Brothers

Canada had worn short sleeves today. It was the world meeting, and he had finally gotten desperate to be seen. He had left Kujimirou at home, he hadn't wanted any blood to get on the bear's fur, but now he wished he had brought him, if only for a bit of comfort. Even if the bear couldn't remember who he was, at least he saw Canada. Which was more than anyone else did.
He could have sworn England had seen the cuts; he had been staring at his wrists. But he didn't say anything, and Canada felt the cold void that seemed to surround him, cutting him away from the rest of the world grow a little larger. Canada fondly remembered the days when his father had seen him, when he would talk to him.
But these days he could disappear from the world entirely, and he probably wouldn't be missed. He could probably have let himself bleed to death in the bathroom last night, and no one would have noticed anything different.
Canada put his feet on the chair, hugging his legs tightly, tears stinging as they fell on his soon-to-be scars. He tuned out the world, and tried to pretend he knew what it was to be loved.
Before he knew it, the meeting was over, and it was time to go. The only person left was America. Silently, because he knew it wouldn't make a difference if he tried to get seen. It was wintertime, and the snow was waist high, so the only path Canada could take was the one America was leaving. He zoned out again, and this time he imagined that he was leaving a trail, and that maybe someday someone would find it. Maybe someday someone would find his frozen body, out here in the wilderness. Maybe someday someone would cry for him.
Canada was pulled out of his daydream, because he tripped on a root sticking out of the ground. He instinctively stuck his hands out to catch him, and the wet muddy snow stung his cuts like nothing he had ever felt before. It took all he had to not scream out in pain, and even then he wanted to. But he didn't.
Instead, he grabbed something he found on the ground, and wrapped it around one of his wrists which had begun to bleed again. And then he saw that it was America's scarf that he was bleeding on.
He quickly decided to return it to him; it was at least worth a shot. It might get him seen. With that thought, Canada stumbled down the path carved for him through the snow. He walked for another hour, and then found himself at a house that must belong to America. He had never really been over, he realized. Canada noticed the door was hanging open, and silently walked in.
He could hear America fumbling around in the back of the house, and Canada navigated his way to the source. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom, silently watching his twin with confusion. The man bent over the toilet bowl, and stuck two of his fingers in his throat. Suddenly, he convulsed, and threw up into the toilet. Again and again he retched, until finally he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
"A- Alfred," Canada found himself saying, and suddenly, it was like a miracle.
America's head swung around, and he gasped, struggling to get to his feet. His hand slipped, and it stuck in the bowl that he had just thrown up in. Canada moved forward to help his brother get up, and found himself being in the center of a tight hug. He gasped, never expecting such affection from his obnoxious, oblivious twin. And then he realized that he wasn't being hugged in the way that he was supported, the kind that said, 'I love you.' This was the kind of hug that said, 'I need you.'
"Mattie," America gasped, and Canada was shocked to feel hot tears on his cold, frozen shoulder," Thank you," and suddenly it was like an invisible wall had broken between them, and Canada understood his brother better than ever.
He understood that he wasn't just oblivious to everything around him, that he heard everything people said about him.
"Mattie, you never called me names, or teased me, or…or anything really!" America sobbed, and as soon as it has happened, suddenly they weren't hugging anymore, standing face to face, looking each other in the eyes.
Without really thinking about it, Canada unwrapped the scarf from around his wrist, and handed it to America,
"Alfred," he said, "I-"
But before he could say anything else, America was disconcerted, and he was holding Canada's wrists up, staring at them in horror,
"Mattie, I don't understand. Why-"
All of a sudden, Canada couldn't hold the words inside him anymore, couldn't hide his feelings from the world, and he collapsed into his brother's arms, not bothering to hide the tears anymore.
"No one sees me anymore, Alfred," he sobbed, "sometimes I think I could just go away, and you would all stay the same. I don't matter."
He found himself leaning against his brother and he was suddenly aware of how close they were, and he was suddenly aware of the fact that he had never been this close to anyone. It was always like there was a wall, keeping him away from them. It was always like he just wasn't there.
"You do matter, Mattie," America suddenly was so big, he suddenly seemed more of a father than Britain had ever been, "You do. You're really the only one who's nice to me anymore; you matter to me, Mattie." America pulled away from the hug, and looked his brother in the eye, hands on his shoulders, "You've always mattered to me,"