly not as aggressive, whilst the man next to him remained looking down on the floor. All he could hear was harsh, steady drumming.

“I… don’t know.”

“Of course you do.” He didn’t know, that was the problem. He never knew why Britain was hurting him.

Canada shook his head, quickly and very lightly, causing Britain to pull out a phone from his pocket. He tapped on the phone, before showing Canada an image.

Israel.

“I… I- I don’t know what this m-means.” Britain backed away, frowning more intensely, causing Canada to turn his head, his teeth baring weakly.

“Hey,” Britain called, his voice unnervingly calm, “look towards me.” Canada did as he was told. “You falsely accused this man of child abuse.”

“What?”

“He was just someone minding his own business in life, trying to man his son up, just like me and you. For whatever reason, you sent him to prison for it.” Britain wasn’t making much sense.

“B-But I saw, t-the bruises, I saw him hurt-“

“When you want your children to become the best version of themselves, you have to treat them badly.”

Just then, Canada felt an awfully familiar hotness in his body. His muscles tightened even more, his eyes bulging. He never thought he’d ever even feel angry around his father.

“What the fuck?!” Canada yelled, causing Britain to widen his eyes a little. “That k-kid had bruises on his arm, bruises on his eye!” His heart burned, remembering the injuries on Palestine. He hadn’t thought of him for long, surprisingly, and that’s what made it a little worse.

“You’re having me, n-naked and tied up, and y-you’re s-saying that I falsely accused someone-“ Canada’s voice was breaking up.

“F-FUCK YOU! YOU HURT ME EVERY DAY I WAS WITH YOU, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” His voice didn’t sound like his own. The silence that followed, obstructed by Canada’s harsh breathing, was almost physically painful. The man next to him was finally looking over, surprised.

Suddenly, Britain giggled quietly.

“Some good points you made there. Here’s what I have to say.” He then whispered in the man’s ear, who went out for a few seconds, before walking back in with a shovel.

Canada didn’t have any time to process that it was a shovel, because Britain quickly struck his chest with the weapon.

Canada howled, his voice shrill and almost hurting him from how loud and high it was. “NO! I’M SORRY!”

“I taught you better than to speak to me like that!” Britain yelled, the familiar roar scaring Canada into silence. Britain struck him again, hitting his thigh with the edge of the shovel, causing immense, instant pain. 

Canada cried. He looked up at the man, who had his back turned to him. He seemed to have his head in his hands.

Canada suddenly felt the shovel whack him again, this time on his head near to his left eye. He was completely stunned by the sudden collision, a weak noise leaving his mouth. The vision in his left eye blurred; he could barely see anything other than faint streaks of light and dark red.

He made weak, pained groans.

Chapter Text

Ukraine held a cold compress to the bruise on Alex’s chest. Her movements were incredibly slow, her eyes wide from the recent knowledge. Alex’s eyes were wide, too, and he whimpered as she pressed the compress on.

Their mother was in the kitchen. She was on the phone, trying to explain as much detail as she could. She came in briefly, asking Alex to describe what the burglars looked like, but he said that they were wearing all black and he couldn’t see their faces, even when up close. They didn’t speak, too.

“O-Oksana?” He asked Ukraine. She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“W-What ya mean?”

“I d-didn’t fight h-hard enough, I… I let y-your boyfriend g-get hurt.” His voice broke apart as he said it, but he didn’t immediately burst into tears. 

Ukraine looked at him with pity. In spite of her shock, she knew that he couldn’t have really done anything, not whilst shocked with tens of thousands of volts.

It was when she wrapped her thick arms around him, that he began to cry a little. She didn’t say anything to him, putting a soft, comforting hand over the back of his head.

Pain was all Canada knew in that moment. His neck was bent down, his head facing the floor, his curls cascading. He breathed deeply. 

There were cuts on his thighs, the liquid bleeding down onto his feet and onto the floor. The sensation pulsated. Britain hadn’t even bothered to clean the blood off or put a tight cloth or tourniquet on it like he usually did.

Canada remembered back to when he’d actually left Britain; even though he’d savagely pulled out his tooth, he at least had the common decency to place a tissue on the gap and advise him on how to stop the beating.

The fact that this time, he *didn’t*, allowed Canada to realise he’d messed up in Britain’s eyes. That for whatever reason, sending a child abuser to prison was the worst thing that Canada could’ve done.

Canada’s breathing was hoarse, faint whimpers coming out with every breath. The muscles in his arms had long begun to ache from how long they’d been tied together by the rough handcuffs. 

Canada didn’t even know what he’d done wrong, and that was what upset him. He’d usually have a vague idea of how he’d upset Britain. Even when Britain had pulled out his tooth, Canada knew it was because he’d shown he was angry towards him; he was already beginning to figure that the same applied to the beating he’d just received.

But Canada didn’t even want to think about the possibility that he’d been taken hostage *because* he’d exposed an abuser. Because he’d saved someone from being hurt, scared, beaten, threatened. That knowledge would’ve made this stay much, much worse.

Canada’s vision was blurring. His chest was much weaker than it was before; his breathing became hoarser and slower, more rigid. His legs were shaking, one of them bucking completely, forcing him to somehow find a way to sit down, even though he was still attached to handcuffs.

He looked towards the blood that was pouring out of him. The metal on the floor below was stained in droplets of crimson, a pool of the same colour forming below him. His head felt light, causing his breathing to quicken as his veins froze a little. 

Was he going to die? Surely he wasn’t. He just… needed to find a way to breathe slowly.

He kneeled down on the floor, somehow finding a comfortable place to put his wrists. The handcuffs weren’t attached that well to the wall behind him; they allowed him to move them, but still kept him from escaping.

He closed his eyes. He thought of Ukraine, of France, of Namjiev. What were they thinking now? He knew they were looking for him. There was no way they weren’t; armed men had broken into Ukraine’s house, and surely she and her mother would’ve noticed the damage.

The mental image of Ukraine was much, much clearer. He thought of both her human and her flagged form; the stomach rolls, the thickness of her body, the thickness of her touch.

As he thought of her more, he felt a strange sense of peace.

“If he hadn’t have been at that gallery, Britain wouldn’t have caught him,” Namjiev said roughly to France, whose forehead rested on her hand. “That’s all I’ll say about this.”

“What do you mean?” France shot up from her seat. “Do you think this is my fault for encouraging him to go?”

“Well if you actually were as encouraging as what you’d told me, yes. He said to you that he didn’t want to go, but you wanted him to face his fears.”

He hadn’t shouted it, but the monotony of his voice caused an enraged heat to thrust unexpectedly into her skin.

“Is that so?” France asked, threateningly inching towards him. “You really think that?” She had a frightening, unfriendly grin on her face, which made Namjiev shiver. She made that grin a few times early in their relationship. He backed himself up into a corner of the room, causing France to suddenly flinch, as she realised what she was doing.

“N-Namjiev!” She called out; the loudness of her voice scared him a little more, even though the tone wasn’t angry. “I… I apologise.” She sucked in her lips. They stayed silent for a few moments.

“Can I… leave for a bit?” Namjiev had a house somewhere where he’d sometimes stay, so he’d go there to calm down. France nodded, causing him to rush out the front door.

What made this worse for her, was the fact that she swore never to do this again. She wasn’t as violent as Britain was to Canada, but the stress of knowing that her beloved son was at the hands of an abuser made her angry during his stays. Her anger would sometimes overwhelm her, especially during arguments with Namjiev.

She hadn’t told it to Canada, when she’d confessed to abusing Namjiev, but she hit him. Once. And it wasn’t even that bad of an argument, but she still hit him.

Her hand rose to her face, fingers pressing into her eyes.

Iceland never expected that he’d found out… what he found out. His friend, the only friend he had in this school (apart from Palestine, who he was somewhat close with, and some online users he’d probably never meet), had been kidnapped by a gang and had now gone missing.

Even though France and Soviet had informed the school and others who may have been connected with Canada, he found out through a weird news source online. He literally saw a photograph of the gangsters dragging Canada across the driveway of Ukraine’s house.

Norway never brought it up with him, even though the headmaster of the school they both attended informed everyone of what had happened through an assembly. Not that she would’ve, strangely enough. 

She was never the kind to use personal insults. Her abuse was very rarely verbal, and when she did, they were just basic, Americanised insults.

This didn’t stop the knowledge from consuming him, though.

Chapter Text

The day following his argument with France, Namjiev sat by the counter in a local bar, a pint of water in his hand. The bar was mostly empty; it was like this in mornings, with people mostly coming in around the night.

Earlier that day, France had called him, apologising for her outburst. He’d forgiven her in the moment, but whilst sitting there, he couldn’t help but think about it. She was close, that moment, to becoming the aggressor that she was early in their relationship, and he really didn’t like that.

Whilst he was thinking, someone came by the bar, sitting next to him. He flinched a little, looking over at the person. He had fluffy, black hair that extended just down to his shoulders.

Namjiev wouldn’t have said something. He would’ve just walked out, probably back to France’s. But he’d never seen Britain in his human form. Not even a photo. He’d only seen Britain through the red-white-blue flag.

“What are you drinking?” The man asked. He had a deep voice, with a British accent. He’d asked it nicely, and even though Namjiev was somewhat weirded out by the question, he didn’t mind responding.

“Just some water.”

“Would you recommend it?” Britain joked. Namjiev chuckled a little.

“Anyways, how often do you come here?” He looked over at Britain.

“This is my first time.”

“I used to come here sometimes when I was younger.” They sat in silence for a moment. “How old are you, sorry?”

Another weird question for Namjiev, but he didn’t want to not respond. “I’m 39.”

“I’m not too much older than you.”

Namjiev wasn’t really sure what to say. His arms were pressed stiffly by his sides; he did feel a little attracted to him, but really didn’t want to be unfaithful.

“I already have a partner,” he said, a little awkwardly.

“That’s nice.” Britain had replied with the same, sweet tone of voice, which reassured Namjiev a little.

There was a sudden buzz in his pocket. Namjiev looked down, taking out his phone, wondering if it was a text from France, but instead it was a notification from some mobile game he’d downloaded the morning before.

He looked back up, taking a sip from the water. It tasted a little weird, and had a sudden, tangy aftertaste. When he’d last taken a sip from the glass, that effect didn’t happen. It was just water.

His body had completely weakened. It was like he was falling asleep, not even trying to remain awake.

Britain caught him, standing him up and walking him out of his seat. He’d positioned him in such a way that no-one could see his unresponsive eyes, grabbing him by his waist and pretending he was awake, just unwell.

He walked him out of the back entrance, putting him in the back of a white minivan parked in the parking lot, before getting in the driver’s seat.

Namjiev woke up to discomfort and chilliness, a smooth, concrete surface under his feet. Wherever he was, it was dark. He could see the wall in front of him, even though it wasn’t too close, but not well. Whatever light there was caused a faint yellow to tint his vision.

A scent of metal hung around the room, and there was a wetness under Namjiev’s feet, probably caused by the dark liquid that Namjiev had seen when he looked down on the floor.

Blood.

Heart racing, Namjiev tried to thrash, but his arms were tied behind his back. He couldn’t move.

He looked around the room once more, only to find someone staring at him, his eyes bulging. There was a boy there, naked, tied to another wall. His hair was a deep, dark red, wet curls cascading down his shoulders.

Lucas.

For a moment, Namjiev didn’t know what to say. No one would really know what to say in a moment like this. He simply stared at Canada, who stared back, tears in his eyes. Their eyes were just as wide as each others.

“Hey, Lucas,” he whispered. He tried to be as comforting as possible. “Lucas, can you hear me?” It took a while for Canada to nod back; the shakiness in his movements made Namjiev feel much, much worse.

“Lucas, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Canada nodded again, a little quicker this time. He whimpered quietly. “Don’t cry, I promise, it’s okay-“

Namjiev’s words were cut off, by blaring music. It sounded electronic, the kind of music Namjiev liked, with a blaring bass, like a song booming at a club and not a torture chamber.

Then, the door flung open. Canada pressed himself against the wall in fright; Britain had walked in, flagged.

Namjiev noticed the man’s hair, noting in particular how similar it looked to the man he saw at the bar just moments ago. He had a thin, metal rod in his hand, with some weird metal piece on the end that was red, with steam coming off of it.

Namjiev didn’t say anything.

“Look at you two.” Britain looked around at the pair of them, Namjiev’s stomach dropping at the man’s voice. He couldn’t have known at all that some unassuming guy he’d met at a bar was a demonic father. “Canada, you thought you were so strong the last time I came here. Now look at you. You’re so petrified of me.”

He got right up in Canada’s face, with a sickening smile that Namjiev didn’t know someone could make. Namjiev’s blood boiled, but he didn’t want to say anything. He didn’t want to beg.

“Perhaps I might show your stepfather why you’re so afraid of me!” His head turned in his direction at an almost inhuman speed. “This is a cattle rod, printed with my glorious nation’s emblem on it.” Britain shoved the red metal in Namjiev’s face, the heat radiation on his skin, before lowering it down to his chest. He pressed it against him.

Namjiev had never felt this pain before. Not even when being forced to take excessively hot or cold showers as a child, to train his mind to avoid having meltdowns. Namjiev screamed, a sound he didn’t think his throat was capable of.

Canada too screeched in fright. “S-STOP! DAD, PLEASE STOP! DON’T HURT HIM!” Britain pressed deeper on his chest, steam coming right off his skin, before taking it off. Canada was crying, trying to fight against his restraints, but he couldn’t take them off.

Namjiev coughed and spluttered, looking down at his chest. A deep, black burn, with a detailed symbol.

Britain walked over by the door, dropping the red-hot metal onto the floor, causing it to sizzle. He brandished a shovel. There were brown stains on the blade. Britain swung the blade at Canada, narrowly missing him, earning a sharp, weak yelp. 

Britain laughed, which filled Namjiev with disgust.

“Now,” he raised the shovel’s blade onto Canada’s shoulder, “I have a question.”

Time seemed much, much longer than it was, for Canada.

“Do you know this man over there?” Canada shook his head in response. He didn’t know how he wasn’t caving under the stress.

“Is your mother in a relationship?”

Canada wanted to say no, to say anything, but the words weren’t coming out of his mouth. The restraints were too tight, his stomach was too sick, his heart was too fast. He wanted to run, to get out of this place and experience sunlight, fresh air, but he couldn’t. His legs were frozen and hurting.

“Is she?”

Canada flinched harshly, forgetting that Britain had even asked.

“No.” Canada gulped. “N-No, she, she isn’t. I swear, she isn’t. She isn’t.”

Britain stood there for a moment, not saying anything. He didn’t look angry, which weirded out Canada. Did Britain know that he was lying?

Suddenly, Britain grinned. It showed his teeth, perfectly white and cleaned. Canada looked away, over at Namjiev, before squeezing his eyes shut after a few moments.

He knew. Britain knew.

Canada shook violently as he heard the blade scrape along the floor, after feeling the pressure from it alleviate from his shoulder. He opened his eyes, using his strength to look over at Britain, only to find that he’d raised the blade behind him, and was ready to strike.

He squealed.

“STOP!” Namjiev yelled, his voice cracking. Canada flinched. “Stop! Don’t do it, please don’t do it!” Namjiev was hyperventilating, trying to run towards Britain, in spite of his restraints. He had to get out of this. He knew he was strong enough, he just had to be.

Pain rippled through his wrists as he tried to force himself out of the handcuffs, pulling against them in desperation. He could not see Canada, someone he swore to protect, be brutalised by a shovel, not after witnessing him be branded like an animal.

Suddenly, Britain dropped the shovel, ambling towards him. “Just this once, I’ll give in. Just because you’re brave enough to actually go against me.”

After saying this, he left the room slowly, quietly closing the door behind him.

“Lucas, are you okay?” Namjiev weakly breathed out.

“W-What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he begged, “please don’t worry about me. I’ll be alright, I promise.”

Canada didn’t know how to respond, but just nodded his head.

Chapter Text

There was a lot more cuts on Canada’s body than yesterday. More blood being spilled onto the metal floor below, without anything from stopping it. Canada would’ve wondered how he was still surviving, or how much blood was going to be spilled before he would go.

But all he could think about were thoughts of rage.

He looked over at the burn on Namjiev’s chest, flinching at the memory of seeing him savagely burned. Discomfort; the only other emotion he could feel. He needed to get out of here. He could. He didn’t want to see Namjiev suffering anymore. He’d figured the pain from the burn was somehow much worse than what he was feeling.

He didn’t want to feel pain ever again. He just wanted to get out of here with Namjiev, and continue his life the best he could.

Canada pulled. He felt the handcuffs behind him seem to tighten as they pulled on his skin, the metal tearing at his hands. He groaned wrathfully through gritted teeth, new pain being imposed unto his wrists as he pulled and pulled.

He was sure he was making progress. Just sure of it. In that moment, he somehow didn’t care if the skin would be pulled of his hands. He just had to get out.

Namjiev stared at his wrists as he did this, noticing blood beginning to flow a little down the boy’s hands.

“Lucas!” Canada looked over at Namjiev, still pulling. “Don’t do this, you’ll hurt-“

“NO!” Lucas roared. He’d never sounded like this before. The voice was almost demonic, as if he was completely consumed by fury, no longer himself.

He carried on pulling, defiantly surging the force, though this only added agony. He yelped. He almost didn’t want to pull anymore. The pain on his wrists was becoming too severe, too extreme, but he just had to keep pulling or else he’d never, ever get out of here.

He’d die in here, along with Namjiev. He’d never see France or Ukraine again. He’d never get further chances to prove to himself that he was capable of absolution.

Canada stopped. He sunk to the floor, his knees colliding harshly with the metal surface underneath.

“Lucas, just stop,” Namjiev said, trying to sound reassuring. Canada shouldn’t have done that. He knew, he should not have done that.

His arms were shaking from agony. His hands felt wet with a sickening liquid, and he knew he’d barely made any progress. He’d cut into his skin for nothing.

“N-Namjiev,” Canada whimpered, “p-please help me.” Namjiev didn’t respond, instead staring with fear at the blood pouring onto Canada’s hands and onto the floor. Namjiev knew Canada was close to ripping too much skin if he’d pulled harder.

Tears began to flow a little, dropping onto the floor. Canada tried not to whimper, but he couldn’t stop the pitiful sounds from coming out of his mouth.

He’d never get out of here. He was going to die. He was in too much pain, losing too much blood.

He was only 15; other 15 year olds were playing out, playing video games, reading, writing, scrolling on their phones, doing homework, messing around in lessons.

They weren’t in a fucking torture chamber.

It was a good day outside. That's all that France wanted to think about. There was barely a cloud in the sky, other than faint streaks of white, and it wasn't too hot.

She did not want to think about her son being missing. She did not want to think about the missed calls and texts that she'd sent to Namjiev He didn't read them, neither, and it had been a day since he left.

For now, she was sat in the living room. The TV wasn't on. She didn't really want to contact the police about this, despite having some worry that Namjiev would be missing as well, as it wouldn't have been as likely. She wanted to contact Soviet, just to try and forget about it and maybe have a friendly chat, but she knew she'd be taking care of Ukraine, who was likely extremely worried about Canada.

It was better to not avoid it for now. Funny, really. She remembered a time when she'd made Canada confront what had happened to him directly. She'd stuck her finger in the gap in his broken-off tooth. Pinned him down onto the couch. And now, she wanted to avoid the reality that both her lover and her son were missing, likely dead.

She cringed at the thought, covering her mouth and breathing shakily into her finger. She did not want them to be dead. Harsh coils swirled in her stomach.

There was a knock at the door. France flinched at it, just barely, though still got up to answer it.

Britain. Britain was at the door.

So many thoughts and memories had ran through France's mind at that instant, and the same happened to Britain. She hadn't seen him in so long, and she hadn't even given him much thought after learning he'd forced Canada to participate in his dangerous schemes. Somehow she was able to get him out of her mind, which shocked her even more to see him.

The first thing that he did was hug her tightly. She let him, trying not to hug him back knowing how he was with her son, even though his soft touch on her brought back precious memories.

It was like she'd forgotten he'd ever existed, even though a part of her was still in love with him. The sweet side of him that he always showed her, that Canada never got to truly experience.

"Hello, France." His voice was intimately soft, but there was a tinge of sadness to it. She didn't respond. "I've recieved some… news that our son is missing, and-"

"What makes you concerned?" France countered, a little snappily. How dare he act like this, knowing what he'd done.

In the moment, she'd felt proud of herself, finally stepping up to him. She hadn't done that much when Canada was younger, unless Britain had been really hard on him. She didn't want to lose the softness that Britain had. However, the pride faded slightly as she saw Britain flinch a little from her tone.

"Well… it's h-"

"You don't have an answer, do you?" Her chest felt tight, remembering the way Britain used to treat her son. It was weird for her, seeing Britain so rough with Canada, and a split second later, seeing him calm and sweet with her.

Britain's eyes softened a little. He looked sad.

"I don't… know what to say. I haven't seen you in so… so long." The softness, the sweetness of his words couldn't help but linger in her mind.

France couldn't help but tremble. She couldn't stop her heart from fluttering, and she felt so disgusted in herself. This was the man who'd pulled out her son's tooth, and she was falling for him yet again.

"Britain, stay away from me," she quickly breathed out.

"France," he called out as she went to shut the door on him.

He held out his hand. He didn't touch her, but he wanted to. He desperately wanted to. He didn't know if she'd had any restrictions, not that he would've cared. But he felt something holding him back.

France looked at him in pity, focusing on his soft, desperate eyes.

"I- haven't… I'm sorry." He took his hand back, his head turning downwards slightly.

For a moment, Britain didn't know what to say. He really didn't want his wife rejecting him, especially after he hadn't seen her for so long. He was ready to explain everything. The motivations behind what he'd done to Canada. But he didn't know what to say.

Britain turned his head away for a moment, noticing France having a similarly awkward gaze.

"France, I… love you. I really do." His voice was a lot softer now.

France couldn't help but twitch upon hearing him speak. He'd delivered it the same way he did when they were young and teenaged, when she had no idea that he could treat a child of his own so cruelly. Even later in their relationship, he'd speak like that to her, regardless of how he was feeling, even when she was openly on Canada's side.

But she knew her son was way, way more important than a child abuser.

"Listen, I need you to stay away." Britain went to speak. "You've caused major damage to my son, my son who is missing. We don't even know where he could possibly be, and you're pretending you haven't done anything to him!"

Britain was silent for a moment. She didn't know why, but she regretted shouting at him like this. Something which immediately shot disgust into her.

Britain went closer to her, wrapping her in a slight hug. She didn't hug him back, but it felt… nice. They stayed like this for a while, before Britain walked away, saying goodbye as he softly closed the door.

Chapter Text

Canada's neck was slumped down towards the floor, his red curls cascading downward. Soft breaths escaped his mouth as he stood, motionless and restrained.

He was asleep, somehow.

Namjiev watched, not wanting to make a sound. This was the first time in a while that Canada was at peace, and Namjiev would've hated to interrupt that.

Not just for Canada's sake, but for his as well. He hated seeing Canada in pain, and so angry, too. He knew Canada didn't mean to take it out on him, but… it was still hard, regardless.

At least Canada could sleep, now.

Namjiev, too, closed his eyes a little, but for some reason having them closed felt unsafe, even though he hadn't slept in a while, wondering whether Britain could come in next. But it didn't seem like he'd come in for a while.

Namjiev stayed like this for some time, staring into the distance. Obviously, he had no choice but to stay, but he still looked at Canada from time to time, wondering if he'd wake up. The way his neck was curled looked uncomfortable.

After a while, though, Canada lifted his head slightly. Sighing noisily, he rolled his neck, causing it to make quiet, short cracks as he rolled it around his shoulders.

Canada frowned, remembering he was still in this place. This dirty, frightening place.

"H-Hey, Lucas." Namjiev's voice was soft, and although it was barely audible, it caused Canada to turn his head towards him. It took him a while to respond.

"Hey."

"How… how are your wrists?"

"They s-still hurt." Namjiev was somewhat expecting Canada to snap back. He'd done that quite a bit, from stress and pain. But his voice was so, so weak, like that of a cub that had been wounded violently. That was a little worse.

"I know."

"I… hope we don't die here." Namjiev shivered quickly.

"We won't. I promise, we won't."

"I don't… know."

"Lucas, we won't die here. I want you to repeat that in your head. We won't die here." Canada didn't follow his instruction. Both him and Namjiev remained silent for a few moments.

"I'm s-sorry Dad. I think we will."

Dad.

Soft tears began to well up in Namjiev's eyes. There was a slight ache in his throat.

"Don't say that," Namjiev whispered, "please." Canada didn't respond, looking towards the metal door in front of him. He felt a… presence behind the door.

The door opened with a bang. With such force, it slammed into the wall beside it. Namjiev didn't see who it was behind the door, but from the look in Canada's eyes, a look he never wanted to see, it was pretty clear who it was.

Britain charged towards Canada, suddenly striking him in the shoulder with a hammer. Canada screamed at the horrible pain that immediately entered him, turning his head away from Britain and shutting his eyes. Canada's skin was ice-cold, his chest tight. He wanted the pain to stop.

Namjiev didn't speak, staring, mouth agape at Britain's rampage.

Baring his teeth sharply, Britain relentlessly hit him multiple times over with the hammer, mostly on his chest and stomach. Canada coughed and spluttered in between desperate screams and sobs, until he couldn't scream any more; he could only gasp for breath.

Britain stopped hitting him as abruptly as he'd started. The hammer dropped to the floor, as if he was so exhausted from his rampage he couldn't even hold it anymore. He stared at Canada, breathing slowly, though shakily.

"You know why I did that?" Britain yelled, causing both Canada and Namjiev to flinch. "Your mother… you made her hate me!"

"W-What?" Canada squealed.

"You know what she said to me?! You've caused major damage to my son! You should be ashamed of yourself!" Britain bent down to Canada's face as he yelled, taking advantage of the restraints.

There was another moment of silence. The restraints on their wrists seemed a lot tighter than usual, and Canada was frozen completely, so it wasn't like he could've sprinted out of here.

Canada, especially, knew what this meant. He'd seen Britain's love for her, a gentle love, a love that he'd longed for from him. And now that this love was no longer there?

Britain picked the hammer back up, grabbing onto Canada's wrist. He loosened it from the cuff, pinning it to the wall behind him.

"What are y-you doing?! Stop!" Canada yelled, trying to be defiant, even though not only would it get him nowhere, but that defiance would worsen Britain's state.

"You, and your stepdad, will pay for this." He raised the hammer. "I'll start with your wrist."

Crack.

Canada couldn't even scream from the sudden burst of agony. His wrist cracked and contorted, the pain from it being the only thing he could think about. Shivering, Canada tried to call out for help, for anyone who possibly could hear him, but he couldn't say anything. His lungs convulsed. The air wasn't reaching deep enough.

Canada looked over at his wrist. There was blood pouring down it, and it was bent at an impossible, painful angle.

Shakily, he brought his arm towards him, trying to see what had happened, trying to fix it. Tears welled up in his eyes as he used his energy trying to move his wrist, but not only was it unsuccessful but it only brought more pain. Numbness froze in his head as he stared at his contorted wrist, a bone slightly protruding in his skin.

Eyes bulging, he looked up at Britain. He'd never known him be this brutal, inspite of everything he'd done.

"D-Dad… Daddy…" Canada whimpered, as a last attempt at gaining mercy and sympathy from him. "W-Why…?" His legs were shaking horribly as his lip quivered. He turned his head away, shutting his eyes as tears poured down his cheeks. Weak whimpers escaped his mouth as he crossed his legs.

He felt a hand grab onto his wrist, a thumb pressing down on the slightly protruded bone. He opened his mouth at the sudden increase of pain, but no sound could come out.

The hammer slammed into his wrist once more. Somehow, there was another crack of bone. Canada squealed, trying with all his might to release his arm from Britain's grip, but Britain didn't care. He never cared.

"What the fuck are you doing?! Stop!" Namjiev screamed, a voice that almost wasn't hit.

"Hang on, I'll come to you next!" Britain responded humorously.

Namjiev only pulled at his restraints even more. His wrists were aching, and he would've thought that the skin on his hands were going to pull off, if he wasn't so focused on getting this man away from his stepson.

Rage completely burned inside Namjiev. He kicked at the wall behind him, screaming and yelling as Britain kept bashing Canada's wrist with the hammer. His throat burned.

The screaming of rage and fear, respectively, were interrupted by a sudden, harsh bang. Canada flinched, shutting his eyes briefly, whilst Namjiev tried to look at whoever had opened the door, though he couldn't really see who it was. Britain turned around, but was launched out of the room, by a pale hand that pulled at the fabric of his shirt.

Canada looked at Namjiev, who looked back at him. Canada shut his eyes, turning his head to the other side, frightened at the yelling. He wanted to curl into a ball, and would've done if he wasn't restrained.

There was so much pain, fear, negative emotions. Canada was shaking. He wanted comfort. He wanted food. He wanted to be hugged. He wanted to wear a soft sweater. He wanted to be hugged.

Eventually, the yelling stopped, but Canada didn't open his eyes for a while. He squeezed them tighter at the sound of light footsteps, but suddenly, he opened them.

There was a human, with dark, long curls in front of him.

Aizawa?

Aizawa was frowning slightly, his eyes wide as he stepped further towards him. A gentle hand pressed slightly on Canada's chest, where a nasty, purple mark from Britain's beating earlier had formed.

Maybe it was because Canada's eyes were blurred from tears, but there was something… angelic about Aizawa. He didn't know how Aizawa had gotten here. He didn't even know how Aizawa knew that he was here. Yet here he was.

Aizawa gently touched his cheek. Canada stared at him, his eyes bulging, tears streaming down them.

Harsh footsteps thundered from behind him, before Aizawa was suddenly dragged away, the same way that he'd dragged Britain.

Canada's shoulders hitched. He could only watch as Britain threw Aizawa to the floor, causing a pained, shocked groan to escape the man's throat. Canada's whole body was tense. Britain's foot slammed into Aizawa's back incessantly.

What was worse for Canada, though, was the fact that Britain was staring right into his eyes. Canada was next.

His heart fluttered wildly and unpredictably. It was a miracle Canada could hear any other noise, given how his blood was flowing and pumping through his ears.

Aizawa roared through gritted teeth, his hair flowing in the air as he suddenly got up, as if Britain wasn't pinning him down with his foot. He elbowed Britain in the chest, sending him onto the floor.

Canada whimpered quietly.

Aizawa ran towards him, working as quickly as possible to release Canada's other wrist from the handcuff. Once done, he wrapped both arms around him, but Britain, who was somehow able to get up, snatched Canada away from him, immediately launching the boy to the floor.

He felt a sharp pain in the back of his head, and there was a faint ringing in his ears. He began screaming in panic again as Britain grabbed onto his neck.

"UNHAND HIM!" Aizawa yelled, grabbing onto Britain again. Canada didn't want to watch the men fighting. He pressed his fingers tightly against his ears, curling into a ball, his back turned towards them.

Closing his eyes, he could only focus on the pain in his head, as what little vision he had began to blur…

Chapter Text

Canada was pleasantly surprised to wake up after the ordeal, in a slightly rough but overall comfortable bed. There was a thin bar of light over him, though the light was only slightly illuminated, most of the light in the room coming from a window. The walls were white, and he was the only one in there.

Canada sat up a little in the bed. He looked around the room a little more, particularly at all the empty beds. Where was Namjiev? Or Aizawa? Was this a dream? Was this heaven? 

He wasn’t really sure whether there was an afterlife, even now. But he couldn’t help but wonder, especially given how painless and peaceful this new environment was. Plus, he hadn’t really been in this kind of room in a hospital before.

For a moment, though, he was peaceful. Even with not knowing where Namjiev was. But, whilst looking around, he saw something. 

A needle. A needle, attached to his arm.

Canada’s eyes sprung, his body tensing. He didn’t feel it, but knowing it was there was bad enough. He shook wildly, arm trying to shake the needle off of him. It wasn’t pulling, it was just shaking against his vein. It hurt.

Even as the door opened to his room, he didn’t stop shaking his arm. He felt sick.

“Canada?” Aizawa’s voice called. Footsteps seemed to rush towards him, before Aizawa sat down beside the bed, grasping on Canada’s hand which was trying to pull the needle out.

“Stop!” Aizawa’s voice was firm, but not too threatening. “That’s injecting a painkiller into you.” Canada looked over at him, trying to catch his breath, before looking back at the needle. He stared at it for a moment.

Aizawa ran a gentle hand through Canada’s curls. “Try not to look at it.” Canada still stared at the needle, whimpering a little in between shaky breaths, so Aizawa gently pressed on his cheek, turning his head to face him.

“I- I can’t f-feel it- the needle, but-“

“That’s a good sign,” Aizawa interrupted. He focused on Canada’s other arm, specifically the thick, clean bandage wrapped around his wrist.

“W-What is that?” Canada asked, noticing the bandage as well. The wire by the needle was long enough so that he could touch it; it hurt a little when he did.

“Don’t touch it.”

“W-Why?” Canada didn’t remember much, and Aizawa didn’t really want to tell him what had happened.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He gently stroked Canada’s hair, causing him to ease into a more comfortable position on the bed.

Aizawa looked up at the sound of the door opening. Canada weakly and slowly turned his head over, but he gasped at who it was.

France. His mommy.

“Your son is mostly alri-“ Aizawa was interrupted by France, who’d given him an extremely tight hug.

“Aizawa, I cannot possibly thank you enough!” She exclaimed, as she released him from her arms.

“Don’t worry about me. You just look after Lucas.” Aizawa walked out, leaving France and Canada together.

Canada’s heart beat loudly as he stared at her. Through his time in that…

He genuinely never thought he’d see her again.

“Mommy…” His voice was soft, barely inaudible. She smiled at him, stroking his hair, causing him to giggle at the sudden warmth from the familiar, soft touch.

Canada stared absentmindedly ahead at the car seat in front. He didn’t focus much whilst at the hospital, so to him it was a rather quick time of recovery. 

In fact, he wasn’t focusing much now. This was still a blur for him, where he didn’t speak at all, just staring blankly ahead.

Even though the car had only bumped a little during the ride, Canada still flinched from the immense sparks of pain.

He could still feel the cuts on his body. He couldn’t stop wondering if he’d bleed out, even though he knew that blood wasn’t coming out of his body, that all the wounds had been closed during his surgeries.

The feeling of warm liquid running down his legs wasn’t something he could forget.

At least his legs weren’t being exhausted, though. Fear from Britain’s beatings and the tension of wondering whether Britain would hurt him again or not made him forget he fact that he hadn’t sat down in about 3 days.

Over 72 hours.

It was a miracle his legs hadn’t completely given in, especially taking into account the deep cuts caused by Britain’s shovel.

The car eventually stopped, calmly, though the lack of movement had caused an inattentive Canada to flinch a little. He looked to his side.

There was a thin, beige house with a deep red door. His home.

Canada’s eyes widened a little, tears forming in them. He never thought he’d ever see this place again. He genuinely thought that alls he’d ever see was a pile of metal walls.

He could feel himself trembling, and could barely recognise what the Namjiev and France were saying.

The car door opened. “Lucas, come on out,” Namjiev said softly, taking Canada by the arm and pulling him up gently onto his feet. Pain immediately shot into both feet, and Canada couldn’t stifle his yelp.

Namjiev placed one arm under Canada’s legs, the other under his back, lifting him up. His legs wobbled from the sudden weight, but were able to stand up again. France smiled bashfully upon seeing this, assisting Namjiev as he carried Canada up to his bedroom.

Although Namjiev had dropped him onto the bed, his arms unable to cope from Canada’s weight, Canada didn’t mind. This still felt comfy. 

It had been far too long since Canada had a comfortable bed under him. It had been far too long since Canada was able to cradle a soft, fluffy plushie. It had been too long since Canada had a pillow.

Immediately he wrapped himself under the quilt, smiling at the softness and warmth. He wiped a tear from his eye.

Canada couldn’t help but make a few shaky breaths and gasps, his vision becoming blurry. Namjiev bent down beside him placing his hand on his fluffy curls without saying a word. Canada hugged his plushie tighter, trembling a little.

He felt… okay.

Namjiev sat on a comfy, red chair next to the door in the living room, his knees curled up, the way he was when he was at the hospital. Except, a soft, green blanket was wrapped over him. France was there as well, holding onto his hand and rubbing his palm gently with her thumb.

She stared into his eyes, eyes she wasn’t sure that she’d see again.

France couldn’t help herself. She didn’t know whether his torture had made him suddenly fearful of touch, but regardless she just couldn’t help herself. She suddenly wrapped her arms around him, her arms almost crushing him. He gasped, but overall seemed to accept the hug. She breathed shakily into his neck.

Namjiev felt a sudden warmth at the touch. The coldness from the metal cell had absorbed its way into his skin, which made her touch much more surprising. Much nicer than usual. Not that it wasn’t nice, but… this was much more pleasant than he imagined.

He didn’t hug her back, but he smiled warmly.

“This gown feels a bit weird on me,” he yawned.

“I’m not sure why they let you leave with it on.”

He stretched out his arms a little, before tugging at the gown. France reluctantly let go, allowing him to take off the gown. She was going to get a pyjama top from somewhere, but stared at him with wide eyes instead.

Namjiev was confused for a short moment, until he looked down at his chest.

The scar. It was red slightly, brown on the edges, but the shape of Britain’s emblem was gruesomely clear. Skin seemed to pull on the scar itself.

Namjiev snatched the gown back, quickly putting it back on. He had the same look as her; shock, fear. They stayed like that for a moment, but it seemed like hundreds of years.

Namjiev didn’t even know what to think. She’d seen his scar, and there was no way to know exactly what he could do next. She’d always think of that scar.

“Namjiev…” France whispered slowly. Tears sprung to his eyes, causing him to squeeze them shut. He sank back a little into the couch, nauseated. There was a thickness in his throat as he shielded where the scar was with his hand, even though his clothes were already covering it.

France gently bent down, getting closer to him and holding onto his hand. It trembled, making France feel a little worse.

“You’re alright now.” The whisper was gentle enough for Namjiev to wipe his eyes, from a tear that sprung.

France gently stroked more of his arm, rubbing gently by his elbow, watching silently as the tears fell from his eyes. He didn’t make a sound. Didn’t whimper or even sniffle. He just stayed there, silent, his eyes turned away from hers.

She couldn’t believe this. This was something extremely difficult to process, despite her being long aware of Britain’s capabilities of violence and cruelty. 

A contradiction of the love and softness he gave her.

Chapter Text

For a while, Canada lay, staring at the ceiling. The quilt was pressed tightly against his skin, Canada’s fingers curled deeply in the soft material.

He didn’t want to let go. This was the first time in days that he’d had any sort of comfort.

He still felt cold, though. He shivered a little into the quilt, his legs shaking as he breathed out into the quilt.

The warm, sweet scent was a lot more pleasant for him.

Even then, this was still such a weird feeling. Flashes of what exactly had happened still penetrated his mind, especially when the quilt rubbed against the cuts he’d received from Britain.

It was much better to pretend this was just some weird, terrible nightmare.

The door opened.

Canada jolted up, his muscles almost instantaneously tightening. This was another beating, wasn’t it?

No. It was Ukraine.

A short gasp burst from Canada’s mouth. He had to blink a few times to make sure that this was really her.

She was… beautiful. Her fat curves, the black hoodie she was wearing, the way her short hair was reflected in the light…

It was just how Aizawa looked. Like a saviour from whatever heaven was out there, coming to comfort him and bring him hope.

He stared, wide eyed, at every part of her. His eyes jittered sporadically as he looked around, trying to take in as much of her appearance as physically possible.

Ukraine slowly stepped towards him. She was only slightly less shocked than he was, mostly at how… weak he looked.

He must’ve received some good at the hospital, but even then, he looked much thinner than she remembered. There were cuts on his face, too. Cuts and bruises that looked nasty.

He’d been through something.

“Uhh… hey, ‘Nada.” Canada’s heart fluttered at her voice. He felt so, so warm.

“S-Say it again,” he softly whimpered. Ukraine paused for a moment.

“Hiya, ‘Nada.” Canada breathed out softly. Her voice was a symphony of birdsong, as rough and urban as it sounded.

Ukraine was shivering as well. She was itching to get closer to him, just like her was to her, even though she didn’t want to hurt him further by accident.

But at the smile that he made, when he heard her voice once more, she just couldn’t help herself.

She rushed towards him, getting onto the bed, before tightly wrapping her arms around him. He tensed up for a few moments, before seeming to sink into her. Soft whimpers sounded into her hoodie as she gently stroked his head, touches he was convinced he’d never feel ever again.

His arms pressed firmly into her back.

Neither of them knew how much time had passed. Neither of them cared. But the sky outside was just a little darker than it was when Ukraine had entered his bedroom.

Canada’s eyes were red, puffy and soaked with tears. He hadn’t changed his position from earlier, his hands still tightly wrapped around Ukraine’s back whilst her arms were wrapped around his.

Finally, they both were at peace, after what seemed like such a painfully long time. Until Ukraine’s phone rang.

She released her grip from him, causing him to flinch violently as he wrapped his arms somehow even tighter around her back.

“Hey, let go,” she whispered, but he didn’t budge. He didn’t want to let go. This touch, this physical sensation was so important to him.

Ukraine sighed quietly, before accepting the phone.

Canada heard her mother speaking, but couldn't understand what she was saying. He couldn't understand what Ukraine was saying, neither.

After a short conversation, Ukraine put the phone down.

"Aight, I gotta go now. I'll see ya tomorrow."

Canada's heart sunk. She had to leave?

"W-What?" His hands twitched loosely. Somehow, he'd let go of her, crawling backwards to the side of his bed. "Why?!"

"It's gettin' late 'Nada. It's like… half 8, I gotta have dinner."

Trembling, he grabbed onto her sleeves, his lips shaking. "N-No! You can't!" His voice quivered just as much as his limbs did.

Ukraine's eyes bulged a little in shock. "I'll come back tomorrow!"

Canada didn't care. All that mattered to him was that she was leaving. Something could happen to her tonight. Someone could kidnap her and put her through what he went through.

He let go of her, bringing his hands to his chests. Harsh, shaky breaths escaped his lungs, his wrists tense, their quivers barely visible.

No. This couldn't be right.

She loved him. She cared for him, truly. She wouldn't be leaving him like this. Scared. Alone. Traumatised.

"C-C-Can I come back to yours…?"

"I'd… I'd let ya, but your momma said you need to stay here to heal." She sounded hesitant saying it, but her kind tone and angelic voice didn't stop the words from crushing Canada's heart.

"No!" He yelled, shakily. "Why?! I thought you loved me!"

"I do love ya-"

"Then y-you wouldn't leave me!" Canada wiped tears from his eyes. "I… I don't want you to go! Why won't you stay with me?!"

He kept repeating these words, over and over and over, the words becoming sloppier and almost aggressive as he repeated them, even though he continued crying to her.

He forcibly hugged her, his arms pressed just as tightly into her back, almost suffocating her, although she was still able to breather. His cries became muffled.

Ukraine's heart lurched at this. What could Britain possibly have done? He'd never acted like this before, not even when he'd talked about his worst memories in great detail.

In that moment, she began to truly understand that he'd been through something terrible.

"She does love you!" Namjiev's harsher-than-usual cut through Canada's tears, causing him to flinch as he looked up. "Ukraine, don't worry, just come home."

Ukraine got up from the bed, looking back at Canada. She wasn't angry, nor did her expression show any anger, but Canada still looked at her with fear.

Upon her leaving, Namjiev got onto the bed. "I don't know why you think she doesn't love you." His voice was a lot softer now, how it normally was.

"I… I don't." Canada tried to collect his thoughts. "I… haven't seen her in… so long."

Namjiev placed his hand on Canada's shoulder. "I know. I don't want you making her feel guilty, that's all."

Chapter Text

Ukraine sat on a bench, not far from Canada’s house. So many thoughts were running through her head, that she didn’t even know how she was coping with them.

What could Canada have been through? She didn’t even want to think, but she just couldn’t really help herself.

She thought of the worst things. Broken bones. Burns. Scalding. The worst methods of torture, the most painful and dangerous instruments, they all were forcefully flowing through her mind.

Each thought only made the boiling heat grow inside of her.

She gripped her thighs tightly, her grip almost ripping her tracksuit pants. Her whole body shook, her muscles tense as she thought more and more of what Canada could’ve gone through to react like that.

She couldn’t really think like this. This was only making her more upset.

But she had every right to be. Canada was hurting, in pain, going through immense fear because of what Britain had put him through.

Maybe she should’ve been there.

Even if she was, though, she still wouldn't have been able to protect him. From her brother's description, the people who broke into their house that day seemed powerful. Adorned with military clothing and tasers. She wouldn't have stood a chance.

Or could she? She could've protected him with all her might if she was there.

Just then, thinking about her brother, she remembered.

Alex, her brother, had attacked Canada. It was just after he'd thrown her controller on the floor. She'd told Soviet about it, who must've told him, and that caused him to attack Canada.

She didn't even know why that memory came into her mind. But it was… weird. Obviously Alex didn't cause Canada to be kidnapped. He didn't even know how to, let alone did he want to. But a part of her felt angry at what had happened. Alex was there in the house.

He should've protected him.

But he couldn't have. Once again, he said those men had tasers and military gear.

But… maybe?

She'd seen him fight before. He was one of the few boys at school to fight back against Norway, someone who she actually hadn't thought about in a while.

She'd forgotten what had happened, but she knew he was truly fighting. So he could've fought back against those men. He could've gotten those tasers from them. He could've protected her boyfriend.

Ukraine felt the fury rise in her hear, in her skin. It wasn't right, blaming him. It wasn't right at all.

But it was someone to blame. Someone who was in close proximity. Someone she knew she could fight. Someone she knew she could take her anger out on.

"When will Ukraine be back?" Alex asked Soviet. He was helping her cook dinner, in his flagged form.

"I don't know."

"What happened to Canada?"

"Ukraine said something about him being tortured. That's what she texted me."

Alex paused what he was doing for a moment. He made a deep breath, looking around the room for a moment. "I… couldn't have done anything."

"I… couldn't have done anything."

A harsh, sharp bang sounded from the door, as it's handle collided with the wall beside it, causing the door to tremble. Alex and Soviet spun round, seeing Ukraine's light shadow in the doorway.

Her neck was bent towards the floor, her breathing sharp but slow.

"W-Why did you do that?" Alex asked. His tone was far too innocent. Horrifically innocent for her liking. The voice of someone, hiding the fact that they know.

The heat was rising, but Ukraine didn't show it. There wasn't any need, for now. Soviet stood there, silently, observing them both.

"I dunno," was all Ukraine could say. Her tone was much gruffier than usual. She walked in, her hand tightly gripping on the door handle as she swung the door shut, making a bang similar to the one heard before.

Alex jumped. "Don't do that, it's not… not nice." The innocent voice was there, yet again. Mocking her. But Alex wasn't doing that, obviously. He was just scared at why his sister was behaving so strangely. At least, in her mind, that's what he was trying to convince himself.

He knew. Surely he knew.

"Think about how my fuckin' boyfriend felt." There was a long pause, the breathing only filling the silence. "Think about how he felt when those men were comin' at him. When he was bein' beaten by his own dad."

"I didn't know this," Soviet exclaimed.

"Momma, don't say anythin'. I'm talkin' about this little boy right here." She pointed harshly at Alex. "You failed to protect him!"

"What?" Alex's voice cracked a little. "They… they had tasers! They tased me, I couldn't move, I couldn't move!"

Ukraine darted towards him. Her hands were stretched outwards, her fingers tight in a near-gripping position. Her fingers grasped his neck when they reached it, not to strangle him, but to push him as harshly as possible against the floor below. Her other elbow slammed against his stomach.

Alex was sent flying.

Disorienting pain slammed into his head as it collided harshly with the floor below, causing his vision to immediately blur. He sharply gasped, the pain suddenly intensifying more and more, his eyes chaotic. He grasped onto his head, trying to curl his knees up. Dizziness gripped his mind.

Seeing him on the floor, so distressed and in pain, didn't calm Ukraine's anger down. It only worsened the adrenaline.

She darted towards him, bending down and colliding furiously with his body. She pushed him on his back, straddling him, her hands gripped on his shoulders.

The same way she'd thrown Canada.

Suddenly, Ukraine felt hands on her shoulders, pulling her off him.

"Що ти робиш?! (What are you doing?!)" Soviet screamed. Ukraine tried to pull her hands off, but she couldn't.

"Злізай! (Get off!)" Ukraine shot up, turning around to face Soviet. Her own mother. She tried to push her onto the couch, the heat in her body completely taking over her, but Soviet powerfully fought back.

Alex could only watch in sheer horror at what was unfolding. Ice pierced his veins, seeing his mother be hurt. And what was even more bizarre, was knowing that Ukraine had never acted like this.

At least, not in front of him.

Even after Canada had been kidnapped, when emotions were rife, she'd comforted him instead of losing it like this. She'd kept her cool then.

Alex trembled. He desperately wanted to say something. His own mother was being attacked; he knew he needed to be a strong man and fight back, but he just couldn't bring himself to.

"Іди спати! (Go to bed!)" Soviet yelled, pushing off Ukraine. "Ти збожеволів! (You've gone crazy!)"

"Мені байдуже! (I don't care!)" Ukraine screamed back. She ran upstairs, though no door was slammed.

"Mama!" Alex cried. He ran towards her, hugging her waist. Soviet bent down, wrapping her arms around him, her soft, beige coat comforting him just barely.

"Mama, mama, w-why?" Alex sobbed. "Why did she hurt m-me?"

Soviet didn't really have an answer. "She's just… overwhelmed."

Alex flinched at the sudden footfalls on the stairs, as Ukraine barged back into the room. Soviet got up, but Ukraine still grabbed her off.

"NO! N-NO!" Alex tried to crawl backwards, but Ukraine pulled him onto the seat of the sofa, where she grabbed him by his shoulders.

Her eyes were red and puffy.

"This is all your fault!" Her voice cracked along the edges, almost sounding weak. "You should've protected him! You should've protected him!"

She kept screaming that, even as Soviet tried to pull her off. She threw him back onto the floor, dragging him by his arm, wanting to go upstairs but Soviet blocked her.

Eventually, she let go, throwing his arm down towards the floor, before finally going upstairs.