Hahaha, seriosuly what's wrong with me that I continue writing these kinds of story's ohhh ddeeaar.

Anyways, this is just one that's been in my documents for a while and for some reason I decided today I had to complete it. Which I did. Who needs dinner when you have fanfiction! Ohohohoho
Sigh.

Anyways thank you zzzChocolatezzz, bombayxprodigy, ImaduckQuaQua, Frozenbreath, CosplayerRoleplayer, Naruta13, nv mgxjgxjgx, zero434, HisokaYukiko, EarasingRocketTips, SuperMiniMutt, Mari-chan2015, A Bleach-Drinking Hetalian, luthinuvielle, DearlyBeloved-13, cross-over-lover232, FindRevolution, misterhussie, allavengedromance, Kendall N.S, Yaoi'sWhore, mishaspanties, PolishPrincess, Shinigami-cat, Jack T. R, graysam, Spaghetti13, Sparkstorm57, APH1168kittens, chocolateCake27, SilverReader and TinaBanina96 for the reviews!

Warning! Hardcore Sibling Hardcoreness between Canada and America! How Hardcore? I think you can figure it out when you reach the forth paragraph.

Please enjoy and tell me what you think! Or even suggestions on other little twisted one shots you want to see I dunno. I'm all ears!(or...reading eyes)

Enjoy!

It was a funny thing this being a nation. Because they are 'nations' technically the only time in which they are truly allowed to die was when their nation did. This is why many of their kind have this notion that they can'tdie.

This is untrue.

They may be freaks but their insides were still that of an unaging human. There are actually two ways in which one can kill a personification of a nation. The first way was obvious. Bring down the nation itself and the personification would fall as well; though the task was obviously much easier said than done. The second way was much easier. Kill them the way one would kill a normal person. Shoot them, burn them, stab them, gas them, really, anyway would work. The only problem with this method was that it wasn't permanent. Yes, they do die in the sense that their heart stops and their body goes cold but approximately three days after the killing, the nation will wake at their home with nothing but a scar, a migraine and a complete memory void of the twenty four hours proceeding their death (which led many nations to believe that Jesus himself was a nation). Which would led us to this,

"I'm going to kill you."

America almost wished he could say the words surprised him but it did the opposite. It amused him. "Okay, I'll bit, bro." He decided, placing his drink on the coffee table in front of him. "Why are you going to kill me?"

Canada simply stared at his louder twin. The calculated coldness of his expression should have set more than a few warning bells off in America's head but it didn't. How could it? To him Canada was nothing more than his quiet twin brother. His over looked neighbour to the north in which he shared nearly everything with. Canada, loyal and predicable Canada who hasn't been able to surprise in over two hundred years. Even the discovering of his relaxation methods did little to shock him.

"Well, I've been really stressed this last month." Canada admitted, leaning forward to pick up the pitcher of lemonade and refill his brother's glass. As he was moving to pour his own his arm brushed against the pair of steel knitting needles that apparently England had gifted to him some odd decades earlier. America joked about him becoming a stereotypical old woman like their former mentor but Canada just replied that he hadn't used them as much as he should and was toying around with him just before he had arrived. "I've tried different ways to distress but…I know you know how I like to relax."

He glanced up and smiled and America smiled right back. Yes, of course he knew how he liked to relax. America loved knowing of juicy tidbits and he was pleased to say that his brother's relaxation technique was one of the juiciest secrets that he had the pleasure of keeping. "Yeah course I know! But you do know I'm not a prostitute with no next of kin, right? I'm America! The only super power in the whole world and also, you know, your twin brother. Not following why you'd want to kill me so far."

"You were a challenge." Canada replied conversationally, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs and taking a sip of his beverage.

"'Were'?" America repeated, raising a questioning eyebrow. "You make it sound like you already killed me."

Canada's smile widened in response and it was then that America should have been unsettled. He wasn't. He crossed his arms and smirked triumphantly. "Alright. If you really are going to kill me or whatever than why didn't you just do it instead of hanging out?"

Canada frowned, slightly put off. "You mean just want until your back is turned and stab you in the back? That's really mean don't you think?"

America shrugged. "I've done worse in war."

"This isn't about war. This is about downtime."

He shrugged again. "Alright so—"

"I wanted you to know how much trouble I went to get to this point." Canada interrupted, looking a little more eager than when they started this conversation. He unfurled his legs and placed his half drunk drink on the table before scooting himself closer to the edge of the seat. He reached into his pocket and procured his cell, allowing himself a moment to toy with it until he found what he was looking for.

"Eight thirty six PM, July sixteenth—about twenty two hours ago if my watch is right." He paused to look at America with a small shallow smile before his attention was back on the phone. "'Hello Alfred. It's been a while since we've gotten together. Are you free tomorrow?'"

Alfred remembered those words. They were from a text he had received just at the time Canada had previously stated. Canada continued from the text America had sent back. "'Sure sounds sweet! Mind if I bring some movies? Kiku said these ones were so scary he couldn't sleep for weeks!'

'Are you sure you can handle it? My bed's small enough with Kumalaco in it.'

'Super Hero Certified sure! I'll be there around noon!'"

Canada tapped on his phone's touch screen a few times before he continued to speak. "'Warning, Top Secret, US personal only'. Name, Alfred F. Jones. Supposed Age, twenty one.'"

America's eyes widened when he realized Canada had gone from reading a simple friendly text message to his personal files which were only to be viewed by the highest of the high ranking American Officers.

"'Hair, golden blond. Eyes, ocean blue. Weight, one hundred and sixty four pounds. Height, five feet eleven inches. Additional notes, though is seemingly immortal and equipped with enhanced strength and durably his body seemed to be just as sustainable to damage as a normally trained soldier.' Interesting…"

America swallowed thickly and it was at this point he had begun to feel unease build in his stomach. Twenty four hours, Canada had done all this within the twenty four hour time frame. If he does manage to kill him in the next two hours than he'd have no inkling of his murder when he woke up and that would mean Canada could potentially do this to him over and over and over again.

With some more tapping on his phone Canada began to read a different document.

"'Dear Mr. President. I apologize in advance for how informal this letter will sound but I'm afraid I have some bad news. The personification of America has fallen ill and will not be able to attend to his duties within the next week or so. Please do not fret for the illness was contacted by human means and not because of any problems within the country he represents. The illness is not severe but he will be until to work for the next three or four days.'" Canada moved his eyes to lock with America's, the twinkle of excitement within them neigh impossible to miss. "'I'll make sure to take care of him to the best of my ability.'"

Immediately America reached into his pocket, hands searching for the pistol he never let leave his person but Canada had been anticipating this action. By the time his gloved fingers brushed against the familiar metal a thin steel knitting needle pinned his wrist to his abdomen. Before he could remove the needle, before he could even cry out, Canada was on top of him and a large knife was embedded deep into his chest. All America managed before the white shaded pain shackled his body was a small 'hrk'. He tried to scream, he wanted to scream but the metric crimson rapidly filling his mouth stole it in a gurgle of sweet tasting bubbles.

It was in that moment, that moment when the purest of pain kept his body still, the blood in his mouth asked for his silence and the punctured lung stopped his breath did he come across an uplifting revelation. All this planning, all this work and all these careful calculations wasn't about Canada killing America or even Matthew Williams killing Alfred F. Jones. This was about Matthew Williams relaxing. Just as he would sometimes allow him to eat some of his victims, Alfred F. Jones had suddenly found himself in the position of helper or, moreover, assistant used to help achieve the highest level of Zen that Matthew could only feel when he killed. He was sure of this as soon as he felt Matthew's long steady exhale brush against the top of his head, forcing a few obedient strands to move aside.

Alfred leaned his head forward until it connected with Matthew's shoulder, the small act causing billions of imaginary needles to stab at his skin. Mentally he didn't care. He simply opened his mouth and allowed gravity to take the melted life from his lips. From the tip of the blade in his chest to the very ends of his fingers pleasure spread inside him. Be it his own blood or others, the taste electrifying the buds on his tongue always calmed him down. He knew that Matthew was the only person that respected him for that and for that reason and that reason alone he was perfectly content with stepping down and becoming his sidekick. If not only for the time it took for the white pain to fade into black numbness.

Matthew spoke. "I always thought you'd be louder in your last moments."

Alfred gathered enough strength to reply back as his spiteful, but playful elder twin. "Fuck you."

He couldn't see it but he knew his words had made Matthew's lips curl into a sweet smile.

Matthew twisted the blade.

/ / / \ \ \

"Dude, the weirdest thing happened to me." It had been a week since America had woken up and even with all the water and meditation he had taken there was still that dull ache in the back of his skull.

Not very interested but obliged by politeness Lithuania egged, "What happened?"

"I'm not a hundred percent but I think I died or something." America winced against a sudden throb in his head and he took a mighty swig of his water bottle in an attempt to drown it.

"What? How?" Lithuania hurriedly questioned, surprised. Though not the most shocking news a nation could tell another, it had become increasing less frequent since the end of the Second World War.

America shrugged, pressing a palm against his forehead and smiling with slight sheepishness. "No idea. Nothing I can remember points to anyone planning to kill me so I must have been jumped in a back ally or something." He shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal and the faint relaxing of Lithuania's shoulders agreed with him.

"I would not be so sure my little American friend," sang a passing Russia. "I'm sure there are many people would like the mighty America to just go away, da?"

America laughed. "I don't worry about that shit! I'm sure you wouldn't let any one of those guys kill me until you have, right?"

Russia simply smiled and hummed a pleasant sounding song as he walked on, casually spinning his infamous steel pipe as he went.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Canada asked, making America jump at his forgotten presence. "No one will blame you if you want to go lay down or—"

America cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Nah seriously bro I'm fine! What kind of hero would I be if I wouldn't handle dying a few times?"

Matthew smiled. "Not a very good one." He agreed, glad to know his brother would be able to help him relax again in the near future.