"They'll notice me eventually… they have to. I need to talk to someone before these voices take over. Everywhere I turn, there's something waiting. Everyone's been ignoring me, and all I want is for somebody to come save me from myself."

Canada sat alone in the corner of his immaculate bedroom, hugging his bear, Kumijirou. He felt desperate for somebody, something to let him know he was actually alive, and not just a ghost, an illusion no one could see. Today was his birthday for christ's sake… couldn't they at least remember him long enough to wish him a happy fucking birthday… no, not even his stupid idiot of a brother, the supposed hero remembered him. Should he just end this miserable excuse of a life? It's not like anybody would notice. One clean sweep from his knife, and it would be over. He weighed these thoughts of suicide in his head for a while, and then the voices came back, violating his one sanctuary... his thoughts.

"Don't kill yourself... that would be too convenient for those bastards. They deserve much worse than that. You need to show them whose boss around here, starting with that pathetic lowlife that you call a brother. Let's make this birthday fun… play some games, maybe? Yes, let's go play some games with your brother, and may the best man win."

Canada looked around again. No one there. Everything was still in place, his knife still on the bedside table, maple syrup on the counter, in hopes that he might eventually leave his corner and eat something. These voices, where were they coming from? Had he finally snapped from all those long years of isolation and being ignored? He personally didn't think that he was crazy. But the prospect of playing some "games" with his older brother Alfred sounded like great fun. In fact, he would head to his house now.

His bony hand, skinny from the paranoia that these ominous voices had caused to him, reached over and grabbed the knife off of his bedside table. It was a nice, expensive Swiss army knife, and he really hated the thought that it would soon be tainted with something as foul and disgusting as his brother's blood. He stuffed it in his pocket nevertheless though, and then left his apartment to go to his brother's house in America.

When he got there, his amethyst eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't taken something into account. Britain was over there, which meant that he would have to kill him as well. "Oh well, two heads are better than one… literally." Canada was surprised to hear a chuckle escape from his mouth as he had this gruesome thought. He internally shuddered at how much he was enjoying the thrill of this.

Since he wanted to be sneaky, he looked around for where the American might keep his spare house key. Knowing his IQ level, he automatically ruled out every difficult hiding place there could be in the front yard. He eventually found it underneath the garden gnome, which was strangely enough eating a hamburger.

He entered the key in the door, and a small, insignificant click could be heard. "Small and insignificant, just like me. But sometimes the smallest things can be important, so I'm going to have to be careful," the nation thought to himself. He walked into the kitchen to see Britain standing right in front of him drinking a cup of tea.

"Oh, why hello there Arthur. I didn't expect to see you here." Canada prayed that the nation didn't see the knife sticking out of his pocket, but if he did, he didn't let on.

"Hello, um….." Cadbury? No, that's a brand of chocolate… Kansas, no wait I know it starts with a c, was heard as the Brit muttered under his breath.

"God, forgotten again. Why don't you just kill him? It's obvious he doesn't have enough common courtesy to remember his son…he doesn't deserve anything special; a simple decapitation should do quite nicely. Besides, Britain says that you're a schizophrenic pissant .We can prove otherwise, can't we?"

Canada was horrified at the small maniacal giggle that escaped from his mouth as he thought about all of the possible ways he could kill his brother's beloved Arthur. He wouldn't be so tough with his head impaled on a sword in his room, now would he?

Arthur gasped as Canada, a strange demonic glint in his violet eyes, placed Kumijirou on the ground beside him and pulled the Swiss army knife out of the pocket of his jeans.

"Erm, uh, Canada…what are you doing with that knife? You're kind of scaring me… wait, ..," Arthur's question was cut off with a scream as Canada's knife sliced his arm, cutting a deep gouge that was bleeding profusely. The crimson liquid dripped down his arm and stained his green cargo pants. Canada felt no regrets, though. In fact, he decided, it would be much more fun to kill him slowly while Alfred watched; it would cause more of the pain that he wished to inflict on his brother. Speaking of which, here came his idiotic brother now, finally waking from his slumber at 11:30 in the morning.

"Hey Mattie, hey Arthur, what's shakin'? Why'd you have to wake me up so early? I still had 2 more hours to…. OH DEAR GOD," exclaimed America, as he finally noticed the gouge in Arthur's arm, and the knife in Mattie's hands. "Mattie, bro, why did you do this? What has Arthur ever done to you? Don't worry Arthur, everything's going to be fine now, 'cause the hero is here for you… DON'T DIE ARTHUR! "America hugged his father even harder than usual, causing excruciating pain in his arm. Arthur attempted to shrug him away, but as Arthur knew by now, with America, resistance was futile.

"Get off of me, you bloody idgit. I'm fine at the moment, but if you continue to strangle me… I won't be for long."

Canada walked towards them, that demonic otherworldly glint of hatred still in his eyes. "I hate to end this truly touching scene, but it's time for your beloved Arthur to die. He grabbed a piece of rope that was on the table, and bound Alfred to a chair. "There now he can't interfere with our fun..." the voices inside his head said…

First, he stabbed Arthur in the stomach twice, so hard that the nation fell to the ground, crying out in pain, blood dripping on the linoleum. Canada continued, ignoring the cries of protest that his brother was making from behind. Then, as Arthur went into shock, paralyzed, but still feeling the pain, he ripped off each of his fingernails one at a time. By this time, Canada had basically forgotten everything around him, and this seemed as normal to him as knitting a sweater. Entirely engrossed in this gruesome form of torture, he listened in delight as both of them were crying and screaming. Apparently, America and Britain's bond had become so strong that America couldn't stand to see him in pain. This project kept getting more and more fun by the minute. By physically injuring Arthur, he was causing America extreme emotional pain. Emotional pain can be two times worse than the most horrifying physical pain imaginable. At least physical pain heals quickly, but emotions last forever. Canada felt a burst of sick glee as he stripped off Arthur's shirt and carved Mattheiu Williams is not crazy! deeply across his chest, stretching across to each of his shoulders. Finally, Arthur's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the proud nation died from blood loss.

Picking up his now bloodstained bear, Kumijirou, he turned around and looked at his helpless older brother, bound tightly to a chair. He had tied the bonds around his wrists so tightly that they were cutting off circulation to his hands. He stared at his brother, seeing him looking up, pleading, "Please stop Mattheiu, here is no need for all this blood and violence. We can talk this out bro, honestly we can. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? WHAT'S WRONG? You have the nerve to ask me what's wrong? You're what's wrong! You're my brother, and yet, you constantly forget me. Answer me this, and answer honestly. Did you know that today was my fucking birthday? Did you? And even if you did, you slept in. Were you even planning to get off your ass and visit me? Wait; don't even bother answering that, I already know the answer… NO, YOU WEREN'T! Is it honestly so hard to walk a few blocks and visit me?"

"Bro, I'm sorry. I understand why you might be angry, but there's no need to go all psychopathic on me. But why did you kill Arthu-"

Those were America's last words as he died, stabbed through the heart, knife protruding from his chest. Canada left the bodies there to rot in the kitchen of his brother's house, not because he was lazy, but because if they found out that it was him who killed them, he would be known. More than anything, Canada wanted to be known.

I unfortunately do not own any of Hetalia's characters. Not grouchy Arthur, not the hero, or schizophrenic insane Canada.

©Taylor Davis 2011

A/N: You steal this, and I send Canada on your arse! I'm serious… this took a long time, and stealing isn't nice! If you're a proper gentleman, you won't steal this…