I coughed and choked.

I tried dragging air into my lungs, tried forcing them to cooperate, but they wouldn't.

No...

More like they couldn't.

I coughed again, straining my skin-bare back against the cold brick wall.

My breathing came in jagged gasps.

Each tiny, quivering intake of air sent a piercing pain through my lungs.

The gas descended lower and lower, slowly filling my lungs.

It shouldn't be affecting me in this way.

I knew that.

It burned my eyes, everything was starting to blur.

To vanish.

And I was powerless to stop it.

I pulled, yanked, jerked, against the metal chains. Why? Why couldn't I break them? I was a personification! I had the strength of approximately ten million people at my back! These chains shouldn't be able to bind me, not unless...

"Vell, Canada, it's been quite zhe struggle." Tall, blond, and standing proud in a dark green uniform. But the thing that stood out most, the thing that let me identify who had addressed me, was the thick accent.

"G-Germa..." I was cut off by my own coughing, holding back a scream from the pain that came from my eyes. It started burning through my clothes. My skin felt like it was being set on fire.

"Vhat? Zhe great Canada, brought to his knees by a little smoke?" He laughed. I glared at him. Or, at least, where I thought he was. It was hard to tell exactly where the German was when I couldn't see clearly.

His figure stood in the teargas, it circled around him, making it look like an evil shadow. Why wasn't he being affected by it? I don't know if he had caught the question in my eyes, but he continued talking.

"Simple. It doesn't affect me because I was zhe one vho made it." It was the first time since Vimy I had seen this man up close and personal. I didn't think it was possible I could ever hate anyone so much. I didn't think it was possible for someone to mentally contain as much hate as that which was in me right now. A tiny part of me, the past me, the old me, wanted to throw up at the sensation that was winding its way through my heart. But the rest of me put every last ounce of energy into glaring at the German, into desperately trying to drag more air into my lungs.

The past me was long gone, destroyed by the war.

The peace-loving me was nothing more than a memory.

Now it was pure, sheer hatred.

And it consumed me.

The only things I could clearly think about was the burning pain, and the unending want for the blood of my enemies.

"Vell, you can't say you didn't expect zhis," He snickered, the look in his completely foreign. Even for me.

I wanted to talk so badly, just a few words, but it was only becoming harder and harder to draw breaths.

"L-Le..." I managed that, and that alone. I didn't want to beg, the thought of doing so sickened me. But I knew I had to get out. I knew I wouldn't last much longer, and my survival instinct was kicking in. That instinct was currently the only thing overpowering my bloodlust.

"Vhat? Vhat vere you about zo say? 'Let me out'? Or maybe 'stop'?" He laughed, "Sorry, Canada, but zhat vont be happening any zime soon." I was tempted to let go; to let myself snap. Maybe when I felt no mercy for anyone, and I would have the strength to break out of these chains. To get out of this... Wherever this was.

He leaned down, close enough to whisper words directly in my ear. I felt his breath on my neck, feeling like a thousand needles were being pushed against it. The only thing his closeness did was make me jerk and twist my body, trying to kick the other Nation away.

"Zhe var is over. Your precious allies vont be coming zo save you anytime soon. Zhey zhink zhat you are home, safe and sound." He chuckled. His next words chilled my spine, momentarily snapping me out of my blood lust, momentarily becoming replaced with fear and filling me with dread.

"You are alone."

His smile was maniacal, a hand reaching around behind his back. I heard the hissing of leather on steel. I noticed the small glint of something through the haze. Then I felt something cold and sharp against the sensitive skin on my throat.

My eyes widened in fear when I realized what he was doing. There was a small blade in his hand. His whip was probably resting on his hip, fastened securely to his belt. Though the leather cord I normally held so much fear for wasn't the first thing on my mind right now.

The feeling of the cold steel slowly left, and I realized he had pulled it away. Then I felt its sharp tip on my shoulder. The feeling slowly made its way down my arm, and everything started going numb. The only thing I could feel was blood slowly trickling down my skin, and the sharp pain. Oh, the pain. I opened my mouth, forgetting why I had been keeping close. The increased, intense burning quickly reminded me and I closed it, silently jerking off into another coughing fit.

The only thing it ended up doing was making the numbing of my arm go faster.

Germany was now sliding the dagger towards and around my wrist, making a small circle around my hand.

At this point I couldn't feel anything. My entire arm was dead weight, and something told me the limp was going to travel to the rest of my body.

The cold prick appeared again, this time at my other shoulder.

The same thing reoccurred.

I could feel my skin slowly being slit down to my wrist, before he drew another loop around the bone with the blade. The intense pain welled up even harsher than before. My other side was quickly going numb too.

The blade left my arm, and I felt a brief sense of relief.

Then, I felt it again.

But, instead of it appearing again on one of my other limbs, I once again felt the metal pressing against the sensitive skin of my throat.

Every part of me wanted to shake, to pull away, but I couldn't.

Everything was numb.

I couldn't feel my arms at all.

I had no power over my own body, no matter how much I willed it to move. To turn away. To do anything.

I heard Germany snicker, and then words he then whispered into my ear once again chilled me.

"Have a nice sleep, Canada," He said, "Forever."

And the metal jerked inwards. Time seemed to slow. I felt it slicing through my skin, opening my mouth in another feeble attempt to scream. Though, once again, nothing came out. I shut it, clamping my teeth together against the pain. I felt the gas flooding into my body, traveling up into my brain, down into my heart and lungs.

I thought I couldn't breath before. Now, I couldn't even try.

My body currently had two choices.

Everything was either screaming in sheer agony, or everything was numb.

I couldn't tell the difference between reality and fiction anymore as the unbelievable pain rattled through me.

He stood up, slowly backing away. The only thing I could do was struggle feebly against the chains, pushing and pulling and forcing myself to keep moving until I felt the skin on my wrists and back become raw.

Then it started at the corners.

My blurred vision started darkening, collapsing inwards on itself.

Is this it?

Is this how I die?

After everything I had just gone through, everything I just proved to myself, my country... Was it all for nothing?

Is this the end of Canada...?

It had been great while it had lasted, being seen by the other nations, being seen by my own family.

Maybe now, I'll get to see mother... Apologize for what Alfie and I did to her...

My only regrets?

That I never got the chance to thank Britain for teaching me how to be an honourable nation, an honourable person. For teaching me how to defend myself, and my borders.

That I never got the chance to thank America for always being there, even after 1812, when nobody else could be. For being the best gluttonous, self-addicted brother anyone could ever wish for. For being there when I needed him, and when he needed me, after our mother died.

That I never got the chance to tell France, to tell Papa, that I still loved him. That I didn't blame him for my being taken by England.

That, no matter what, I would've always been his little Maple Leaf.

A/N: This is gonna screw around with history and cannon quite a bit, so sorry about that. You guys'll learn why later. And I feel like I kinda went into a different style. But ehhh... What works works.
As to how this happened... I saw a headcannon about how Canada got his glasses, it was during the Second Battle of Ypres, when the German's gas attack came and the crippling/casualties of his soldiers permanently damaged his eyesight. I loved it, got the idea to write a fic about it, and then put my own little spin on things.
And, in case you didn't guess, this was Snapped!Canada/Germany, since WW1 kinda completely demolished Germany's government, I figured he'd be ever so slightly (understatement much...) unstable for a few years after the loss. And, since Canada started the 'beginning of the end,' he'd take it out on the syrup-loving bear tamer. As for Canada... Well, come on, who wouldn't lose their self-control if they were about to die from torture?
So, hope you guys enjoyed, and sorry if this made anyone uncomfortable! Chapters will start lengthening as it goes on.