Notes: First off, ignore all random "..."s between sections. That's just because formatting is, frankly, a bitch on this site. Second, I'm pretty sure this is a lot easier to understand if you view that last three segments as being in immediate succession.

Song Notes: The song used is "Mad World", originally by Tears for Fears. There's a million covers of it, but the one I used for tone/emotional reference is the Dresden Dolls Live at the Roundhouse Theatre in London. Ask the youtube, if you wish.

Yet another note: The ending of this was heavily inspired by the fanart, "Who's Missing, Eh?" by kiriutar on Deviantart. And by heavily inspired by, I mean 'lovingly stolen from'. Don't worry, she gave me permission to.

ENOUGH WITH THE NOTES!: I don't own Hetalia. Now, on with the fic.

All around me are familiar faces

Why did they even hold these meetings, anyway? They always spiraled into this. Everyone yelling at each other. Nothing actually getting done. Anyone who tried to get everything under control again was immediately shot down, pushed aside, ignored. But it didn't matter. He was used to being ignored.

...

Worn out places, worn out faces

America wasn't looking too well. Every time he saw him, he looked more and more nervous, as if he was afraid that someone would jump out from behind the nearest shrub/wall/dumpster/table and try to gouge his eyes out. He wouldn't listen to reason. When he tried to comfort him, America just shut him out, too.

...

Bright and early for their daily races

He was more of a morning person than his brother. America usually didn't wake up before 10:00 at the earliest, unless he had were a lot of differences between them, but nobody bothered to look.

...

Going nowhere, going nowhere

He couldn't visit Cuba anymore, for fear of being mistaken for his brother. He refused to spend much time dwelling on the fact that even people he thought of as his friends couldn't see the differences between them. No time at all. It wasn't important.

Really.

...

And their tears are filling up their glasses

"I hate you," England slurred, propping his head up with an arm resting on the bar. "Hate you. 's all your fault. Everythin' was fine before you went and left, you bloody –"

He stopped listening and just let England's abuse slide over him. It wasn't really aimed towards him, anyway, he reasoned. England thought that it was America sitting next to him. The thought wasn't very comforting.

...

No expression, no expression

He had to keep smiling. Just keep smiling. There was nothing wrong with that, right? He knew how to smile in the face of adversity. He could smile when his own father mistook him for America once again. He knew who he was, and that was enough. Right?

...

Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow

Is it better, he wondered, to be totally invisible? Of course he hated being ignored completely, but at least he could be himself and not mistaken for America.

...

No tomorrow, no tomorrow

"Hey, Al. Are you doing anything?"

"Matt, I'm really busy right now. Sorry. I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I promise."

Then it was three weeks later, and nobody had called.

...

And I find it kind of funny

"I'm Canada. Remember? Your brother?"

...

I find it kind of sad

"…Who?" America asked, looking blank.

...

The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had

He couldn't honestly say that he hadn't considered it once in a while. To go out in some indescribably awful way. Nobody would forget who he was afterwards, that much was certain.

...

I find it hard to tell you

"Is something bothering you, Matt?"

"What? Why do you ask, eh?"

America paused for a second, absentmindedly pushing his glasses back up.

"You know you can talk to me if something's wrong, right? I am your brother, after all…"

"Nothing's wrong, Al."

...

'Cause I find it hard to take

"I'm Canada!" He screamed. Or he would have, if there had been any chance of anyone hearing.

...

When people run in circles

"Hey, Matt. I haven't heard from you in a while. I was starting to get a bit worried…"

...

It's a very, very…

"…Matt…? What are you-"

...

…mad world

Words painted on the cold glass of the door. Blood growing cooler, thicker. "Who's missing, eh?"